Sahyadri Adventure , livre ebook

DEEPAK DALAL

SAHYADRI ADVENTURE: KOLESHWAR S SECRET
A Vikram–Aditya Story
PENGUIN BOOKS

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Contents
BOOK III: MUMBAI
Acknowledgements
Read More in the Series
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS
SAHYADRI ADVENTURE: KOLESHWAR S SECRET
Deepak Dalal gave up a career in chemical engineering to write stories for children. He lives in Pune with his wife, two daughters and several dogs and cats. He enjoys wildlife, nature and the outdoors. His books include the Vikram-Aditya adventure series (for older readers) and the Feather Tales series (for younger readers). All his stories have a strong conservation theme.
This book is the sequel to Sahyadri Adventure: Anirudh s Dream .
For my dear departed mother and father-wonderful parents who blessed my unusual career choice.

It had been twelve days since Koleshwar. Twelve days since Anirudh had fallen into a coma. Although there had been no moments of consciousness, Anirudh had tossed and turned often in his hospital bed. On occasion, he had even spoken, uttering names or speaking aloud, as if he were caught up in a dream. But his restless turning and utterings had ceased the last few days. He lay in bed, deathly still . . .


Sketch of Mahabaleshwar Region (Not to scale)
TREACHERY
I t was his father who had seeded a fascination for clouds in Irfan. His early memories brimmed with his father s love of the masses of smoke-like puffs that shadowed Bombay s monsoon skies. Mohammed Aziz had always longed for the touch of their silken tresses as it reminded him of his home in the Sahyadri.
The very thought of touching a cloud had mystified Irfan. How could one touch a cloud? They flew so high in the sky. Even when they descended during the monsoons, they floated well out of reach. But Mohammed Aziz would speak of his home in Mahabaleshwar, which was taller than the monsoon clouds, and where during the rains, one lived in clouds, breathed clouds, walked in clouds and slept in them too. Irfan had been born in the clouds, his father said. He had crept out of his mother s womb on a wet monsoon day when the cloud was so thick, it was a dense sea. Although Irfan had weathered three Mahabaleshwar monsoons, he had no memory of the feel of a cloud and could only guess at what his father talked and dreamt about.
Not surprisingly, clouds had captivated Irfan since his early years. And finally, on a tall Sahyadri mountain, on which an immense bank of vaporous mist rested, he had entered a cloud. Its nebulous touch had pierced his innermost being, triggering memories buried inside his consciousness. At once, he sensed a familiarity with the smoky haze that embraced him. Childhood memories he didn t know existed were awakened. Fuzzy images blurred his vision and long-lost fragrances filled his senses. A beloved face took form before his eyes: a feminine countenance, dark and beautiful, with adoring eyes and hair that streamed in a soft veil. It was a face he associated with love and joy and contentment. The image had dimmed when Irfan reached out to touch it. Diffusing into a shadow, it had wrapped itself around Irfan, sliding into the empty spaces inside his heart, filling them with a warmth and contentment that only a mother could bestow in her infant.
His father was by his side when they had entered the mists, and a great joy had overcome him. Even though Mahabaleshwar still lay a few days march ahead, the moist clasp of the cloud elevated his spirits and he had jubilantly proclaimed that he was home.
Now, two days later, Irfan was in the clouds again, but the serenity and happiness they had lavished on him were gone. In its place, a numbing chill was fanning dread and panic within him. Irfan was in a forest on a mountainside that sloped steeply upward. His world was shrouded. The trees were like giant tombstones and there was an eerie cemetery-like silence. Spooky though it was, the forest was nowhere near as frightening as the kind of fear that inhabited every nerve and cell in his body.
Murky shadows plodded beside him, most barely hip-high. They stumbled along on four legs, weighed down by heavy chests strapped to their flanks. Two upright shadows marched amongst the burdened animals, one stooped, the other thin and erect. The stooped shadow was Rustom, his face red from the exertions of the climb. The other was Tabrez, their companion during the voyage, the youngster who wielded a catapult as if it were an extension of his arm.
Irfan scowled in irritation when Tabrez suddenly halted. There was a pressing need to keep moving, yet this was the third time Tabrez had pulled up.
Tabrez faced Irfan, sweat dripping from his dark features. We ve gone far enough, he panted. They could need our help. The further we go, the longer it will take for us to respond.
Irfan glowered furiously. Father would have asked us to stay if he needed our help, he snapped. He doesn t want it. He wishes for us to safeguard the mules and their chests instead. Stop questioning his orders. You are wasting time; we must go on.
