The Adventures of Ron and Rhea

Ron was sleeping with an easy innocence of a boy child. A boy child he was, but with lots of courage. It was his twin sister Rhea who woke him up that morning – the morning where it all began. 

‘Wake up, wake up, I saw the windows rattling in the haunted house,’ said Rhea.

Ron woke up with a start. ‘What?’

‘Yes, yes. Just now, when I was playing outside,’ said Rhea, jumping up and down.

Together Ron and Rhea went outside to take a look at the haunted house.

‘Did you really see?’ asked Ron.

Rhea touched her throat with her tiny forefinger and thumb, and said, ‘I swear.’

Standing with his hands on his hips, Ron said, ‘All right. Let’s go in the evening and investigate.’

‘Evening?’ asked Rhea, widening her eyes. ‘It will be dark in the evening.’

‘Are you scared?’ teased Ron.         

‘No, no, I am not scared,’ said Rhea.

***

In the evening they went. The sun was down. The lamps in the street were on. The haunted house looked scary with a frown.

Ron walked towards the gate, holding Rhea’s hand. Standing in front of the house they raised their heads. The house was bigger than they had thought. Ron slowly pushed the gate open. They heard a ‘Creeeeekkk.’ Rhea jumped, ‘They will hear us,’ she said in a whisper.

‘Who will hear us?’ whispered Ron.

‘The ghosts,’ said Rhea, putting her hand over her mouth.

‘Come, let’s go inside,’ ordered Ron, holding his sister’s hand tightly.

They walked inside the gate. Ron tried the front door. It was locked from the inside. Ron and Rhea stepped back, looking at either of their sides. A gust of wind came sweeping by and rattled the windows that were just around the corner. Rhea whispered again, ‘Ron, these are the windows I saw rattling.’

‘It must be the wind, silly,’ said Ron.

Rhea kept mum. Ron took a few steps and stood in front of the windows. ‘Let’s see what’s inside,’ said Ron, and climbed up a tiny ledge.

The windows were not fastened. Ron peeked inside. ‘What do you see?’ Rhea asked.

‘I can’t see anything. It’s too dark inside,’ said Ron, climbing down. ‘I told you there were no ghosts.’

The windows started rattling again. Ron and Rhea looked up. A white face with white hair around its head stared down at them. The twins screamed and screamed and screamed. Ron held his sister’s hand, and they both ran outside. They didn’t stop screaming until they reached their home.

***

Ron and Rhea’s mother was worried. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘We saw a ghost, mamma,’ said Rhea. ‘Ron, tell her what we saw.’

‘Yes, mom. There is a ghost living in that haunted house.’

‘Nonsense,’ said their mother. ‘Now go and wash your hands and legs. I will give you chocolate milk and cake.’

‘Really, mamma,’ Rhea tried to explain, ‘The ghost has lived in that house for a long time and grown old.’

‘Ghosts don’t exist, sweetheart. You must have seen something else. Aren’t you a brave girl?’ said the mother.

‘I am a brave girl. Ask Ron,’ said Rhea. Nudging Ron with her elbow, she said again, ‘Ron, tell her what a brave girl I have been.’

‘Yes, yes, you are a brave girl, all right.’

‘See, I told you,’ said Rhea, giggling.

‘OK,’ said their mother, ‘Now off you go and get cleaned up.’

***

It was only when they had retired to their bedroom at night did Ron talk about the incident. ‘Rhea, let’s go again tomorrow.’

‘Go where?’

‘To the haunted house,’ said Ron.

‘No!’ Rhea gave a quiet cry.

‘Are you scared?’ asked Ron.

‘I’m not scared. You saw the ghost, didn’t you?’ said Rhea, sitting up on her bed.

‘Yes. Let’s fight it and save the people. Else, the ghost will kill everyone in the neighborhood,’ said Ron.

Rhea hung her head and said, meekly, ‘All right.’

***

The next morning Ron woke up early, took his bicycle, and rode in front of the haunted house. Two minutes later he was back home. Rhea was waiting for him. ‘Where had you been?’ she asked eagerly.

‘To see the haunted house once again.’

Rhea approached Ron, and holding the handle-bar of the bicycle, she asked, widening her eyes, ‘Did you see the white ghost?’

‘No, but we will in the evening.’

They waited for the sun to go down. Ron was ready with his weapons: a torch and a toy gun that shot darts.

At precisely six o’clock they left their home. They reached the haunted house five minutes later. Ron pushed open the gate slowly, as he had done the previous day. The same “Crrreeeeek” was heard. Ron and Rhea walked inside as silently as possible. The house looked more menacing than ever.

Ron walked towards the door, and knocked on it. He pulled himself back as he took out his toy gun from his pocket. Rhea stood next to him, wide-eyed and covering her mouth with her hands.

