by Satyajit Ray
After arriving in Brasilia, I noticed that half of the front page of the newspaper was devoted to this news—in a deep forest in Cuiabá, thirty kilometres from the south of the Santiam Highway, there was reported the apparent fall of a meteor weighing twenty lakh tonnes. Fortunately, this area was devoid of any human habitation. The presence of any flora and fauna has apparently vanished into oblivion.
Shonku’s Expedition to the Congo
Dear Shonku
One person in our group is down with kala-azar (black fever) and therefore I’m sending him off to Nairobi. This letter is being sent via him and he will arrange to post it. After reading this letter you’ll understand why I’m writing to you. I couldn’t help but give you this news. Not all will believe this, let alone the scientists. You have an open mind; you have encountered many varied experiences. Hence I can confide only in you.
Are you familiar with the word Mokèlé-mbèmbé? Perhaps not, since I personally heard of it only after reaching the Congo. The locals say Mokèlé-mbèmbé is a humongous creature. The description suggests it to be an animal from the prehistoric era. Apparently it has been spotted in a forest in Congo. When I first heard of it, naturally my curiosity was aroused. But even after staying here for a couple of months, when I could not spot it, I did not give the matter any further thought. Three days ago I came across a monstrous-sized footprint on the banks of the river Lipu. This footprint is not the print of any animal known to us. The size of the print suggests the body to be huge, certainly as large as an elephant. But I still haven’t seen the real animal. Hopefully I’ll get to see it in the near future. If so, I’ll let you know.
I’m now staying next to the Virunga mountain range north-east of the Congo forest. I feel no one from the civilized world has stepped into this region before. I strongly feel your absence. If possible do come over to this place. It is beyond me to describe the beauty of this ancient forest. Perhaps your poet, Tagore, could. Geetanjali is still my constant companion.
I’m yet to trace that Italian group. The locals say they must have turned into prey for this Mokèlé-mbèmbé.
Hope you’re doing well. May God bless you.
Chris McPherson
I met the geologist and mineralogist Chris McPherson three years ago in London. At that time I was holidaying as a guest at my friend Jeremy Saunders’s house in Sussex. After fixing up an appointment over the telephone, McPherson came to meet me carrying a first-edition copy of Geetanjali. The book had been signed by Tagore himself. McPherson’s father was a schoolteacher. He had got it autographed by the poet. The father’s devotion to Tagore now runs in the son. I bought him three more books by Tagore.
After returning to my country, I’ve occasionally received letters from him. He had informed me about his trip to Congo. Last year, when the Italian group under Prof. Santini’s guidance had gone missing in the forests of Congo, I fear the team under McPherson must have faced the same fate. I haven’t heard from McPherson since I received this letter four months ago. The International Geographic Foundation under whose sponsorship this group had gone to Congo haven’t heard from them either. Yet through radio contact they had been in touch with each other.
Three expedition groups are known to have vanished from the jungles of Congo. Two years ago a group from Germany disappeared. I knew some of the people in that group. I had met the leader of that group, Professor Karl Haimendorf, seven years ago. He was a multifaceted scientist, simultaneously excelling as a geologist, physicist and linguist as well as being a daring explorer. Even at the age of sixty-five, he had possessed extraordinary physical strength. I remember attending a science conference where, due to a clash of opinion, Haimendorf had cracked the chin of a colleague of his with just one blow.
His group consisted of three more members. Of these, I’m familiar with the work of the noted professor in the field of electronics, Professor Ehrlich, and the inventor and physicist Rudolf Gouws. I’ve never met the fourth man, the engineer Gottfried Helmsman.
This group too had gone missing within four months of their arrival in the Congo.