Tabrez glared at Irfan. He opened his mouth, then snapped it fiercely shut. Swearing, he kicked viciously at a bush beside him, prompting a mule to bray loudly and back away. Irfan swore. The mist shielded them from their pursuers, but noises like these carried far and could betray their presence. Unleashing another kick, this one propelling wet mud harmlessly from the ground, Tabrez stomped away.
Irfan clenched his fists, striving to calm himself. Anger drained precious energy he could ill afford to lose. The swift-paced climb was exhausting. The heavily laden animals were tiring, and Tabrez s half-hearted efforts at urging them along only escalated his and Rustom s exertions.
A gut-wrenching fear scorched Irfan s insides. After weeks of hiding in mountains and forests, they were finally on the home leg of their journey. But barely an hour earlier, a band of horsemen-four in number-had been spotted far below, speeding their steeds up the slope. Though distance rendered identification difficult, their garments and style of riding had confirmed them as Englishmen.
Wallace had tracked them down.
It is Wallace, Irfan s father had declared. It is him, I know. We took great pains to cover our tracks, yet he has found us. Mohammed Aziz had spat as he stared down the slope. Muttering darkly, he had speculated on the possibility of betrayal.
Shahid, the sailor, had suggested making a break for the mountains. Wallace would never find them if they hid in the crevices of their lofty cliffs. But Mohammed Aziz had shot the plan down as it involved abandoning the mules.
We cannot escape them, Mohammed Aziz had said. We must prepare for battle.
Mohammed Aziz had settled upon a plan. Their group totalled seven in number: three youngsters-Rustom, Irfan and Tabrez-and four adults. The youngsters were to race to the top of the mountain with the mules. The slope terminated in a ridge, he had explained. Beyond, dipped a valley nestled between two towering mountains with immense plateau-like crests. The plateau on the right was Mahabaleshwar and the one to the left was known as Koleshwar. The boys were to head to Koleshwar, an uninhabited wilderness, and hide the mules in its forested slopes.
The adults would take cover in the trees and ambush Wallace s party. The Englishmen would certainly have the edge with superior firepower. Mohammed Aziz s entire company possessed only two firearms, but they were equipped with swords and spears, and their strategy of surprising the enemy would work to their advantage.
Tabrez had vociferously opposed Mohammed Aziz s plan. He saw no need to split the group. He could take down two of their pursuers himself, he had claimed. Working as a team, they could defeat the Englishmen and continue their journey thereafter. But Mohammed Aziz s only concern was Wallace s treasure. His chief objective was to deny the Englishman the fruits of his ill-gotten bounty, and he was willing to die to fulfil his goal. Mohammed Aziz had believed that Tabrez would be more useful with the mules and their precious burden. It was crucial that the animals be spirited away and concealed on Koleshwar s slopes. Once that was accomplished, they could return, but no further than the ridge above. From there they were to assess the outcome of the battle. Inshallah, the Englishmen would be defeated, but if Wallace prevailed, they were to flee with the mules into the mountains, do whatever they possibly could to prevent him from recovering his misbegotten cache.
Irfan needed a vent for his smouldering anger. Brooding helped distract his mind from the impending battle and its possible heartbreaking consequences. He fixed his thoughts on Tabrez as he hurried up the slope, specifically the transformation of his genial personality to its present churlish, ill-natured state.
The change had taken place shortly after Irfan s jubilant union with his father. They had been reunited in a forest not far from where Tabrez hailed. The next day, Tabrez had been sent on a mission to requisition mules from a nearby village. Irfan and Rustom believed that it was on Tabrez s return-when the animals he herded in were burdened with chests of cargo from Wallace s boat-that his temperament had turned. Several of the chests had jingled and clinked suggestively, and Tabrez had immediately wanted to see what was stored inside them. But no one had enlightened him, and Mohammed Aziz had warned him against tampering with the locks that sealed them. From that day, his cheery disposition had faded.
So marked was the shift in Tabrez s conduct that everyone had noticed. Shahid had even inquired as to what the matter was, but Tabrez had refused to reply. Rustom and Irfan were certain that the sealed contents of the chests were to blame. Although no one discussed the mysterious baggage, it was common knowledge that the chests contained riches-a treasure of perhaps immeasurable value. It