tales of Suchita

This is a sequel. To read Part 1: The detective’s apprentice

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A knight came charging across the landscape, desperately looking for anyone that could help him reunite with his beloved. He went from village to village, door to door, but could not find her. It was as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Thanks to his valiance the knight soon rose up the ranks and became a Duke. When the time came to choose a bride, instead of wedding the fairest maiden, he left all his wealth and title behind. But before vanishing much like his beloved, he sanctioned a curious painting – of two people that though belonged together could never be so in life. The painter depicted this by using two pots: one right side up and one upside down. No one quite liked the painting, it looked morbid and frankly, ugly, but since the Duke was so enamored by it, they gave it a place of honour.

The Duke, however, added a code on this painting, a map, for his beloved. None know if the map leads to where he would wait for her till the ends of time or perhaps treasure beyond compare so she may live a life of abundance. Many have tried to decode the code but the curse upon it – who put it there, or when it was put is a mystery – has made it impossible.

The painting now resides in the Prince of Wales museum, Mumbai, India, in some dark corner where no one ventures…until six days ago when commotion…

Radha hurriedly closed the YouTube video and turned around guiltily. He should not have done that. Mr. Holmes would be ashamed. Though no one was there to witness his lapse, still, just because he had stopped ‘playing at’ detective, didn’t mean he should let such slip ups happen.

Tomorrow…if his calculation was correct and the seventh day of the rising sun did mean seven days from their adventures in the museum, then Mr. Holmes would come calling. There had been no news reports of any skirmishes in Delhi and he wasn’t sure if he should take that as a good or bad sign. It could mean either, it could mean nothing. He just hoped the detective would come calling. It had been months since Radha had gotten his hands dirty and he was rather looking forward to this mini-adventure.

Sheetal tai obviously had demanded he tell her everything. Considering she was his confidant, he couldn’t deny her the request and had acquiesced. She had in fact even helped him cook up a nice plot to ensure his parents won’t be in the house the next day. It hadn’t been easy to pull off. Since the incident with Sagar, they had started to hover more, curb his freedom more – all of course in the name of ensuring his safety. In the beginning he was grateful for it. But now that the fear had worked itself out of his system, the stricter boundaries were starting to chafe. Sheetal tai had proved a surprisingly steadfast friend and he was glad she was in his corner.

At precisely 5 PM on the seventh day, the doorbell rang. Radha beat Sheetal tai to the door – he had been opening the door all morning, a new appreciation for her work had started to form in his head, when his enthusiasm was rewarded and in front of him stood the man himself.

While he settled and Sheetal tai clucked over him, Radha took the opportunity to study Mr. Holmes. “So what’s the verdict?”

Radha started. “You look tired but alright.”

“Why haven’t you started asking the million questions I know you have?”

“I was trying to be…”

“Come boy. We faced death together. We are friends now. Ask away.”

Sheetal tai looked at Radha suspiciously. “Tai chai la do na please,” he said, trying to distract her from what she had heard. She gave him the look that said she wasn’t convinced but was okay to drop it for now. He heaved. This was getting too stressful for the health of a thirteen year old boy!

Once she had left he said, “I did some research. I know about the painting. But what of the code? And why did you vanish after you found it? What happened in Delhi?”

“The code…hold that thought, we’ll come back to it. Delhi I needed…” he stopped abruptly. The sound of breaking glass came again. “Does anyone know I’m here?”

“No. We have excellent security. No one could have…” Another glass. What was happening? Radha ran to the kitchen, only to see a pigeon but no sign of Sheetal tai. The window was open. Even though he knew it was silly, he went to it and looked out. There was nothing there. He didn’t want to panic but if anything…

“Baba what are you doing here? I…” seeing the pigeon, she screamed and then attacked it viciously with a washcloth. Once the poor creature had exited, she turned to Radha who looked ashen. “Baba sab theek hai?”

He nodded, unable to speak. He pointed at the bottle of water. She handed it to him and he gulped down a mouthful.

“Did a parcel arrive for me?” Mr. Holmes was standing at the kitchen door. Seeing their faces, he said, “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” said both of them but tai exited the kitchen again. Before Radha could follow her, she was back with a box in her hands. She handed it to the detective and shooed the two men out of her kitchen saying the tea would be delayed. She needed to first survey the damage done by the pigeon.

Bemused, Mr. Holmes started to rip into the box even before they had reached the drawing room. He sat down and pulled out a book. He told Radha to fetch him a pen and paper. He removed his specs from one pocket and a piece of paper from another. “I had gone to Delhi,” he began without preamble, “to meet with an old friend – a Dr. Naidu. He’s a historian but his knowledge ranges far and wide. I knew if anyone could help me find the Duke’s map it would be him.”

“Map?”

“Yes,” he said brandishing the book. “Dr. Naidu told me that the stories are partially true. The code does lead to hidden treasure – gold, spoils of war if you will – that the Duke had left behind for his beloved. But to ensure she hadn’t betrayed him and that she truly deserved the gift of splendour, he hid it behind a code.”

