The air swept down from the mountains with the cool, crisp taste of distant snow but also with the aromatic hint of wood smoke. Glacier-white mountain peaks rose on either side of the valley and pierced a perfectly blue sky. The slopes of the mountains glowed a vibrant green from the recent monsoon rains and the trees of the forests lined up like soldiers awaiting their orders.
‘The Himalayas,’ Buntee whispered in awe, as he and Theo climbed a windy stone path. ‘They say that to see the Himalayas is to cleanse your soul of the sins of a lifetime.’
Theo nodded thoughtfully, though he wondered how many sins he might have accumulated in the few weeks since he’d woken up.
‘There is a Hindu story,’ Buntee continued, his eloquence rising to the occasion, ‘that tells us how, once upon a time, the mountains ran about the place and played like children. Finally, one of the gods got sick of all the noise and tied down their roots so that they would stay in one place.’
Theo blinked. That could easily have been one of Bozo’s explanations. The Bloon had been right – he would have been perfect for India. But the loss of his friend was still too painful to consider, so he changed the subject. ‘Have we far to go now, Buntee?’
‘Not far,’ the clown smiled. ‘Sometimes I forget that you’re still so young, Theo. In these past few weeks it has often been I who has followed you. Now that we’re almost there, won’t you tell me why you want to meet Jadooji?’ Theo looked up at his friend and hesitated. Would the clown be able to understand and accept the truth about the Story? The last person he had tried to tell was Pierre and he had fallen asleep in the middle. Simon had warned him that no good had ever come of trying to tell the average Hooman the truth – but did it have to be that way? Maybe someone as nice and open-minded as Buntee would be able to understand and help share the burden….
Who am I trying to kid? Theo concluded. Even I believed only because I could see Bozo. ‘It’s probably best if I let Jadooji explain,’ he replied with a nervous smile. ‘I imagine he’s expecting us.’
Buntee shrugged and led the way up the mountain. He picked up the pace and soon they found themselves approaching a village. The houses were made of wood with long balconies on the first floor and steep, windy staircases on the outside. The roofs were made of clay tiles and, as it was shortly after the autumn harvest, they were covered with corn drying in the sun.
They passed a courtyard covered with stray blades of straw. A rooster clucked nervously about, looking outraged about something. The reason quickly became apparent as two young boys, no older than six, came tottering across the courtyard, one of them balancing on his friend’s shoulders.
‘Oh ho! What do we have here?’ Buntee wondered aloud, his circus instincts inclining him to pause and watch the scene in amusement. His smile soon turned to shock as he saw that the boy on top carried a long stick. With a tremendous swing that sent both boys tumbling to the ground, the stick flew through the air and smashed a lightbulb hanging from the balcony.
‘Hey!’ Buntee shouted, his eyes unable to believe the mischief they’d seen. He grew even more outraged when the boys looked up from their crash-landing positions and giggled by way of an answer: ‘Eleckytrons!’
Theo froze in shock. He waited impatiently for Buntee to translate the conversation that followed. The clown turned to Theo with a bemused expression on his face: ‘Seems that this new invisible guru up the mountain has ordered the children to destroy all the lightbulbs in the village. He says they are prison cells for…’
‘For invisible creatures of light called Eleckytrons,’ Theo finished excitedly.
Buntee eyed him curiously. ‘How did you know that? Do you understand Hindi now?’
‘No, no,’ Theo replied. ‘Listen, I can’t explain now, but did they say where he is, this guru?’
Buntee asked the boys and they nodded emphatically. ‘They say they’ll take us to him if we buy them some cakes in the village first.’
‘Have you got any money?’
‘Hmm. About seven rupees,’ Buntee answered hesitantly. ‘But we’ll need to eat later and I don’t feel up to a performance after that climb…’
‘Never mind that. Let’s go!’ Theo cried, jumping to his feet. His enthusiasm was infectious, and in a moment he and Buntee were rushing into the village square after their two young guides. The children picked out some cakes from behind the counter of a kiosk and Buntee handed over his worldly wealth with a look of regret on his face. No sooner had the boys recieved the cakes than they dashed off through the village.
