The door to Ghanada’s room had been shut for seven days. Not a soul in the mess had seen him, and not even the most irresistible bowls of mutton curry could lure him out. We tried everything—tricks, persuasion, even outright intrusion—but each attempt met the same fate: failure. What had caused this grand self-exile? Why had the greatest storyteller of the hostel mess vanished from our daily lives?
It all started with Bapi Dutta’s mad obsession with ducks. For months, he had been butchering them in search of treasure, convinced that one day, the prize of a lifetime would emerge from a duck’s belly. Then, the impossible happened. One fine day, amidst blood and feathers, Bapi Dutta howled with triumph—he had found it Was this the legendary fortune of the Seven Kings? Was Ghanada’s most audacious tale turning out to be real?
When the box was opened, its contents left us stunned. Not gold, not jewels—but a piece of thread.But Ghanada, the enigma himself, knew exactly what it was. A Quipu—an ancient Incan record-keeping system of knotted strings. This was no ordinary thread. This was the key to Cusco’s hidden treasure vaults.
What followed was a story that took us deep into the heart of the Amazon, where five men ventured into the most treacherous jungles on Earth , Mato Grosso , deep in the rainforest. From where no man had ever returned from there alive. ” Why was he hiding in the jungle? What secret had he uncovered? And what price had been paid for the Quipu ?
No, this time the situation is absolutely dire. In the language of newspapers, it is what you call a critical crisis.
TES—we have exhausted all our wits.One by one, we have tried every trick in the book, but all in vain.Like an arrow shot from a bamboo bow! All our schemes have hit an impenetrable wall and failed.
First Gour, then I, and after us, Shibu and Shishir—all have returned in despair.We have failed to bring Ghanada down from his room.
For the past seven days, he has voluntarily exiled himself in his third-floor room.
Rambhuj delivers his meals twice a day. Uddhav fills his water pitcher and brings down the empty plate, as usual, twice a day.
And that’s it. Ghanada has no other connection with the mess!
We have left no stone unturned in our efforts. But how many tricks can you try from the outside when the door itself remains shut?We have knocked and called out, “Are you listening, Ghanada?”
At first, there was no response. After several calls, we finally heard a voice from inside—devoid of any warmth in its tone.
“Who is it?”
A meaningless question, really, since Ghanada knows all our voices very well.Still, Shibu carefully introduces himself, “It’s me, Shibu. I had something important to discuss with you.”
“Come later.”
And that’s exactly where the problem lies.If Ghanada had tried to dismiss us in some other way, we could have pleaded and reasoned with him.Even if he was angry, we could have apologized and tried to pacify him.But when he says “Come later”, there’s not much room left for persuasion.
Even when we come later, his door remains firmly shut.Either he is asleep, or he has gone to the bathroom.
Having no other choice, I finally forced my way into his room that night.Of course, a little trickery was required.
Twice a day, when Ramvuj calls out, “Boro Babu, I’ve brought your food”, Ghanada opens the door.That night, we silently followed behind Ramvuj and hid against the wall.
As soon as the door opened and Ramvuj was setting the plates and bowls on the floor, we entered.
Ghanada had just washed his hands in a glass of water, preparing for his grand feast, when he saw us.At that moment, his face darkened like a storm cloud.
Shishir, in an exaggerated display, opened a brand-new tin of cigarettes, making sure even the sound of the air rushing in was audible.Shibu, pretending to be angry, started scolding Ramvuj instead, “What kind of sense do you have, Thakur? Just that tiny bowl of meat for Ghanada? Why, don’t we have any bigger bowls in the mess?”
Of course, to get a bowl larger than the one already given to Ghanada, he would probably have to place a special order months in advance!
But alas, all our efforts were in vain!
Without even glancing at us, Ghanada addressed Ramvuj directly and said, “Take this away, Ramvuj. I won’t eat today.”
We were stunned.Even Ramvuj was at a loss for words. But he was the first to speak,“What do you mean, Boro Babu? Today, we have excellent mutton! I’ve made a wonderful ‘konta curry.’”
Ghanada did steal a sideways glance at the bowl of meat, but he remained firm in his decision.“No, I have no way to eat.”
“No way? What suddenly happened?”—I blurted out in shock.
Ghanada, ignoring us, spoke only to Ramvuj, “I am forbidden from eating in front of others. You know that.”
