12.3 Second Infiltration

There were lots of stories about sighting spooky things in the woods, spirits and ghosts, in the beliefs of the native islanders and folklore. For instance, areas in the northern woods of Odessele named after spirits and not entered for fear of seeing them. And the British heard those folk tales that they even named ‘Demon Point’ to the northern tip of Kotté in Hittadu – a pond lying there that the locals called ‘Ranin Hana Fengadu’ – spirits bathing pool.

Natives of the archipelago known as the Divehi Tribe widely talk about Rahne Mari in their myth and it appeared in novels written by British writers. At sunset, a procession of Naaba drums were strummed to parry the sea demon. The British in Gan were aware of these things.

Those twenty soldiers stayed guarding the RAF installations for 36 hours. Returned to base, given an egg sandwich each and queued to sign weapons back in.

Elisabeth Boye sailed directly to Malé from Fua Mulak with wounded soldiers.

The threat was received so serious that a squadron of the RAF Regiment, a company of the Staffordshire, arrived in a frigate and a destroyer entered to protect the base.

It was light, Tuesday morning, at Etherevari, “What’s in this?” queried Habib holding the Minox spy camera.

“I think some medical files, old stuff,” uttered Mala, “I read the word ‘elephantiasis’, filaria, I believe.”

“Fine, you can develop it when you are free during the weekend,” said Habib, “I don’t think we should watch that. Won’t it burn the film if you expose it to high voltage light?”

“Nonsense! Nothing will happen,” Mala chuckled, “No need to expose all the frames. We don’t have time for that.”

It was a small spool like six inches in diameter and the reel inside contained only 4 inches diameter of film; 100 ft long of 16 mm – less than four minutes running time. Mala inserted the strip into the carrier and loaded to the enlarger. She obtained a perfect image on the easel using the grain magnifier.

In the first few frames they saw a ship blown out of water. “That’s HMS Mellow! They grabbed it from the Germans! Voila! Isn’t that quite something!” Shakir cried in excitement, “I remember, Saeed once mentioned that U-boat. I can’t recall the pennant number.”

In the next frames they saw sailors in water. They were pulled out in the following frames. “They are alive!” exclaimed Habib.

A black and white image could express no less a white-knit jumper and peak cap that appeared that of an English officer standing on the deck of the submarine.

“ENGLISH!” echoed the trio. There was utter hush in the room for the whole thing was misleading.

She moved on to the next few frames. Another officer appeared. He was English too but he wasn’t certainly wearing white. His face didn’t appear quite from the front but from a side and a distinctive moustache gave it away. His arms thrown in a manner communicating energetically.

“Who is he talking to?” asked Habib.

“Roll on!” cried Mala.

There it was a puzzled face of a Divehi person.

“Prince Mal Vatta!” whispered Shakir.

“Prince Hassan Mal Vatta!” muttered Habib.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“Alive! How do you know it’s him?”

Shakir replied, “There are portraits of the royal families hung on the walls at my place except Sultan Denur.”

“Why not him?”

“He’s a tyrant with a KCMG, says dad.”

The next frames left them speechless. Prince Hassan Mal Vatta and two others were tied down to the taffrail on the deck of the submarine. What happened next could only be guessed. It wasn’t caught on camera and they came to the end of the reel.

“Yaahunbaraas!” cried Habib.

Whether they knew it or not, they were holding a rare and a frigidly guarded secret of the 20^th century.

“Shall I take the Leica and roam Gan tomorrow?” asked Mariam Mala, “I am under the influence. I might be able to locate the tube houses.”

“No,” refrained Habib, “We are sleepy now. I will talk to Saeed first. I’ll let you know.” Thoughtlessly, he asked Savari Shakir, “Take her home!”

On his contact to Sayye Saeed, he was instructed to send Savari Shakir to Malé with all exposed negatives and the package as soon as possible.

Savari Shakir carried her on the rear fairing seat of the Moto Guzzi. The roads were empty. It was noon in a fasting month. They were not saying much. Shakir was storming his brains over the pictures he saw. Mala was not. She was stimulated seated behind a bloke on a motorbike. She undid the buttons and removed her shift dress that she wrapped on his face. Shakir came to a halt, “What is going on? You could kill us both! Put on your dress! We are not out of Mamendu. They can see us.”

“They can’t see me.”

“Why! I can see you. You’re wearing the girdle.”

“Oh shit! Move…move…move…”

They drove over the narrow stretches of Hittadu and climbed the uninhabited island of Hankendé. Mariam Mala insisted to ride off the road. He ditched on the vast empty beach. No soul in sight.

They made love just like the name of the island dictated; Hankendé – ‘could hold no skin’.