‘The scoundrels!’ Buntee cried. ‘They’ve hoodwinked us! They’ve bamboozled us. They’ve…’
He would have stood there and moaned all day but Theo grabbed his arm and implored, ‘Come on, then. After them!’
They weaved their way through the crowded square that teemed with pilgrims, rich Indians on holiday and locals drinking tea – all of whom watched the scene with interest. The boy and the clown pursued the boys down a series of long, stone steps to a plaza where water gushed out of pipes in the wall and the local women scrubbed away at their family’s clothes. The women paused from their soaping and rinsing to laugh at the pursuit and to speculate what the boys had done this time.
The chase continued out of the village, across a tumbling stream and up a windy path through glades of apple trees. The grass was still wet with dew, and Theo and Buntee slipped and stumbled where the six-year-old boys landed foot-perfect. Theo felt the blood pulsing through his head. His thoughts and feelings collided rudely as he fought for breath. All of his attention was focused on the two pairs of disappearing feet a little way ahead, and he stubbornly ignored the pleas from his lungs to give up the chase. Buntee collapsed behind him with a terrible grunt but he waved Theo on. Theo needed no more encouragement. He dashed around the corner and scrambled up a muddy path between two pine trees, emerging on to a grass plateau, where he fell on his face, gasping for air and incapable of speech.
Which was probably just as well.
For there before him were about 20 children gathered in front of the guru. Their faces were painted with adoration and love as the saint gave audience. The two fugitives walked to the front and humbly laid down their cakes. The guru took a sniff of the offering and nodded his head in approval.
Even after Theo had recovered his breath, he was still dumbstruck – and not because of the evident devotion of the rows of young disciples, or because of the piles of cakes, sweets and cheese. It was that there – surrounded by sticks of burning incense and raised on a pink, satin cushion – sat the mystery saint of the mountains, who was invisible to the world of adults: a four-foot high Bloon with an insufferably smug look on his face.
‘Bozo!’ Theo half-yelled, half-cried at last.
The Bloon took in the new arrival and gazed wistfully at the clouds. ‘Bozo,’ he murmured softly. ‘Bozo. Yes, I was once known by that name. I suppose you may still call me that. Although these days I usually go by His Illuminated Grace and Sage of…’
‘Bozo, what is going on? How did you survive the storm and what’s all this guru nonsense about?’
The children stared in shock at this presumptuous foreigner who shouted at their beloved master with such disrespect and familiarity. They fingered sticks and stones to teach the white boy a lesson, but Bozo extended a gentle palm to calm them.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘For though the boy does not know our ways, there is hope he may learn.’ Theo gazed back at him in a paralysed mixture of annoyance and disbelief. Bozo’s tail twitched at his side as he continued: ‘You have heard me say that what we forget is usually not worth remembering? In the mind of a sage, memories pass freely through the holes in his head, yet the events of that night are still clear to me. As the water came pouring into the ship, I opened Raj’s trailer door and he ran out into the cargo hold. The ship turned on its side and Raj aimed his foot at the wooden rafters. The wood must have been rotten because with a few good elephant kicks the roof splintered into pieces and we escaped the ship.’
‘But you were in the middle of the sea,’ Theo protested, his mind still struggling to accept what his heart urged him to believe.
Bozo smiled that irritating smirk of one who believes he has all the answers. ‘Elephants are excellent swimmers, my friend. We reached the shore by the middle of the next day and made our way through India, liberating mangoes and bananas from their orchards as we went, until we arrived here two weeks ago. Jadooji found good grazing for Raj lower down the hill – he doesn’t like the cold – and I set up shop as guru here.’
‘But …but…’ Theo spluttered helplessly.