Whether Ramvuj actually knew this or not—we didn’t wait to find out.We immediately left, feeling awkward and defeated.After hearing such a statement from Ghanada, staying there any longer was impossible!
And so, it has been seven days now since we last had any connection with Ghanada.
This time, his anger seems greater than usual, and perhaps, not entirely without reason.Maybe our prank had gone a little too far.
But ultimately, all the blame falls on Bapi Dutta.
If he hadn’t driven us crazy with his never-ending duck feasts, he wouldn’t have lost his temper one day and left the mess, and Ghanada wouldn’t have severed all ties with us either!
In just two months, Bapi Dutta lost quite a bit of money chasing spoiled ducks, and in the end, he got himself in trouble and dragged us down with him too.
It’s like that saying—"You enjoyed the fun, but we suffered the pain!" That’s all there is to it.
Even if he didn’t physically harm us, the verbal missiles he launched at us before leaving would have been enough to break us—unless we had the skin of a rhinoceros!
That day, just like always, Bapi Dutta had gone to the municipal market, bought a duck, and sat down to cut it himself.
His patience was unmatched—even after spending two months chopping ducks and finding nothing inside, he never lost hope!
He firmly believed that one day, from the stomach of a duck, he would miraculously find the treasure box of Ghanada’s legendary Seven Kings' riches and instantly become a king himself.
So, every day, he continued his duck-dissection ritual.
Usually, we would hang around nearby, cracking jokes and mocking him.
· "Hey Dutta, found the treasure box yet?"
· "Forget those spoiled ducks! Try some regular ducks now!"
But that day, the moment Bapi Dutta sat down to cut the duck, we all vanished wherever we could hide.
And then, suddenly—a thunderous roar erupted from Bapi, shaking the entire mess!
"EUREKA! I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT!"
We all rushed out from our hiding spots, peering down in disbelief from the second-floor balcony.
Even Ghanada had come down from his third-floor exile, leaning over the railing to see what was happening.
Standing in the courtyard below, Bapi Dutta held up a blood-covered object, waving it in the air as if he was about to break into a victory dance.
"Come quickly! This is a jackpot!"
In a frenzy, we raced downstairs, practically dragging Ghanada along with us.
But once we reached the ground floor, while Bapi Dutta's voice was filled with excitement,our faces were frozen in pure astonishment!
I exclaimed, "Huh! That box? The same one? The one with the heavy-water map that could buy all of Bengal, Bihar, and Odisha?"
I also stole a glance at Ghanada's face to catch his reaction.But instead of his usual "See? Didn't I tell you!" expression, his face showed something closer to unease.
Bapi Dutta, however, had no time for that. Puffing and panting, he proudly displayed the box to Ghanada and launched into an elaborate retelling of how he cut open the duck’s stomach to find it.
Shibu, clearing his throat slightly, interrupted, "But shouldn't we open the box now?"
Shishir, with a serious nod, added, "Yes, but it should be Ghanada who opens it!"
Bapi Dutta, brimming with excitement, exclaimed, "Of course! Who else but Ghanada should open it?"He eagerly thrust the box toward him.
But what suddenly happened to Ghanada?At such a glorious moment of triumph, he seemed desperate to escape.
"No, no! Why do I need to open it? You all go ahead!"—he said, hurriedly stepping back toward his chair.
But Bapi Dutta wouldn’t let him get away.Overcome with emotion and excitement, he insisted, "No way! This is your box. You have to open it!"
Left with no choice, Ghanada reluctantly took the box and began to open it.We all stood around him in eager anticipation, completely absorbed in the moment.Bapi's eyes bulged so much, they seemed ready to pop out of their sockets!
The instant a small piece of paper emerged from the box, the roar of excitement that erupted was no less than the deafening cheers when Mohun Bagan or East Bengal scores a last-minute winning goal!
But Bapi Dutta couldn't hold back any longer.Without even realizing it, he snatched the rolled-up paper from Ghanada's hands and unrolled it in a frenzy.
And then…
The rapid succession of expressions that flashed across his face in those few moments—if it had happened in a movie, it would have surely earned a round of applause!
A storm cloud of Kalbaisakhi.
And now, that very Kalbaisakhi cloud roared— “Who… WHO is responsible for this devilry?”
