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  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE WIND ON HAUNTED HILL

  Born in Kasauli in 1934, Ruskin Bond grew up in Jamnagar, Dehradun, New Delhi and Simla. His first novel, The Room on the Roof, written when he was seventeen, received the John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize in 1957. Since then he has written over 500 short stories, essays and novellas and more than forty books for children.

  He received the Sahitya Akademi Award for English writing in India in 1992, the Padma Shri in 1999 and the Padma Bhushan in 2014. He lives in Landour, Mussoorie, with his extended family.

  ALSO IN PUFFIN BY RUSKIN BOND

  Getting Granny’s Glasses

  Earthquake

  The Cherry Tree

  The Eyes of the Eagle

  Dust on the Mountain

  Cricket for the Crocodile

  The Tree Lover

  The Day Grandfather Tickled a Tiger

  White Mice

  Ranji the Music Maker

  Puffin Classics: The Room on the Roof

  Puffin Classics: Vagrants in the Valley

  The Room of Many Colours: A Treasury of Stories for Children

  Panther’s Moon and Other Stories

  The Hidden Pool

  The Parrot Who Wouldn’t Talk and Other Stories

  Mr Oliver’s Diary

  Escape from Java and Other Tales of Danger

  Crazy Times with Uncle Ken

  Rusty: The Boy from the Hills

  Rusty Runs Away

  Rusty and the Leopard

  Rusty Goes to London

  Rusty Comes Home

  Rusty and the Magic Mountain

  The Puffin Book of Classic School Stories

  The Puffin Good Reading Guide for Children

  The Kashmiri Storyteller

  Hip-Hop Nature Boy and Other Poems

  The Adventures of Rusty: Collected Stories

  Thick as Thieves: Tales of Friendship

  Uncles, Aunts and Elephants: Tales from Your Favourite Storyteller

  Ranji’s Wonderful Bat and Other Stories

  Whispers in the Dark: A Book of Spooks

  Looking for the Rainbow

  Till the Clouds Roll By

  RUSKIN BOND

  THE

  WIND ON

  HAUNTED

  HILL

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia

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  Puffin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies

  whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  Published by Penguin Random House India Pvt. Ltd

  7th Floor, Infinity Tower C, DLF Cyber City,

  Gurgaon 122 002, Haryana, India

  First published in Viking as part of Complete Short Stories and Novels

  by Penguin Books India 1996

  This illustrated edition published 2018

  Text copyright © Ruskin Bond 1996

  Illustrations copyright © Jit Chowdhury 2018

  All rights reserved

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the

  product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance

  to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 9780143428763

  e-ISBN 9789353053321

  Typeset in Baskerville

  Book design and layout by Parag Chitale

  Printed at Replika Press Pvt. Ltd, India

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade

  or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the

  publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in

  which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition

  being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.penguin.co.in

  NOTHING STOPS THE WIND

  Who . . . whoo . . . whooo, cried the wind as it swept down from the Himalayan snows. It hurried over the hills and passes, and hummed and moaned through the tall pines and deodars.

  On Haunted Hill there was little to stop the wind—only a few stunted trees and bushes, and the ruins of what had once been a small settlement.

  On the slopes of the next hill was a small village. People kept large stones on their roofs to prevent them from blowing away. There was nearly always a wind in these parts. Even on sunny days, the doors and windows rattled, chimneys choked, clothes blew away.

  Three children were standing beside a low stone wall, spreading clothes out to dry. They placed a rock on each garment. Even then the clothes fluttered like flags and pennants.

  Usha, dark-haired and rosy-cheeked, struggled with her grandfather’s long, loose shirt. She was eleven or twelve. Her younger brother, Suresh, was doing his best to hold down a bed sheet, while Binya, a slightly older girl, Usha’s friend and neighbour, was handing them the clothes one at a time.

  Once they were sure everything on the wall was firmly held down by rocks, they climbed on to the flat stones and sat there for a while, in the wind and the sun, staring across the fields at the ruins on Haunted Hill.

  ‘I must go to the bazaar today,’ said Usha.

  ‘I wish I could come too,’ said Binya. ‘But I have to help with the cows and the housework. Mother isn’t well.’

  ‘I can come!’ said Suresh. He was always ready to visit the Landour bazaar, which was three miles away, on the other side of Haunted Hill.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ said Usha. ‘You must help Grandfather chop wood.’

  Their father was in the army, posted in a distant part of the country, and Suresh and his grandfather were the only men in the house. Suresh was eight, chubby and almond-eyed.

  ‘Won’t you be afraid to come back alone?’ he asked.

  4

  ‘Why should I be afraid?’

  ‘There are ghosts on the hill.’