Ten seconds passed, which seemed like ten hours to Ron and Rhea. Holding his gun tightly in his hand, he walked round the house and stood below the windows through which a white ghost had scared him and Rhea the previous day.

One of the windows was open. He aimed his gun at it and pulled the trigger. The dart went flying into the window. The twins kept silent for a minute. Ron turned to his sister and said, ‘I think we have killed it.’

‘I think so, too,’ said Rhea, smiling.

Then, someone grabbed and lifted them from behind and took them inside the house. Ron and Rhea screamed at the top of their voice.

Both of them started crying as the ghost sat in front of them on the sofa.

‘Shut up!’ said the white ghost.

Ron and Rhea only cried harder.

‘I said, stop crying,’ said the ghost again.

Ron and Rhea looked at each other as they continued crying, tears rolling down their cheeks. The ghost that sat in front of them was an old woman. Her hair and her skin were as white as cotton.

‘I am not a ghost, children,’ said the old woman.

Ron and Rhea looked at each other again, exchanging surprised looks.

‘I am just a poor old woman who lives in this old house.’

Ron stopped crying first. Rhea then wiped her tears and sat silently, blinking her eyes.

Ron said, ‘You are not a ghost?’

‘Of course not, my dear. You can touch and see me if you want to,’ said the old woman, extending her hand.

Ron felt the old woman’s hand. ‘If you are not a ghost, then why did you keep scaring us all the time?’

‘I never tried to scare you. You imagined everything,’ the old woman explained.

‘Why did you grab us from behind like that? You did scare us, you know,’ said Ron.

‘You would have run away again if I had come in front of you,’ said the old woman.

‘Why do you live in the dark?’ asked Rhea.

The old woman made a sad face as she said. ‘Hmmm. That’s because I don’t have money to pay for the electricity, my darling.’

It was already dark and quite difficult to see inside the house.

Ron slowly took out his torch from his pocket and switched it on.

Rhea clapped in delight. The old woman ruffled Rhea’s hair and smiled. Ron said, ‘You can have my torch.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Rhea. ‘You take the torch. We don’t need it.’

The old woman hugged the little children and kissed them on their foreheads.

Since that day Ron and Rhea often spent their time with the old woman. The old woman entertained them with her stories. Sometimes, she told ghost stories, too.

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Do you wonder how Ron and Rhea's day begins? How difficult it is to their mother to get them ready to school? Read In the Morning to get a glimpse of the kids' matutinal activites. In the Morning is not only a feast to your eyes, but it also makes sure your heart is tickled.
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The Old Man of Washgookawilly

 Humphrey was the oldest man in the great country of Washgookawilly. Everyone loved and respected him, and fondly called him grandpa. The grandpa of Washgookawilly. No one knew his exact age. He was the oldest of them all, this they knew for sure.

Humphrey had lived his life to the fullest. He had traveled extensively around the world, had tasted all the delicious dishes, had friends in every city of the country; he was a dancer, a musician, a mathematician, an astrologer, and a philosopher. But as he grew old, he slowed down a bit. He couldn’t dance and play music anymore, but he still had a shrewd mind.

The legend says that he had been around to see five generations of the royal family. Was it really true, nobody cared. He knows all the secrets of the world, people talked among themselves. Sometimes, to know if he really was what people said he was, some questioned him about the things they knew and they didn’t know. The answers he gave them shocked them to the core. Some scared them and some surprised them.

To everyone, Humphrey was a magician. He knew all the answers, he knew how to solve people’s immature fights, he knew how to entertain children, he knew everything. To them, he was next to the king. The old man of Washgookawilly knew his importance, yet he remained humble and modest. He never raised his voice against anybody, he never hated anyone, he treated everyone equally.

Some people came to him to know about their future. Humphrey, however, didn’t entertain everybody. ‘You should only think about the present and work hard to build your own future,’ he used to say. Most of them were forced to go back disappointed. But there were some rare cases he didn’t mind predicting. One day, a mother came to him, crying: ‘My child is ill for the past two months. I am really worried about her. Please tell me what will happen. Please tell me she is going to be all right. If not, please tell me what to do.’ Humphrey took pity on her and went to her house. He sat down by the cot and looked at the girl child intently for a few minutes, took a deep breath and said, ‘She will be all right in a week. Nothing to worry.’ A week later, as he had predicted, the girl was up and shining.

Although Washgookawilly was enjoying its peace and prosperity, there was a time when there was no rain for two years. People were worried. The king supplied them enough food and did his best to take care of them. But in his heart, he, too, was worried sick. ‘What has come over Washgookawilly?’ he silently cried at night.

