Chest raiders

When three iron chests weighing over 1,000-kg each were opened, the journalists were in thrall, so were its claimants. Did it contain gold, dynamite, or ganja, perhaps?

Sometime during a rather impressionable childhood, I firmly believed that Indiana Jones had singlehandedly defeated the Nazis. Having devoured Steven Spielberg’s Raiders of the Lost Ark, I grew obsessed by Indy’s search for the Ark of the Covenant. If I just had a whip and a fedora, I told my bemused parents, I too could scuttle Hitler’s hope for invincibility. The idea was laughed off, as was my demand for an eyepatch after I had finished reading Treasure Island. Dissatisfied with the explanation that a pirate cannot be a role model, I dreamt of treasure troves and maps marked with a telling ‘X’. Years later, I’m a tad embarrassed by my imaginary discoveries of buried hoards, but given the nature of recent events, I wish I’d bought myself that Indy hat.

As is true for many adventures in Kolkata, ours begins with a precise address — 178, Rash Behari Avenue. Having bought this piece of land from owner Mahamaya Pal, Sreeleathers, a shoe manufacturer, began constructing a showroom here in 2008. A few days later, their drill hit a hard metallic surface. Some digging later, labourers on the site unearthed three iron chests. Estimated to weigh over 1,000-kg each, a crane was employed to haul out these possible antiques. The police arrived with the crane. They seized the chests and swiftly transported them to the Gariahat Police Station. With both claiming rightful ownership, the shoe manufacturer and former owner took to fighting a battle in court. Wanting to end the cruel suspense that had come to surround the chests and their content, the Alipore Court in December 2013 had declared that it was time for the coffers to be opened. More than six months later, that day of revelation was upon us.

Moment of truth

I reached the Gariahat Police Station early this past Monday morning. Officials from the West Bengal Fire and Emergency Services would only arrive with their electric and gas cutters at noon, I was told. Until then, I had to join the ranks of an ever-curious press contingent that had perched itself on the pavement outside. As the number of cameras and OB vans increased in the little lane outside the police station, so did the interest of casual passersby. After having stopped twice to assess this hysteria in his neighbourhood, businessman Prabhat Das said, “I had read that these chests were going to be opened on June 16, but I hadn’t thought it was going to be such a historic occasion. Who knows what’s inside there? Gold, perhaps.” Another onlooker then came up to me and whispered, “Bombs, dynamite. I am sure of it. There will be an explosion. That’s why the fire department is coming.” A television cameraman, who looked obviously bored by the seemingly endless wait, had perfected his own theory — “Ganja, has to be.”

By the time the fire brigade personnel finally arrived in their red jeeps and vans, curiosity had grown into impatience. Since the matter was sub-judice, the press were informed that they wouldn’t be allowed to witness the unlocking of the famed chests. A merciless sun didn’t help matters much. As the drilling of the cutters began to resonate from the narrow courtyard of the police station, a bunch of intrepid camerapersons seemed infected by the dauntless spirit of Captain Jack Sparrow’s crew. Much like the buccaneers from the Pirates of the Caribbean, they leapt on terraces and unsuspecting trees to find an appropriate vantage point. Before they could get a clear view of their dead man’s chest, however, a policeman came charging with a lathi and a scuffle broke out.

Indy Jones would have perhaps used this little diversion to sneak his way to the centre of action, but in my defence, I was suddenly distracted by a copy of an advocate’s letter that was thrust into my hands. Shyamali Das, who was fearlessly braving the torments of an unforgiving afternoon, had appeared outside the Gariahat Police Station, declaring that she was the absolute owner of the iron chests being opened. We now had a third claimant. “These boxes belonged to my ancestors and were unlawfully moved from my property. I am here to fight for them,” she said. Das held the attention of assembled media professionals for almost an hour, but her pleas and implorations were forgotten as soon as the fire department official Tarun Kumar Dutta came outside to inform the press, “We have been able to open all three chests with great success.”

The only positive takeaway from Dutta’s further statements was the obvious efficiency of the fire department. They hadn’t found gold, ganja or explosives. “There were some needles, scissors and some blades. All I can tell you is that the chests were made in Canada.” Other items were later added by police officials — fire protected clay, four ₹5 currency notes, a one paisa coin dated 1953, a calendar from the year 1974. With all talk of 300-year-old valuables rendered wishful, I was finally given a chance to inspect the chests for myself. The boxes were mouldy and rusted. The faces of the claimants were crestfallen. Even the assembled police officials looked disappointed. They were hoping for jewels, not needles. I had started thinking of Indy. Curiosity, for me, had killed the hat.

( Shreevatsa Nevatia is a Kolkata-based writer)

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