The Absolutely True Adventures of Daydreamer Dev (omnibus edition, 3 in 1) Page 3

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you could miss an alligator, or a caiman . . .’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A caiman. Like an alligator only smaller—a stumpy-nosed thing.’

  ‘I think I already saw one,’ said Dev. ‘First I thought it was a branch.’

  ‘That’s the one, kiddo. Caimans just love acting like branches—not the most entertaining guys in the Amazon.’

  With the boto at the helm, the boat sped through the night. Dev noticed that he didn’t seem worried about turtles, but knew the boto understood the river and probably had better night vision. Time passed quickly.

  ‘Are we still in Peru?’

  ‘You’re joking, kiddo. We left Leticia way back!’

  ‘Who?’

  The boto laughed. ‘Leticia’s a place, kind of—a piece of Colombia where Peru meets Brazil. Couple of years ago, some poor tribe got busted there. Lived happily for millennia, not needing the rest of the world, then bang! Someone finds them and they’re famous.’

  ‘So we’re in Brazil?’

  ‘Bra-seeel. World’s fifth largest country. Land of coffee, football and samba. Enjoy!’

  7.

  Hours later, the boat passed through a large city.

  ‘This is Manaus,’ the boto announced.

  The air was heavy, not only with moisture but also with woodsmoke and the smell of cooking. Dev realized he was famished. With all the excitement of the journey and his brushes with the caiman, the giant turtle and the tarantula—not to mention his strange friend, the boto—he had completely forgotten about the provisions from Iquitos.

  As he unclipped the top of the waterproof cooler, Dev’s eyes lit up. A chocolate bar! It lay between three bananas and a foil-wrapped package.

  Dev pocketed the chocolate bar and unwrapped the package. It contained thin strips of red meat, so hard and dry that they might have been leather. Dev almost vomited.

  The boto chuckled. ‘It’s called jerky—dried beef. The American tourists I meet go crazy for that stuff.’

  Dev couldn’t imagine anything worse. He rewrapped it and dropped it back into the cooler. For now, it had even put him off the chocolate.

  ‘Speaking of food,’ the boto said, ‘I could eat about ten big piranhas right now.’

  Dev shuddered.

  ‘I’m serious, kiddo! They’re like my favourite food! Hmmm, piraanhaaa . . .’

  ‘More like you’d be their favourite food,’ Dev said.

  ‘What you guys don’t get is that most piranhas are vegetarian . . .’

  ‘Veg? No way! That’s coo-ool . . . they’re like me!’

  ‘Piranhas get false criticism because of a minority, you know? But those red-bellied non-veg types do tend to get nasty when they’re hungry. They strip meat right to the bone.’

  Dev had seen non-veg people do exactly the same thing.

  ‘But let’s not talk about my breakfast,’ the boto said. ‘It’s still a while until morning.’

  ‘Would piranhas eat that jerky stuff?’

  ‘Sure, if they’re non-veg . . .’

  Dev cast out the contents of the foil. The jerky had barely landed before the water turned into a vortex of frenzied fangs.

  ‘I guess those guys aren’t veg,’ Dev remarked, awestruck.

  8.

  The river had become wider. Even above the noise of the engine, far from the riverbank, Dev could hear the restless jungle. The darkness was lifting. Birds cawed and screeched, impatient for the day.

  ‘Kiddo, the time has come.’

  Dev knew what the boto meant. He still found it difficult to believe the dolphin story, but regardless of that he wanted the boto’s company right down to the river mouth. Who knows what might have happened if he hadn’t been around when the boat flipped? Even if he wasn’t a legend, he sure was a good guy to have on board.

  But the boto was obviously intent on leaving. He shook Dev’s hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ he said. ‘Give my regards to the señoritas on the coast and your folks back home.’

  With that, he leapt off the boat. Dev watched bubbles rise where the boto had landed, but there was no sign of him. Then, ahead of the boat, a large dolphin leapt high from the water. Almost white against the dawn sky, it spun its head left and right before arcing into the water.

  ‘Show off,’ muttered Dev, smiling.

