The Sultan's Tigers (6 page)

A voice came from the other side of the room: “Tom, it's time to go.” Dad was standing in the doorway, his arms folded.

“Go where?” I asked.

“The hotel,” replied my father. “We'll have supper there, then go to bed and carry on here in the morning. Harvey, where are you staying?”

“I don't know,” said my uncle.

“I can ask at the hotel if they have another room.”

“Don't bother. I'll be fine. I'll just sleep here.”

Dad shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you like.” Then he turned to me. “Come on, Tom.”

“I'd rather stay here too,” I said.

“We're coming back in the morning,” said Dad. “You can chat with Harvey then.”

“He can stay if he wants to,” said Uncle Harvey.

“That's sweet of you,” said my dad. “But we don't want him running off to South America again.”

“I promise you, Dad, I am not going to run off to South America.”

“I know you're not. But even so, you can come and have supper with your mother and me.”

“Why can't I stay here? I don't want to have to share a room with Jack and Grace. He snores and she'll spend the whole night texting. They won't want to share with me, either. It would be better for everyone if I stayed here.”

“Where would you sleep?”

“On the sofa downstairs.”

“It won't be comfortable.”

“I don't mind. I can sleep anywhere.”

“I don't think it's a very good idea.”

By the way he said it, I knew he was wavering. With a bit more pressure, he might just crumble. He was probably still feeling guilty for banning me from Grandpa's funeral lunch. With any luck, I could play on that guilt and get what I wanted. I put on my best wheedling tone of voice. “Oh, come on, Dad. You know it makes sense. Jack and Grace will sleep much better. The room in the hotel won't be big enough for all three of us. Please, Dad.”

Dad looked at his brother. “Will you look after him?”

“He's much more mature than I am.”

“Sadly that's true,” said Dad. He thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “If Mom says yes, I don't see why not. Come and talk to her. You're probably right about the room. Grace has been complaining about it already. She'll be happy, anyway. Good night, Harvey. See you tomorrow.”

“Night, bro.”

I followed Dad downstairs and we talked to Mom. I could see she didn't like the idea of me staying with Uncle Harvey, but she couldn't find any reason to say no. I fetched my bag from the back of the car, said good night to Jack and Grace, promised Mom and Dad that, yes, I would behave myself and, no, I wouldn't stay up too late, then said good night to them too and hurried back upstairs.

Once Uncle Harvey had
read all the letters, he placed them carefully on the bed and smiled at me. “It's a great story. I like the sound of Horatio. I've heard of Tipu before, but I never knew much about him. And Wellesley, of course. You know who he is?”

“The general in charge of the army.”

“Yes, but do you know who he became?”

“No.”

“The Duke of Wellington. Heard of him?”

“Yes. He was, um . . .”

“Oh, come on, Tom. You must have heard of Wellington.”

“I have. I just can't remember who he was.”

“You've heard of Wellington boots?”

“Yes.”

“They're named after him. And the battle of Waterloo? Wellington against Napoleon? You know who won that, don't you?”

“Wellington,” I guessed.

“At least you know that much,” said my uncle. “I really would have been shocked if you hadn't. You should read some books. Learn about history. ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,' as the man said.”

“Which man?”

“Santayana.”

“Who?”

Uncle Harvey just laughed. Then he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.

“What are you doing now?” I asked.

“Searching for information.”

“About Wellington?”

“No, not about Wellington. About these tigers. Oh, it's so slow! The reception here is terrible.”

He moved to the window and pointed his phone at the sky.

“Here we go,” he said after a minute or two. “Ah, yes. This is the business.”

“What is it?”

“A press release from Sotheby's.”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to ask you about that. What is Sotheby's?”

“Sotheby's is a very famous and respectable auction house. If you wanted to sell an antique tiger covered in jewels, you might well take it there.”

“What do they say?”

“Have a look. It's from a sale of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Indian art and antiques.”

He turned the screen to me.

The tiger was bought for $1,900,000 by a representative of the well-known Indian businessman and art collector Jalata Jaragami, who already owns six of the eight tigers from the famous throne. His unparalleled collection of historical material connected to Tipu Sultan will soon be on show to the public in a new museum to be built on the outskirts of Bangalore.

I reached for his phone, wanting to scroll down and read more, but he snatched it back and started tapping the screen.

“What are you doing now?” I said.

“Searching.”

“For what?”

“I told you: information.”

“I didn't have to tell you about this,” I said. “I could have done it on my own. We're partners now, Uncle Harvey. You've got to tell me what you're doing.”

“Relax,” he replied.

“No. Tell me. What are you searching for?”

“I've just typed in ‘Jalata Jaragami tiger' and this is what I've found. Here you go—have a look.”

It was an article from the
Hindustan Times.

 

Renowned entrepreneur and billionaire businessman Jalata Jaragami today announced the creation of a magnificent museum to house his collection of art, antiques, and relics connected to legendary ruler Tipu Sultan.

“I was born in Bengaluru and have lived in Karnataka for my entire life,” said the owner of the Jaragami Corporation. “This is my small way of saying thank you and contributing something to the cultural heritage of my beloved local area.”

The museum has been under construction for some time already, said Mr. Jaragami, and is due to open next year. Among the exhibits will be displayed one of Tipu Sultan's swords, a diamond brooch, and seven of the eight bejewelled tigers from Tipu's throne.

According to legend, Tipu Sultan ordered his craftsmen to build a magnificent throne, but swore a vow that he would not sit on it until the British had been banished from the sub-continent.

