“Acho, acho,” screamed a boy in the front seat. The baldheaded driver stopped the bus in the middle of the road. The conductor rushed towards the engine and noticed smoke erupting out of it.
“What happened?” he asked.
The driver opened the engine hood and asked the conductor to bring some water. The conductor rummaged around for a while, then he eyed me. “Give me your water bottle,” he demanded.
I was in third standard, and I didn’t know how to respond. I threw the bottle at him. He became furious.
“What manners!” he grumbled and rushed back to the engine. Most of the students had been dropped off. Three more stops, then we would be home, but this old bus had plenty of problems. Some days it leaked, sometimes it made a squeaky noise, and when it rained, we opened our umbrellas inside. But today was so hot. I wanted to remove my school coat and run naked.
This was the only bus, and it had been running for over ten years, they boasted. Students from other schools made fun of our bus. They called it a “matchbox,” an old elephant; it was painted brown that made it worse.
In the evening, once almost all the students had gotten down, the driver would sneakily play film songs. Otherwise, it was always the old hymns by Father Marcus, our correspondent, by the way. They’d put you to sleep before you could say “sleep.”
As the song faded, the driver grew agitated. “This is a nonsense bus, nothing works.” “I would rather ride a bullock cart than this.”
The conductor kept quiet. He didn’t want to be smacked.
He simply asked the driver what to do with us; the four boys left. Ganesh was in grade eight, so he was asked to drop me at my house. I didn’t reply. Even though it was three stops, it was really far away. We had to cross Stephen Church, go down to the BSNL office, further down to Charing Cross, and then to Stone House.
Ganesh took us, and said he would drop me near the BSNL office, and from there I had to go alone. I was terrified. I still wanted my mom to accompany me to the toilet at night, and now I had to walk alone. But when we reached the BSNL office, I remembered my grandpa was working at the fire service station nearby. I asked Ganesh to drop me there instead.
My grandpa had the greatest job in the world. He was a fireman. In his entire career, he had seen only two fires. Why, you ask? It’s Ooty — it rains and rains, and before the trucks reach the place, the fire is put out.
One of the men noticed me and called for my grandpa. His eyes were red. Either he was drunk or he had been sleeping. After sitting there for ten minutes, I watched the men go through the drill of dressing up, fixing and unfixing the pipes. I knew then this was a great career option.
Just then, of all days, there was a fire, and someone called on those old wired telephones. A great fire had started somewhere.
My grandpa, with the other firefighters, said he would drop me home in the truck. They lifted me in, and we drove off in the big red truck. But it became apparent as we swept past Hill Bunk onto Gudalur Road that a huge cloud of smoke was rising into the sky. Only when we got closer did it become clear — it was a forest fire.
The firefighters were stunned. They were not trained for a fire this size. They sprinkled water here and there, but the fire kept raging. I could see gaur running up the hill, and Nilgiri tahr scattering across the rocks. I felt sad that this beautiful mountain was burning and nothing could be done. More fire trucks arrived, but it was no use.
“Sit here,” my grandpa commanded, regretting ever bringing me.
I was far away, but I could see what was happening. The blue sky was growing darker. Then, beside me in the bush, I heard heavy breathing. A little fawn looked sadly at me. Without realising what I was doing, I followed it.
As I followed it into the other side of the woods, I saw the mother deer, burnt, bleeding, lying on the ground. I was scared. I wanted to call my grandpa, but then I thought I should give her some water. Someone at Sunday school had told me that when deer are hurt, they go to water and that drinking stops their bleeding.
A song came to my remembrance:
As the deer panteth for water, so my soul longeth after you.
I had only a little water left in the bottle; the conductor had poured most of it into the engine. Only a few drops remained. The dying deer desperately sucked on it as I stood nearby and poured.
Then, I don’t know what happened. Within five minutes, the sun disappeared, heavy clouds drifted in, and it started to rain.
The fawn jumped with joy. I ran back to the truck, and the firefighters were jumping too. Within ten minutes, the fire was gone. Many species were saved that day.
Forty years later, I am a conservationist working all over the world. It all started because of a fawn and its mother’s love that made the heavens cry.
D.R.H.