by Guy d'Armen
The next day, still in chains, they were led to the train that would take them to Bankipore. Escorted by four Sepoy soldiers armed to the teeth and ready to act at the least sign of resistance or escape, they were resigned to their fate and spent their time watching the muddy riverbanks of the Ganges go by their compartment window.
Once in Bankipore, they were separated and Milarepa was taken to a special section where women prisoners were kept. Ardan renewed his resolve to find ways to communicate with and help the young woman, and, at the same time, contact his father to arrange their release.
How long that would take, however, he had no idea; but his faith in his abilities remained as strong as ever.
This seems the appropriate place to update our readers with what was happening with Francis Ardan Sr., and to explain what the Isolde had been doing in Chittagong and why young Ardan had spotted her when aboard the Cumberland, on their way to Calcutta.
Mr. Ardan had first believed that his son had been kidnapped (or killed) by slavers, until he had received Mendax’s initial ransom demand for $100 million.
At that point, the magnate had then diverted the Isolde towards India, and stopped in Mumbai and Pondicherry to alert both the British and the French authorities. He also cabled back to Mendax that he agreed to his terms.
The air-pirate set a rendezvous for the exchange forty miles offshore of Chittagong at midnight, where the Astaroth, thanks to its underwater and airborne abilities, could collect the ransom from the Isolde without having to worry about falling into a trap.
But in the meantime, Ardan and Milarepa had managed to escape from the Citadel of Mount Everest, throwing a monkey wrench into the villain’s plans. Mendax had had to suspend negotiations with Ardan Sr. while he tried to recapture his two prisoners.
The pirate eventually learned of the fate of the two young people at the hands of British justice through a report sent by Captain Silver. It was lucky that no one had believed their story and contacted the authorities in Mumbai or Pondicherry.
Since Ardan Sr. knew nothing of the fate of his son, Mendax then decided to bluff and collect the ransom anyway. If things turned bad, he could always tell the billionaire that his son was rotting away in the Bankipore jail and let him use his connections to get him out. So Mendax cabled another appointment to Ardan Sr.
But, in the meantime, Ardan’s father had already decided to sail to Calcutta to meet with the new Viceroy, Lord Irwin, who had been appointed only six months earlier, and who was presently visiting that city.
It was at that point that the Isolde and the Cumberland had crossed paths.
As fate would have it, the yacht arrived in Calcutta two days after Ardan and Milarepa had already been transferred by train to Bankipore.
CHAPTER XXI
The Viceroy Steps In
Francis Ardan Sr. had just settled in his suite at the Grand Hotel on Chowringhee Road and was finishing dressing when his English butler rushed into the room, brandishing a local newspaper in his hand.
“What is it, Bernard?” asked Ardan Sr.
“Sir! Read this!” replied the butler, pointing at a headline that read: “Two pirates sentenced to 30 years hard labor.”
Ardan Sr. began reading the article. His face turned pale and he had to sit down to finish it.
“There’s no doubt about it, is there?” asked Bernard. “They’re talking about the young sir, aren’t they?”
“It sure looks like it. But how on Earth did he get himself into that predicament? And who is this woman accomplice mentioned in the article?”
“Another victim of this Mendax, surely?”
“You’re right. This means he was bluffing when he was renewing his ransom demand in his last cable. He was probably hoping I wouldn’t find out the truth before he got his hands on my money! When this is over, I swear I’ll teach him a lesson. There’ll be no place on Earth where he’ll be safe from me... But in the meantime,” he continued, less heatedly, “it makes my meeting with the Viceroy more urgent than ever. Go and order a cab. I’ll be right down!”
Half an hour later, Francis Ardan Sr. was calling at the Viceroy’s residence. He and Edward Frederick Lindley Wood, 1st Earl of Halifax, also known as Lord Irwin, had mutual friends in common, and they had met at an alumni dinner at Eton, so the billionaire was immediately received.