Gour, playing dumb, snatched the paper from Bapi Dutta’s hands and read it aloud in the most innocent voice possible.
The boldly written words on the paper, printed as if in giant typeface, read:
“Ghanada’s Hoax!”
What followed was pure chaos—the aftermath of which led to Bapi Dutta leaving the mess and Ghanada cutting ties with us.
Evening.
We knew Ghanada’s routine like clockwork.By this time, he would have finished his afternoon nap, carefully packed his hookah with fresh tobacco, and was now reclining against his pillow, enjoying a perfect smoke.
This hookah ritual was a recent addition, something he had started only after severing ties with us.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out downstairs.
Gour, in an angry voice, was scolding Shishir— “What on earth did you say to the peon?”
Immediately, we all joined in, cornering Shishir with loud accusations—
“Hey! At least you could’ve asked what it was about?”“Why did you straight up send him away saying ‘He’s not here’?”“If he mentioned the name ‘Tamia,’ what harm would it have done to call him once?”
Flustered by the onslaught, Shishir snapped back—“What’s the point of calling him? Would Ghanada have come out? And since when does a registered letter arrive in Ghanada’s name?”
There was a brief pause, only a few seconds long—but in that silence, we sensed something.
Upstairs, the gurgling of the hookah had suddenly stopped.
We thought we even heard the cautious sound of a door latch being opened.
Sensing an opportunity, we raised our voices even louder—
“Who ever returns a registered letter? And that too, an INSURED one?”
That one word—‘insured’—sealed the deal.
At that very moment, we heard a loud throat-clearing sound, and our eyes instinctively snapped upward.
There stood Ghanada.
There he was.
Standing by the ledge of the terrace, Ghanada had finally stepped out of his room.
"Ah, Ghanada! Have you heard about Shishir’s stupidity?"
"That’s exactly what I want to hear."
That was all we needed. Without waiting for another word, we rushed up the stairs and gathered around him on the terrace.Then, as usual, everyone started talking over each other, embellishing the story with extra details, while simultaneously scolding Shishir and regretting our misfortune.
"Ugh! An insured letter! Who knows what was inside?"
"But can’t we still get it from the post office?"It was Ghanada himself who, with a newfound sense of urgency, suggested the solution.
We were ready for this.
"No chance now! Yesterday was the last day to collect it. Today, the postman came one final time just to check, and he said the letter will be returned this afternoon."
We all turned on Shishir in frustration—"Returned? What do you mean, returned? What were you doing all this time? Why didn’t you collect a registered letter earlier?"
Shishir made things even worse by explaining, "There was a slight mix-up with the name. The letter was addressed to ‘Gana Sam Dos,’ so the post office wasn’t sure who it was meant for."
That did it.We exploded at Shishir.
"Just because they weren’t sure? Even if the name was misspelled, the address was right! And foreign letters often have all sorts of variations in spelling. Do you think Ghanada only deals with the English? He has connections with Germans, French, Italians—who doesn’t he know?"
"No, no—Shishir is to blame!"At this point, we completely ganged up on him.
"How could you send the letter back just like that?"
Shishir, perhaps feeling guilty, opened a tin of cigarettes as a form of penance.
The moment Ghanada absentmindedly picked one up, we knew we had won.
"The letter must have been from a German," Shibu suddenly speculated excitedly, "After all, they all know Ghanada as Herr Dos over there!"
Gour protested, "No, no! It must have been written by a Frenchman. Shishir, wasn’t there a ‘St.’ before the name?"
"Not Monsieur, but it seemed like Señor. Maybe someone from Italy sent it!" I turned to Shishir for confirmation.
Like a guilty man caught in the act, Shishir admitted that he hadn’t even noticed what was written before the name!
"Of course, you wouldn’t! Otherwise, things would’ve actually made sense!" Gour scolded him before turning straight to Ghanada, "Do you have any idea who sent the letter and from where?"
A few tense moments followed. Which way would the balance tilt? Peace or war?
Suddenly, Shibu tipped the scales by shouting down to the cook, “Thakur, bring our special Kabiraji cutlets and tea up to the terrace!”Then, with a sheepish grin, he turned to Ghanada and added, “We placed a special order today just for you!”
That small weight was enough to shift the balance.As if he hadn’t even heard the mention of cutlets, Ghanada picked up the previous conversation right where he left off.
