Kalkoot- The Lost Himalayan Secret Read online

  Frustrated young men with no direction, spurred on by a milieu where everybody felt entitled and nobody felt accountable. Damini could dispatch them then and there, but it would create a commotion and might wake Ji-hoon Kim up. She could not afford that.

  Hopefully, the backup ACG van stationed in the lane next to Metro Inox would not lose Ji-hoon Kim’s trail.

  So she would play along with the idiots from the SUV. For now.

  ***

  Near Metro Inox, Mumbai

  Two minutes and half-a-kilometre away, a safe enough distance from Shree Motel, the SUV screeched to a halt again. The setting was quite different this time.

  Two of the men, including the one who had tried to tower menacingly in front of Damini, had suffered concussions after trauma to the head. They were unlikely to wake up for another hour.

  The third guy in the rear seat lunged at Damini, only to be unceremoniously silenced by no more than a light tap to his temple.

  Damini had learnt in the first month of training at the ACG that the human body offered enough opportunities to flatten somebody out without resorting to theatrics. This one would not wake up for a couple of hours.

  The fourth man, who was driving the SUV, had panicked and brought it to a halt by the roadside. He had desperately reached for his mobile phone, only to have it hit the dashboard along with his palm, and had begged for mercy as the pain seared through his broken fingers.

  He had just begun crying when he, too, was flattened by a light blow to the side of his head.

  As Damini started walking back to the building opposite Shree Motel, she let a small smirk escape her face. The police constable who had been informed by Damini would have a nice chuckle.

  This wasn’t subtle. But then subtlety wasn’t Damini’s style, and she was proud of that. A subtle person would not last a day in her line of work.

  ‘Bloody distraction,’ she said to herself as she rushed back, hoping that Ji-hoon Kim had not woken up and given her the slip.

  CHAPTER 5

  South Kolkata, Sunday, 8.30 p.m.

  The table lamp shook as Bani got up with a start.

  The rustling sound felt unnervingly close this time. Maybe right outside the window of the study.

  He darted across and peered out of the window in a sudden, swift motion, hoping to take anyone lurking outside by surprise.

  There was a slight nip in the air, signalling the impending arrival of the monsoon, rather early this time. But there was nobody in sight.

  Bani sighed. This was not the first time. He had been hearing strange noises of late, and more than once, had had the feeling of being followed.

  Had the endless hours of solitary work begun to get to him?

  Bani quickly shunned the thought. He was not somebody who succumbed to fear or self-doubt.

  Even through all the ostracisation from the academic community, he had never allowed himself to feel despondent. The only night he had permitted the vulnerability to seep through had been when Muneera had finally left him, taking Tutul with her, having had enough of his erratic work hours and mood swings. He had sat that night by the record player they had lovingly bought together for their first wedding anniversary, listened to his favourite Kishore Kumar hits, and had bawled like a baby.

  But the following morning, he had gone back to the quest that had consumed him all these years. And the previous evening had been filed deep in the alcoves of his memory, far away from his conscious mind.

  As Bani walked back from the window to his study table, he brushed away his fears about being followed. After all, nobody would care to stalk a cranky, old professor with some obscure theories.

  At least not till he made his discovery public.

  ***

  South Kolkata, 9.00 p.m.

  Bani got up from his table again as he heard a rustling sound from the porch. His instinct proved right this time, except that it was no intruder who had caused it.

  It was Mukhshuddi Pal, Bani’s long-time friend. Mukhshuddi Babu, as his neighbours called him, walked with a slight shuffle, and had dreamy eyes that colluded with his signature dull grey shawl to give him a permanent melancholic look. Souvik-da, their common friend, joked that Mukhshuddi seemed straight out of a Satyajit Ray movie.

  Bani and he had been friends from the time they used to play kancha, or marbles, together as kids. He had stuck with him ever since, through thick and thin. Bani, on his part, felt grateful and also enjoyed the fact that Mukhshuddi Babu’s earthy humour would take him away, albeit temporarily, from his preoccupations.

  ***

  Mukhshuddi had a cup of warm chai in his hand. He loved adda, or conversation over chai.