‘It’s easy. You think of something quite obvious and then say it really slowly with this wise look on your face,’ Bozo explained, and he demonstrated his most radiant expression of other-worldly serenity.
It was a look that invited a knuckle sandwich. Theo dived at Bozo and they tumbled backwards into the Bloon’s stack of cakes in a flurry of fists, feet and a long, lashing tail. The fight was only interrupted when they heard someone yell, ‘Theo, what is going on here?’
The fighters looked up from their mêlée at Buntee, who had arrived to see Theo in fierce combat with thin air. Bozo took advantage of the interruption to crawl to the side and salvage his cakes from the mud. Theo pulled himself up sheepishly and said, ‘Erm, Buntee meet Bozo. Bozo, remember Buntee?’
Buntee stared at the piles of cakes and biscuits that Theo was pointing at and watched with amazement as they moved of their own accord. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ he stammered at last. He scratched his head as an idea flew in one ear. ‘So that’s how you did the banana trick on the boat….’
‘I had some help, yes. This isn’t going to be easy to explain.’
‘That’s right,’ Bozo added. ‘And we’re late. Jadooji asked me to escort you to his cave as soon as you arrived.’
He waved a dismissive hand at the children and they departed hesitantly, unsure what to make of the newcomers but committed to obeying the orders of their guru.
Theo turned to Buntee. ‘Looks like we’re off to see your great-uncle,’ he said. ‘The Illuminated Sage will show us the way.’
Buntee nodded, too amazed to say much. He followed Theo meekly as Bozo led them along a path into the forest. Despite their long separation, Theo and Bozo didn’t share a word as they climbed up through the trees, the air still and musty in the shade. Only once when Theo got out of breath did Bozo turn and begin to preach about the wisdom of pacing oneself – but one dark look from Theo was enough to silence the Bloon into a sulk.
Mushrooms as big as faces grew between the roots of the trees and damp moss covered the bark. The hundreds of trunks produced an almost hypnotic effect, and Theo hoped they’d never have to come this way at night. It was the kind of place that would be full of strange sounds with no obvious explanation.
They eventually emerged from the forest on a path that rewarded them with a sweeping view of the valley. The village below seemed like a tiny toy town. The summits of the mountains were closer and their complexity opened up like a knot: what had seemed like a single peak now proved to be a series of crevices, paths and jagged, snowy rocks.
They were just above the tree line and the only sounds to be heard were the rustle of the breeze and the distant rumble of the river in the valley basin. The quiet was otherwise disturbed by the crunch of their feet on the path and the odd, distant croak of a crow. They continued a little way, cooling rapidly as the breeze whipped the sweat off their bodies. They rounded a corner and the ground levelled out into a clearing in front of a cave with an overhanging rock.
Outside the cave were gathered a few local men and women, and an Indian man and his son who were clearly not from the area – their clothes were western, while the locals wore earthy suits and dresses that resembled the colour of the mountains. One of the old women tended a fire on which bubbled a large pot of chai. She handed Buntee and Theo a glass each and bade them squat down along with the rest.
‘It feels like a doctor’s waiting-room,’ Theo murmured, looking at the queue hoping for an audience with the great master. He sipped his chai and, after a moment’s hesitation, passed it to Bozo who sat on his left. Bozo took the glass and their eyes met briefly. They both looked away but the corner of a smile broke on their lips.
‘Ah, heck. It’s good to see you, kid. Even if you did blow my cover as the invisible guru. I was on to a good thing there. Free cakes for life.’
Theo laughed and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he smiled, his eyes turning glassy. ‘I thought I’d been left abandoned.’
‘I knew you’d be OK as long as Buntee was around. A clown isn’t a bad substitute for a Bloon in the short-term,’ Bozo mused.
‘You’ve changed, ’ Theo observed uneasily. His joy at finding Bozo again was muted by a nagging doubt: would they be such good friends as before?