Ever since receiving this letter from McPherson, my mind has been fascinated by the primitive forests of Congo. One wonders what mysteries that forest holds! In fact, how true is the reality of Mokèlé-mbèmbé? Dinosaurs had reigned in our habitat 150 crore years ago, yet within the last 70 crore years this breed had simply vanished from the earth. Till now scientists have not come up with any valid reason for their disappearance. Both varieties had existed—carnivores as well as herbivores. Do they still exist in some unexplored part of this world? Suppose they still exist within the forests of Congo? Would it be a very unreasonable act to go to Congo in order to search for them?
Fifteen days ago, I wrote to two of my friends, Saunders and Crole, suggesting a trip to Congo. The chief mission of the journey would be to look for McPherson’s group. Saunders informed me that he knew the chief of the International Geographic Foundation, Lord Cunningham, very well. It would be easier if the foundation sponsored this trip. Saunders is extremely keen on this expedition.
That Crole would be equally enthusiastic is something I could predict very well. The richness of the Congo remains unmatched to any other region of the world, in its range of animals as well as minerals. On one hand there are elephants, hippos, lions, gorillas, chimpanzees; and on the other hand there’s huge mineral wealth in gold; diamond, uranium, radium, cobalt, platinum, copper. But Crole’s intention was not just this. For quite some time he has been inclined towards the supernatural. He is familiar with hocus-pocus, mumbo jumbo and the magical practices of various countries. He has even come with me to Tibet to pursue his interest in these matters. Since the last one year he has taught himself the art of hypnotism and attained mastery in it. As Africa is a rich storehouse of such matters, it’s natural for Crole to be so enthusiastic.
Or, in other words, all three of us are more than eager to go on this trip. We’re awaiting the decision of the International Geographic Foundation. There’s no reason for the organization not to offer us the sponsorship as our chief mission is to look for McPherson and his group.
21 April
Good news. I’ve received a telegram today. The International Geographic Foundation has agreed to bear all costs of our expedition. Saunders has done wonders. We have decided to set off by the first week of May.
29 April
Another person has joined our group. Actually not one, but two. David Munroe and his Great Dane, Rocket. I have already recounted the adventures we all faced when accompanied by David Munroe and his dog, when we went to what we call Munroe Island, in search of Hector Munroe, one of David’s ancestors. David is a sensitive young man but crazy about adventure. He is extremely well read and in addition to this, even if not too easily noticeable, he is courageous and a physically strong man. When he heard about the expedition from Saunders, he immediately let him know that he was keen to accompany us to the Congo. It appears that he is very knowledgeable about the subject of Africa’s forests—in particular, Congo’s tropical rainforest. He says if we don’t take him with us, his life will be in vain. I saw no reason to reject him.
We are all assembling in Nairobi. It’s there that we’ll decide on our itinerary.
7 May
This morning we arrived in Nairobi. There are certainly no signs of the ancient African civilization near and around the hotel we are staying at.
It’s a neat, tidy and flourishing modern city. The habitat, architecture, roads, shops—all strongly bear the influence of the western world. Yet I know that within five miles of the city there stretches the wilderness—which they refer to here as the savannah—where a wide variety of animals roam freely. On the south of the savannah stands the snow-capped Mount Kilimanjaro.
Now I must introduce Jim Mahoney. In appearance—with his thoroughly tanned face and a lean, wiry and straight figure—this forty-five-year-old son of Ireland is a typical White Hunter. In order to conduct an expedition into thes
e African forests one can’t do without the help of a hunter. The hunters are knowledgeable about local languages and dialects; they understand the nature and the environs of the forests; and only they know the ways to save themselves from the attacks by ferocious animals. It was also Mahoney who arranged for the six Kikuyu tribal coolies to carry our luggage and other supplies needed for the expedition.
We met him over coffee at the hotel. When we asked Mahoney about the disappearance of the three groups of explorers, puffing at his pipe and exhaling smoke, he said, ‘What can I say about the number of dangers hiding inside a Congo forest? Adjacent to the forest lies a series of volcanoes towards the east. Mukenku, Mukubu, Kanagoraui. Beyond Rwanda, after crossing Kivu, the forests appear adjacent to these volcanoes. In the recent past, no one’s heard of an eruption but you never know when they might explode. Moreover, numerous cannibals inhabit these regions. One must also consider the usual dangers associated with a forest. Not just ferocious animals, but fatal diseases too lurk in Congo’s forests. The point is, everything depends on exactly where you intend to go.’
