Sherlock Holmes, The Missing Years_Japan by Vasudev Murthy

Author:Vasudev Murthy [Murthy, Vasudev]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2015-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Calcutta

You often argued with me, when we were young fools

in Kobe, that logic is less important than passion. No.

There is logic and music in a blade of grass, in the song of

a hummingbird, in the sigh of a lover.

We reached Howrah Station, the main railway access point of Calcutta, around noon. The Hooghly River, over which we passed, is an offshoot of the Ganges that retains the mystique of its source. The July heat and the humidity of Calcutta affected us greatly, but my first impressions of the city were favourable—even if my description of it won’t be. It was different from Bombay and even more crowded. The air hung heavy with a concoction of smells, mostly offensive, but interesting on the whole.

The teeming mass of humanity belied description; poverty and utter deprivation seemed rife. The area was, I was told, in the midst of an extended drought of extreme severity and thousands from the hinterland were travelling to Calcutta to find a means of survival. I was moved by the plight of the hopeless and starving and the deep, silent stares of the emaciated children. But there was little I could do, being on a different mission that could not afford the slightest digression.

Holmes had an idea that we would find good rooms and remain inconspicuous in the Armenian Street area, which was filled with immigrants from that distant country—a quite surprising fact. We found rooms at the Rose Lodge that were comfortable, though we had to change our garb at an intermediate spot in order to avoid refusal. Holmes still insisted on a disguise for himself; he made himself up to look several years older. He bought a pair of spectacles for me and I was transformed into a scholar. We now looked like two English gentlemen—and since there were hundreds in Calcutta, it was fairly simple to assimilate. We checked in as James Smith and John Brown; not very original, but as inconspicuous as we could imagine.

We considered our options after lunch. The manager, Mr. Abel Petrosian, proved to be a genial and talkative soul.

‘Ah, gentlemen, you wish to travel to Shanghai? Excellent! Admirable! A fine place, home to so many of our Chinese immigrants here! Let me suggest some options.

‘The first way, perhaps the fastest, is to take a passenger ship to Singapore and then travel upwards to the northeast. The second way is to travel to Rangoon on the same ship, then head due east overland to Bangkok and finally resume the sea journey. This sounds arduous, but you will actually save time. During the monsoon, however, the overland road is nothing but a sea of mud and I would not suggest you go there. There is a third option that involves travelling to Dacca, then on to Kohima in the Naga Hills, Burma, China, but that is considered highly risky and there is every possibility that you will be subject to an attack on your persons—no, no, I would not advise that! I strongly recommend that you take the sea route to Singapore.

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