Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (9 page)

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!

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.

(
1
) ‘Subalterns’ – Junior Army Officer

CHAPTER SEVEN

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 constructed 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!

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.

Two large logs, which had suddenly snapped and then collapsed into the centre of the dying fire, roused me from another night’s sleep spent in captivity. I could not be sure of the time but the grey hue of the heavy sky indicated that it was still an hour or two before dawn. The sound from the fire had not, apparently, disturbed anybody else and since my bonds appeared to be unbreakable, I used these moments of silent solitude to acquaint myself with my surroundings.

A large makeshift camp had been erected within the courtyard of the decaying, complex of Hindu temples. The canvas,
which had probably originated from British army issue, had been cleverly camouflaged with painted shades of greens and reds and the temple buildings themselves had been integrated into the camp wherever they had been sufficiently well-preserved to provide adequate shelter. Sadly, there were very few enough examples of these.

I was restricted from any further scrutiny of my surroundings by the impediment of my bonds and by the fact that the camp was, at last, beginning to stir. I recognized my two principle tormentors at once. They were both tall young men who sported untidy black beards and long dark kaftans. One of them, the stockier of the two, evidently felt some sympathy for my plight and he flung a large, pungent durian fruit into my lap as he passed by on his way to the lakeside for his morning bathe. This I ravenously devoured.

As a further group of men followed those two down to the waters, I could see that they were all similarly attired, and their loud, good natured camaraderie was evidence of a closely bonded brotherhood. They each carried a breech-loading rifle and ammunition belts were draped over their shoulders. I was left wondering for whom or what they were maintaining such high vigilance, and how much longer I was going to have to wait before I was to learn of my fate.

Once they returned to camp I was able to make out odd snatches of their conversation as they took breakfast around the rekindled fire. I understood that I was considered to be either a British or Dutch spy and that their leader, Tilat, otherwise known as the Giant Rat, would know what to do with me upon his return from his training in the mountains. As to the nature and purpose of this training, I could make nothing out. However, they speculated that my fate was not destined to be a pleasant one and they glared menacingly towards me as they let out yet another round of raucous laughter.

Any attempts that I made in striking up a stilted conversation were, at first, met with a stony silence. However, once I had managed to convince them of the dire necessity of my paying a visit to the lakeside myself, two guards temporarily released and escorted me, still brandishing their rifles, so that I could attend to my toilet. Although neither of them would divulge his name to me, nor the reason for their being encamped within the temple, I was able to glean some information from them on the way back to camp.

Although they were reticent in explaining their motives, they were more than happy to expand upon the subject of their revered leader. The man in whose hands my future wellbeing now rested was known as the ‘Giant Rat’ because of his extraordinary height and his ability in the monkey stance of the Indonesian martial art known as silat. I was familiar with this art as a result of my time spent in the Himalayas, the place of origin of nearly all of the styles of martial combat. However, the monkey form, also known as
dangyat monyet
, was a unique derivation that was based upon the movements of the poisonous Sumatran ‘Rat Monkey’.

It was all I could do to suppress my excitement when I learnt that the form’s principal weapons were a deadly strike of the palm and a razor-sharp curved blade known as a beladau! The ‘Giant Rat’ was an undoubted master in the use of both of these and he would soon return having spent several weeks in the mountains, in deep meditation and after further honing his unmatchable skills.

I felt it prudent, on my part, not to mention the fact that I already knew that I was in the hands of the Ghadah movement. Yet somehow, as I sat there for days on end listening to them talk, I began to realize that their aims were not those of a group set merely on a mindless quest for power. They wanted real political freedom for their people and would return to India to take it, once their associates were fully prepared.

My guards began to sense that I could understand much of their conversations and that I was becoming a sympathetic listener. Furthermore, I was able to convince them that I was no military spy, but an explorer in search of the secrets and mysteries of ancient Hindu history. In fact I was so successful in this respect that the next time I was led down to the lake, on our return I was shown through to another courtyard wherein was enshrined the legendary golden statue of a beautiful female goddess that had been transported from Southern India centuries before. I was in little doubt that she was a depiction of Laksmi, the goddess of fortune and the third deity to whom the temple had been dedicated.

