The Adventures of Kakababu

PREFACE

Ionce saw a man limping towards the summit of a very high hill. It didn’t look like the limp was slowing him down. I was young then, about the same age Shontu is in this story. The immense strength of the man’s will had a profound impact on me. It was then that I realized that no matter what the circumstances, with enough confidence and determination, nothing in this world is insurmountable.

My character, ‘Kakababu’, is modelled on that man. His nephew, Shontu, has inherited his uncle’s strength of character. Despite his youth, fear is not Shontu’s first response to trouble.

I should add here that Kakababu is not a detective. He does not solve robberies or murders. Seldom-visited places in obscure, faraway corners are his favourite haunts, and a determination to solve ancient mysteries is what keeps him going.

CONTENTS

Preface

The Emperor’s Lost Head

King of the Emerald Isle

About the Book

About the Authors

Copyright

THE EMPEROR’S LOST HEAD

ORIGINAL TITLE: BHOYONKOR SHUNDOR

FIRST PUBLISHED: 1979

CHAPTER 1

Everyone else goes to the hills to have a good time. Me? I came to the hills to sit around holding one end of a measuring tape. Noting down the length and breadth of stones – that was my big adventure. Kakababu, my father’s younger brother, held one end of the tape. My job was to walk around, dragging it further and further away till it was stretched taut. I have no idea what purpose the incessant measuring served, but it seemed to be very important to my uncle, so I did it.

Kakababu calls me Shontu, but that’s just my nickname. My proper name is Shunondo Roychoudhuri. Now that I am in class eight, Kakababu has finally accepted that I’m old enough to accompany him on his bi-annual trips to out-of-the-way places, instead of holidaying with the rest of the family.

This particular morning had dawned clear and bright. We hadn’t seen a shred of fog since dawn, and the sunshine had cleaned out the last cobwebs of mist. The place we were in had a clear view of the distant peaks, capped in snow and glittering in the sun. It was impossible to look directly at the peaks at this hour – they were blindingly bright. But if one turned away slightly and then sneaked a sideways glance at them from under one’s palm, they looked like glittering crowns of molten gold atop a mountain.

Today would have been perfect for sightseeing. But Kakababu, of course, had no interest in either sightseeing or the wonderful weather. When he saw that I was awake, he merely said, ‘Shontu, we’ll go towards Sonmarg today. Make sure you pack all our equipment.’

‘But we have already been to Sonmarg, Kakababu,’ I protested. ‘Do we really have to go back?’

‘Yes. It’s a promising place. That’s where we will have to base most of our work.’

I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice. ‘Kakababu … won’t we go to Srinagar?’

‘No, no, no point,’ Kakababu replied distractedly, cleaning his glasses. ‘Srinagar is useless. Water everywhere you look. And crowds! Awful place.’

This would be the fourteenth day that we had spent in Kashmir, and I still hadn’t laid eyes on Srinagar! Can you believe that? The first-boy of our class, Dipawnkor, had come to Kashmir at the end of the last school year. It had been a special present from his father – a reward for coming first in class yet again. Throughout this year, he had spoken constantly about the splendours of Kashmir, and about the many amazing things that one couldn’t find anywhere else. So when Kakababu offered to take me along on his trip to Kashmir, I jumped at the chance! Finally, after hearing about it for a year, I’d actually be able to see a real houseboat! Maybe, if my uncle could be convinced, we could even stay on one? Dipawnkor’s best stories had been about the houseboats. They were magical to begin with – an entire house, but inside a boat! But when night fell, and people lit the yellow lamps inside the houseboats, Dipawnkor said that the lake looked like a slice of fairyland: darkness set ablaze with hundreds of floating, golden lights.

And here’s the truly amazing thing about houseboats: they couldn’t take one around the lake, even though they were boats. That was the price they paid for being so large and comfortable – for being like a real house. Smaller row boats, called shikaras, came to one’s houseboat to pick one up. These would then slice through the transparent waters of the Dal Lake to take you wherever you wanted to go. Nehru Gardens, Chashma Shahi, Mughal Gardens … these could go anywhere.