“The code led to the Duke’s banker who held a map to find the treasure. The banker though saw an opportunity to make profit and took it. He wrote up a will, slyly getting the Duke’s signature. Half of the spoils he had bequeathed to himself. The other half he planned to take from whoever showed up.”

“That is a rather round about way of going after the treasure. He had the map…”

“Yes he could have,” he said, as he continued to work with the book, the papers and the pen, “but he didn’t want to do any of the work. He was in no hurry and was content to wait.”

“What are you doing?” Radha could see that Mr. Holmes was using the piece of paper to find a hidden message from the book, which he was writing on the paper he had given him.

“The code was a set of numbers but since they had been written together on the painting, whether they were single digits, two digit numbers or any other combination, it couldn’t be said for sure.” He picked up the paper and brought it to eye level, squinting.

“No one can read this code unless you know gurgun. It’s an ancient numerical system which went out of existence with the civilization that used it.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”

“By gad,” he exclaimed and showed the paper to Radha.

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.”

“Mr. Holmes none of this…” Radha stopped. He closed eyes and tried think. Then, “Sergio said you can read gurgun. So that means you know how to read the code. So the code leads to the banker. Who gives the map. Only it isn’t a map but another clue because the Duke doesn’t sound like a half-wit. He must have lied to the banker, a double cross. So the map…”

“Yes…”

“Is actually a book. And you have it. The code leads to this…err…” he read the line again. “This poem. And behind the poem is what?”

“It’s a line from the Duke’s favourite poem. We need to find the rest of it.”

“But how will that help us?”

“We won’t know till we see it, will we.”

Mr. Holmes and Radha went to his room where Radha pulled up the poem they were looking for. Even after reading it three-four times, things did not become clearer. The poem it seemed was just that – a poem that the Duke used to remember his beloved by.

They had their tea, trying to figure out a way out of the dead end. Getting an idea, Radha tried to Google a gurgan to English converter. He wasn’t expecting to find anything but Google did not disappoint. With shaking hands, he pasted the line of poem and translated it. What he saw was a string of numbers. Excited, he showed his discovery to Mr. Holmes.

Impressed and miffed, he said, “I need to make a phone call.”

He called up his partner, Dr. Watson and gave him all the information. “And dear Watson, try not to screw anything up,” he admonished as he hung up.

In the silence that followed the phone call, Radha finally asked, “What now?”

“Now we wait.”

*

The waiting wasn’t easy. Mr. Holmes and Radha took it in turns to stare at the phone. Many times Radha had to stop the detective from calling Dr. Watson to demand an update. Mr. Holmes wasn’t used to sitting on the sidelines but he was prudent enough to know he had limited choice here.

After a while of silence and Sheetal tai’s poorly veiled threats of wanting to know what was happening, he asked, “Who is your client?”

Mr. Holmes laughed. “No one. Watson and I had a bet. I’m simply trying to prove that I am right.”

Radha shook his head. Should he really be surprised?

The phone finally rang at 8. Both of them jumped but it was Mr. Holmes who proved faster in this instance. He listened, nodded tersely, hmm-hmmed, okayed and then hung up the phone.

“Well…”

“It seems…” he said then had to sit down. Concerned, Radha handed him a glass of water. “It seems I have lost the bet Master Radha.”

Rolling his eyes, he asked the question he knew Mr. Holmes was dying to answer. “Please explain.”

Gaining some composure which Radha saw through as a sham – after all wasn’t he guilty of doing the same to earn favours from his parents – Mr. Holmes said, “The Duke was in the news a few months ago because his memorial was destroyed during the rains. Cleaning up activity revealed some evidence that suggested his treasure was still out there, waiting to be found. I was bored, there were no new cases so I bet Watson that there was no treasure. As it turns out, there was a treasure.”

“Dr. Naidu was able to help us identify Sussex as the seat of treasure. Watson was already there. He found a chest. There was treasure…” Much to his amazement, Mr. Holmes started to laugh.

“Are you alright?”

He only laughed harder. Wiping his eyes, he said, “The treasure was a bunch of really old letters that the sucker had written to his beloved. There was an old metal medallion with their name on it and…”

“But that must be worth a small fortune!”

He laughed, then shrugged. “Well I won’t settle for a tie. Watson has lost – there is no treasure an-“

“Wouldn’t it depend on how you define the word treasure?”

Mr. Holmes squinted his eyes and then nodded. “Well it’s a good thing Watson cannot think as fast on his feet as you can.” He looked around then extended his hand. “Well I must off. It was pleasure doing business with you Master Radha.”

Radha shook his hand. “Likewise.”

As he showed the detective out, who was still plotting how he could get out of paying Watson two hundred pounds – as it turned out he could think that quickly on his feet – Radha felt a big weight leaving his shoulders. For a long time…since Sagar had left his life to be precise…he had not really felt himself. In order to compensate, he had tried to change who he was. But Mr. Holmes’ timely arrival told him he could not, would not and did not want to change.

He was Radha, prodigy to Sherlock Holmes, and he was proud and ready to wear that mantle.

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Written for the Write Tribe Festival of Words – June 2018 photo prompt and prompt: “No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.” – Cinderella