Day Seven
My hosts knew that it was my intention to take my leave of them on the following morning and they were, evidently, as reluctant to see me go as I was to resume my journey. Nevertheless, by the time that I had managed to rouse myself from my stupor, I discovered that my boat had been loaded with as much roasted boar meat and fresh fruit as it could possibly hold.
With renewed strength I pushed my boat hard that day and I was able to continue with my efforts until well after twilight. By the time that I had dropped my makeshift anchor for the night, every nocturnal beast of the jungle was in full chorus and yet, as I was quietly chewing on my meat, I felt sure that I could hear the sound of an immense body of moving water somewhere further down the stream. After I had completed my meal, I drained the last drop from my whisky bottle and, as I watched it bobbing its way gently back towards Medan, I wondered with excitement what lay ahead of me round the next bend of the river.
Day Eight
The expectations that I had been harbouring throughout the long night soon evaporated once I realized that the sound of rushing water had undoubtedly been nothing more than a creation inside my sore, intoxicated head. As I moved further inland there was certainly no doubt that the river was gradually widening and quickening. However, the large body of water that I had envisaged drawing me into the magnificence of Lake Toba still would not reveal itself to me.
The number of bends that I had rounded that day had been countless and each time that the river had straightened I had expected to find the water falling away directly in front of me. It was dark again before at last I gave up all hope of success for that day and I flung down my oar in frustration as I despaired of ever reaching the accursed lake! My temper was not lightened when I realized that the cigarette that I had enjoyed after my supper was to be my last. I strained my ears for even a trace of the sound that I had thought that I had heard the night before, but again I was to be disappointed. When at last I did fall asleep it was in a state of great anxiety.
Day Nine
I began the day by consuming the last of the fruit that the Bartak had kindly given to me, although I must confess that I set off that morning with very little enthusiasm. My progress was slow once more and as the river continued to widen I realized that I was losing the blessed shelter from the afternoon sun that the overhanging trees had formerly provided me with. On this stretch of the river the water was now clear and fresh so that thirst was no longer a problem. However this endless meandering was causing me to question the validity of my reasons for being here and, indeed, my very motives for desiring the recovery of the beladau.
Potentially this ancient and sacred weapon could be used as a means to incite rebellion. Yet who was I to condemn the cause of political freedom. A patriotic Englishman? Certainly. The saviour of an empire that stood upon the remains of a proud and ancient civilization?
I was left to ponder upon that principle, which was of my own creation. Who was I to say that the existence of the lotus flower was any more deserving than that of the thorn? Indeed, who was the lotus flower and who was the thorn? Which was the occupier and which the occupied? These questions were constantly hammering away inside my burning head.
At the conclusion of another fruitless day of toil, I decided to set up my small camp once more, upon the bank of the river. No longer being fearful of the Bartak, it seemed to me that the advantages far outweighed the disadvantages. Delicious fresh fruit was plentifully available and I had become indifferent to the threat posed by the elusive renegade tiger. Admittedly, I still established my precautionary fire, but on this occasion I did not worry unduly about maintaining it throughout the night.
Ultimately it was my own thoughts, constantly nagging at me and harassing me, that prevented me from sleeping that night and not the threatening roar that echoed in the distance.
Day Ten
I suppose that I must have finally succumbed to exhaustion some time just before dawn, because the next thing that I was aware of was the glare of the climbing sun striking down upon my sore and heavy eyes. Before long I was to realize that the glare was about to be obliterated.
I was at once alerted to an unnatural and all embracing silence that seemed to have affected every living creature within the forest. Their instincts were heedful of an imminent natural disturbance and one glance towards the north confirmed to me the source of their fear. An enormous bank of dark and ominous clouds had been seated above the Barisan mountains for the past few days. They had been motionless, as though they were attached to the very peaks themselves, and they had posed no immediate threat.
However, as I looked towards them now, I could see that they had shifted dramatically and that they were virtually overhead!
The first rolls of thunder were enough to convince me that now was the time to break up my camp with all speed. I placed my belongings in the base of my boat underneath the tarpaulin and a further covering of oilskin. Once I was certain that my papers and equipment were secure and strapped down, I made good my moorings and then crawled in after them. There, with God’s grace, to ride out the storm.
Day Eleven
The tempest continued, unabated, for many hours and as it turned out, well into the night. Never before had I felt as if my own destiny was out of my hands and would be determined by a higher force. As I lay there for an interminable length of time, I could feel my craft being continually buffeted by the maelstrom that the river had now become. Time and again I was convinced that my moorings had been wrenched free and that I was to be sent hurtling into oblivion. Yet somehow they held fast. The sound of the rain as it crashed down upon my shelter was deafening and I felt as if I was being attacked by a thousand hammers!
Then it was over, as I always knew it would be, and I made my first few tentative advances from beneath my shelter. Miraculously my craft and I had escaped intact, although the transformation that had taken place amongst my surroundings was dramatic. The level of the river had risen by several inches and it was running now rather than meandering as before. I was not alone either. The creatures that had hitherto remained hidden in a stunned silence, now rediscovered their voices. The chattering of the monkeys, the shrill calls of a thousand tropical birds all blended into a cacophony of expressed joy.
