The Oriental Casebook of Sherlock Holmes: Nine Adventures from the Lost Years

by Ted Riccardi

  She appeared even more frightened than before. “Will he harm my husband?”

  “Not until he finds what he is after. That he is not already far away in another country plotting other misdeeds tells me only one thing: that he has yet to find his prize. Perhaps he needs your husband to find it, perhaps to identify it. In any case, it is imperative that I talk to Mukherjee, and that I go to find your husband.”

  “Only if I go with you.” She uttered the last few words with such firmness that Holmes decided not to try to dissuade her.

  “I do not think it wise for you to come, but I shall not try to stop you if you insist. In any case, I should like to meet with Mukherjee as soon as possible,” Holmes said.

  Mukherjee had not yet left Benares, and appeared at Holmes’s hotel within the hour. He struck Holmes favorably as soon as he began to speak, he told me, and Holmes knew at least in this case that Smith had chosen well. He knew intimately the areas of the Tarai which he and Holmes must visit, and had some clear ideas of where Smith might be. He brought with him detailed maps. Holmes took the risk once again of identifying himself. Mukherjee seemed unimpressed, which Holmes found a distinct relief from the normal reaction. He proceeded without interruption.

  “As you know, Mr. Holmes, that area of the Tarai is very difficult, and we have only begun our archaeological explorations there. The Nepalese Ranas for many years were quite rigid on this point: no entry under any circumstances. For some reason, however, they relented recently, and allowed this expedition.”

  Holmes told me he smiled at those words, for it was obvious to him that some minor figure in the Rana palace had been enticed by Furer with promises of great rewards, and had wheedled what he wanted out of the Maharajah.

  “A system of rewards is at work here, Mr. Mukherjee, and I don’t doubt that Furer will have promised to share his booty with various individuals. Who is the Rana in charge?”

  “The area is under the jurisdiction of General Khadga Shamsher, who has absented himself most of the time on shikar. He was present when the first discovery was made: that of the Asoka pillar at Rummindei. That discovery, as you know, identified that small village as the birthplace of the Buddha. But the General quickly lost interest and allowed Fordham to continue without supervision.”

  “I happen to know Khadga Shamsher,” Holmes replied, “and my guess is that despite his absence, he is well aware of developments through the usual invisible network of spies. Furer’s problems will mount as he gets closer to his quarry, for he will have the Ranas moving closer to him, and we will of course move from here. But tell me first what you found when you arrived on your inspection tour.”

  Mukherjee pointed to the map. “The area of exploration is this, Mr. Holmes, circled in red. It is the area between the village of Rummindei, the birthplace of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, and Tilaurakot, the village that probably contains the remains of his father’s city. It is between these two sites that the initial investigations were to be made. Once he had made a preliminary survey in this area, Fordham made brief forays in every direction. In several places, he found substantial ruins, which, unfortunately for the future of archaeological exploration, he destroyed in what appears to have been a major hunt for unknown treasures. All the sites have been destroyed in whole or in part. Knowing the nature of Buddhist ruins, however, I may say that he has misjudged, for it is rare that anything of worth is contained in them.”

  “And yet,” Holmes said, “he continues to look for something, something perhaps of enormous value, which would compel him to stay despite the dangerous circumstances. Something keeps him there, this rogue orientalist.”

  “I have an idea, Mr. Holmes, but it is only a suggestion.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The Piprahwa casket.”

  “And what is that, pray tell?”

  “There is an ancient tradition, still current among Buddhists, Mr. Holmes, that after the Council of Kashmir sometime in the first century B.C., the emperor Kanishka journeyed to the birthplace of the Buddha and left a gift in memory of his visit, a casket in which jewels of the greatest value were placed, jewels which formed part of the royal Kushan collection. At the same time, relics of the Buddha himself, were placed with them in a small cloth sack. The casket was first held in veneration at a stupa near Rummindei, but later it was moved to the city of Kapilavastu, which is where the Buddha grew into manhood and journeyed forth in search of enlightenment.”