  ‘I know, but I will be back before it gets dark. Ghosts don’t appear during the day.’

  ‘Are there many ghosts in the ruins?’ asked Binya.

  5

  ‘Grandfather says so. He says that many years ago—over a hundred—British people lived on the hill. But it was a bad spot, always getting struck by lightning, and they had to move to the next range to build new houses.’

  ‘But if they went away, why should there be any ghosts?’

  ‘Because—Grandfather says—during a terrible storm, one of the houses was hit by lightning and everyone in it was killed. Everyone, including the children.’

  ‘Were there many children?’

  ‘There were two of them. A brother and sister. Grandfather says he has seen them many times, when he has passed through the ruins late at night. He has seen them playing in the moonlight.’

  ‘Wasn’t he frightened?’

  ‘No. Old people don’t mind seeing ghosts.’

  6

  THUNDER OVER THE HILLS

  Usha left for the bazaar at two in the afternoon. It was about an hour’s walk. She went through the fields, now turning yellow with flowering mustard, then along the saddle of the hill and up to the ruins.

  The path went straight through the ruins. Usha knew it well; she had often taken it to the bazaar

  to do the weekly shopping or to see her aunt who lived in the hill station.

  Wild flowers grew in the crumbling walls. A wild plum tree grew straight out of the floor of what had once been a large hall. Its soft white blossoms had begun to fall. Lizards scuttled over the stones, while a whistling thrush, its deep purple plumage glistening in th
e soft sunshine, sat in an empty window and sang its heart out.

  9

  Usha sang to herself as she tripped lightly along the path. Soon she had left the ruins behind. The path dipped steeply down to the valley and the little town with its straggling bazaar.

  Usha took her time in the bazaar. She bought soap and matches, spices and sugar (none of these things could be had in the village, where there was no shop), a new pipestem for her grandfather’s hookah and an exercise book for Suresh to do his sums in. As an afterthought, she bought him some marbles. Then she went to a mochi’s shop to have her mother’s slippers repaired. The mochi was busy, so she left the slippers with him and said she’d be back in half an hour.

  She had two rupees of her own saved up, and she used the money to buy herself a necklace of amber-coloured beads from the old Tibetan lady who sold charms and trinkets from a tiny shop at the end of the bazaar.

  10

  There she met her Aunt Lakshmi, who took her home for tea.

  Usha spent an hour in Aunt Lakshmi’s little flat above the shops, listening to her talk about the ache in her left shoulder and the stiffness in her joints. She drank two cups of hot sweet tea, and when she looked out of the window she saw that dark clouds had gathered over the mountains.

  Usha ran to the cobbler’s and collected her mother’s slippers. The shopping bag was full. She slung it over her shoulder and set out for the village.

  Strangely, the wind had dropped. The trees were still, not a leaf moved. The crickets were silent in the grass. The crows flew around in circles, then settled down for the night in an oak tree.

  I must get home before dark, said Usha to herself as she hurried along the path. But already the sky was darkening. The clouds, black and threatening, loomed over Haunted Hill. This was March, the month for storms.

  13

  A deep rumble echoed over the hills, and Usha felt the first heavy drop of rain hit her cheek.

  She had no umbrella with her; the weather had seemed fine just a few hours ago. Now all she could do was tie an old scarf over her head and pull her shawl tight across her shoulders. Holding the shopping bag close to her body, she quickened her pace. She was almost running. But the raindrops were coming down faster now. Big, heavy pellets of rain.

  A sudden flash of lightning lit up the hill. The ruins stood out in clear relief. Then all was dark again. Night had fallen.

  I won’t get home before the storm breaks, thought Usha. I’ll have to shelter in the ruins. She could only see a few feet ahead, but she knew the path well and began to run.

  Suddenly the wind sprang up again and sent the rain lashing against her face. It was a cold, stinging spray. She could hardly keep her eyes open.

  15

  The wind grew in force. It hummed and whistled. Usha did not have to fight against it. It was behind her now, and helped her along, up the steep path and on to the brow of the hill.

  There was another flash of lightning, followed by a peal of thunder. The ruins loomed up before her, grim and forbidding.

  ALONE IN THE RUINS

  Usha knew there was a corner where a piece of old roof had remained. That would give some shelter. It would be better than trying to go on. In the dark, in this howling wind, she had only to stray off the path to go over a rocky cliff edge.

  Who . . . whoo . . . whooo, howled the wind. Usha saw the wild plum tree swaying, bent double, its foliage thrashing against the ground. The broken walls did little to stop the wind.

  She found her way into the abandoned building, helped by her memory of the place and the constant flicker of lightning. She began moving along the wall, hoping to reach the sheltered corner. She placed her hands flat against the stones and sidled sideways. Her hand touched something soft and furry. She gave a startled cry and took her hand away. Her cry was answered by another cry—half-snarl, half-screech—and something leapt away in the darkness.