  He looked, fascinated, as Bani moved aside a bunch of hardbound books from his table.

  ‘Bani-da, I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while,’ Mukhshuddi said, adjusting his shawl. ‘What is this thing that you work on with such enthusiasm that it consumes all your days and nights?’

  ‘Hmmm…’ Bani hesitated. Mukhshuddi Babu did not exactly constitute a marquee audience. But he could never say ‘no’ to an audience. Besides, his last guest lecture, over a year ago, had been with the ‘Society for Discussion on Aliens, UFOs, Elvis, the Loch Ness Monster and other Mysteries’. Not exactly Harvard.

  ‘Okay, Mukhshuddi,’ Bani said, settling into his chair and picking up his chai. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  ‘I’m all ears, Bani-da.’

  ‘The story dates back to the turbulent 1930s. The western world was wilting under the Great Depression, and Britain was no exception. It was a period of collapsing industry, spiralling unemployment and hunger marches. Against that backdrop, a difference in opinion started developing in Britain as to what was to be done with India, the jewel in the crown of the British Empire.’

  Mukhshuddi slurped while drinking his chai, smiling sheepishly as he realised that the sound was rather pronounced.

  Bani continued: ‘Some elements in British society, including some in the Labour Party, felt that Britain’s policy should gradually move towards self-governance by Indians. This march towards Indian self-determination gained impetus with the somewhat conciliatory Gandhi-Irwin Pact of 1931, and also with the British parliament recognising the autonomy of Indian provinces in 1935.’

  Mukhshuddi nodded, though the references to the Labour Party and Irwin seemed only vaguely familiar.

  ‘There were sections—powerful sections—in Britain that felt otherwise, and were alarmed by this growing phenomenon of what they perceived as “rats gnawing at the foundations of the British Empire”. They were firm believers in the notion of racial superiority of the British, the “White Man’s Burden”, as Kipling called it.’

  Bani noted that this had piqued Mukhshuddi’s interest. ‘This was when some of the more extreme elements among these sections came together and set up a clandestine organisation.’

  As Mukhshuddi leaned forward attentively, Bani continued: ‘These extreme elements comprised certain influential members of the British political class, the civil services and the armed forces. They called this secret organisation the “Imperial Guard”. Until twelve years ago, the existence of this organisation was unknown to the world, but thanks to the efforts of a certain professor from Kolkata, that is no longer the case.’

  Mukhshuddi stared blankly at Bani for a few seconds, then suddenly lit up as realisation dawned on him. ‘Bani-da, you!?’

  Bani could not suppress a satisfied smile.

  ‘Wah, Bani-da, I never knew,’ Mukhshuddi beamed. ‘How did you uncover the existence of this organisation?’

  ‘I went through tens of thousands of pages of correspondence, speeches, letters, meeting minutes and file notings by British bureaucrats, politicians and other government officials, before I discerned a coordinated pattern of lobbying. The Imperial Guard had covered their tracks well, which made my job quite challenging. Finally, twelve years ago, I was able to decisively prove to the international academic community that the invisible h
and of the Imperial Guard had influenced many of the British government’s decisions of that era.’

  ‘What sort of decisions were these?’

  ‘To begin with, these were subtle pushes to the British government’s decisions, such as stalling tactics on self-governance.’

  Bani continued: ‘But then, in 1941, the tide turned sharply, and the Imperial Guard got more desperate. Hitler had invaded Russia, and the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbour. Meanwhile, pressure was mounting on Britain from its allies—the US and China—to favourably consider Indian demands for self-governance. Churchill, the diehard imperialist, was forced to send Stafford Cripps to India with a conciliatory proposal.’

  ‘Was Churchill a member of the Imperial Guard?’ Mukhshuddi asked.

  ‘Tantalising thought,’ Bani said. ‘Churchill is reported to have said “I hate Indians” and described us as a “beastly people”. And he did more than his share of damage, ruthlessly dismissing requests for help during the Bengal Famine, instead reportedly asking, “Why hasn’t Gandhi died yet?” But we really don’t know if Churchill was a member of the Imperial Guard.’

  Mukhshuddi grimaced. ‘I never did like the British.’