When Tipu Sultan's palace was overrun by the colonial East India army in May 1799, many of the treasures were looted and disappeared. Most were stolen by British soldiers and taken to their own country, some never to be seen again. Jalata Jaragami is determined to bring these valuables back to their home and gather Tipu Sultan's treasures in one place.

 

Uncle Harvey grabbed a sheet of paper from the bed. We looked at the words scrawled in my grandfather's shaky handwriting.

 

I would rather live two days as a tiger than two hundred years as a sheep.

Tipu Sultan.

Jaragami.

Sotheby's Sale of 18th-century Indian and Islamic Art—3 March 2011—1.9m.

 

“This
guy really did pay two million dollars for it,” muttered Uncle Harvey.

“Do you think he'll pay that much for the last tiger too?”

“I should be very surprised if he wouldn't pay even more.”

“So, should we go and find it?”

“You don't even know it's still there.”

“I bet it is.”

“Why? What if Horatio's wife did as he suggested and found it for herself?”

“Wouldn't we know about that?”

“Maybe we would. Maybe we wouldn't. Even if she didn't, someone else might have done. Two hundred years is a long time for something to stay hidden.”

“If it had been found, why would Marko be here?”

“Someone might have found it and kept it.”

“Oh, come on, Uncle Harvey. You know it's still there, don't you? It's got to be! And we've got to go and find it. Let's go to India and get this tiger!”

“If only it was that easy.”

“It is! Let's go there now!”

“You can't just go to India. I suppose we could try to buy tickets, but we'd also need visas or they wouldn't let us into the country.”

“Couldn't we get one at the airport?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that wouldn't be complicated enough. Everything in India is smothered in layers of bureaucracy. If you paid enough, you could probably get a visa in a day or two, but you'd still have to send your passport and a photo to the embassy.”

“If we showed up in India without a visa, they couldn't send us home.”

“They could and they would,” said Uncle Harvey. “I tell you what, Tom. Leave this with me. I'll take the letters back to London and do some research. You remember my friend Theo? He's a professor at Edinburgh University, and he could—”

“The one who checked out John Drake's diaries?”

“That's him. He could find out if these letters are genuine. I've got an ex-girlfriend who works at Sotheby's. If she'll talk to me, she could put me in touch with the right people.”

“Why wouldn't she talk to you?”

“We had a bad breakup. I ran off with her sister. But that's ancient history. I'm sure she's forgiven me. Anyway, with or without her, we'll do some research. If this whole thing is kosher, we could fly out to India and find the tiger.”

“What about Marko?” I said.

“What about him?”

“He's searching for the tiger. He must be working for that businessman. Or he's planning to sell it to him. And if he's searching for the tiger, other people must be too. If we wait, it won't be there anymore. We have to go there now.”

“I don't know.”

I could see he was wavering. I just had to put a bit of pressure on him. I sat back and folded my arms. “You're right. Let's not get stressed about it. Anyway, it's only money, isn't it? What's a million dollars between friends?”

“A million dollars.” My uncle wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “That would certainly solve a few problems.”

“You need some money?”

“As it happens, I do.”

“Then let's go and earn it. What are we waiting for? Let's get in your car and drive to the airport.”

“That's a lovely idea, Tom, but it's just not practical.”

“Why not?”

“What would your parents say?”

“I don't care about my parents.”

“Fair enough. But what about tickets?”

“You could buy them over the Internet on your phone.”

“You still haven't solved the problem of visas.”

“I bet we can get them at the airport.”

“I bet we can't.”

“I bet we can,” I repeated.

This time, he didn't argue. He just furrowed his brow, trying to think through the logistics.

“I could leave my rental car at the airport,” he said. “What else? Let me think. Would I miss anything at home? I've got a couple of appointments next week, but I can change them.” He turned to me. “What about you? When do you go back to the States?”

“We don't fly back till Thursday.”

“This is crazy,” said Uncle Harvey. But he started fiddling with his phone. “Let's see if there are any flights.”

Ten minutes later, he had bought two tickets from Shannon to Bengaluru via Heathrow.

“Bengaluru?” I said. “I thought we were going to Bangalore.”

“Bengaluru is Bangalore,” explained my uncle. “The name has been changed.”

“Why?”

“Over the past few years, names have been changed throughout India. Bombay has become Mumbai. Madras is now Chennai. They've thrown out the English names and replaced them with names which sound more Indian. Supposedly they're throwing off the shackles of colonialism, but most people seem to carry on using the old names anyway, the ones they know.”

“So what should I call it, Bangalore or Bengaluru?”

“That's entirely up to you.”

There was lots of space on the first leg of the journey, Ireland to England, so the tickets weren't too pricey, but the flight from England to India had only two free seats, and each of them cost $2700. Our return flights would take us directly home to the States. If we were lucky, that would give us enough time to find the tiger. If we weren't lucky . . .

“We have to be lucky,” said Uncle Harvey. “I need the money. If we don't find the tiger, I won't be able to pay my debts.”

“Debts? I thought you were rich.”

“Sadly not.”

“What about the money you got from John Drake's diary?”

“I lost it playing poker.”

When Uncle Harvey and I went to Peru together, we were searching for a vast hoard of gold and silver buried there by Sir Francis Drake in the 1500s. I'm not going to tell you the whole story now, but I will tell you that Uncle Harvey came back home with a nice payoff from the Peruvian government. I said, “You can't have lost all that money.”

“I did,” replied Uncle Harvey. “And more.”

“How can you lose more money than you've got?”

“All too easily. I owe ninety grand to one of the guys who was sitting around the table. He wants it back. In fact, he threatened to break both my legs with a baseball bat if I don't pay him by the end of next week. So let's hope the tiger is still there.”