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managed to catch a stray comment from a passing villager. “It is that Petuluk blood. I knew there would be trouble one day. Attracting all kinds of thugs into our village.”
    â€œYes, and the old man insisted on going up alone. I mean, had we been there, maybe we could have helped out with this Taufan fellow. I wonder why he did that?” responded another man.
    As she walked back to her house, bone-weary, Fitri realised suddenly why Pak Eko had not allowed the group to go up to the mountain with him. He had known about the cave and had known that the villagers would see it. That smell of menthol cigarettes that day in the mountain had been Pak Eko after all. He had put himself in danger just to prevent Agus’ cave from being discovered.
    Agus had been right. He was an amazing man.

ELEVEN : THE EVACUATION
    LINES of buses waited at the village entrance the next morning. Every home had been asked to pack just a few necessary belongings to take along to the camp. It was sad and heart-wrenching to leave their homes. But there was no choice in the matter. Pak Andersen had returned to the village with the news that the Merapi’s danger was now at level four – the highest volcano alert level in Indonesia.
    Families that had domestic animals, goats and cows turned them loose in the forest, hoping that they would not starve – and survive whatever was coming.
    Fitri and Agus had reluctantly boarded a bus. Together with their parents and other villagers, they arrived at makeshift shelters provided by the government.
    And so for over a month, the village folks lived in these large structures made out of bamboo, shared by more than one family. Everyone hated it. People longed to go back to their homes. Sometimes a few men would go back to the village to check whether their rice crops were okay and whether their animals were still alive.
    But the discomfort of being in a strange place was partly overcome by the big news about the secret kingdom. A strange kingdom, destroyed by the Merapi’s eruption thousands of years ago, had been found near their village! A team arrived from the National Museum and spoke to the children. The two had to repeat the story again and again.
    â€œSo you just saw the crack in the earth and went in?” asked one of the archaeologists from the museum.
    â€œYes, I could see the steps leading down,” replied Agus.
    â€œDid you use any tools to scrape the Ganesha statue’s head?” asked another person worriedly. “You could have damaged it.”
    â€œNo, we just used our bare hands to uncover enough to make out the long trunk. The entire body is still buried in the ground,” answered Agus, watching the crowd – desperately trying to listen in from the window – from the corner of his eye.
    â€œDo you have ANY idea, kid, the importance of what you have discovered? People have been looking for this civilisation for years!”
    Agus grinned gleefully.
    He was a hero. People who had never spoken to him now called out to him and patted him on the back.
    One day, he was sitting around watching some boys make a human pyramid outside his hut, feeling left out as usual.
    Suddenly one of the older boys called out to him, “Hey, Agus! Do you want to help? You are small enough to climb to the top.”
    Agus stared at the boy, shocked, excited and pleased beyond words. They had never included him in their games before.
    They had never called him by his name before.
    He nodded excitedly.
    â€œGo, Agus, go!” yelled out Reza, the boy who had terrorised Fitri at the watchtower not long ago.
    Fitri and her mother watched from the steps of the makeshift hut. They clapped and laughed as Agus clambered to the top.
    Fitri looked at her mother’s relaxed face and decided she would bring up the conversation about her grandmother. She had never discussed it with her. The children and Pak Eko, in some sort of silent agreement, had left out all