  With the disappearance of the boto, Dev felt overcome with exhaustion. He unwrapped his chocolate bar and devoured it in two bites. Then, one by one, he ate the bananas, chewing them slowly to pass the time, struggling to stay awake.

  The coast, surely, would arrive soon. If he switched off the engine to rest for a while, he would drift. The river knew its course.

  Dev stretched out in the boat and fell asleep.

  9.

  When Dev awoke, the sun was high and his boat was stationary, lodged under a low branch overhanging the water.

  He was sharing it with an anaconda.

  Green and ink-blotched, it was gigantic. Though part of it was still wrapped around the branch, there was a heavy coil near Dev’s feet and a large head near his elbow. Sunlight shimmered on its skin.

  Dev was panic-stricken, unable to move. Even if he could move, what should he do? Staying where he was would invite the anaconda to crush and swallow him—slowly. If he jumped overboard, he’d probably make some non-veg piranhas extremely happy. Using the branch to get ashore seemed Dev’s only chance.

  He summoned his courage and, very slowly, lifted his head.

  The anaconda also lifted its head.

  Dev lowered his head.

  The snake studied him for a moment, then lowered its head too.

  Dev jumped up, the boat rocking wildly.

  The anaconda reared and struck, seizing Dev’s upper arm. It gripped him tight—so tight that Dev let out a word that Baba sometimes used, and which Amma didn’t like.

  Dev grabbed at the snake, desperately trying to free himself. He could feel its muscles rippling beneath the smooth scales. This is it, he thought. A loop of anaconda was rising from the deck, ready to squeeze the life out of him.

  Instinctively, Dev sank his teeth into the snake’s sinewy neck. The anaconda jolted and seethed, but refused to let go. Monkeys were watching the show, screeching and applauding. Birds squawked as if they cared. Dev bit harder.

  At that moment, there was a terrific crash. The boat lurched, coming free of the branch under the weight of a third combatant—a dolphin that had launched itself from the water. Chirruping hysterically, it was now imposing its bulk on the reptile’s coils.

  Dev felt the jaws of the snake release him. He too released the snake, but only to punch it mightily on the nose. Probably unaccustomed to being bitten and boxed— and certainly distracted by the spectacle of the dolphin—the anaconda retreated to its branch. With that, the dolphin heaved itself up and dropped daintily overboard, setting the boat adrift.

  Dev started up the engine. The dolphin sculled around the boat, still chirruping, turning its head left and right above the water.

  ‘Okay I get it,’ Dev laughed. ‘You’re a legend!’

  He saluted the boto, rotated the throttle and made for the coast.

  10.

  ‘Yes, I’m a legend,’ OP was saying. ‘Everyone saw my catch except you. I wasn’t even watching and the ball flew at me so fast—no time to think! The human brain has 100 billion cells and can send messages at a speed of 120 metres per second. Luckily there’s only one metre between my brain and my hand, so I had enough time . . .’

  ‘OP, I made it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To the coast. The boto saved me and when I got there, people were cheering . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, they were cheering me! Everyone except you! I can’t bee-lieeve you missed my catch. My first and only catch! There are twenty-seven bones in each hand and a complex network of muscles. Everything worked perfectly, Dev—I’m a legend.’

  Dev climbed down from the tre
e and put his arm around his friend.

  ‘Sorry, OP, I was somewhere else. Next time you’re going to do something amazing, just tell me, okay?’

  OP smiled. ‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Let’s go eat—we haven’t had anything all day.’

  Dev didn’t want to mention the chocolate bar. ‘Maybe Ajay Uncle will give us some peanuts,’ he suggested.

  As they walked, Dev rubbed a throbbing pain in his arm and considered the day’s adventure.

  ‘OP, I’ve been wondering,’ Dev said. ‘What do you know about Amazon wildlife?’

  DEDICATED TO JOHN HARE

  Whose account of his Sahara crossing greatly assisted me, and more importantly raised awareness about Asia’s critically endangered twin-humped Bactrian camels.

  1.

  Dev shrank into the huge chair. If he was to list ten places he’d like to be in, in exact order of preference, this one would be tenth.