“Francis!” said Lord Irwin, “what a pleasure to see you again, after all these years. The funny thing is, your name came up yesterday during a conversation with my Private Secretary. You’ll never guess how—we’ve just tried and sentenced a murderous young pirate who—you’ll never believe it!—claimed to be your son. How ridiculous was that?”
Lord Irwin saw the discomfited face of his friend and completely misunderstood its reason.
“Rest assured that the heaviest sentence was passed on that young villain. He’ll never misuse your name again, and you have my personal assurances that no one in India will in any way question your involvement. Your reputation will be protected at all costs.”
But seeing that Ardan Sr.’s face remained as gloomy and embarrassed as ever, Lord Irwin finally realized that something was wrong.
“What is it, Francis?”
“Well, er... That young man may very well be my son,” admitted the billionaire.
“What???”
Had someone told Lord Irwin that Jesus in person had returned and asked to see him, he wouldn’t have been more stupefied.
“But how???” he struggled to ask.
Ardan Sr. had brought with him the cables he had received from Mendax, stating his ransom demand for $100 million, and that went a long way to convince Lord Irwin to investigate the matter further.
His Private Secretary, Sir Dennis Gladsdale, having been summoned, soon returned with the entire file and the story contained therein, as told by Ardan and Milarepa, matched with the new facts provided by Francis Ardan Sr.
“This is inconceivable... Incredible...” gasped Lord Irwin. “I confess that I, myself, would never have believed it! Pirates on top of Everest! A super-submarine that can also fly! This is that damn Nemo or Rama Rundjee affairs all over again!”
“But what can we do for my son? Can you have him released right away?”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Francis,” apologized Lord Irwin. “He has been tried and sentenced by a proper Court of Law. I can’t step in and just let him go like that. I must order that a new trial be held, at which time you can present this new evidence and the judge will enter an acquittal. This is going to be further complicated by the fact that, if this young woman is indeed a Tibetan princess, as seems to be the case, I must notify the Tibetan authorities. Relations between our two states have been, er, complicated of late. They might decide to lodge an official protest, which might delay the whole process further, and...”
“All right, all right, but can I at least see my son while you politicians sort out this mess?” asked Ardan Sr., growing irritated. “Right now, I dare not imagine what he must be going through. At least, if I’m there to tell him we’re working on his liberation, it’ll keep his spirits high.”
“Of course! I’m going to issue immediate orders to that effect, and even ask Gladsdale to accompany you.”
Half an hour later, Francis Ardan Sr. and Sir Dennis Gladsdale were leaving for Bankipore by car. They arrived late at night, too late to go to the prison.
Despite the pleasant countryside, the trip had been harrowing for both passengers. Ardan Sr. was. Understandably. worried about his son and wondering in what state of mind he would find him. In his own mind, he portrayed him dressed in the infamous convict uniform, having been subjected to beatings and torture.
Sir Dennis’ thoughts were barely happier. This was a major miscarriage of justice, one on top of which had possible diplomatic consequences. He had no doubt that, if something really bad happened, heads would roll, and his would be the first one to fall.
The next morning, at first light, they were driven to
the Bankipore. Ardan Sr. blanched when he saw the tall, granite walls, bleached by successive monsoons, topped with barbed wire and glass shards.
The guards at the gate, noticing the official car bearing the Viceroy’s flag, had already alerted the Prison Governor, Sir Harry Myles. Sir Harry was not pleased to learn of the Private secretary’s visit, which he took as a sign of problems to come, and if there was one thing Sir Harry hated above all, it was anything that would disturb his routine.
He briefly wondered if one of his subordinates had sent an anonymous letter to the Viceroy to snitch about one or another of the minor transgressions occurring in the prison that Sir Harry turned a blind eye to in exchange for a bit of extra cash that enabled him to enjoy his main hobby: gambling.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Francis Ardan Sr. could not repress a smile when he saw the rather rotund Sir Harry running towards them, out of breath, to greet the Viceroy’s Private Secretary.