Dipawnkor had made it clear, through his many, many stories, that if anyone was lucky enough to visit Kashmir, then they must spend as much time as they could in Srinagar, preferably on a houseboat. So naturally, when Kakababu said he was going to Kashmir, I assumed we would be spending most of our time in Srinagar, if not all of it. But more than half the holiday was already over, and I was beginning to believe that there would be no visits to Srinagar in this trip at all. I would have to go back to Calcutta without seeing anything of the real Kashmir – the things that people came to see. Imagine telling everyone in school that you spent your summer holidays in Kashmir sitting in Sonmarg, measuring stones!

Of course, I’m not saying that the places we visited so far weren’t interesting on their own. Pahalgam, the place we were staying in at the moment, was actually quite a nice place. It would have been perfect for a day or two, maybe even three. The river Lidder burbled through the area, and we were surrounded by snow-capped peaks on all sides. They turned a magnificent shade of golden twice a day: once at dawn and once at dusk. Also, since Pahalgam was an important stop on the way to Amarnath, there were always lots of people on the streets, including foreign tourists. This made strolling about the place quite interesting. Some people I had met here had even told me that Pahalgam was a better place to be in than Srinagar! I didn’t quite believe them, though. Pahalgam didn’t have a lake, so it didn’t have houseboats. And what could be better than floating all day on a boat that was also a house?

The other reason I had actually been enjoying our stay in Pahalgam was that Kakababu and I had rented a tent to live in. No one in my entire school had ever stayed in a tent. Even if I didn’t get to see Srinagar before we returned, I’d at least be able to tell people that I had spent a whole fortnight camping in the wilds of Kashmir, right next to the burbling Lidder. That would be an experience worth talking about, houseboat or no houseboat.

Our tent was small, but quite comfortable. It had two narrow beds – one for Kakababu and one for me. When we dropped the curtains at night, the space inside felt just like a room. The tent came with a small, private enclosure in the corner, that we mostly used for changing clothes. I was told many people even cooked their own food in these tents. I don’t know what that experience would have been like, for our food came from a nearby hotel.

The place we were camping in was deserted, but not exactly quiet. For as long as I was awake, even at night, I could hear the gurgling of the swift-flowing stream and the piercing calls of nocturnal birds. On occasion, I had been startled out of sleep by the sound of people talking inside the tent. The first couple of times, I was alarmed and had scrambled to light my bedside torch. Eventually, though, I got used to it. There were never any real intruders in the tent, only Kakababu talking in his sleep. Sometimes, he talked in two different voices, arguing fluently with himself while still fast asleep. It wasn’t exactly scary, but it did make the hair at the back of my neck stand up. Luckily, all I had to do to make it stop was nudge Kakababu. He moved a little, resettled on the bedding, and usually slept in silence for the rest of the night.

Unlike my uncle, I was not a morning person. During exams, I could stay up practically the whole night to study, but I could never get up in the morning. In Pahalgam’s cold, I found it harder than usual, especially since the bed had been warmed throughout the night by three blankets and a hot-water bottle. But it was impossible to have a lie-in while travelling with Kakababu. By the time I opened my eyes, he would almost always have bathed, shaved and dressed, and be waiting for me. So as soon as I woke up this morning, I forced myself to jump out of bed and run around the tent a few times to warm myself up. After I was washed and dressed, the two of us had our tea and breakfast, and headed towards the river. Our things stayed in the tent. There was practically no pilfering or thievery in Kashmir. There were, however—as we later found out—secret groups of dacoits.

Crossing the little wooden bridge over the river, we reached the side with people and shops. Despite the early hour, the roads were thronging with tourists and locals, their brightly coloured clothing flashing against the snow. Boys in charge of horses were yelling out rates for rides. It would have been fun to go all the way to Sonmarg on a horse, I thought. But Kakababu wouldn’t have been comfortable on horseback for such a long time.

Two years back, while still working for the Archaeological Survey of India, Kakababu had had an accident and hurt one of his legs quite badly. He had been in a remote location when the accident happened, and by the time his colleagues managed to bring him to a city hospital, the leg was beyond all repair. So now, though still quite strong, Kakababu could no longer ride horses, climb trees or swim as easily as he once did. In fact, he now needed a pair of crutches just to walk. The only good thing to have come out of his accident—at least as far as I was concerned—was that he retired from his job and relocated from Delhi to the ground floor of our house in Calcutta. I could now see him whenever I wanted, instead of waiting for him to visit. He still went on trips, of course, but only once or twice a year. This was the first time he had let me come with him, and honestly, I was already wondering how he ever managed without me in these last two years.