  Bani stopped himself just as he began to reply. As with most things, the truth about British rule was more nuanced than that, but he was not sure he would be able to communicate that to Mukhshuddi.

  ‘Anyway, back to the story,’ he continued. ‘The war, meanwhile, had lurched in dangerous directions. Japanese forces took control of Philippines, Malaya and Hong Kong, and within a few months Singapore and Burma had fallen from British hands into the Japanese.’

  Mukhshuddi nodded.

  ‘Then the Quit India Movement was announced in August 1942, and that was the last straw for the Imperial Guard. Coming in the middle of the war, they viewed this as an act of audacity by the Indian subjects. And yet, the Imperial Guard realised that the tide was irreversibly turning towards Indian independence. And thus, what was hitherto a loose agglomeration of like-minded people turned into something more sinister.’

  Mukhshuddi’s hand, holding the cup, froze in mid-air as he intently waited for Bani’s next words.

  ‘The Imperial Guard got their idea from something that the British did in the coastal districts of India in anticipation of the Japanese invasion in 1942. They destroyed thousands of houses, crops, wells, bridges, boats, bicycles and the like, so that none of these would be of any use to the Japanese in case they attacked India. In war, this is known as the “scorched earth” policy.’

  Bani picked up the kettle to refill Mukhshuddi’s cup.

  ‘From then on, the policy of the Imperial Guard was one of destruction. If they could not continue ruling India, they wanted to make sure it was reduced to rubble. Their invisible hand was at play in matters of policy, except this time it had a more destructive sweep. All major Indian leaders were imprisoned in the wake of the announcement of the Quit India Movement, and the movement itself was put down with ruthless force. Arthur Hope, the Madras Governor, asked for Gandhi to be deported to Mauritius or Kenya and reportedly wrote, “If he fasts, let it not be known. If he dies, announce it six months later.”’

  Mukhshuddi sighed.

  ‘And yet that was not the last straw. It is now widely accepted that the extent of damage caused by the Bengal Famine of 1943 and 1944 was largely the result of Britain’s faulty policies at the time. The diversion of food grain for Britain’s military needs, the refusal to send wheat to India and redirection of ships which could have been used to import foodgrain, all came together in a deadly cocktail, culminating in over three million deaths. And behind many of these policies and decisions was the same hand of the Imperial Guard.’

  A shocked Mukhshuddi said nothing. He had heard stories from this father of the horrors of that time.

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ Bani said abruptly, always emotionally overwhelmed when the topic of the Bengal Famine came up.

  ***

  South Kolkata, Sunday, 9.40 p.m.

  ‘So, you uncovered the existence of this Imperial Guard twelve years ago,’ Mukhshuddi was saying. ‘What have you been working on since then?’

  Bani paused. That was the point where his departure from the international academic circuit had begun. ‘Something I came across during my work on the Imperial Guard caught my attention.’

  Mukhshuddi perked up.

  ‘In the hills of what is known as Uttarakhand today, there lived a man named Manohar Rai. He was an ardent follower of Gandhi, and he coordinated activities in the region as part of the freedom struggle. He seems to have led an unremarkable life, largely following orders and organising protests. Yet, between 1942 and 1944, something interesting happened to this man, who was then already in his seventies.’

  Mukhshuddi was listening intently.

  ‘In August 1942, during the Quit India Movement, thousands of freedom fighters were arrested, including all the luminaries, many of whom were not permitted access to the outside world. Overnight, the freedom struggle lost all its leaders, and it was left to second and third rung leaders to carry on the struggle on their own. Many of them went underground to carry on the struggle from secret hideouts.’

  ‘Wow,’ Mukhshuddi exclaimed.

  ‘Indeed,’ Bani said. ‘There are many stories of intrigue and courage from those times. For example, Usha Mehta, a woman from Bombay, set up a secret radio station which broadcast speeches from the likes of Ram Manohar Lohia. With the British hunting desperately for them, she and her compatriots had to move locations every day.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ Mukhshuddi said.

  Bani continued. ‘Anyway, coming back to the story, Manohar Rai, too, went underground. He functioned from a hideout in what is now Uttarakhand. That was when he came upon a secret which altered everything for him.’