  18

  It was only a wild cat. Usha realized this when she heard it. The cat lived in the ruins, and she would often see it. But for a moment she had been very frightened. Now she moved quickly along the wall until she heard the rain drumming on the remnant of the tin roof.

  Once under it, crouching in the corner, she found some shelter from the wind and the rain. Above her, the tin sheets groaned and clattered, as if they would sail away at any moment. But they were held down by the solid branch of a straggling old oak tree.

  Usha now remembered that across the empty room stood an old fireplace and that there would be an alcove under the clogged chimney. Perhaps it would be drier than it was in her corner; but she would not attempt to find it just now. She could lose her way altogether.

  21

  Her clothes were soaked and water streamed down from her long black hair to form a puddle at her feet. She stamped her feet to keep them warm. She thought she heard a faint cry—was it that cat again, or an owl?—but the sound of the storm blotted out all other sounds.

  There had been no time to think of ghosts, but now that she was in one place, without any plans

  of venturing out any time soon, she remembered Grandfather’s story about the lightning-blasted ruins. She hoped and prayed that lightning would not strike her while she took refuge there.

  Thunder boomed over the hills and the lightning came quicker now, with only a few seconds between each burst.

  Then there was a bigger flash than most, and for a second or two the entire ruin was lit up. A streak of blue sizzled along the floor of the building, in through one end and out the other. Usha was staring straight ahead. As the opposite wall was illuminated, she saw, crouching in the disused fireplace, two small figures—they could only have been children!

  The ghostly figures looked up, staring back at Usha. And then everything was dark again.

  Usha’s heart was in her mouth. She had seen, without a shadow of a doubt, two ghostly creatures at the other side of the room, and she wasn’t going to remain in that abandoned building a minute longer!

  She ran out of her corner, towards the big gap in the wall through which she had entered. She was halfway across the open space when something—someone—fell against her. She stumbled, got up and bumped into something again. She gave a

  24

  frightened scream. Someone else screamed. And then there was a shout, a boy’s shout—Usha instantly recognized the voice.

  ‘Suresh!’

  ‘Usha!’

  ‘Binya!’

  ‘It’s me!’

  ‘It’s us!’

  They fell into each other’s arms, so surprised and relieved that all they could do was laugh and giggle and repeat each other’s names.

  Then Usha said, ‘I thought you were ghosts.’

  ‘We thought you were a ghost!’ said Suresh.

  ‘Come back under the roof,’ said Usha.

  They huddled together in the corner, chattering excitedly.

  ‘When it grew dark, we came looking for you,’ said Binya. ‘And then the storm broke.’

  ‘Shall we run back together?’ asked Usha. ‘I don’t want to stay here any longer.’

  26

  ‘We’ll have to wait,’ said Binya. ‘The path has fallen away at one place. It won’t be safe in the dark, in all this rain.’

  ‘Then we may have to wait till morning,’ said Suresh. ‘And I’m feeling hungry!’

  The wind and rain continued, and so did the thunder and lightning, but the three were not afraid now. They gave each other warmth

  and confidence. Even the ruins did not seem so forbidding.

  After an hour the rain stopped, and although the wind continued to blow, it was now taking the clouds away, so that the thunder grew more distant. Then the wind, too, moved on, and all was silent.

  WHO SAID GOODBYE?

  Towards dawn, the whistling thrush began to sing. Its sweet broken notes flooded the rain-washed ruins with music.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Usha.

  ‘Come on,’ said Suresh. ‘I’m hungry.
’

  As it grew lighter, they saw that the plum tree was standing upright again, although it had lost all its blossoms.

  They stood outside the ruins, on the brow of the hill, watching the sky grow pink. A light breeze had sprung up.

  When they were some distance from the ruins, Usha looked back and said, ‘Can you see something there, behind the wall? It’s like a hand waving.’

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ said Suresh.

  ‘It’s just the top of the plum tree,’ said Binya.

  They reached the path leading across the saddle of the hill.

  ‘Goodbye, goodbye . . .’ Voices on the wind.

  ‘Who said goodbye?’ asked Usha.

  ‘Not I,’ said Suresh.

  ‘Not I,’ said Binya.

  ‘I heard someone calling.’

  ‘It’s only the wind.’

  Usha looked back at the ruins. The sun had come up and was touching the top of the walls. The leaves of the plum tree shone. The thrush sat there, singing.

  31

  ‘Come on,’ said Suresh. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye . . .’ Usha heard them calling.

  Or was it just the wind?

 

 

  Ruskin Bond, Wind on the Haunted Hill

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