A small herd of deer joined me at the water’s edge and further downstream I could see a family of elephants enjoy a bath in the cooling and fast-running stream. Then I heard it! The sound that had been haunting me for the past few days. It was rising above that wondrous symphony and sounding much closer that it had done two nights before. The roar of water crashing down in force into an unfathomable abyss.
I could only assume that the course of the river was so tortuous and its bends so extreme that when I had first heard the sound of the falls they were then lying parallel to my own location. This time there was no mistaking their sound nor their close proximity. The falls of Sipiso-Piso at Tonggino and potentially my gateway to Lake Toba were, undoubtedly, just a few bends of the river away from me!
I collected a handful of the foul-smelling, but beautiful tasting, durian fruit, which seemed to be in such plentiful supply, and decided to take advantage of the fast-running waters by setting off immediately towards the falls. My papers were still safe and secure from the night before and I was as prepared as I possibly could be for my descent into the unknown.
The bends of the river shunted and diverted me this way and that; however the roar of those majestic falls remained undiminished. The river widened noticeably as I cut my way through one final limestone gorge, and as I emerged back into the sunlight I realized that barely one hundred yards ahead, the river suddenly seemed to vanish!
I subsequently discovered that the falls were three hundred and sixty feet deep and yet the mist from the crashing waters below surged back upwards and towards me with a howl. The speed of the water was such that my oar was now rendered useless and I would not have been able to stop myself had I wanted to. I stowed away my oar, leant
back as far as I could and clung on as hard as I could to the strapping. Not for the first time my life was in the hands of another, and with a rush I tipped over the edge.
The spray clouded my vision of the foot of the falls and the descent was steeper than I had imagined it to be. For a few moments my life hung in the balance as I veered downwards. However, with immense relief I found that my boat remained as straight as an arrow and ploughed smoothly into the deep pool below. Upon making impact with the water I was unable to avoid a jagged rocky outcrop that protruded from the depths and its edge caught the side of my head, close to the temple. I was still conscious when the boat temporarily submerged, then righted itself again and then …
Oblivion!
Day ?
I could not tell for how long I had been lying in the bottom of my boat in a state of unconsciousness. It might have been for a few hours, or it might have been days. Upon awakening I discovered that my new surroundings were so surreal compared with those that my hazy memory could recall that I was not certain whether I had entered the gates of paradise itself, if that was indeed to be my final port of call.
If it is, well then the island of Samosir, positioned in the centre of Lake Toba, would be its perfect setting. As a point of interest, Samosir is all that remains of the summit of a gigantic, volcanic mountain that erupted millions of years ago. Its destructive power was of such magnitude as to produce the vast lake upon which I was now floating.
Apparently my boat had drifted away from the base of the falls, while I had been in my coma, and I was now only a few hundred yards away from Samosir itself. It is reassuring to think that so much beauty can be created from an occurrence of such horrific destruction. The circumference of the island was fringed by a line of fine white sand. In its centre a clutch of tall elegant trees proudly looked over wave upon wave of lush green forests and tiny, sparkling waterfalls. Here and there I could detect a small clearing or two, containing a collection of buildings that were clearly Bartak in construction.
I decided to make for the nearest of these, set but a few hundred yards from the beach. I had heard that the Toba Bartak were somewhat fiercer in their appearance and behaviour than their cousins further downstream. I discovered that the first half of the statement was true, but not the second. I had hoped that the inhabitants of the village of Parapat would provide me with a place to rest and recuperate for a few days. But, more important, that they might save me a considerable amount of time and effort by pinpointing the Temple of Portibi.
I was delighted when these people proved to be every bit as kind-hearted and hospitable as I had hoped, but distressed and horrified when they informed me that the temple that I sought was not to be found on the shores of Lake Toba at all, but in a place called the ‘Holy Forest’ on the Alas river!
Could Pritesh have been so seriously misinformed? Had somebody deliberately misled him in an attempt to cover the movements of the Ghadar?
I could not contemplate prolonging my journey even further, nor did I possess the resources to consider undertaking it. In fact I was on the point of despair when a young woman, Rashini, who had tended to my wounds upon my arrival, provided me with a third choice.
Was it not possible that a temple such as described by Pritesh did exist somewhere along the shores of the lake and that it was merely its name of which he had been misinformed? Of course it was possible! I was so delighted at this suggestion that before I realized what I was doing I had kissed and embraced the beautiful Rashini. She was not averse to such intimacy and it felt natural that she should return my embrace. It was all I could do to persuade her to lead me to a village elder who knew of a likely site for the temple that I sought. Reluctantly she did so, but I knew then that it would difficult for me to take my leave of her the following morning.