‘Too much time spent with Hoomans,’ Bozo agreed, shaking his head. ‘After a while, a Bloon starts to take on a little of their madness. That’s why we have to get on with it and save the Storyteller so I can get back to Bloonland.’
Theo was about to agree when a young couple exited the cave with radiant expressions on their faces. A spot of red paint had been daubed on their foreheads and they made their way down the mountain like they had not a care in the world.
‘Buntee!’ a deep, rumbling voice from inside the cave bellowed.
Buntee jumped up anxiously to duck into the dark, smoky cave and meet his summons.
‘You’ve changed too, kid,’ Bozo laughed. ‘You don’t look so afraid any more. You’re growing up.’
‘I’ve seen a lot these past few weeks,’ Theo said thoughtfully. ‘I’m beginning to understand more and more about the Story.’
‘Well, I hope so, ’cause there are only two more AOs to go, and then bingo! You better have the Cure or else we’re toast. Here comes the clown.’
Buntee emerged from the cave with a big grin on his face. ‘I’m being sent to the village for supplies. You’re wanted in there.’ He waved at the cave and then jogged down the path towards the village with the excitement of a child.
Theo and Bozo exchanged puzzled looks and picked themselves up from the ground. ‘I’m sorry to jump the queue like this,’ Theo said to the Indian who waited with his son at the side.
The father waggled his head merrily and gave a smile that could have sold toothpaste: ‘It is no bother. We have flown all the way from our home in New York to be here, so an extra few minutes is nothing.’
‘You’ve come all the way from America just to see Jadooji?’
‘America has the money but only India has the wisdom,’ the boy explained with an innocence that was overpowering. Theo nodded respectfully and ducked his head as he entered the cave.
The inside was so smoky from a smouldering fire that it took the better part of a minute for their eyes to adjust and see anything. Wiping away the tears, they took a seat on an old rug beside the fire. On the other side sat an old, fat, bald man wrapped in a blanket, with his rippling belly hanging out. His head was large with a strong forehead and glistening eyes. An ironic smile was carved into his podgy features. He gave the impression of a man who expected the entire world to arrive at his doorstep.
‘What’s with all the smoke?’ Bozo complained. ‘Are you trying to scare away your visitors?’
‘The flies are conspiring to drive me insane. The smoke is my only defence,’ Jadooji replied with an infectious laugh that caused a chuckle to rise from Theo’s chest and helped him relax.
‘So you traded flies for lung cancer. Easy to see why you’re in the wiseman business.’
Theo was amazed to see how casual Bozo was around the AO. He remembered how much he had missed the Bloon’s irreverence for almost everything.
Jadooji turned his gaze on Theo. His eyes seemed to belong to an old man and a child at the same time. ‘So, young pilgrim, what do you think of India so far?’ he said.
‘At first it freaked me out a little,’ Theo admitted shyly. ‘But Buntee looked after me well.’ Jadooji hummed in approval and gestured for Theo to continue. ‘It’s made me think a lot about the Story as well. Like, here in India everything’s out in the open – the dirt, the death, the madness – but in England that stuff is hidden away.’
‘And?’ the old man prompted him.
‘Well, it made me think: hasn’t the Storyteller done the same thing? I mean, by ignoring the bad parts of the Story for so long?’
‘Hmmm,’ Jadooji mused, rocking his head in the ambiguous Indian lilt that was always halfway between a yes and a no. ‘It reminds me of an old Indian tale that concerned a friend of mine. He was born the son of a great king who wanted him to grow up in utter bliss, ignorant of illness, death or hardship. He lived the first 20 years of his life in luxury within the palace walls, wanting and needing for nothing.
‘Curiosity struck one day, though, and he scaled the walls of the palace early one morning and saw his first beggar. The man was crippled and his ribcage showed from his meagre diet. This led the king’s son to a kind of awakening: he realised that he had led his entire, protected life in illusion. So he left the palace and spent the rest of his life dedicated to discovering the Truth.’