I was further pleased to note that, when I was eventually returned to my position by the fire, my bonds were now to be left unsecured, although my guards maintained their armed vigilance. I was now looking forward to the return of the ‘Giant Rat’ and not viewing it with my previous dread. I would not have to wait much longer.

The return of Tilat could not have occurred under more dramatic circumstances. That evening another storm cloud had descended from the Barisans
1
and by the time that Tilat had entered the camp we were being bombarded by all the powers of a fully fledged tempest. My custodians ushered me into their shelter from where we watched the deluge wash away much of the camp. As soon as the storm was directly overhead, every flash of lightning was met by a deafening crack of thunder that seemed to make the very ground beneath us quake. A thousand artillery units would have been drowned out by this assault from the heavens. Then, in its very centre, an awe-inspiring vision suddenly appeared.

This manifestation was framed by shafts of violent white light, which surrounded him. He made no movements towards us, nor we to him, for he just stood there, fully upright and unaffected by the elements, as if he controlled them.

The ‘Giant Rat’ was certainly a giant, for he stood at well over six feet five inches, the hood and crimson robe that he wore making him appear to be all the taller and more awe-inspiring. He glided slowly past us, glancing neither to the left nor to the right, as he made his way towards an inner sanctum that seemed to be reserved for his use alone.

Since I was now in such close proximity to my captors it was easier for me to detect that they now regarded me with considerably less hostility and mistrust than they had at any time since my unfortunate, initial arrival at their camp. As I began to settle down for a cramped and uncomfortable night with them, I could only hope that their leader treated me with the same generous disposition as they had done.

By the following morning the storm clouds had all but dissipated and the large deep puddles that now lay all about the camp glistened with the bright morning sunlight that heralded the day of my meeting with the ‘Giant Rat’.

Their leader was held in such reverence that my companions strongly advised me to await a summons from him rather than to approach his quarters unannounced. They would inform him of my presence and the manner of my arrival in order to gauge his reaction.

This could well be some time in coming, as he had been troubled of late by bad news which had been filtering through from the mainland. Indeed, this news of further examples of British suppressions and arrests of leading figures from the Ghadar movement had been the motivation behind his decision to remove himself to the mountains in the first place. I would just have to wait.

For the first time since my arrival it was decided that I was not to be accompanied when I took my morning visit to the lakeside. I took this as a sign that I had at last gained the trust of my erstwhile captors and had, somehow, ingratiated myself into their group. This fact troubled me somewhat, for although I have never considered myself to be a jingoistic player of patriotic drums, I have always felt that I could not betray the country of my birth under any circumstances.

I decided to devote the remainder of the time that was available to me, prior to the expected summons from the ‘Giant Rat’, in deep meditation. I certainly had much to reflect upon as I was now questioning the true motives behind my continuing to remain within the Ghadar camp. There was now no question in my mind that I should be able to escape from there at any time of my choosing. Yet I decided to remain.

Should the opportunity arise, did I still intend to steal the beladau in the name of imperial stability? Was this purpose still important to me? More and more often my mind was going back to that day on the river when I tried to reflect upon the real difference between the lotus flower and the thorn, if indeed there was one.

I meditated upon these questions in so much depth that it was nightfall before I felt my shoulder being vigorously shaken by a lieutenant of the Ghadar. Tilat, the ‘Giant Rat’, was now ready to greet me!

My meditation had helped to prepare me for this meeting and how I might react to any decision that Tilat might come to. However, nothing could have really prepared me for the incredible presence that this man exuded. His simple room, which was constructed partly of canvas and partly of red-clay brick, was mutedly illuminated by two large candles in the far corner, and even the light from these was further dimmed by wreaths of smoke given off by a rack of sweet, pungent incense sticks.

The man in the centre of this sanctuary of calmness sat in the lotus position and graciously waved for me to join him in a space opposite him. With his cape and cowl removed and folded neatly behind him, he was now a man in a simple robe seated on a dusty floor. Yet the serenity that seemed to glow from every aspect of his noble countenance belied this initial impression. Seated before me he did not appear as a fearsome warrior, although he was that. Nor did he look like an undisciplined leader of revolt,
although that was his reputation. This master of silat and leader of men was a truly enlightened being, seeking nothing more and nothing less than justice and freedom for his people and for his culture.