  “You may be right, my dear Mukherjee. The jewels themselves would be of the greatest value, but, more than that, to have relics of the Buddha himself would add an inestimable fortune to Furer’s plunderings, particularly if they were to be sold to a rich Buddhist in some foreign country. So Furer lurks, hides, plunders until he finds what he wants. Having Smith as a hostage gives him the time that he needs to do that. And perhaps the information that he needs as well. Tell me, my dear Mukherjee, where is Kapilavastu?”

  “No one knows exactly, Mr. Holmes, but my best guess is that it would be near the village of Tilaurakot, a village that lies just beyond the Nepalese border.”

  “Would Smith share this opinion?”

  “We discussed the identification many times, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that Vincent Smith is of the same view. We have long kept our opinion to ourselves, however, for we are well aware of the problems that such knowledge could create should it fall into the wrong hands. Knowing Vincent Smith as I do, I doubt if he would release any opinion to Fordham even under the most trying of circumstances.”

  “Let us assume that Smith is in Furer’s hands and that he would not give Furer any information even if he were forced to submit to severe physical punishment. But suppose Smith thought that his wife were in danger, then would he provide Furer with the information?”

  “I believe that he would, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Then I believe that she should leave immediately for Kapilavastu, or Tilaurakot, since I am sure that it exists by its ancient name on no map and is known to no one save the antiquarians. And I should go with her. It is there and perhaps only there that we shall confront Furer.”

  “I will not stay behind, Mr. Holmes. My duty is to Mr. Smith.”

  “I was about to say that you could be of inestimable help in our adventure, Mr. Mukherjee, as you have been so far. Yes. indeed, you must come, you must accompany Mrs. Smith. And I shall travel by a different route.”

  Holmes continued his narrative. “I outlined my plan to Mukherjee and then to Mrs. Smith, who seemed overjoyed at the thought of leaving Benares and the prospect of locating her husband. I was less sanguine, however, knowing that Furer was a hardened criminal, capable of any treachery and cruelty. Indeed, there was always the grim possibility that Furer would find whatever he was searching for before we arrived. In that case, I was sure that he would not hesitate to murder Smith and leave his corpse to feed the jackals of the Tarai. But we had no alternative at this point. I instructed Mukherjee that he should travel with Mrs. Smith by the most direct route to Rummindei and that we would rendezvous there in two days. I would travel separately and in disguise, but I would never be very far away.

  “It was by now late in the day. Mukherjee decided that he and Mrs. Smith should leave at once, in time to take the next train to Gorakhpur, thus enabling them to take the last boat crossing across the northern rivers that evening. In so doing, he thought that they could easily reach the village of Besarh by the next day, and thereby possibly reaching Rummindei in two days. I bade them good-bye in the garden of the hotel, notified the hotelier that I wished to keep my room for several weeks, but that I would be travelling and expected to return only after an indeterminate period.

  “I waited a few minutes, then slipped into the night wearing the loose shirt and trousers worn by Indian men. It was disguise enough, and it would at least facilitate my movements when it grew dark. I hailed a tonga that took me to the train station at Mughal Sarai. There, I boarded the same train that Mrs. Smith and Dr. Mukherjee we
re taking. By the time the train reached Gorakhpur, night had fallen completely. As I alighted, I looked back and saw my two friends watching the coolies as they unloaded their baggage. I headed due north on foot, till I saw the river. Ahead of me, except for an occasional fire, there was only darkness. In the growing blackness, I crossed the Gandak in a small craft. When we reached the other side, I asked the boatman to direct me to some horses and a guide, for I told him that I must travel by night. He could take me to the horses, but no one would travel by night, he said, for the fear of dacoits (bandits) was too great. When we got to the horses, I found that the owner was reluctant to give them without a scout. I found myself, Watson, constantly wasting time in negotiations when every minute counted.