‘What a mug!’ Bozo laughed. ‘I’d have stayed in the palace. Why swap a life of endless cheese and wine for something as tasteless as the truth?’
‘Oh, really?’ Jadooji chuckled with his laugh that echoed throughout the cave and had everyone within earshot grinning. ‘Then why ever did you leave Bloonland behind to risk this adventure within the Story?’
Bozo opened his mouth to protest but not a single Palabra came tumbling out – a sure sign he was beat. He sunk his head and hid his embarrassment by poking at the fire with the tongs. Jadooji watched him closely and then swung his attention on to his other visitor: ‘So, Theo. You’re approaching the end of your quest. What have you learnt this far?’
Theo shifted uneasily on his rug and felt the usual pressure of having to come up with the right answer. ‘I’ve learnt something from each of the AOs,’ he said. ‘Even though sometimes I’m not sure quite what.’ Theo scratched his head and chose his words carefully from the collage of thoughts inside his head.
‘I guess it seems to me that everything that happens inside the mind of the Storyteller has its equivalent here: the Story is as sick as the old man himself. But I still don’t know how to stop the Storyteller from dying.’
‘And what do you know about death?’
‘I saw Ali die,’ Theo answered quietly. ‘And I thought I’d lost Bozo too. Finding him alive was like seeing him reborn.’
‘Ah, reincarnation,’ Jadooji said.
‘What’s that?’
‘In India they believe that when someone dies they come back as a king, a cow or an insect, depending on how they led their lives.’
‘Cynthia told me that happens to AOs,’ Theo remembered. ‘Except they always come back as themselves.’
Jadooji nodded and picked up a flower. ‘Now Theo, what is this?’ ‘A rose?’
‘And if I crush it between my hands like this, what is it now?’ ‘Just a pile of crushed petals, I guess.’
‘Good. Now if I throw them on the fire?’ Jadooji tossed them on to the embers. They wrinkled up like they were dying before burning with a crackle.
‘They go up in smoke,’ Theo observed. ‘And leave some ashes behind.’
‘Excellent. Anything else?’
Theo concentrated. ‘Well, there’s still the scent of the rose burning…’
‘Well done. The smoke will mingle with the air, the ashes will fertilise the ground and the aroma will hide my bad breath. But there is one more place the rose can still be found.’
‘Where?’
‘In here.’ Jadooji leant over with surprising agility and tapped the side of Theo’s head. ‘And even if the memory should fade away, the experience may inspire some future thought or action like a seed planted within you. See, Theo, everything that dies enters the cycle of life again somehow.’
‘And when we die?’ Theo asked, reminded of his own mortality.
Jadooji smiled gently. ‘We come from the mind of the Storyteller, and back unto it we return like a stream returns to the ocean. But then we evaporate and fall back into the Story like a raindrop.’
Theo thought about this and sipped his glass of chai. Bozo had managed to hypnotise himself by staring into the flames. Jadooji sat cross-legged and as relaxed as it was possible to be.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about the Prophecy,’ Theo began. ‘Cynthia told me that it actually translates as “save the Story”, but that without a Storyteller there can be no Story….’ He trailed off, not sure how to phrase his question.
Jadooji rocked on his heels and took a deep breath. ‘Remember, Theo, no Hooman, however wise – not even an AO – can know everything. We’d go insane if we did. All we can do it make our best guess. If you want to hear mine: Can a story live without a storyteller? Maybe the answer is both yes and no. The tale I told you about the king’s son born to luxury is more than 2,500 years old. How has it survived? People have kept it in here,’ he tapped his head, ‘by telling it. A story will last as long as it is told.
‘But in the end it is you, Theo, who must make sense of the Prophecy as well as fulfill it. We AOs may be able to guide you a little, but saving the Story is beyond us. Guarding the secret of the Story for so long has driven us each a little doolally!’
‘Really? I never would have noticed,’ Bozo remarked innocently, trying hard not to laugh.