"So, you want to know who sent the letter and from where, don’t you?"
We were already ahead of him, marching toward his room."Of course! A registered insured letter all the way from abroad—it’s strange, isn’t it?"
By the time we entered his room, the large tray of tea and cutlets had arrived from downstairs.
Ghanada settled onto his wooden bed, picked up a cutlet absentmindedly, and said, “This letter wasn’t sudden, you know… this letter—”
He never got to finish the sentence.We were left hanging midair, frozen in suspense, until all four special-order Kabiraji cutlets were duly dispatched to their rightful places.
Only after taking two deep drags from the cigarette that Shishir had dutifully lit and placed between his fingers, followed by a sip of tea, did he complete the thought.
“…It was supposed to arrive a long time ago.”
"Then you’ve figured out who sent it?" We were stunned.
"Of course! Just from the spelling of my name! There’s only one person in the world who would spell it that way. I’ve been counting the days for this letter for six years!"
"Six years? It must be an incredibly valuable letter!" Shishir’s eyes widened.
"If it wasn’t, would it have been insured?" I snapped.
But Ghanada only smiled—a mysterious, knowing smile.
"It’s only insured by name! If it were actually insured for its true worth, Peru’s entire treasury would have gone bankrupt just paying the premium!"
Now we were truly baffled.
"That valuable? What was inside? Diamonds? Pearls?" Shibu asked with wide-eyed innocence.
"Nonsense! If it were diamonds, it would’ve been too heavy! And no matter how expensive diamonds are, they wouldn’t cost so much that insuring them would bankrupt a national treasury!"
Shishir, irritated at Shibu’s ignorance, scoffed.
"But why Peru’s treasury?" Gour latched onto the key detail. "Did the letter come from Peru?"
Ghanada smiled slightly, scanning our eager faces, before saying,"Yes, from the city of Cusco. No one but Don Benito could have sent that letter."
"But what was in it?" we pressed.
As usual, he made us hold our breath for a few seconds before finally answering,"A length of knotted, colored thread."
"Thread?" We were dumbfounded!
Shibu’s jaw practically hit the floor."You mean ordinary thread, like the kind spun from cotton?"
"Yes, just a piece of knotted, colored string."Ghanada looked at us with a mixture of amusement and pity, before adding,"If you could untangle that one string, you could pay off every debt America has ever loaned to the world.And for those few knotted threads, in the last 425 years, over 4,000 people have lost their lives!"
This time, we didn’t even have to pretend to be shocked.Gour, his voice dry, somehow managed to ask, "And why… why would such a cursed thread be sent to you?"
"Why?" Ghanada’s eyes twinkled. "Because it was a warning—like the cry of a kinkajou."
"A kinkajou?"
"Yes, a type of raccoon. If you ever fail to recognize its cry, even when death is near, you wouldn’t have lived to hear this story today.But to truly understand the meaning of that letter, you would have to go back twelve years,deep into the jungles of Mato Grosso in Brazil—where no civilized man has ever returned from."
"And you actually went there?"
Shishir blurted it out impulsively, almost sinking himself into disbelief.
But Kabiraji cutlets have many virtues.Ghanada completely ignored Shishir’s comment.
Taking a deep, deliberate drag from his cigarette, he became lost in his own world, before beginning,
"There were five of us, carrying our lives in our hands, traveling through the most impenetrable jungles on Earth— in search of the world’s most mysterious tribe. They are called the Shavasti.
To reach them, one must first survive the giant anacondas and crocodiles lurking in the waters, avoid the bloodthirsty piranhas, and battle through a jungle filled with dangers—from the fearsome jaguar, to the deadliest venomous snakes and scorpions."**
Then, he paused, before adding ominously,"And even if you escape all of that, you are still not safe. The Shavasti are the most ruthless warriors the world has ever known."
They had bows and arrows, but what truly delighted them was killing people with thick, knotted wooden clubs!
You could never tell where in the jungle they were lying in wait.In a place where every step forward required cutting through dense trees, vines, and foliage, the Shavasti moved more silently than the jungle beasts, making it impossible to detect them.
No civilized traveler or hunter had ever seen the Shavasti with their own eyes and lived to tell the tale.Even the other tribes in the region feared them like death itself, avoiding their territory at all costs.Whatever little was known about them came only from legends.