Saunders replied, ‘One member of the lost group we’re trying to trace was afflicted with kala-azar four months ago and was admitted in a hospital here. In due course, he recovered and returned. But we found out from the hospital officials that the group was moving in the north-east direction alongside the Mukenku volcano.’
‘Would you like to go in that direction?’
‘Wouldn’t that be wise?’
‘Well . . . to reach that spot you need to walk for almost 150 miles as the helicopter can’t go there. It won’t find a flat surface to land. The Geographic Foundation has provided us with two big helicopters. We’ll travel in one and the other will be used by the porters with the luggage.’
David had been looking restless for a while. Now, he broke in with a question.
‘Do you know of Mokèlé-mbèmbé?’
Much to our surprise Mahoney burst into a loud guffaw.
‘Where have you heard this story?’
I couldn’t help but mention that in the recent past I’d read about this humongous animal in a number of journals on Congo.
‘These are all tall tales. Don’t pay any heed to those,’ said Mahoney. ‘There’s no sure estimate of how many thousands of years old these mythical creatures are. I’ve known this forest for the past twenty-seven years and I’ve never spotted any animal other than the familiar ones.’
Munroe persisted. ‘But I’ve read its description in an eighteenth-century diary written by a French padre in the British Museum. The explorers he was accompanying had located huge footprints in African jungles. These were as big as an elephant’s footprint but did not belong to an elephant.’
‘You’ll hear of many such creatures,’ said Mahoney. ‘Have you heard of kakundakari? Just as there’s the illusory yeti or snowman in the Himalayas, there’s also the legend of the kakundakari in the African jungles. It’s supposed to be a furry biped, bigger than a gorilla. I have been hearing of this creature since I started hunting here but in the last twenty-seven years I have never known if anyone’s come across it, ever. But yes—there is an object which is supposed to be found in these areas but one is still unaware of its exact location—I’m in possession of such an object.’
Mahoney put his hand into his trouser pocket and fished out something which he placed next to the coffee cup on the table. It was a transparent stone which could easily fit into the palm of your hand.
‘Please observe those blue veins,’ remarked Mahoney.
‘Is it a blue diamond?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Mahoney, ‘almost 700 carats. This was found in one of these jungles. Possibly some place in the same direction where we’ll be heading soon. I was once feasting with a pygmy family and one of them showed it to me. In exchange for two cigarette packets he gave it to me.’
‘But it deserves an exorbitant price,’ Munroe said with great admiration, taking the stone in his hand.
I said, ‘Not quite. As a gem, a blue diamond is not so expensive. But I’ve read somewhere that in the field of electronics its demand has risen considerably.’
We all took turns at examining the stone before handing it back to Mahoney.
8 May, 10.30 p.m.
On the border where the primitive forests of Congo begin, in a somewhat open space, we set up our camp. Our tents are made out of my own invented plastic—‘Shankalan’—light yet strong. There are five tents in all. Three of these are being shared by the five of us. David and I are in one; Crole and Saunders in the second and Jim Mahoney in the third. The other two are being shared by the porters. I’m writing sitting inside a mosquito net. The mosquito menace is perennial. Since I always carry my creation which kills all ailments—Miracurol—I’ve no fear of any disease. We’ll enter the real forest tomorrow. But let me note down the events of today.
At 8 a.m. we left Nairobi in a helicopter. After crossing Kenya we arrived in Rwanda and landed in Rwamagana airfield for refuelling. Thereafter, we left Kivu Lake behind us and after flying for another half an hour we landed in an open space and began to walk northwards. From the sky above we had seen this deep forest akin to a dark green carpet spread west and northward. The horizon showed the greenery to be absolutely dense. The area of the tropical rainforest is spread across 2000 miles. The civilized world is yet to invade many parts of this forest.