“Thank you for seeing us so promptly, Sir Harry,” said Sir Dennis with a perfectly serious face. “We have come here to see a couple of your prisoners who were incarcerated here only a few days ago, due to one of the rare and unfortunate miscarriages of justice that occasionally happen in even the best of societies...”
“Certainly, certainly,” nodded Sir Harry. “Whom should I send for?”
“Let’s start with Prisoner No.336—listed in our books under the alias of Francis Ardan.”
Having recovered his composure, and no longer afraid of being bothered about petty bribes, Sir Harry ordered for Prisoner No.336 to be brought immediately in his usual loud stentorian voice.
One of the guards rushed out. A long, and inexplicable wait followed, in an oppressive silence which threatened to become embarrassing. Finally, the guard returned. Seeing his downcast and forlorn expression, Ardan Sr. guessed that something bad had happened, and he trembled inside.
“Prisoner No.336 has, er, escaped,” the guard finally let out.
“What do you man escaped?” roared Sir Harry.
“He’s, well, no longer... er, on the premises,” said the guard.
“No longer on the premises!? What does that mean?” roared Sir Harry again, his face now as rubicund as a tropical fruit.
Ardan Sr. addressed the guard directly.
“When did the escape take place?” he asked in a normal tone of voice.
Happy to talk to someone not screaming at him, the guard replied:
“During the night. He was there last night when we made a roll call.”
“But this morning?”
“He was missing during the roll call, but the men in charge of that block thought they’d made a mistake and they were still looking for him when...”
“Tell us the full story,” interjected Sir Dennis, throwing a dark glance at Sir Harry, which didn’t augur well for the latter’s retirement prospects.
“Well, initially, I had 336 assigned a cell in the quarter reserved for dangerous prisoners and repeat offenders, even though I must say he behaved perfectly well during the few days he was here. So yesterday, I relaxed the surveillance. My guess is that he must have bribed one of the guards to facilitate his escape during the night. One of my men told me he found traces of what might have been those left by a man climbing over the south wall...”
A full-blown investigation ordered by Sir Dennis found that Milarepa, too, had vanished the same night as Ardan. Further, a meticulous search located a bamboo ladder lying in the tall grass on the other side of the wall near the spot the guard had mentioned earlier. A full contingent of Sepoy soldiers was sent to look for the missing prisoners but returned at noon, having found no traces of them.
The atmosphere at the prison was gloomy. There were tigers and deadly snakes and all kinds of dangerous creatures in the jungle outside the city, and Ardan Sr. was extremely worried about his son’s safety. Sir Dennis was equally concerned about the potential repercussions of the death of a Tibetan Princess while in British custody. Sir Harry was mulling over his next assignment, which Sir Dennis had hissed “would make his time in Bankipore look like the pleasure gardens of Babylon.”
It was as if young Francis Ardan and Milarepa had vanished off the face of the Earth!
CHAPTER XXII
The Temple of Kali
What had happened to Francis Ardan Jr. and Milarepa?
Their escape had taken place just as the guard had told Sir Dennis and Francis Ardan Sr.
The young man had used the five gold sovereigns hidden inside the sole of his shoes to bribe a guard, and he and Milarepa had gone over the southern wall of the prison using the bamboo ladder provided by the guard they had bribed—the same ladder later found by the Sepoy soldiers.
In the same way, they had obtained a change of clothes.
They then had run through the night through the jungle, trying to get as far away from Bankipore as possible.
At sunrise, they had stopped in a clearing to rest and eat whatever food they had taken from the prison. In order to be safe, they had climbed into a tree and sat within its branches.
Then, they had made a tragic mistake!
From his vantage lookout point, in the far distance, Ardan had heard and caught glimpses of the search for them that had been launched at the prison. Not knowing that the purpose of this operation was not to recapture them, but, on the contrary, a prelude to their liberation, the young man had told his companion that they had to hide at all costs.