That time, however, our mission wasn’t purely for the sake of science.Two years earlier, a traveler named Señor Berien had disappeared in the region.The following year, a famous hunter named Don Benito led a rescue expedition to find him—but he too never returned.
The Brazilian government had announced a massive reward for any information about them.And so, driven partly by the temptation of that reward,and partly by my own secret motives,I set out on an expedition into that uncharted land.
There were five of us in the team—three porters to carry supplies, and then myself and Raimundo.Raimundo was half-Portuguese, a local hunter.Though he had never been to the Shavasti’s kingdom,he was familiar with the surrounding areas, which is why I hired him as our guide.
But the moment we left the known territory and entered the true wilderness,I realized that if I was blind, then Raimundo was completely deaf—he knew nothing either!
Standing by the banks of the Ronuro River,we ventured deeper into the jungle, completely disoriented.Still, after finding a small clearing, we had the porters clean up the area and set up camp for the night.
We decided to take turns keeping watch—Raimundo and I would alternate shifts.
That first night, after my shift, I had just closed my eyes for a brief moment, when suddenly, Raimundo shook me awake in a panic!
"Do you hear that, Amo?" Raimundo’s voice was trembling with fear.
"Hear what?" I grumbled in annoyance."That’s just a jungle macaw or a cockatoo screeching!"
"No, Amo, listen carefully!"His voice barely came out—he was too terrified to speak.
So I listened.And suddenly, every hair on my body stood on end.
First, after the harsh cries of the macaws, came the gut-wrenching screams of the Brazilian red howler monkeys—Guaribas.
Before that sound could even fade, a metallic, ringing cry echoed through the jungle—the unmistakable call of the peacock-like Pavas bird.
I turned to look at Raimundo.
By then, he was already drenched in sweat.
Given the situation, it wasn’t surprising that Raimundo was drenched in sweat.
As soon as the Pavas bird’s call fell silent, we heard the rasping growl of a jaguar—and then, once again, the howling cries of the Guaribas monkeys.
The sounds were getting closer and closer!
"What do we do, Amo?!"Raimundo collapsed onto the ground in terror.
How could I encourage him when I myself was on the verge of panic?Still, I scolded him, "Stop calling me Amo, Amo! How many times have I told you—I am not your master, I am your friend! It’s Amigo, not Amo!"
"Yes, Amo!"And yet, he continued trembling just the same.
Even in that life-threatening moment, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Then I barked at him again, "Aren’t you ashamed? You’re supposed to be Brazil’s finest hunter!"
"What’s the use of being a hunter now, Amo?"
I knew he was right.This was a classic Shavasti war tactic—the way they hunted their enemies.
All night long, they would surround their target, imitating the cries of various jungle animals as they advanced and retreated.The victim, unable to sleep, would spend the entire night in terror, expecting an attack at any moment.
Then, just before dawn, the Shavasti would suddenly go silent, making it seem like they had left.
The exhausted enemy, believing the danger had passed, would finally doze off.
And that was the moment the Shavasti struck—smashing their enemies to death with their knotted wooden clubs, without ever losing a single warrior.Pure strategy, no casualties on their side.
I could tell that the jungle sounds were already beginning to retreat.
Trying to boost both Raimundo’s morale and my own, I said,"There’s no need to panic so soon! Their trick will last all night. As long as we escape before dawn, we’ll be fine."
"But where will you escape to, Amo?!"Raimundo’s voice was filled with dread."There are only five of us, but at least five hundred of them!They won’t attack at night if we stay put—but the moment we try to run, they’ll beat us to death!Do you think two rifles will be enough to stop their clubs in this pitch-dark jungle?"
He wasn’t wrong.I was about to say something to calm him down, when suddenly, the jungle noises began creeping closer again.
First, the sharp cries of a toucan—then the deep roar of the jaguar’s cousin, the cougar—and just as that faded, the unmistakable bickering cries of the kinkajou—like the mewling of a cat.
That sound made me jolt upright.
Raimundo sprang up as well, his face pale with fear."What is it, Amo?!"
"We’re about to find out."
I started moving toward the jungle; but before I could take another step,Raimundo grabbed me with both arms and practically screamed—
"Are you insane, Amo?! Where are you going?!"
With firm determination, I shook off Raimundo’s grip and, without answering, slipped into the jungle.