  Mr Bannerji was a nice man but he was a headmaster, nonetheless. He sat on the other side of a vast desk, his long fingers restlessly entangled like a nest of snakes. Mrs Kaur, Dev’s class teacher, sat demurely to Dev’s right. Baba had plonked himself on Dev’s left after handing the headmaster a Kwality Carpets visiting card and promising attractive discounts.

  Mr Bannerji cleared his throat. ‘We think Dev is a fine boy,’ he began, looking directly at Baba. ‘And we do not doubt his academic capabilities. We are only concerned about one thing: his ability to concentrate.’

  Baba squirmed. Every day, he reminded Dev to pay attention, apply unceasing effort, and—above all—curb his daydreaming.

  After smiling kindly at Dev, Mr Bannerji turned back to Baba. ‘There may be certain conditions, shall we say, that would reward investigation.’

  ‘Are you referring to . . . a disorder?’ Baba gritted his teeth, relaxing only to give undue emphasis to ‘order’. For a moment, Dev thought Baba had said ‘odour’.

  ‘Perhaps,’ nodded Mr Bannerji. ‘But Dev is passing all tests with good marks and this is not a matter of life and death, so to speak. We only alert you to possibilities because we sincerely believe Dev can go far.’

  ‘Sir, I am most grateful for your concern and will consider your advice carefully. At the same time, I must respectfully ask that you apply strict discipline.’ Here, Baba rose up, puffed his chest and raised a finger. ‘After all, how is it that Dev can be allowed to occupy his own world for hours—in a classroom?’

  Mrs Kaur opened her mouth, ready to defend her methods. Mr Bannerji cut her short.

  ‘Rest assured,’ he said, ‘we attend to the individual needs of our students at all times.’

  The meeting was over. Mr Bannerji ushered them to the door. He shook Baba’s hand, patted Dev on the shoulder and called for his next appointment.

  Dev knew Baba, and he knew what was coming next.

  It began with the letter L.

  2.

  Oh, how Dev loved lectures! He delighted in Baba’s eloquence, admired his endurance. He only hoped he might one day be half as excellent.

  In fact, just a quarter would do. Or one-hundredth.

  Then again, perhaps Dev wouldn’t lecture anyone at all. Ever. Yes, that’s what he’d choose. To tell the truth, he wished his father possessed less enthusiasm and stamina.

  Mr Bannerji had said that he could go far. Far was where Dev always wanted to go. Perhaps he could go even now—to the red heart of Australia or the icy wastes of the North Pole.

  Anywhere.

  By now, Baba was in full flow. ‘I built Kwality Carpets from the ground up. Did I do that by daydreaming?’

  Miserable as he was, Dev had an urge to smile. He had flown ‘from the ground up’ on rugs from Kwality Carpets so many times, off to adventures far from home and lectures. Baba didn’t know about that, though perhaps he wouldn’t care. Baba only cared about school.

  ‘And now you have Mr Bannerji thinking there is something wrong with you. Where will this end, Dev?’

  Dev wished he knew.

  Mr Bannerji’s words rolled around in his head.

  Far. He would go far! One day he would be a grey-haired prime minister, with his friend OP as his top adviser. In the meantime, while his hair was still black, he’d win a medal at the Olympics, swim across oceans, fly solo around the world. Maybe he would even cross the Sahara.

  Nothing could be as difficult as reaching Kwality Carpets and walking upstairs without collapsing under the weight of Baba’s words.

  When they finally arrived, Dev went straight to the roof, stretched out on his favourite old rug and gazed into the clouds. He let them wrap him in a cocoon. The clouds drifted.

  Dev drifted too.

  3.

  ‘Dude, finally!’

  OP was sitting on the rail of a fence, waiting for him. Behind him, camels shuffled in the dust inside their pen, heads held high. A camel trader squatted in the shade of a makeshift shelter, his turban wrapped like a bandage. Not far away, shimmering in the heat, Dev saw a sandstone mosque, a network of ancient bungalows, and a few stunted acacia trees.

  ‘I’ve been here for hours,’ OP complained, ‘and if you know anything about Timbuktu, that isn’t good.’

  OP was one person who knew the facts about any place. Dev was sure his friend knew more facts than anyone, and also that OP liked nothing better than sharing them.

  ‘It’s Baba’s fault,’ Dev said simply.