After dropping us off, the helicopter departed. We’ll stay connected to Nairobi via radio. After our expedition is over the helicopter will once more return to take us back. We have a stock of food and basic supplies for a month.
From where we got off, if you look northwards, the erect peaks of the volcanoes can be spotted above the trees and foliage. It’s the habitat of the mountain gorillas. At present we are in a valley, about 1000 feet above sea level. Here one finds elephants, hippos, leopards, several breeds of monkeys, okapi and pangolin and members of the reptile family like crocodiles. Several narrow rivers flow through this forest but the current is so fast it’s dangerous to navigate them. Hence, there’s no choice but to walk.
After having a snack of tea and biscuits, we set off at 10.30 a.m. We needed to proceed towards the north. We had to scale a mountain and then climb down to enter the denser part of the forest. The forest is not that thick; we could see the sky occasionally through the leaves. Among the trees here are mahogany, teak, ebony and sporadically one can see some bamboo groves and creepers. We were prepared to face the sudden appearance of any ferocious animal. Mahoney has a double-barrel gun with him; Crole and the leader among the porters, Kahindi, are both carrying a rifle each. Kahindi is such a pleasant man. He speaks in broken English though his native language is Swahili. It was a matter of great surprise to him when he heard I knew Swahili. This language is indeed very interesting. They say, ‘Chai taiyari’, which means the tea is ready. Like in Bengali, many words from Arabic, Persian, Hindi and Portuguese have been absorbed into the Swahili lexicon.
We were all walking single file, led by Mahoney. We all seem to share a suppressed excitement. I don’t know anyone in that Italian group which has gone missing. But Crole knew Haimendorf very well and Saunders and Chris McPherson have been friends for a very long time. It’s only Munroe who knows no one except us, yet his excitement exceeds ours. Added to the feeling of adventure, we are walking down the same path traversed by the great explorers Livingston, Henry Morton Stanley and Mungo Park, a fact that is thrilling him to no end. He has mentioned this to us a number of times.
I must tell you about his dog. When I first saw Rocket, I had found him to be an amazingly well-trained dog. But this time I find his level of intelligence as well as his discipline much superior. Not that we can’t locate any animals at all—we’re often spotting monkeys hanging from branches of trees—but Rocket is completely indifferent to this. Even if his gaze moves in that direction, he never veers from the path.
After walking for a couple of hours, Mahoney stopped, raised his right
hand and asked us to stop too. Along with the porters we all paused in our tracks. Only Kahindi came forward and stood beside Mahoney.
There was a bit of an open space ahead of us and about fifty yards away we could see smoke billowing from behind the bushes and trees towards the sky. Between the trees one could also see movements of some life. Not of animals but of humans.
‘Kigani cannibals,’ whispered Mahoney. ‘Take cover behind the trees.’
When I heard a clicking sound, I realized Mahoney had released the safety catch of his gun. Kahindi too was ready with his pistol. I didn’t turn to see what Crole was doing. We all spread out and stood behind the tree trunks. There was no sound other than the noise made by the crickets.
We stood in this position for ten minutes. The spiralling smoke gradually vanished. Was something about to happen?
Yes, something did happen. Several dark-skinned men emerged from behind the bushes and trees. They carried bows and arrows, their bodies were painted with white stripes, and the faces, other than the eye sockets and the lips, sported a thick layer of white paint. It looked as if a skull had been placed over a body. Glancing at David on my right I saw him trembling but looking agog at this group. It was easy to comprehend that the trembling was not out of fear but thrill.
The cannibals were proceeding in our direction. I noticed that Mahoney’s gun was still lowered. And so was Kahindi’s.
The cannibals noticed both of them and stopped.
Then their gaze spread out in different directions. They had seen us too. The tree trunks we were standing behind were not broad enough to conceal us completely.