IT was a beautiful morning, the golden sunshine, the refreshing breeze and the songs of the kiskadee, on the Wisteria tree, in the garden below.
The young boy, robust and lively, threw open his bedroom window and shouted, “Hello, everyone,” startling the birds, which took off in noisy flight.

Dravid was truly excited.
He was having a great vacation with visits to the magnificent waterfalls, the amazing rainforest and he was completely fascinated with the wildlife, birds and flowers. This wondrous land, once a British colony in South America, was the birthplace of his parents and he had always been intrigued with its history and its people. Today was a trip to the back dams in the Estate conservancy on the West Coast to fish in the creek. He packed his binoculars, his fishing rod and the hunting knife his father had given him last birthday. It was a long drive and, along the way, in the smooth, dark water of the canal, he saw two caimans. The sugar-cane plants danced in the breeze and wildflowers lined the wayside in their untamed beauty.

The journey up the creek was to Dravid, real awesome. He marvelled at the wide expanses of the serene, cool, black water and the different species of fish. It was almost dusk, when they pulled up at the colonial guest house, where they planned to spend the night. Dravid was tired from the hours of fishing and swimming and all he wanted was a good night`s sleep. He looked out the bedroom window and saw an old, long wooden structure that stretched to the creek. It was a logie, from the Colonial days, where the indentured servants, brought from India, lived as they worked for the master. “This is so interesting,” he thought.
He went to bed with the exciting thought of exploring in the morning.

It was a full moon and the small estate yard was ‘bathed’ in moonlight. The soft growl of a dog came from somewhere near the creek, breaking the still silence. A young Indian boy was standing there holding three hunting dogs on a leash. He stood for a long moment, staring at the house and in a low tone, he said to the dogs, “The time has come.” He had waited for such a long time, that he had almost given up hopes that for eternity he would have to stay in this land. It was the accident that destroyed all his hopes in life that day, during the hunting party, when the master accidentally shot him. His father had already died, making him the guardian of the traditional stone, but when he died the duty of guarding the stone was left unfulfilled. His mother and sisters had left, but he couldn`t leave, until the guardianship was handed over to another. At dusk that day, he saw the boy. As the night wore on, Dravid couldn`t sleep. He was restless and hot. He got up and, looking through the window, saw something really strange.

A young Indian boy stood at the door of the logie, staring intently at the house. He was tall and dark with thick, black hair down to his shoulders, a mysterious figure, indeed. Dravid, curious, as was his nature, crept stealthily out of the house, but when he got to the logie, the boy was gone. The moonlight shone on a tombstone that read, “Rohit, 1848 – 1862.” “Who is Rohit?” he asked softly.
“I am,” said a voice behind him. Dravid turned around, almost startled and stared at the boy, not sure if he was real or a ghost and not wanting to be afraid. “Hey,” he said bravely, “What are you doing here so late?” “I live here,” said the boy.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Dravid said, stepping back a little. “I lived here a long time ago.”
“Why are you still here?”
“I died and can’t leave because I have to guard the stone.”
“What stone?”

The boy turned and walked to the logie. Dravid followed, hesitantly and watched as the boy knelt down on the earthen floor, removing a thick layer of dirt and in his hand, Dravid saw a big, glistening black pearl. “It has always been in this family as a tradition,” said the boy, “The stone has to be protected even with your life. My father, when he died, passed it on to me. I have been waiting here, a very long time, to pass it onto another so I can go home.” The boy rose to his feet and held out the stone to Dravid. “You, Dravid, is the new guardian of the black pearl.”
“How can that be? I’m not family.”

“Yes you are, from a long line of descendants.”
Dravid was stupefied. It seemed so unreal, but the Black Pearl in his hand was as real as life. He stared at it, mesmerized and said, “I will do my best, to keep alive this tradition.” The boy smiled, free now, after so many decades to return home. When Dravid looked up, the boy was gone.
The guardianship was passed on and the tradition of the black pearl was now in his hands until…