During the first few days of this trip, we had had a Government of India Jeep at our disposal. It had made life so much easier! But my uncle had always been very reluctant to ‘accept favours’, as he put it. He had sent the Jeep back after just three days. ‘Given the work we do, it’s easier for us to walk or ride than be saddled with a Jeep,’ he had told me, by way of explanation.

But I knew him better than that. He sent the Jeep back because he didn’t want to be beholden to whoever had arranged for it. So, instead of travelling comfortably in our own vehicle, here we were – scrambling with two heavy bags, panting as we made our way to the bus stop through the early morning crowds.

Just as we rounded the corner to the bus stop, I saw the first bus of the day disappear around the bend in the road ahead. We had missed the first bus to Sonmarg by seconds! The next bus would be a full hour away, and though bright and cloudless, the morning was also excruciatingly cold.

Kakababu, surprisingly, didn’t seem too perturbed. He gestured at the man sitting in front of a sweet shop, lifting a batch of dark golden jalebis out of bubbling liquid ghee.

‘A big breakfast to pass the time, eh, Shontu?’ he said, smiling slightly.

I let him lead the way to the shop.

CHAPTER 2

We had almost finished breakfast when a deep voice boomed behind me.

‘Professor sa’ab! Where are you off to today?’

Kakababu looked up from his tea. There was no welcome on his stern face. But Sucha Singh, local transportation king and owner of the booming voice, pulled up a chair at our table anyway.

‘So, which way today, Professor sa’ab?’ he asked again.

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ Kakababu replied curtly, draining his cup.

‘Have another cuppa with me while you decide,’ Sucha Singh said jovially. ‘I have cars going off in every possible direction. A driver will drop you wherever you want to go.’

Kakababu pushed his empty cup away. ‘Thanks,’ he said, taking a cigar out of his pocket, ‘but we’ll stay in Pahalgam today. A car is not necessary.’

Sucha Singh glanced at the bags at my feet. I had a feeling he didn’t believe Kakababu. But instead of pursuing the matter, he leaned closer.

‘Have you found anything yet, Professor?’ he whispered.

Kakababu released a puff of smoke. ‘Found what?’

‘The thing you’ve come this far to look for!’

For a brief moment, I noticed a faraway look flit through Kakababu’s eyes. ‘No, I haven’t,’ he murmured absent-mindedly. ‘I doubt I ever will.’

‘Then why limp all over the mountains on your own? Write to the government, Professor sa’ab! Let them set up base and do the hard work. You just lord it over them as supervisor. Eh? What do you think?’

I didn’t like it when people made fun of Kakababu or took jabs at his disability. I began to dislike the jovial Mr Singh. But Kakababu didn’t seem bothered by his boorishness.

‘You’re right, Singhji,’ he said. ‘This terrain isn’t easy for me. But the shame of failing to find a sizeable sulphur mine, after making the government pay for its search, would be far harder for me to bear.’

‘The government wouldn’t care, Professor sa’ab, so why should you? No pain, no gain – isn’t that how the saying goes? Governments understand that, hah hah! Anyway, even if you do discover a mine, all by yourself – the government will promptly swoop in and take it away from you. So why live the hard life? Where’s the profit in it?’

‘Not everyone works for profit,’ Kakababu said, a little stiffly. ‘Prospecting is part of what I was trained to do. I enjoy it.’

‘Bengalis enjoy the strangest things,’ Sucha Singh said, shaking his head in mock-bafflement. ‘No practicality – that’s the trouble with you people. Just last year, I learnt that the first Tata factory was actually set up by a Bengali. But does anyone even know his name? No. They think the Tatas did it all. Then what was the point of his work? Listen to me, Raichaudhri sa’ab. I came this morning to offer you something amazing, something that you will actually be remembered for. Forget this sulphur mine nonsense. There is something much bigger under Kashmiri soil.’ He lowered his voice. ‘A gold mine. It’s hidden somewhere right beneath our feet. I’ll supply you with whatever you need – people, cars, everything. All you have to do is find it for me.’