  ‘We need dromedaries,’ OP told him. ‘Six—two each and two for our supplies.’

  ‘What’s a dromedary? And what supplies?’

  OP pointed to a stack of chaff bags, rice sacks, and waterbags, together with a small cooler. Dev nodded in approval.

  ‘See those camels? They’re dromedaries,’ OP said.

  Dev ignored him, now more interested in something else. ‘What’s inside the cooler?’

  ‘Mangoes and chocolate bars,’ smiled OP. ‘But here’s the bad news. That trader dude wants half the mangoes and all the chocolate bars in exchange for his camels. Prices are high in Timbuktu.’

  ‘Do we actually need two camels each?’

  ‘Dromedaries, dude. They’re tough, but it’s backup.’

  ‘We will haggle. We can take our chances with five, and keep a couple of chocolate bars each.’

  OP considered this, and then nodded. ‘It’s a risk, but so is crossing the Sahara with a guy who has never heard of a dromedary. Let’s do it!’

  4.

  Dev didn’t know how to choose camels, but warned OP against taking any that came recommended by the old trader.

  ‘He will take us for fools and offload the worst of them,’ Dev argued. ‘Let’s look at their teeth—that’s how they choose horses on TV.’

  Dev gestured to a camel and peeled back his own lips to show the turbaned trader what he wanted him to do.

  The old man smiled in a devilish manner, but did what he was asked.

  The camel’s breath stank, and the animal made matters worse by belching in Dev’s face.

  ‘Phoo-ee!’ Dev exclaimed, jumping back.

  OP held his nose and walked away in disgust. ‘We’re not taking that one.’

  But the other camels weren’t any better. A municipal water tanker full of mouthwash wouldn’t have been enough to make their breath decent. They chewed their cud, swallowed it and regurgitated it again. They spent every minute of their lives becoming more smelly.

  Finally the boys made their choices, taking the three biggest camels and the only two that were patterned in brown and white.

  ‘Brown and white camels,’ said Dev. ‘Are those rare?’

  ‘Skewbald dromedaries,’ OP corrected. ‘I must admit I didn’t know they existed.’

  The trader seemed to be indicating that the two skewbalds were deaf, but the boys couldn’t see how that mattered.

  ‘I’m guessing they wouldn’t understand English or Hindi anyway,’ laughed Dev.

  5.

  Camels plodded—that’s what they did. Dev could wal
k just as fast himself. The only fun part so far had been when his camel stood up, making him lurch violently back, and almost as suddenly forward. Dev wished they could sell the animals and get motorbikes instead.

  The camel train’s lazy pace was only one of his irritations. Another was the persistence of flies, attracted by the moisture on his skin and in his eyes. Worse, Dev had made a big mistake by allowing OP to mount the leading camel. He’d thought nothing could smell worse than a camel’s breath, but as much as they burped and belched, the emissions from the opposite end were worse. OP’s camel alone was letting out enough greenhouse gas to finish off the ozone layer, without any assistance from fossil fuels. But now, there was no escape.

  ‘I am telling you, when we get to an oasis we will swap places,’ Dev said.

  OP must have heard, but any reply was lost in the vast expanse ahead. Left to his own thoughts, Dev wondered where they’d started from. Timbuktu, OP had said—but that wasn’t a real place, was it?

  ‘Hey!’ This time, Dev shouted.

  OP twisted and sat backwards on his camel to face Dev.

  ‘What was that place back there?’

  ‘Timbuktu. It’s in Mali.’

  ‘Really? And that’s in the Sahara Desert?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ admitted OP. ‘But it’s close. And by the way—just say the Sahara. That means desert, so Sahara Desert actually means Desert Desert.’ At this he laughed, hoisted his legs up and spun round again.

  There was plenty of sand around them, but no rolling dunes. The ground was rocky, dotted with giant termite mounds. Dev even saw goats in the scrub, herded by boys among small, whitish bushes.

  The camel’s gait rocked him back and forth. Dev began to relax, closing his eyes like a baby in the arms of a particularly stinky mother. Now and then he was disturbed by the skewbald camels behind him, prone to sudden jitters as if phantom sounds intruded on the silence of their world.