Of course I was not able to divine this much knowledge of the man merely from this initial introduction. Yet, after but a few moments of quiet conversation, I was able to reach an understanding of his nature. For reasons that I could not fully understand, Tilat had come to the conclusion that I was a man whom he could trust and empathize with. He told me of the reasons behind his past actions and even divulged much of his future plans.

You must understand, my dear boy, that under those circumstances and in the face of such an awe-inspiring presence, I could not have failed to respond in kind. As if in anticipation of my revelation Tilat reached inside a large, ornately decorated leather pouch and extracted the very icon that I had travelled so far and endured so much to seek and recover. It was almost as if he was inviting me to make off with it, if it was still my desire to do so.

I did, in fact pick up the beladau, but it was only because I wished to examine so remarkable an object under closer scrutiny. The beladau was shorter than a sword but longer than a battle knife; however its true length was hard to estimate because of the acute curvature of the blade. The handle was simply bound with red leather edged in gold. That the blade itself was fashioned from the same metal as the ‘iron’ pillar of Quwwatul Mosque was in little doubt. Despite its obvious age this too was displaying no indications of rust or erosion and the beautifully intricate engravings that it bore were as clear and as deep as they had been on the day that they were first cut. The fact that these engravings were also in Sanskrit with dedications to Vishnu was further proof, as if that was needed, of the beladau’s original source.

Despite its undoubted beauty, Tilat assured me of its deadlier qualities and said that when used by a man of training and knowledge it was capable of decapitating a human head at a single stroke. As to whether he had ever put it to that use Tilat would not be drawn. We continued with our conversation until well into the night, during the course of which I explained at length the original motivation behind my journeys to his camp. I explained to him that, whilst I could never provide him with any form of active support, it was now no longer in my heart to betray him either.

Mercifully Tilat accepted that, although I could not even speculate as to the consequences had he not. When at last I returned to the camp for the remainder of the night, it was with the assurance that we would continue our conversation on the following day. I must confess to having looked forward to that with some lively expectancy.

During my time in the Himalayas, apart from having been trained in the art of meditation, I was also given some initiation into the various forms of martial combats. I also discovered that the very roots of these lay within the ancient Hindu traditions. Therefore, on the following morning, I was somewhat disappointed to learn that Tilat, together with some of his men, had taken off into the highlands to confirm reports of intense Dutch activity in the foot hills of the Barisans. I had hoped to have learned more about the various forms of silat, more especially the monkey stance, known as
dangyat monyet,
about which very little is known in the west.

My companions informed me that Tilat was an undoubted master in the use of this form, which made deadly use of the palms and various weapons, including the beladau, and I had looked forward to improving my skills under Tilat’s instruction.
I had to content myself, therefore, with a visit to a large wooden cage on the other side of the camp, which contained the rather unpleasant creature indigenous to Sumatra, known as the Rat Monkey.

The movements of this creature formed the basis of Tilat’s own and unique martial art form. Presumably he had acquired his name and fame from his association with this small but malevolent beast. It was kept securely within its cage because of the deadly venom that its bite was supposed to possess. Its appearance was as grotesque as was its reputation. From the back or sides it was every inch a monkey, yet it was its face that belied its simian origins. It was more sharply pointed and angular than any monkey that I had ever seen or heard of and its ears sat on top of the head like a pair of tufted horns. Its demonic similarities did not end there, however, for its large, piercing black eyes sent a chill through my body, whilst its small pointed nose and its vile gaping mouth with small sharp teeth completed this diabolical vision. I could not help but shudder as it turned suddenly towards me with its talon-like hand thrust towards me, the palm raised. I was certainly most grateful for the wooden bars that constrained it as I slowly backed away.

I decided that
dangyat monyet
must be a most deadly form indeed if that creature had been its inspiration.

The camp was full of great concern the following morning as the news that Tilat and his party had failed to return began to circulate.

Rumours that the men had been captured or even killed by the Dutch or the British armies spread like wildfire and the glare of mistrust began to return to the faces of the Ghadar whenever they looked in my direction. The conversations that we had enjoyed and the manner in which I had convinced them of my
sympathy towards their cause now seemed to count for nothing. Furthermore, I seemed to have lost the freedom of movement that I had recently enjoyed. Everywhere that I went, every turn that I made, was now being shadowed by one or even two armed guards and I prayed for Tilat’s safe and prompt return.

