On his way to school, Bhuvan finds a message in a red envelope by
the roadside. He finds these verses inside.
O traveler, if you do pursue
Boundless treasures meant for you
Keep your eyes open, you need
Signs ahead that you must heed
Your destiny lies from all concealed
Waiting for you, to be revealed.
Look out for a fluttering yellow
Out there, where the mulberries mellow.
Thenceforward -
“What in God’s name is this?”
Taken aback by the message, Bhuvan looks around, wondering what
this means.
“Someone trying to fool around with me; this must be a prank?”
But who could it be and why would someone take so much pain just
to play a prank on him? Although, this seems unlikely, yet the other
possibility of this being real is too fantastic. Flummoxed, he reads the lines
again. It clearly states that there is some treasure and whatever it is, it’s meant
for him, provided he is the traveler who is addressed in the poem. Someone is
trying to lead him to the treasure with clues. This poem is the first of them.
The second clue has been marked in yellow, probably by a yellow cloth. The last
two lines talks about his destiny, which will lead him to the treasure. It is
hidden from others and will be revealed only to him.
“Does that mean that the clues are visible only to me?” He frowns.
That may explain why no one noticed the red marker and the cairn
earlier. But then, what if it is some sort of illegal enterprise, what if it is
a trap? With his mind churning out all sorts of possibilities and
considerations; eventually his in-born curiosity and the likelihood of missing
out on an adventure outweighs all his other apprehensions. Bhuvan decides that
the only way to understand is to go ahead and find the next clue. He reads the
lines again.
“Out there, where the mulberries mellow”
There is only one place in the valley where mulberry grows and
that is in the silk farm called Silk
Route. He knows this place very well because he had done quite a lot of
study on sericulture for his Geography project in the tenth standard. He had
visited the Silk Route, and spoken to
its cheerful proprietor Wong Hon-hei. Wong Hon-hei, is the lone descendant of
his father Wong Fei-hung, who had migrated from Tibet to India a long time back
in the fifties, during the Chinese occupation of the plateau. Despite all the
odds, Wong Fei-hung established his own Sericulture farm in this Himalayan
valley and prospered.
The Silk Route is a mile
down the road, on a huge patch of alluvial flood plain on the bank of the
Mochhu. Bhuvan sets off at a brisk pace towards Wong Hon-hei’s farm. The
cheerful silk farmer is one of his very few friends and he will definitely
help. A mile long walk brings him to a point where a wide dirt track leaves the
main road and goes down the slope toward the riverbank. He hits the dirt-road
and comes to a traditional cattle barrier made of the trunks of young
eucalyptus trees. He slides the upper beam to one side, steps over and crosses
the lower one and then slides the upper beam back in place. Walking down the
slope, he reaches Wong Hon-hei’s residence and calls out for him. But his calls
are answered by the housekeeper Lady Zhao. He learns from her that Wong Hon-hei
has gone to the city and won’t be back before nightfall. Nevertheless, Bhuvan
makes his way to the mulberry farm by himself.
As he draws closer to the barbed wire fencing around the mulberry
farm, he is disappointed to see that none of the big plants have any fruit on
them.
“Is this a hoax? Or is there some-place else where mulberry trees
are growing?” Bhuvan questions in
disappointment.
Right then, he remembers that these Mulberry bushes are grown only
for their leaves to feed the silk worm caterpillar. They are not supposed to
fruit. Wong Hon-hei has a small fruit Orchard at the other end of the farm
which has fruit trees. Along with the plums, peaches and oranges, there are a
couple of big Mulberry trees as well. Instantly, Bhuvan sets out for the
orchard. He runs along the boundary to the far side of the farm jumping ditches,
ducking overhanging foliage and running through dense undergrowth. Reaching the
other side, he stretches the barbed wire fence apart and eases through the gap
into the orchard. The boy has been here a number of times and knows the place
well. He walks between the rows of orange trees to where he knows the two
mulberry trees are. Reaching there he looks up at one tree and then the other.
Both of the small trees are heavily laden with fruit. Getting closer to the trunk
of one tree, treading on the squishy fruits fallen at the base, Bhuvan inspects
the branches.
“There’s something hanging up there.”
To his joy, he finds a bright yellow piece of silk waving at him
from one of the branches above. Gingerly, he climbs up the trunk onto an
overhanging branch, careful not to have the fruits stain his clothing. One end
of the scarf is tied around an overhead branch, with a yellow envelope in its
folds. Bhuvan takes out the envelope and finds yet another neatly folded piece of
hand-made paper inside. On it is written in the same hand writing, another
verse.
What’s the treasure that you want?
What you shall have and others can’t?
O seeker, for you does fortune wait
Your deepest yearning will it sate
Atop the hallowed black rock mountain,
The guru’s name chants a holy fountain
Blessed water shall forge your Karma true
To make you ready for your gift in blue.
This is a story written in five parts. For going on to Part I, click on the link - Daydreamer
For Part III - On Black Rock Mountain
For Part IV - The Lonely Pine
For Part V - The Treasure At Last
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