The Summer Holidays Begin

The train chugged steadily as it descended from the Western Ghats to the plains of the Deccan plateau baking in the heat of the approaching summer. The hot outside air, grainy with the dust that April scrapes from unsowed fields, came in gusts through the open window of the compartment, but the boys were too excited to shut it. They wanted to savour every sight, every sound and every smell of the journey. The term at Eastpoint College had ended, and the summer holidays had begun! Nikhil was returning home to Banpuri, where his father, a senior Railway officer, was posted. Michael and Atheeq, his two best friends and classmates, were spending a month of the holidays with him.

Eastpoint was not really a college; it was a school. But the founders had called it a college when it had been established as a residential school more than a century ago in the cool environs of Devlali, a hill-station in the Western Ghats, and the name continued. The boys rather liked saying they studied in a ‘college’; it made them feel quite important and grown up. The truth was that they were in secondary school. Nik had celebrated his fourteenth birthday just the previous month. Theeq, the eldest of the three was two months older than Nik, and Mike, the ‘baby’ was three months younger. The forests of the hills had thinned out, and an increasing number of villages sped past. It was not too long a journey. Devlali was only four hours away from Banpuri. The boys had boarded the express train immediately after breakfast, and expected to be home for a late lunch.

‘We’ll soon be there,’ said Nik, with the authoritative air of one who’d done the journey several times, flicking his head to get his hair out of his eye. He had a thick shock of hair, and however much he combed it, a lock flopped onto his right eye, giving him a dashing, rakish look. ‘As soon as we spot the Tapti River, we should start lugging our stuff to the door.’

He’d barely said it, when the river came into view. What a beautiful river it was! ‘We will go swimming, won’t we?’ asked Mike, eagerly. He had thick eyebrows, below which shone a pair of twinkling eyes that, together with the dimple in his left cheek, lightened even the blackest of moments with the promise of fun. ‘Of course we will,’ answered Nik. ‘That’s the best part of summer in Banpuri. But we have to be very careful about which part of the river we choose. There is a section which has crocodiles.’ Theeq looked alarmed. Even Mike, who was a good swimmer, looked uneasy. ‘Don’t worry,’ Nik reassured them hastily, ‘it’s perfectly safe if we stick to the upper part of the river. The crocs are restricted to the lower reaches some miles distant, and the two sections are separated by a bund.’

‘A low dam,’ Theeq explained to Mike’s questioning look, ‘across which one can walk.’ Theeq knew odd things like this. If there was one thing he loved more than cricket it was reading—and he could be depended upon to come up with strange and interesting titbits like this. His father was in the merchant navy, and he was the only one of them who had been abroad on holiday once.

The train whistled into Banpuri Junction. Theeq, who was the tallest of the three, pulled off their bags from the overhead rack and handed them over to the other two to unload on to the platform. Nik was expecting his father or his mother to be there to receive them, but instead his sister Tara and her friend Zee were there. Nayantara was a year younger than Nik, and like him, had thick black hair, which she kept long and braided into pigtails. She also studied at a boarding school in Panchgani. Her term had ended two days before Eastpoint’s, and so she’d reached home earlier. Zarine Vazifdar—whom everyone called Zee—studied at St. Gonzaga’s in Banpuri itself. Zee was slight and wiry—which was just as well, since she was passionate about yoga and gymnastics. She had close cropped hair, and a boyish charm. Her father was the only dentist in town. Zee and Tara were inseparable, as they’d been classmates for years, until Tara and Nik had gone to boarding school two years ago. Nik was surprised to see them without his parents. ‘Dad and Mum couldn’t come,’ Tara said, enigmatically, ‘because of the Nawab of Nandikote.’ As though that explained anything at all! Nik couldn’t wait to hear more. ‘The Nawab of what?’ he exclaimed. But there was no time for explanations just yet. After unloading their stuff, he introduced Mike and Theeq to the girls and Tara and Zee to the boys.

‘Now tell us about this Nawab,’ said Nik. ‘Is he a real-life, honest-to-goodness Nawab? I mean, the works—is he the ruler of some place, and if so, where? And what is he doing in sleepy old Banpuri? More to the point, what does have to do with Dad and Mum?’ The questions tumbled out faster than Nik could ask them. Mike and Theeq were burning with curiosity too, but a mixture of politeness and shyness prevented them from questioning the girls.

‘As you well know,’ said Zee, ‘there aren’t any rulers any longer. At Independence all the princely States were merged into the republic, and the government sanctioned privy purses to the various princes and Maharajas in lieu of their kingdoms. But yes, the Nawab’s father was ruler of a small State in central India called Nandikote. That’s all I know.’ Then aft er a brief pause to catch her breath Zee added, ‘Apart from the fact that he’s arriving this aft ernoon on some frightfully important business with your father.’ Zee looked at Tara, ‘Do you know anything more, Tara?’

‘Nothing really,’ said Tara. ‘But dad will be home for lunch today, and I expect he’ll tell us all about it.’ ‘By the way, Zee,’ she added looking at her friend, ‘Mum said to invite you to join us for lunch today. She’s making dahi vadas, and she knows you love them.’