It was absolute darkness—the kind where you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face.Even in daylight, moving through this jungle was nearly impossible—at night, taking even a single step was a struggle.I hadn’t brought a torch, knowing it would give away my position, so I pressed forward, stumbling and feeling my way through.
As soon as the kinkajou’s call faded, the howler monkeys screamed again—and in response, I whistled a sound like the sharp cry of the Wirapuru bird.
For a moment, the sounds from the other side stopped.
Then, as soon as the macaws resumed their calls, I imitated the grunting of a tapir.
The jungle fell completely silent.
Seizing the moment, I mimicked the chirping of a prosior bird, then added the ringing cry of the Pavas bird on top of it.
Now, the jungle was dead quiet.But I kept moving forward, carefully.
After some time, the jungle thinned out slightly,and what I suspected turned out to be true—
"A zoo!"
Shibu couldn’t hold it in any longer and blurted it out.
Ghanada’s eyebrows furrowed, and we immediately scolded Shibu—
"A zoo? Really? What kind of genius are you? Since when do jungles have zoos?"
Whether Ghanada was pleased with our rebuke or not was unclear, but he continued his narration.
"In the clearing, there was a tent.Though covered from all sides, a faint glow from a strong lamp was visible inside.
I silently crept behind the tent and let out a sound—like the world's biggest rodent, a capybara."
From inside the tent, a roaring voice called out—"Rea esta ahi?" (Who’s there?)
I replied,"Soy yo!" (It’s me.)
The entire tent shook,and then, pulling aside the curtain, a man the size of a small mountain came storming out in a fury.
Even in the darkness, just from his size, I immediately recognized him.
The moment he stepped out, I quietly moved to the other side.He circled the tent with a torch, and when he finally re-entered, I had already rummaged through his belongings,
and was now lying on his bed—calmly lighting a cigarette.
The moment he saw me, the mountain of a man turned into a raging volcano.
Ghanada continued…
The moment he saw me, he erupted like a volcano.
"Tavare, mukura chichika!"—meaning, "You little rat!"
As he charged toward me, I calmly sat up and said,"Ar, dhumso ai, slowly!"
"Ai"—the laziest, most sluggish animal in the world, the Brazilian three-toed sloth.
He froze mid-step, completely stunned, and stared at me for a moment.
Then, still baffled, he muttered, "You, Dos! Here? What do you want?"
"Not much!" I replied casually."I just wanted to have a little chat with Don Benito—the man who led an expedition to find Señor Berien.The whole world is eager to know what happened to Berien, and why Don Benito himself disappeared in the search!"
Don Benito, that massive four-hundred-pound brute, now sat slumped in disappointment and sighed,
"Señor Berien was killed by the Shavasti."
"That much I figured. But what I don’t understand is—why, after learning this, did Don Benito refuse to return to civilization?Why are you still hiding in the jungle instead of going back?"
Instead of answering my question, Benito threw one back at me—
"How did you find me?"
I chuckled and said,"Because of one small mistake, my friend.You’re a great hunter, and I’ve heard you’ve dabbled in archaeology as well.But zoology—ah, you’re not quite an expert there!You might have perfected the jungle calls of the Shavasti to befriend them, but you made one massive error."
Benito’s face darkened. "What mistake?"
"You copied the kinkajou’s call!But my dear friend, that animal doesn’t even exist in this part of Brazil!The Shavasti don’t know that call.The moment I heard it, I realized it wasn’t the Shavasti at all—someone else was trying to scare us away!"
Benito’s expression was priceless—a mix of shock, frustration, and rage.
Before he could process his defeat, I pressed on,
"Now tell me—what’s the real deal?If a civilized man appears in this jungle, do you welcome him with open arms…or do you try to scare him away?"
Benito hesitated, stammering, "I… I mean… I…"
Then, in a barely audible voice, he muttered,
"I failed to bring back Señor Berien… so I can’t face civilization anymore."
"Really!" I said, pretending to be serious."So you’re choosing exile just because you failed?Fine, but does that mean I have to return empty-handed?And what about the massive reward from the Brazilian government?"
At this, Benito’s face tightened.I could see it now—he desperately wanted me gone.
"What… what do you want?"
It was clear—he would do anything to get rid of me.
Ghanada continued…
The Inca emperor, Atahualpa, welcomed the Spanish conqueror Francisco Pizarro with great hospitality, offering him food, gifts, and protection.