  “Luckily, finding one turned out to be easier than I expected. A traveller, on his way to his home near Bariyarpur, had stopped for the night at the local inn next to where the horses were stabled. He overheard my bargaining. He knew the trail well but was fearful of travelling alone. He agreed to go with me, though my haste made him wonder what my mission was. I promised the owner that the horses would be returned within a few days, and that we would leave them with his agent in Rummindei.

  “Just as we were to leave, the traveller, one Bala Ram by name, suggested that I change my clothes for darker colors. He also held out to me a jar in which there was a dark, viscous oil. He smiled, with a gleam in his eye, and told me to cover my head, neck, and arms with it, since it would not only darken my skin but would make it impossible for anyone to hold on to me should we run into dacoits. This ointment had saved his life many a time, he said. I did as he told me, for we were entering the most dangerous part of the Subcontinent and his suggestions were most prudent ones.

  “I liked Bala Ram immediately. He was a large-boned man, with a big head covered with thick black hair, greying at the temples. He had a round, protruding stomach and spindly legs, but he moved quickly and with grace. His eyes gleamed in the dark and I could see his large white teeth when he laughed, which was often. He appeared to no longer fear the journey.

  “It was after ten when we set off. The road, a narrow, dusty, shadowy, dirt path lay in front of us and was all that we could see. On both sides was the dark brush and then the jungle, its tall trees almost invisible in the dark. The stars were bright, but there was no moon as yet, and a jungle mist soon began to form. The horses were apparently used to such conditions, for they trotted, sure of their ground. Soon the rhythmic sound of their hoofs was all that could be heard.

  “After about an hour’s ride, my guide bade me stop. We had come to a river, almost dry by now except for a small stream of water at its centre. He suggested that we follow the riverbed for a time westward, then turn north again on another road. This one would lead us to Rummindei more quickly. There was a direct road from there to Kapilavastu.

  “Riding along the side of the riverbed was slower because there were many rocks which the horses had to dodge, but our progress was good nevertheless. The path to Rummindei appeared as a small break in the forest, which Bala Ram recognised instantly, and we turned upon it, proceeding now in a northerly direction. The road widened a few yards past the riverbed and the horses trotted along happily enough in the night air. We were now in a meadow in which there was nothing but elephant grass, or so it seemed in what now was a silver moonlight. Three hours later, after a short rest stop, we reached the outskirts of Rummindei. Here we alighted from our mounts to rest before proceeding ahead.

  “Bala Ram had packed some provisions and, after preparing a small fire, he warmed our simple food and we ate heartily. It was by now one or two in the morning. Bala Ram counseled that we rest for a few hours and start out again just before dawn. Tired from the long trip, I agreed.

  “As we prepared for bed, Bala Ram told me much about himself. I learned that he was no ordinary citizen of the region, but indeed was a local raja of sorts. He came from an ancient family of mountain kings, but his father had been exiled from the hills by his enemies and sent to the Tarai in the hope that he and his family would die of the terrible diseases and climate. But they survived and, indeed, prospered. Bala Ram succeeded his father as the major zamindar in the area. He travelled often to visit his various lands, and he always travelled simply, and alone, as a common man, to learn what transpired in the region. In this way, he had obtained the affection and loyalty of all who lived on his land. He spoke several languages and could communicate easily with the lowliest castes as well as the highest Brahmin.

  “And who are you, and what is your mission?” he asked. I told him who I was and my reasons for travelling in the region.

  Bala Ram’s face grew grave in the flickering light of the fire.

  “You have a difficult mission,” he said. “I have seen this man, this Anthony Fordham, as you call him. ‘Mardan’ he is called by the people, or the ‘gift of death.’ He has pillaged everywhere, destroyed temples, reduced villages to ashes, taken the people’s gods and sent them away. He has at his disposal several gangs of dacoits who do his every bidding, and he rewards them handsomely for their plunder.”

  “His crimes are everywhere the same,” I said, “for he has perpetrated his evil deeds wherever he has gone. He has cut a large swath, and in doing so has killed many.”