By dusk those tensions had reached fever pitch and as their looks of mistrust transformed into glares of hostility I began to regret not having made good my escape at the time when I had been presented with the best opportunity. Eventually the moment arrived when the men, now lacking strong leadership and guidance, decided to vent their fear and anger against me without waiting for their leader’s return.

My harsh bonds were now re-employed and any resistance that I had offered was greeted with sharp blows to my head and body. I was on the point of being dragged away to an unknown fate when a series of loud and joyous cries went up from the guards who had been stationed around the perimeter of the camp.

Flanked by his followers and appearing to be none the worse for his protracted stay in the highlands, Tilat strode purposefully into the camp. He fiercely berated those who had been responsible for trussing me up and then demanded my immediate release. Whilst my bonds were untied both Tilat and I were offered numerous mumbled apologies for the aggressive actions taken against me. These intensified once Tilat explained that the Dutch presence had been brought about by the flight of refugees escaping from the burning city of Aceh. This was a matter of which he was convinced I was totally ignorant.

Tilat assured us that at no time had he and his men been in any danger, as they had been observing the movements of the Dutch from a safe and secluded distance. The delay in returning to camp was brought about by their having decided to take a wide and circular route and Tilat’s desire to confirm that the Dutch
were moving in a direction well away from the camp. He was now satisfied that this was so.

He placed a reassuring arm around my shoulder and promised to continue with our conversations the following morning.

Tilat was as good as his word; during the course of the day the subject of our conversations turned more and more towards his unique form of silat.

I was enthralled to learn that the origins of silat could be traced back to ancient times and that its original inspiration was taken from nature itself. Various Buddhist monks, who had undertaken missionary voyages to the islands, had developed many martial arts and over 1,200 years ago introduced pentjak silat to Sumatra.

The movements of various animals were at its very core, in Tilat’s case those of the Sumatran rat monkey; many of these had been individually named, poetically. As a consequence the criteria of perfection in silat are to be able to attack, but more especially to defend, with poise and with extraordinary skill.

Remarkably, silat spread and developed to such an extent that by the 1870s, when colonization was well under way, the Dutch saw fit to outlaw the use and practice of silat, as they regarded it as a significant threat to their progress. Obviously this explained the fact that much of the practice is undertaken at night time and it can also explain why so many of the movements are carried out close to the ground and in a dancelike motion. Thus may its true and deadly intention be disguised.

I therefore concluded that the current interest of the Dutch in the activities at the Temple of the Three Deities was more to do with the stories of deadly silat practitioners that were now circulating, and had nothing at all to do with Tilat’s true political intentions!

During the course of various demonstrations, which Tilat
performed with some of his more senior lieutenants, the graceful, almost balletic movements were more remarkable than the deadlier intents of this form. However the latter soon became obvious, especially in the deadly palm strike, which was of particular interest to me.

Tilat refused to train me in its use as I was so sadly lacking in the essential cultural, spiritual and mental training. Then, of course, there were the physical techniques to learn: tumbling safely, kicking, blocking, all to be performed with sublime agility. Tilat could not devote sufficient time to my training whilst his group were under constant threat of discovery and destruction. Besides which, his plans for returning to India were now well advanced and his cohorts there were beseeching him to make a speedy return to rally his people.

Therefore I spent the majority of my time in meditation and in trying to acquire the martial techniques and the special movements that I had so far observed. I was particularly interested in the unusual, low-stance throws that had been adapted from the movements of small monkeys.

Some of these had evolved from the Hindu grappling techniques that I heard about years before, during my first visit to the Indian highlands and I discovered that the style, unique to western Sumatra, had been used by warriors during the early fighting against the Dutch invaders. During the course of the ensuing weeks, as a result of constant practice and hard work, I began to achieve some substantial progress.

Yet I was becoming uneasy.

On the evening that he had returned from his scouting mission, Tilat had given us assurances regarding the troop movements of the Dutch. Nonetheless, during the course of the past few days, I had noticed an increase in the number of the perimeter guards. I interrupted the course of one of our evening conversations by raising this matter, and with some concern.