And in return?
Pizarro committed the ultimate betrayal.Using deception, he captured Atahualpa, demanding a ransom of unimaginable wealth—gold and silver in staggering quantities.
Even after the Inca paid the ransom, Pizarro mercilessly executed Atahualpa.
That shameful day in human history was November 29, 1533.
At this point, Benito, unable to hold back, interrupted,
"Not everything you say is true! But this story—who doesn’t know it?"
I smirked."Ah, then let me tell you what the world doesn’t know."
"The gold and treasure that Pizarro looted from the Incas was only a tiny fraction of their total wealth.
Peru, at that time, was so overflowing with gold that calling it a land covered in gold would not have been an exaggeration.The Incas called themselves ‘Children of the Sun’ and referred to gold as ‘the Tears of the Sun.’
They didn’t just make ornaments, plates, and utensils from gold.Even their temples had golden floors!
In Cusco, the gutters carrying rainwater around the Temple of the Sun weren’t made of copper—they were lined with solid gold.
As for silver—it was so cheap that Pizarro’s men, the conquistadors, used it to shoe their horses!
Had Pizarro not killed Atahualpa so prematurely, the amount of gold he would have acquired is beyond imagination.
Because just as Cusco’s priests were preparing to send even more gold to ransom Atahualpa,the news of his execution reached them.
Realizing Pizarro’s true nature, they hid all the remaining treasure!
Even though Pizarro later captured Cusco, thinking it was the golden city, he never found the real hidden vaults.
The Grand High Priest of the Incas, Villac Umu, ensured that the locations of these hidden treasures were recorded in a way that they could only be retrieved once the Spaniards were driven out of Peru!
The Incas had no written language.
They spoke Quechua, but the priest didn’t write down the locations in words.
Instead, he recorded them using an ancient system of knotted strings—
‘Quipu.’"
I could see Benito struggling to maintain his composure.His eyes flickered with doubt and desperation.
Trying to act casual, he forced a laugh and said,
"Hah! Your ‘Quipu’ stories don’t amuse me in the slightest!"
I smiled. "Oh, is that so? Then listen to this—
After the Grand Priest, the Quipus were passed down to his second-in-command.
But when the priestly bloodline ended, these Quipus disappeared,vanishing without a trace.
For centuries, historians, treasure hunters, and explorers have searched for them in vain.
Even Garcilaso de la Vega, a descendant of the last Inca emperors,spent his entire life looking for them—but never found a single one.
Recently, a few fragments of Quipu have resurfaced.
But here’s the real problem— almost no one on Earth knows how to decipher them anymore!
At this, Benito’s patience snapped.
With a furious roar, he exploded in rage.
Benito roared in fury, "What are you trying to say? Why are you telling me this story?"
I remained calm and said, **"What I mean is that only two or three people in the world can still decode the signals in a Quipu. Señor Berien was one of them.
He even had some Inca blood in him.
For his entire life, he searched for lost Quipus—not just in Peru, but in Colombia, Ecuador, Chile, Bolivia, and Brazil.He had even managed to collect a few.
His last known search was in this very Mato Grosso jungle.
According to legend, after Peru fell to the Spaniards, a branch of the Inca civilization escaped across Lake Titicaca, first settling in Bolivia, and later trying to build a kingdom in this remote part of Brazil.
It is said that these Incas brought with them the most valuable Quipu of all—the one that holds the key to Cusco’s hidden treasure vaults.
Señor Berien came to this forbidden jungle searching for that Quipu.And I am absolutely certain that he found it!"
Benito’s face turned murderous as he snapped, "You’re ‘certain’? Based on what—some guesswork?"
I smiled, opened my palm, and stretched out my hand toward him.
"Not guesswork, Benito. I have it in the palm of my hand."
Benito stared at my hand.His eyes widened—as if his skull itself was about to burst open.
Acting as if I didn’t notice his shock, I continued, in the most innocent tone possible,
"And that’s exactly why I came to you, Benito. All I need is one piece of colored string—the Quipu.Give it to me, and I’ll be on my way. And you—you can continue your blissful life of exile in this jungle."**
That was the final straw.
The mountain of a man erupted into a full-blown volcano.
"You filthy rat! You sneaky little thief!You dare come into my den to steal from me?!"