The elder knew of a large complex of temples further along the eastern coast line, that had sadly fallen into a state of ruin and decay. I was amazed to hear that he believed it had been built over 1,000 years ago by the same Panai builders that had constructed the temple of Portibi. Furthermore, it had been dedicated to Shiva and inscribed with his name and symbols, the very same god that Bal Gangadhar Tilak had invoked when he had first rallied the Ghadar extremists!
By the time he had further informed me that one of the temple courtyards was adorned with a beautiful bronze female statue that had been brought to these lands from southern India, I knew that when I awoke on the following morning, I would be embarking upon the final stage of my long journey. I was pleased to note that the Toba Bartak fermented the same potent orange brew that I had previously enjoyed.
I celebrated the wonderful news with a healthy cup or two of this strange drink and when I awoke the next day I prayed forgiveness from your mother as I realized that Rashini was still lying next to me!
Day ?
The entire village turned out to watch me row across to the mainland coast of the lake. Although the tearful Rashini refused to join them, I would not be diverted from the task that lay ahead of me.
That same elder had also warned me to be on my guard. Apparently occasional groups of marauding Dutch troops made use of the temple ruins as a temporary camp while rounding up refugees fleeing from Aceh. Although German missionaries were the only white people whom the Toba Bartak had encountered for many months, the elder still felt that it would best for me to remain vigilant. He then made an obscure and tentative reference to a group of vigilantes known as the ‘Cult of the Giant Rat’. However, he would not be drawn further when I questioned him as to its nature.
Acting upon his advice, I ensured that my revolver was dry and fully loaded, and as I drew closer to the supposed site of the temple I maintained a smooth and silent stroke of the oar. Unfortunately the lush green forest extended all the way down to the actual water’s edge and I realized that this would prohibit me from gaining a view of the temple in advance of my approach. I thought it best to remain still and silent for a moment or two in case there were any sounds ahead that might aid me in my search.
Fresh tobacco leaves grew in abundance in the surrounding hills and I had fashioned for myself a number of moist green cigars before I had left the village. I lit up one of these, at this opportune moment and sat there smoking in silence, until the waves of heady nausea that my cigar had induced caused me to hurl the remainder into the water. I decided to allow the others enough time to dry out, before indulging in them again.
I looked back towards the village, which had by now disappeared into the distance, and with a resigned shrug I continued upon my slow, painstaking progress. I had just rounded a shallow bend and crossed a small bay when I became aware of a fine plume of grey smoke rising above the tree-line that lay just ahead of me!
The implication of this was obvious. Unless I had been unfortunate enough to have stumbled across a troop of Dutch soldiers, I was now no more than a stone’s throw away from the headquarters of the Ghadar movement. I hauled my boat on to the shore and tethered it securely before camouflaging it beneath some heavy foliage.
I was determined to ensure that my only means of making an urgent escape was safe and available to me at a moment’s notice. Once I was satisfied that all was secure and with my last few belongings gathered into a tiny sack, I set off on foot towards the line of smoke.
Notes
(1) ‘Subalterns’ – Junior Army Officer
CHAPTER SEVEN
A MASTER OF SILAT
As I drew ever closer to the object of my quest I strained both my eyes and ears for any confirmation that my search was drawing nearer to its conclusion. After I had been walking for barely fifty yards or so that confirmation became very much in evidence.
To begin with, I was sure that I could just make out the faint murmuring of voices coming from within a clearing just ahead of me. My blood chilled once I was certain that they were speaking in Gujarat, the dominant language of western India. Then, as I approached the clearing the decaying forms of redclay pillars and intricately constructe
d domes loomed from behind the ever thinning line of trees, which had previously obscured them from me.
I dropped to the ground then and wriggled forward by using my knees and elbows, while the voices became ever louder and more distinct. The ancient edifices reared up all around me and I was left awestruck as I imagined how inspiring they must have looked all those centuries ago.
I lay there for several moments, lost within this world of a distant past. I had failed to notice the change in the direction from which the voices were now coming and was oblivious to the sounds of footsteps working their way around and behind me. Two straw sandals appeared in the corner of my eye. Two large shadows now loomed over me. Too late I realized the immediate danger that now confronted me. The futility of my resistance did not prevent me from trying to throw off two vicelike grips, which were clamped painfully on my shoulders.
I raised my hands above my head; then the butt of a rifle came crashing down upon it!
Days? Weeks?
A large bucket of icy water was sent crashing into my face. My attempts at wiping the water clear from my eyes were hampered by two bonds of rough cord that were biting deep into the skin around my wrists. The painful abrasions began to bleed as soon as I struggled to free myself, but my efforts were met by the sounds of coarse and mocking laughter.
I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious. My eyes were sore and I was aware of dried blood down the side of my nose. The sun blazed angrily down, the glare increasing the terrible pain in my head. I growled a few choice expletives in the direction of my captives and my reward was a blow from another heavy object upon my skull. The last thing I remember, before losing consciousness once more, was two brutal sandals striking the side of my thighs as the laughter slowly drifted into the distance.
Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 10