  Bala Ram listened intently as I described some of Furer’s more horrible acts. When I had finished, he said nothing for a moment, and his expression grew grave.

  “You cannot win alone. You must have help,” he said. He rose suddenly.

  “You must wait here. I shall be back in an hour.”

  I watched my guide as he disappeared into the darkness. I head his footsteps for a short time and then he was gone.

  I was alone in the jungle for the first time, or so I thought. The moon now was a thin white crescent, brilliant in the almost cloudless sky. I listened intently to the forest, the rustle of the wind, the owls and other night birds, the scurrying of small creatures, and watched with a certain amount of attention, I must say, the occasional pair of yellow eyes that stared intently and then moved on.

  Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. I turned. It was Bala Ram, who had returned but from a different direction. He had a look of urgency on his face. There were three other men with him, naked except for loincloths. They moved noiselessly, and I judged them immediately by their features and dark color to be of the Tharu tribe, an ancient race that formed the autochthonous population of the Tarai.

  “We must move at once. We cannot travel on this trail, for your enemies lie in wait for us, just to the north. These men will accompany us to a safe location. I shall explain what we must do as soon as we arrive at our destination. There is no time to lose.”

  We packed immediately and set off at a fast pace towards the north. The sal forest now was far denser than anything that we had walked through before. In less than an hour, we came to a clearing at one edge of which stood a mud hut. We entered. There were two more men sitting around the coals of a fire. Bala Ram spoke to them in one of the local dialects, the Bhojpuri of Champaran, then motioned me to sit next to him near the dying fire. Bala Ram questioned them for several minutes before he turned to me and said: “These men had originally been part of Furer’s archaeological team, but they left when they realised that he was destroying every monument that he found, including their own shrines. They have complained to the local police, but to no avail. The police are afraid, for Furer now has as his chief ally Gagan Singh, the leading dacoit of this area. His gang of twenty-five now are with Furer in Tilaurakot. With him is Smith, who has been badly treated and, since last night, Mukherjee and Mrs. Smith, who were captured just after they alighted from the train in Gorakhpur.”

  As Bala Ram spoke, I realised that our situation had worsened considerably. Bala Ram saw the look on my face and said: “The situation is not lost, however. There is indeed someone who can help, and that is a young officer here, a member of the Ahir tribe by the name of Jang Bahadur. He should arrive shortly.”

&nb
sp; In but a few moments a young policeman appeared, a rather burly fellow with an almost miraculous black moustache. He smiled, showing a large set of white teeth, as he entered. He bowed and then spoke quickly to Bala Ram, who then turned to me: “Jang Bahadur has raised a group of some sixty armed men, who will accompany us to Kapilavastu. We shall surround Fordham and his gang, since they can have little inkling of our presence as yet.” Bala Ram quickly explained to me how we should proceed. I then made clear to him that I should like to enter Furer’s camp and deal directly with him myself. He agreed. I also explained that there should be no shooting unless absolutely necessary and that more important than the capture of Fordham was the safety of Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Mr. Mukherjee. Bala Ram assured me that once the men were in place, the plan would go according to my wishes.

  Jang Bahadur agreed to meet us near the Furer camp with his men just before dawn. Bala Ram and I and the Tharus who had joined us walked out of the hut into the cool night.

  Despite his bulk, Bala Ram travelled in the jungle at great speed. He knew the area well, for he had grown up in a village not twenty minutes distant. I could do nothing but follow. The jungle was dark, and the only things visible were the dirt path and the turbans of the men. Three hours of this and we were close to our quarry. We came to a clearing near the outskirts of the village. Bala Ram entered a small hut and motioned us in. In a few minutes, Jang Bahadur entered. He announced that the Furer camp was now completely surrounded by his men, fully armed. Neither Furer nor Gagan Singh and his dacoits could escape. The rest was now up to us. Bala Ram and I proceeded to enter the camp, moving as close as we could to the central fire.