And with that monstrous roar, all four hundred pounds of Benito launched himself at me.
With a quick twist of my body, I dodged.
"And then?" Gour eagerly tried to fill in the blanks,"The tent tore open, and that mountain of flesh went flying outside, rolling on the ground, struggling to get up?"
But Ghanada frowned slightly before continuing,
**"No… I ended up crashing into a pile of ropes and supplies in the corner of the tent.By the time I recovered, Benito was already standing over me—grinning triumphantly.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he taunted me—‘What’s wrong, Dos? Didn’t see that coming?You may have mastered mimicking animal calls, but I’ve also learned a few tricks in close combat.’
That was it.I lunged at him.
But again, he threw me down with a laugh.‘Oh, I forgot to mention—I also trained in Sumo wrestling, my friend!’"**
But Benito’s laughter was cut short.
This time, he was the one pinned to the ground, groaning in pain.
I tightened my grip around his throat and whispered,
**"You learned everything…but you forgot to learn this Bengali finishing move.
Now tell me—where did you find the Quipu?You came here under the pretense of searching for Señor Berien…but instead, you murdered him and stole the Quipu—isn’t that right?"**
Benito’s only response was a faint, desperate whimper—
"No… no…"
Benito gasped for breath as I loosened my grip slightly.
"I swear," he choked out, "Señor Berien gave me this Quipu before he died!I have written proof, in his own handwriting!"
I released him and said, "Alright, show me the proof.But let me warn you—if you try any tricks, I’ll finish you off right here with the Bengali scissor lock!"
Whether he understood the threat or not, Benito had lost all motivation to try any deception.He reached into his satchel and pulled out a half-torn, dirt-stained letter.
I recognized Berien’s handwriting instantly.Indeed, in his final moments, he had praised Benito for his care and entrusted him with the Quipu, asking him to deliver it to the authorities after his death.
I handed the letter back and asked, "If Señor Berien willingly gave you the Quipu, then why are you hiding here like a fugitive?"
From Benito’s expression, it was clear that he would have gladly strangled me if he could get away with it.But realizing the consequences, he chose to remain silent.
I smirked and continued,"Fine. If you won’t say it, I will. Señor Berien didn’t ‘give’ you the Quipu as a gift!He entrusted it to you to be sent to the Peruvian National Museum after his death.
But you had other plans.You wanted to decipher the Quipu’s code yourself and claim Cusco’s hidden treasure alone.
If you returned to civilization too soon, people might suspect your actions.So you decided to stay hidden in this jungle, waiting until you could decode the Quipu’s secrets.
That’s also why you tried to scare us away—so no one would interfere!"**
Benito snapped.
"So what if I did? I risked my life to find this Quipu! Now that it’s in my hands, why should I let anyone else have the treasure?"
I laughed and said,"Ah, but before claiming the treasure, you need to understand what the Quipu says.
And that, my friend, is the real challenge.
This is nothing but a tangled string of knotted colored threads!With the fall of the Inca Empire, the knowledge of how to read these knots was nearly lost forever.
You may have learned a little here and there,but even if you spend your entire life studying this Quipu,you won’t be able to unlock its meaning.
So I’m taking this Quipu with me!"**
Benito practically broke down,
"No, no!" he pleaded. "Give me just two years!If I can’t decipher the Quipu in two years, I promise I’ll send it to you myself!"
At this point, Ghanada stopped speaking.
Shishir, eager with curiosity, asked, "So… that means after failing to decode it, he finally sent the thread to you?But wasn’t it supposed to be after just two years?"
Ghanada smiled slightly and said,
"Yes, that was the deal.But first, he needed to know my address."
Ghanada seemed slightly annoyed,"Who knows how many places he had to travel before finally finding my address!That’s why it was delayed."
"But the letter and the thread are both missing now! What do we do?" Shibu almost wailed in frustration."That means we’ll never know what the Quipu said, and the treasure will never be found!"
Ghanada smiled at us with a hint of amusement and said, "The treasure was recovered long ago!"
We stared at him in disbelief.
"What?! But how?"
"Do you think I was just sleeping for two years?" He smirked.
"If you visit the National Museum near Plaza de Mayor in Lima, Peru,you’ll see an entire room filled with the rare golden artifactsthat were marked in the Quipu’s encoded messages!"
Gour was dumbstruck.
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