It is getting close to the end of our summer vacation. Daddy works in remote villages. We will be accompanying him to the Rohtak area for a few days. Mummy warns us we will stay in a rest-house with no electricity or running water in the middle of nowhere. We are not discouraged-it does not matter.

We arrived late in the afternoon. After leaving the main highway, the station wagon jostled us on a gritty dirt path paralleling a wide irrigation canal. The ride was rough for fifteen miles until we spotted the low brick building with lush surroundings and a driveway. It is an old-fashioned rest home, in the middle of sugarcane fields. The nearest village is a distance across the main road.

We jump out of the station wagon, and the caretaker appears out of nowhere to welcome us. Later, we learned he takes care of the property and tends the garden and grounds around the rest home. He will also cook our meals. We run inside the house-a relic lingering from the days of the British Raj. It has large rooms, and a raised covered porch running all around it. The kitchen and the outhouse are away from the main living space. As Daddy said, there is no running water. Light at night is by kerosene lamps.

We are ready for an early meal, a simple dinner, prepared by the caretaker. A heavy tasseled tapestry hangs from the ceiling. As we gather for supper, the tapestry sways back and forth. Surprised, we look up. Daddy explains it is an old-fashioned fan and points to the door. The caretaker’s son is sitting outside rhythmically pulling a rope up and down. He is no older than Sudhir, and his small arms power this fan! The fabric gently swings as the child pulls and lets go of the rope. Sudhir and I promptly relieved him of his duty. Our arguing over who gets to operate the fan gets intense and leads to a wrestling match. Mummy steps in, hand raised to smack the two of us, and orders us to take turns.

Tired from the long drive and the exciting day, we freshen up after supper and wearily head to the veranda. Cots are laid out with cool, inviting sheets and mosquito nets. Shuffling out, a sight we have never seen shocks and stops us in our tracks. Gasping at our discovery, eyes wide open, we run inside and drag Mummy and Daddy out. A gazillion lightning bugs are flitting in and out among the bushes that edge the small grassy lawn! The utter darkness adds to their intense glow. Through the tall tree trunks beyond the shrubs, low-hanging stars twinkle vividly. Glowing fireflies, twinkling stars, sheer darkness, and we are in a magical wonderland! On the veranda, we hold on to the moment for a while. Mosquitoes buzz around occasionally, but we hardly notice them. Eventually, slumber overtakes our drooping eyelids and we stumble into bed. We stick our heads out from under the nets for a few lingering moments. As we watch the fireflies, sleep consumes us. 

We slumber through the night, lulled by the sounds of the Indian countryside. Crickets take over from the buzzing mosquitoes with occasional hoots from an owl. Bushes rustle softly as nocturnal critters prowl about their business. Rude, ear-splitting raucous cawing startles us awake. It is still dark as I push the net away, head hanging out. The noise seems to come from the treetops, inky black against the star-lit sky. A faint thin line of light on the eastern horizon is barely visible. Dawn breaks early in summer and it is difficult to fall back asleep as daylight creeps in. Colorful peafowls perch in trees, heralding the day in dazzling sunlight. Beautiful as a peacock, so the saying goes, so long as their beaks are clamped shut.

It is the beginning of the monsoon season. At night, the peacocks snooze in the tall Jamun trees. Their matured harvest falls to the ground after each rain. Our cousin, Mana, is with us, and the four of us, Sudhir, Mana, Munna, and I pick and eat the sweet-tart fruit. They are staining our tongues, mouths, hands, and clothes a deep reddish-purple. Mummy despairs at our spitting out chewed pits left and right. Not only are we eating unwashed fruit, but the plum stains are difficult to launder. Munna’s entire face is purple.

The caretaker and his companion climb a Jamun tree. As the branches rustle and shake, ripe juicy Jamuns shower down. We run around, picking and placing these in the upturned hems of our dresses. Mother dear is ready to give up on our stained clothes. The Jamuns are washed and salted lightly. The two men sling a thick, long rope on a sturdy limb. We have a rustic swing! A notched piece of wood is the seat.

Dark storm clouds roll in from the distant horizons. Lightning bolts zig-zag across the sky, horizon to horizon-deafening thunder. Mummy summons us inside. Nestled in the cushioned rattan chairs on the porch, the might of the monsoon mesmerizes all. This is the first time we have seen such broad vistas. Threatening, thunderous rain clouds tumbling, swirling, come rolling towards us. Massive raindrops spatter and turn into torrid downpours quickly. Blinding sheets of water slant down in the wind.