When everyone was sad and angry and confused, Humphrey looked calm and happy. ‘Why are you like this? Aren’t you sad?’ one of the people asked him. ‘There is nothing to worry. Just wait for forty three days, and the rain gods will shower upon us. It is just a test we have to go through.’ Then, the man had shook his head and left. But it rained torrentially on the forty forth day.

And during the reign of King Solomon, Humphrey looked worried most of the time. Some of them asked him what it was. He kept his silence. Several months later King Solomon died in the battle. It was only then the people of Washgookawilly realized that Humphrey knew the king’s fate all along.

When King Berthold took his father’s place, Humphrey exclaimed, ‘We need not worry anymore, for the King is here.’ The good people of Washgookawilly knew the king’s potential, of course. But when the old man said it too, their happiness knew no bounds. Peace prevailed in Washgookawilly once again.

What no one knew then was that the old man was going to play an important role in the king’s life. Funny as it may sound, even the old man himself didn’t know that. But the day was not too far …

What is the old man’s role in The Story of King Berthold? What is the relation between him and the king? What will he do that’s going to change the king’s life forever? Read The Story of King Berthold and find out the answers that will change the way you think and act.

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James Gilliband of Washgookawilly

James Gilliband was born in the month of lights and good wishes. King Solomon, Queen Candace, and Prince Berthold attended the naming ceremony. It was the royal hairdresser Gilliband’s wish that King Solomon named his child. King Solomon gladly did it. The king held the baby up in his arms and everyone cheered raucously. He named the child James. The whole city celebrated James Gilliband’s naming ceremony. Hairdresser Gilliband was never so happy in his life than he was now.

James Gilliband’s childhood days were filled with fun. With his father being a royal hairdresser, he didn’t have anything to worry about. He had everything he wanted: toys, good friends, good education. He was a happy child, no doubt. He was full of fun. All his friends loved him. But there was one thing they often complained: he couldn’t keep secrets. ‘I hate secrets,’ he said to his friends once, ‘Why should one have secrets? One should always be open and honest. And he was only seven years old when he said this.

James Gilliband never cared about his father’s profession. He was floating around in his own world – playing pranks on everybody, swimming in the lake, stealing apples from an orchard, getting chased by the plantation owner, giggling, laughing, telling stories to his friends and entertaining them. But everything changed when he was eight years old. King Solomon died in a battle. Although it didn’t make any difference to James Gilliband, he couldn’t look at his father’s unhappy face. A few days later he walked into his father’s shop and said, ‘May I try?’

His father laughed. James Gilliband smiled. He was happy his father was all right. ‘May I try?’ he asked again, extending his hand.

‘All right. You can try on me,’ his father said, gave him the comb and the scissors, and sat on a chair.

Excited, James Gilliband went shroof-shroof with the comb and the scissors. And when he was done, his father’s head looked like a chopped coconut. Both father and son laughed, holding their tummies. It was James’s first experience as a hairstylist, and he loved it with all of his heart. He was too young to make decisions for his life, but he somehow knew in his heart of hearts that he wanted to become a hairstylist like his father. Since then he went and sat in his father’s shop, observing and learning the art.

One day he asked his father if he could go with him to the palace to watch him trim the prince’s and the king’s hair. His father said no without even giving it due consideration. James was surprised and angry. He kept pestering his father with the same request for the next couple of weeks. His father neither agreed nor gave any reason for his stubbornness. As the days passed by, James stopped asking his father to take him to the palace. His father heaved a sigh of relief. After all, keeping a royal secret was no small thing. Someday James will understand, he thought.

As James grew up he became more and more skilled at hairstyling. People started taking notice of him now. If middle-aged men wanted Gilliband Sr. to trim their hair, all the young ones wanted James to give them the looks they desired.

Everything was going smoothly when tragedy struck. On a fateful day, James’s father passed away. James Gilliband had never known sadness until then. His misery only grew with each passing day. ‘You will make a great hairstylist one day, my son. I am proud of you,’ his father had told him a few days before his death.

James’s responsibilities had grown, but he was still the same playful boy at heart. Several days later, when James Gilliband had least expected it, a messenger from the palace came calling for him: the king wants to see you. James was obviously surprised. But then, had he known that a long time back his father had been called by the king in a similar fashion, James would have been more than surprised.

James went to the palace fearlessly. The king welcomed him with a smile. James bowed before the king. The king took James inside his private chamber where only a select few were admitted. And then James found out the secret. The secret his father had taken to his grave. He finally understood why his father never took him to the palace.

What was the royal secret after all? Why Gilliband Sr. never took his only son to the palace? And now that James Gilliband knows the secret, will he be able to keep it safe in his heart? Read The Story of King Berthold to unlock the secret.

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