Jadooji shrugged in agreement. ‘The truth is, the Story is a heavy burden for seven shoulders to bear. It’s like seeing how a magic trick is done. And what a trick! Six billion Hoomans across the planet all thinking that life revolves around them. Running around here and there, chasing their needs and wants, oblivious. Completely unaware that they are just fragments of the Storyteller.’
Six billion fragments is an awful lot, Theo thought.
‘The reason I left my old life as a street magician behind,’ Jadooji continued, ‘is that I started to tell the audiences how the tricks were done. Funnily enough, about half of them still thought it was magic even after I explained the illusion. Others didn’t want to see and turned their backs. Only a few were open-minded enough to accept the explanations.’
‘But then there’s no magic left,’ Theo reasoned.
‘No magic?’ Jadooji snorted merrily. ‘Just because something has been explained? Scientists can tell you exactly why a sunset is beautiful but does that make it any less spellbinding?’ Theo shook his head and Jaoodji smiled. ‘And why should that be? It’s because the magic and beauty we see in the world is a reflection of our own Storyteller souls.’
The fire crackled and the walls of the cave seemed to resonate with the words of the magician-come-sage. The three of them sat in silence in a mountain cave on top of the world, contemplating the great mysteries of the Story.
‘I could kill for some pizza and ice cream,’ Bozo announced suddenly. ‘When do we go to New York?’
‘Already tired of the guru game?’ Jadooji teased.
Bozo shrugged: ‘It was good while it lasted. But I can’t leave Theo alone to follow this quest, can I? He’ll get into trouble without me around to take care of things.’
Theo burst out laughing. ‘Oh, yeah, like everything goes so smoothly when you’re around,’ he said.
‘When will you learn to leave the past behind?’ Bozo sighed piously. ‘Time flies but sweet memories remain to inspire.’
‘No more!’ Jadooji begged. ‘You read that on the back of a truck somewhere, didn’t you? It’s definitely time for you to hit the road.’
‘But how are we going to get to New York?’ Theo asked, remembering that he was sitting in a hole in the side of a mountain with a man who never touched money. International transport seemed an unlikely option.
‘I think first-class window seats will do,’ Jadooji declared happily, stretching his legs and pulling himself to his feet.
‘But how?’ Theo demanded. ‘We’ve got no money and no way out of this country.’
Jadooji just waggled his head and pulled his blanket around his rolls of fat. ‘Nothing a little magic won’t solve. Come on.’ He picked himself up and they followed him out of the cave to the clearing where the Indian father and son waited patiently.
Buntee arrived, running around the corner. He dropped a cloth bag at Jadooji’s feet before keeling over to catch his breath. Jadooji pulled out an enormous camera with a flourish. ‘For my next trick I will need an ordinary nine-year-old boy,’ Jadooji giggled. ‘Stand over by the wall, please, Theo. Now say “cheese dunes”. Perfect. You too, Buntee. There. We’ll put the camera to the side for a moment and progress to the next stage of the trick.’ Jadooji was in his element, sauntering about with an enormous grin plastered on his face that had everyone else smiling too.
‘Now, Prakash?’ The Indian boy in jeans, T-shirt and trainers looked up dutifully. ‘You and your father will be staying with me for some time to further your spiritual education. Please give me your passports and plane tickets.’
Prakash’s father nodded obediently and they handed over their documents with bowed heads. Theo wondered whether they would have thrown themselves off the cliff had they been asked to.
Meanwhile, Jadooji opened the back of the camera and pulled out some fresh, passport-sized photos of Theo and Buntee. ‘Why, the camera just loves you,’ Jadooji giggled, as he rummaged in the bag that Buntee had brought from the village. He pulled out a knife and a small stick of glue. ‘Now, I take the passports like so. I pull back the plastic covering and stick Theo’s photo on top of Prakash and Buntee’s on top of his father. And abracadabra! We have two new citizens of the USA returning home in two days’ time. Please check-in a couple of hours before departure.’