It is at that point that their search for a safe place to hide led them to discover the entrance of a tunnel which had been cleverly hidden behind much vegetation and the debris of dead trees.
“What do you think this is?” asked Ardan.
“Perhaps it’s the entrance to a tiger’s lair. We should be careful,” replied Milarepa.
“I don’t think so,” said Ardan, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell like an animal’s lair. Besides, we don’t have any choice. The Sepoys will be here soon. If we don’t escape, we’ll be thrown back in jail, beaten—or worse.”
They cautiously entered the tunnel, making sure to erase all traces of their passage behind them.
The jungle humidity had not been kind to the tunnel, which was visibly ancient; its limestone walls were striped by thin gullets dug by the water dripping down from the ceiling; but it seemed solid enough and the two young people moved forward, making slow progress because of the darkness.
Finally, they saw a faint light ahead of them.
They came out into a larger cave dug inside the rock. The outside light was brought into it through several cleverly hidden holes in the rock.
“There! A statue of Mahakali!”
Indeed, they saw, against the far wall of the cave, a statue of the dreaded, blue-skinned, four-armed goddess, her hands holding a sword, a trident, a severed head and a bowl catching the blood of the severed head. Her eyes were painted brilliant red and her expression was one of rage. With her disheveled hair, fangs and lolling tongue, her garland of 50 demons’ heads, and her skirt of demons’ arms, she was a fearsome sight.
“We must be in an ancient temple, built by the worshippers of that blood-thirsty goddess, driven underground—in this case, literally—by the British,” hypothesized Ardan.
“Fortunately for us, it doesn’t seem to be in use.”
They decided to rest in the secret temple, allowing enough time for all the searches above to be completed.
“In a day or so,” said Ardan, “things will have quietened down and we can return to Calcutta to search for our parents. I’m sure that’s where the Isolde was bound.”
The next day, they were awakened by the light around 7 a.m.
Ardan performed a more detailed inspection of the cave and found an old, half-rusted knife on a stone altar. Some of the black spots on the blade seemed to be blood, and to indicate it had once been used for some nefarious purposes.
After sharpening it against the stone, the young man decided it could come in a handy and slipped
it in his belt.
“I don’t know about you, but I feel hungry again,” said Ardan. “Before we embark on another trek, it would be good if we could find some food...”
Suddenly, they heard a grating sound, like that of rock sliding against rock...
They saw a portion of the wall behind the statue open, revealing another tunnel.
The two young people quickly hid back in the first tunnel.
A man came out of the new tunnel. He was thin, almost emaciated, and dressed in rags. His skin was almost black from the dirt and filth clinging to his body.
“He’s not a Sepoy,” whispered Ardan to Milarepa.
Unaware of the presence of the two young people, the newcomer bent down in front of the statue and started to utter a strange, owl-like cry.
“He’s a parhaiya,” said Milarepa.
Seeing Ardan’s uncomprehending stare, she explained:
“They’re members of the lowest caste—what you westerners call ‘Untouchables.’ They’re forbidden to live in villages and are forced to exist in huts in the woods. Because they’re not supposed to come in contact with any other people, they’re obliged to signal their approach by making this sound, or else, they can be killed like animals.”
“That’s awful,” whispered Ardan.
“We Tibetans do not follow the same laws as the Indians. Because their religion forbids it, the Sepoy will avoid this poor man like the plague. He could be useful to us in our escape. Let’s talk to him. I speak some of his dialect.”
Milarepa came out of the tunnel and hailed the parhaiya.
The poor man immediately fell to his knees and begged the mercy of the two strangers, whom he thought may have been sent by his dreaded goddess to punish him for whatever offense he might have committed.
Milarepa put her hand on the parhaiya’s shoulder, inviting him to stand up, and reassured him that they were but two ordinary Tibetans, fleeing from the wrath of the British.
