10.1 Strange Brew

Next day Mariam Mala entered the dark room and placed the Negative 100, black and white film, in the tank. She began a process to wash in chemical solution, agitating the tank, reading on a timer, dip into stop bath, fixer, rinser, final wash and drying.

Mala cut the film, placed in a negative carrier and inserted the enlarger. Projected an image on the easel correcting its focus using a grain magnifier to obtain the sharpest picture. Ran a test print and continued comparatively at six second exposure to make prints on 5 x 7 inches photographic paper.

With help from Habib and Shakir to stir in stop bath, fix and hang to dry every print, this process went on pretty fast.

Finally, three examined the prints on 5 x 7 paper, the image fell roughly 3 x 4 inches, in the kit they had to use for both types of 35 mm film and Negative 100.

Letters on the prints looked strikingly sharp. Aided by a magnifying glass, they read carefully and two prints revealed a shocking outcome; the original Lease Agreement of Gan Island contracted on 25^th March 1944 among Prince Mal Vatta, D’Migili Don Kaléfan, H’Lai Kalo, Mr Norman E Castor, Lt Nest Bert Gerard and Mr Arthur Moyler; Deputy of the Ministry of Aircraft Production.

They held their breath for a long moment and nobody there uttered a word. Those images appeared gradually on paper and now a process brought conscience to realisation.

“What is this?” Habib broke silence to point out a photograph of a package with the words ‘HMS Mellow – J136’ on it.

“That’s a brown package,” Mala replied, “there was a spool of film inside.”

“Look at this!” cried Shakir scanning a print with the magnifying glass. “On this map of Addu Atoll plotted in 1944, there appears an airstrip across Hulu-Meedu.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mala taking a glance, “it must be a future plan.”

“No sign of lost boys!” Habib sighed.

 

An operator at Gan base in a thatched hut with communication equipment felt bored and crawled on his USB radio. Charlie Longbridge sat without a shirt and legs pulled up drinking a beer.

At sunset, Habib, Shakir and Mariam Mala made it to the hub they call vihali on the opposite side of the bank.

“Dhekunu Mala calling Malikurva!” It boomed in the ears of Longbridge who jumped up from the chair. “Dhekunu Mala calling Malikurva!”

Saeed answered, “Go ahead, Dhekunu Mala, receiving you loud and clear!”

“We have hit the jackpot,” announced Footloose Habib, “we found the ‘nakal and asl’ of hali signed between the two parties of villae and jazira.”

“Go on, Thirty-One!”

“Type written two pages dated March 25^th 1944 and it’s drawn for thirty years with a payment of 100000 per annum. I cautiously not read the names.”

Longbridge could hardly understand a word and failed to recognise the language.

“Congratulations!” wished Sayye Saeed, “That is quite a big find but I do not believe a word.”

“We are sure about this.”

“Go to Silèha, see if he is touring and if he is, give the negatives to him. I want to see them to believe.”

“Who is Silèha?” purred Habib blankly.

“My dad,” murmured Mala.

“Do you want to get the docs out?” he spoke into the microphone.

“No,” responded Saeed, “Absolutely do not. Villae must hold those docs in possession. And you must stay there to listen to the thing – devices you planted.”

“What else?”

“Sit tight! Do not attempt any further. I will advise once I check the photographs. For now, Dhekunu stay calm and continue on the radio,” carried on Saeed, “remember that we planned to take photos of the onu-feeni in hali. Quit! Quit! Don’t attempt now…”

“Knock-knock! Who’s there?” a blaring voice hit their ears shuddering them. It came from a close location. Saeed as well heard it loud and clear. “Decko! Decko!”

Savari Shakir grabbed the microphone and responded, “Who is there? Decko here.”

“I am Charlie. I am calling from Maldive Islands. Where are you from?”

Habib whispered, “It’s Gan.”

Shakir replied, “Borneo.”

“Borneo!” resounded the English caller, “How is the weather?”

“It is raining hard.”

“Where are you trying to reach?”

“Victor Kilo,” Shakir returned with a lie. Others frowned.

“Australia!” voiced Charlie the caller, “Alright, take care! Your radio sounds good.”

“Thank you and out!”

“Borneo!” Mala shrugged, “Victor Kilo!”

“Australia,” chuckled Shakir, “I read it on the glossary you gave me.”

 

Shakir tried to eavesdrop on Adaran. He paused on his bike under a tree beside the bank house on Nares Road. The magistrate’s office stood a few yards away on the opposite side of the road. His presence was noticed by the neighbours. His motorcycle was too loud to ride for this manoeuvre.

Shakir sat eyeing on a topless woman drying clothes in the garden of a house by the other corner. Earphone plugged on and listening to the receiver in his hip pocket. Sun shone bright that day.

There were interesting talks he listened to but he could not comprehend most of it because they spoke in the Addu dialect. One day Adaran met with a delegation from Fua Mulak. Both sides condemned the government expressing their discontentment. Another day he learned that Adaran sent an envoy to meet the Warlord of Thinadu – a wealthy merchant from Suvadiva.

Ghaffer reached behind and shook him off guard, “What are you doing here?”

Shakir tucked at the earphone and put inside his trouser pocket hurriedly. “What is the matter?” he uttered, “You shocked me!”

“Are you spying on Adaran?”

“Why should I?” Shakir pretended, “I’m sitting in front of his gate. What do you think I’m supposed to do?”

“I saw you twenty times yesterday. This morning you sat here for two hours,” he said, “You are snooping on him. Everyone knows. Your government sent you. Is there any other reason to be here?”

Shakir chuckled, “It’s a girl. I am eyeing on a girl. Is that alright?”

“Are you serious!” he cried, “You look nicotine craved! Who is this girl?”

“I don’t know her name.”

“You’re not going to find her.”

“Why is that?”

“Go in,” Ghaffer said, “go in and talk to her folks. Get friendly with them. Then you get the girl.”

“They will kick me out! First, I have to be friendly with them, before I go in. I need to get introduced.”

“I see!  You do not have the guts. A little fanditha might help.”

“How does sorcery help?”

“You’ll find out. Someone who can will go in and turn the girl for you. She cannot say no,” and he gave some advice, “In these places, nobody will call. You have to walk in and they will talk.”

“You are right about it,” agreed Shakir, “all the girls I came across so far happen to be total strangers but they talk first. I feel a bit shy.”

“Tell me her name. I will go and tell her that you’re waiting. I will tell her you’re a good man.”

“Oh! Come on!” cried Shakir, “You are making me embarrassed. I think her name is Mandy, just tell her my regards. I have to go home now.”

“Mudim’s Mandy!”