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