  ‘What was this secret?’

  ‘He got to know of a plan by the Imperial Guard to “wreck India before the Empire leaves”. We do not know how Manohar got this information, but what we do know is that this plan of the Imperial Guard involved two legs.’

  Bani bit his lips as soon as he said this. He ought not to reveal too much, even to Mukhshuddi.

  He continued quickly, ‘The Imperial Guard’s plan was to destroy or desecrate iconic signs of Indian civilisation, including artefacts, manuscripts, sculptures and paintings of profound historical significance. The objective was to undermine India’s cultural roots so that they would strike at the heart of Indian civilisation. They wanted to seek out and destroy every single such sign, so that, in their words, “The beastly natives could realise the triviality of their culture and bow forever before the splendour and grandeur of western civilisation.”’

  ‘Wow, Bani-da,’ Mukhshuddi exclaimed. ‘Quite sweeping.’

  ‘The academic community didn’t think so. They dismissed Manohar as a person of no consequence in history, and this plot as being a figment of his imagination.’

  Bani could still remember the numerous guest lectures and conferences to which he had been invited post the Imperial Guard discovery. He had been detached from the accolades and felicitations, choosing instead to be fascinated with Manohar’s secret discovery. The fascination had soon turned into an obsession, and that was when the guest lecture invitations had started dropping.

  ‘Manohar wrote about this plot in a letter to a fellow revolutionary, intending that in case he was captured, the knowledge of this plot should not die with him. This letter, unfortunately, never reached the intended recipient, who had died in a gunfight. I found the envelope unopened during the course of combing numerous records during my researches.’

  ‘Bani-da, now you are reminding me of Feluda,’ Mukhshuddi quipped, referring to the popular detective in Satyajit Ray’s series. ‘Anyway, what was the second leg of the Imperial Guard’s plot?’

  Bani’s heart skipped a beat. Mukhshuddi, his slowness notwithstanding, had not overlooked the slip.

  ‘Uhh…,’ he stammered, h
is mind quickly conjuring up an explanation. ‘Just that this plot to destroy the iconic signs of Indian civilisation was to be implemented in two stages.’

  Bani continued. ‘The letter mentions a few more interesting things. With all the senior leaders in jail, Manohar had to take matters into his own hands. He spent most of 1943 travelling the length and breadth of the country, visiting museums and private collections, painstakingly collecting rare manuscripts and artefacts. These artefacts went right back to the Indus Valley and Vedic times to the Mauryan period, the Gupta regime and the Mughal reign. In other words, an uninterrupted series of manuscripts, artefacts and paintings dating back over four thousand years, a veritable treasure trove for a historian.’

  ‘That’s why you have been smitten by this,’ Mukhshuddi nodded, slowly comprehending.

  Bani smiled sheepishly. He had been smitten by history ever since Professor Mitra had, many years ago, taken him through the portals of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.

  ‘How did Manohar manage to do all this alone?’ Mukhshuddi asked. ‘You said he had lived a pretty unremarkable life.’

  Bani looked up, startled. Mukhshuddi was not just listening, he was thinking, too.

  ‘That, Mukhshuddi, is the most interesting part.’

  CHAPTER 6

  South Kolkata, Sunday, 10 p.m.

  ‘Continue, Bani-da,’ Mukhshuddi said. ‘What was the magic wand that enabled the unremarkable Manohar to accomplish this mammoth task?’

  Mukhshuddi was sitting on the edge of his seat. Bani could not escape a smug smile as he continued: ‘I spent many years following up on every conceivable lead on any freedom fighters who, in the 1940s, had ever been to what constitutes Uttarakhand, Uttar Pradesh and Himachal Pradesh today. I sifted through personal belongings, museums, government archives, post office records, private correspondences, diaries and interviewed hundreds of family members. Some interesting things emerged—a pattern of awed whispers.’

  ‘What whispers?’ Mukhshuddi asked, himself involuntarily speaking in a hushed tone.

  ‘About a young man of extraordinary capabilities, who was probably just around twenty years old at the time.’