The Jamuns are forgotten. In a trance, we watch the torrential deluge, interrupted by booming rumbles and roars overhead. We move our seats closer together at angles to avoid the blowing, stinging spray. A watery sun, amidst suspended raindrops, peeks out from behind the heavy clouds when the fury finally diminishes. Pale sunshine touches the freshly rinsed lushness. Raindrops glisten like diamonds on bushes and grass. We step into the sunbeams and feel their caress.

The little fanboy suddenly laughs out loud. Our eyes follow his pointing finger to a fallow field beyond the Jamun trees. Four or five peacocks emerge, spreading their glorious plumage. Hugh dazzling blue-green halos with circles of embossed, shimmering gold coins, form individual glistening backdrops. Slender, graceful necks topped with delicate, plumed heads move back and forth gracefully. They prance around in slow motion in a heady dance. Mummy speaks softly. God’s creatures are celebrating life-sustaining rains and sunshine, giving thanks to Indra, the Rain Deity, and Surya, the Sun Deity. Dashing across the fields, we stop at a close distance transfixed on the majestic birds as they dance in giddy adulation. 

The fanboy sprints in their direction. They see him and the spell is broken. Their dancing ends abruptly, and folding back their plumes, they beat a hasty retreat. With an awkward gait, the peafowl lope across the field. The boy races after them and yanks the plumed tail of a young peachick. He returns, grinning with his bounty. It is a very young baby. The golden coins on the tail are half circles, still being formed. We are excited and cannot wait for Daddy to return.

Daddy is happy when he hears about the thunderstorms. He is glad we have seen the monsoons in all their uninterrupted splendor. When we describe the dancing peacocks, he smiles happily, but it is short-lived. He frowns when he hears of the peachick, who had his tail yanked off. We have hurt the little ones and now they will not emerge until long after we leave. Seeing how ashamed we are, he assures us the plumes will grow back, but their trust in humans is gone. As we prepare for bed, Sudhir asks him if we can buy the plumage from the little fanboy. My dad attempts a stern expression, yet his mouth betrays slight quivers of a smile. The feathers sat in a tall vase for a few years, gathering dust and becoming raggedy with time. Mummy threw them out when we were moving to Bangalore. Sudhir and I protested mildly, though we didn’t care anymore.

After the rain, Mana and I tire of gathering Jamuns, so we saunter off along the canal. A crude little bridge with long planks lay side-by-side straddling the canal. We cross over to the other side. There is no muddy track or road to follow on this side, so the two of us wander off into the sugarcane fields. The soil is water-logged and we take off our sandals and squelch in the wet earth with our bare feet. Here and there are small frogs. The high sugarcane hides us completely from the view of anyone and our sense of direction is lost. After wandering for a while, Mana is scared and wants to return. I am worried too, but which way is out? After going in several directions, we find our way out of the towering canes.

Shadows are lengthening, and I am getting scared as well. On higher ground now, the canal is visible in the distance. We approach, but the bridge planks are missing. I suddenly realized how far we had walked. Mana starts to cry. Mud is drying and caking on our ankles. By rubbing our feet on grass patches, some of it scrapes off.

I search for the guesthouse or signs of traffic on the dirt road by the canal. Guessing where we should head, Mana spots the bridge and the rest-house beyond it. Relieved, we cross over, try to remove the last of the mud from wherever we can spot it on ourselves, and reach home. Mummy, seeing our filthy appearances, clay-caked hair, muddy clothes, and bare feet, scolds us soundly. How could we walk off telling no one? Mana is wailing and crying tears of relief. My mother hugs her and wipes her tears. I steal a look at her, sweet dimples despite the grimy face as she heads to the bathroom for a thorough cleanup. Me? Mummy is still not quite done with me. 

Noticing her anger, grasping the foolishness of our not-so-tiny escapade, Daddy’s warning of dangerous snakes and wild animals come to mind. Not daring to speak back, I bear the scolding. As Mummy says, it was irresponsible of me. Mana is much younger, and by putting me in charge, she had trusted me. No words eluded me of my being scared, too. I don’t know if Mana remembers any of this-we have not spoken in years.

We returned to Delhi the next day. Looking back, Mummy’s admonishing me was completely deserved. But I still long for our shoeless walk-through in the cane fields. Losing direction in the high sugarcanes was frightening. The tiny frogs, mud squelching through our toes, and sheer panic are fond recollections! A yearning to visit that enchanted place overwhelms me during a sleepless night. I can see the fanboy, fireflies, dancing peacocks, and picking Jamuns clear as day. And I whisper to a frightened young Mana, we are having an unforgettable adventure.