Kakababu leaned forward. ‘A gold mine? Really? Are you absolutely sure?’

Sucha Singh grinned broadly at his show of interest. ‘Absolutely sure,’ he said confidently. ‘I have a man in these parts – Mustafa Bashir Khan. Old man now, but still sharp. And completely trustworthy. He says his grandfather found the mine while digging somewhere near Martand. He can show us the approximate place.’

Kakababu sat back on his chair. ‘There you are, then. Take Khan sa’ab along and get the gold for yourself. You don’t need me.’

‘Wrong! You’re the one I need the most. Bashir is old, and neither of us has your degrees or expertise. He will show you the general area, then you can locate the mine. What do you say, Raichaudhri sa’ab? Isn’t that better than running after mere sulphur?’

‘I would say it is exactly the same,’ said Kakababu calmly, though I could sense irritation building in him. ‘All discoveries under Indian soil, as you said yourself, belong to the central government. Even if you find the mine, the government will take charge of your gold, just as it will my sulphur.’

‘Let them take charge! We can take what little we need before we notify them, can’t we? This is a win-win, Professor sa’ab. Name, fame, and wealth!’

Kakababu grimaced.

‘Are you done, Shontu?’ he asked me, crisply. ‘We must get going.’

‘I just need to fill the flasks,’ I said, reaching for the water jug on the table. Kakababu nodded. Then he turned to Sucha Singh.

‘Do you think,’ he said, enunciating each word with deliberate slowness, ‘that gold lies under the ground in chunks, just waiting for people to pick it up? Even if your man is right and there is gold under Kashmir, it will never be worth your while to sponsor a full expedition and purification, especially since you want to steal public property. Do you understand?’

Sucha Singh’s face tightened. For a moment, I thought he was about to retort sharply, but then he forced a smile on his lips.

‘Well, at least let me give you a lift,’ he offered.

Instead of replying, Kakababu simply turned around and walked out of the sweet shop.

The next instant, I found one of Sucha Singh’s strong hands gripping my upper arm. ‘What about you, Beta?’ he asked, his joviality fully restored. ‘Where is your uncle taking you today? I bet it isn’t fun to ride buses on these bumpy roads. Wouldn’t you just love to have a car to drive you around? Maybe it can even drive you to Srinagar, hmm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

I would have liked that very much. But I hadn’t liked it when Singhji had cruelly pointed out my uncle’s limp, and I certainly didn’t like how hard he was holding my arm. Shaking my head vigorously, I wrenched myself from his grasp and raced after Kakababu.

The exchange managed to ruin the morning for me. There was still some time left for the bus, but we couldn’t very well go back to the bus stop to wait – not after telling Sucha Singh we had no plans to leave Pahalgam. So we went in the other direction, carrying the heavy bags with us. Sometimes I really wished adults took their own advice about always telling the truth. And I wasn’t just talking about the silly lie about spending the day in Pahalgam. Take the matter of the sulphur mines. I loved my uncle very much, but for a few days now, I’d been wondering if he had told me the real reason for his visit to Kashmir. After a few days on the ground, his story—that we were here to find underground deposits of sulphur—had begun to wear a little thin. I mean, could one really discover a sulphur mine by measuring snow-covered rocks on the surface of the earth? Perhaps my uncle didn’t want to tell me the truth because he felt that I was too young to understand it. But I wasn’t a child. I was in class eight this year!

I wished he’d tell me why we were really in Kashmir.

Just as I was wondering how I could politely phrase a question about the matter, a familiar face bobbed into view amongst the crowds ahead.

‘Just a second, Kakababu,’ I called out to my uncle. Then, putting the bags down, I waved at the group. ‘Snigdha-di! Snigdha-di! Here, this way!’

‘Who is Snigdha?’ I heard Kakababu say, but I was already running towards a group of three that had detached itself from the crowd – a man, a woman and a girl.

‘It’s Shontu!’ the girl exclaimed, clearly surprised.

‘So it is!’ said the man. ‘What a surprise, Shontu! Where are your parents?’

‘They’re home,’ I panted, grinning broadly. ‘I am here with Kakababu – you