With Cyclists Around the World

By Adi B. Hakim, Rustom B. Bhumgara and Jal P. Bapasola

Travelling 44,000 miles, at times in 140'F heat - for days without food, at times without water, at times in pirate-infested territories, at times in swamp-lands - they cycled through dense jungles and notched up many 'firsts' while pedalling round the globe. They were the first to cycle the world - six young boys from Bombay Weightlifting Club, who started this journey of adventure on 15 October 1923. Crossing the deserts of Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria and Sinai, they became the first globetrotters to cover the most arduous journey of their lives in four years and five months. A must-read story of adventure and endurance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roli Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2008
• ISBN: 9789351940975

Book preview

Preface

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THE AGE OF ROMANCE NEVER DIES. ROMANCE RELIVES through ages in different forms; whether it be the knight-errant of yore, or a Drake sailing round the world or a Lindeberg in a trans-Atlantic flight or a trio or cyclists, like ourselves, scantily-equipped, traversing obscure regions on a pair of fragile wheels. As Goethe writes, ‘The presence of danger generally exercises on man a kind of attraction and calls forth a spirit of opposition in human breast to defy it.’ The wide world was calling us; it proved a siren’s call for us; we could not resist it and we undertook this enterprise.

People accustomed to reckon the value of things in terms of ‘utilities’ or in terms of rupees, annas and pies may deprecate undertakings such as ours. Opinions will always differ on the question whether the sum of human happiness is advanced by anaemic students ‘with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books’, or by men, who brush conventions aside and have graduated in the academy of intense popular ridicule in the pursuit of a seemingly phantastical ideal. Generally, one has to pay a price for brushing aside conventions. We paid the price, as the pages that follow will bear out amply.

What induced us to accomplish this task was no love of winning a wager; it was no mere foolhardy spirit which makes ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread;’ it was certainly not a spirit of vain glory to which we all are prone in more or less degree; it could not be any hope of material gain; nor was it a pleasure trip – we knew well, it was far from it. We do not think any of these motives or all of them can sustain a human constitution through four years and more of an unceasing round of dangers, difficulties, hair-breadth escapes from death and all else that goes to make up a world tour. Young as we were, we were fired by an intense desire to carry the name of our country – Mother India – to the far-flung corners of the earth, where India is yet a mere geographical name. In the realm of sport, as others do in the realms of politics and finance, we wanted our country to hold a premier place: to be a link of no small importance in the international comity of sporting nations of the world. We wanted to know the world more intimately and to acquaint the world with India and Indians. It was a small effort on our part towards a colossal mission; but we decided to contribute our mite. We may, with legitimate pride, maintain, we wanted to contribute our tiny, ever so tiny share to the cause of international goodwill. International goodwill – a potent factor this promises to be in the generations to come! Human welfare will depend increasingly upon cultivation of this factor than of any other for years to come. It is as important as the conferences for limitation of armaments. Nay, it is the very basis of it. If there were more intermingling amongst nations of the world, if there were more intimate interchange of views and cultivation of that spirit international brotherhood, we would have less of wars and God’s world would be a place certainly worth living in. Is that not a sufficient excuse for our enterprise? If this be not, we plead guilty to the charge of being foolhardy or whatever else you please.

We want you to look at our tour from another angle of vision. The youth of today is the statesman of tomorrow. Character counts for everything in this world. In future India will need people of character, who are bold, energetic, pushing, careless of convention, capable of planning enterprises with ingenuity and executing them with ability. The lads of today need an ideal. If our adventure reveals to them the possibilities that lie dormant in every one of those promising lads, if our undertaking teaches them that everything comes to him who tries, if our enterprise indicates to them that you never know your own powers unless you have put them to test, if our adventure instils in them a sense of legitimate pride that Mother India lacks no sons capable of holding their own against the nationals of other countries, it is our firm conviction we have not undertaken this world tour in vain, we have not lived through four years of difficulties and dangers in vain, we have not toiled through deserts of Mesopotamia, Persia, Syria and Senai in vain, we have not jeopardized our lives, on more occasions than one, without a purpose.

With a pardonable pride we may summarize our achievements:

We have been the first world-cyclists (1) to cross the deserts of Persia, Mespot, Syria and Senai; (2) to cross Korea, the Hermit Kingdom, hitherto a sealed book for globe-trotters; (3) to hold a world record for covering 171 miles in 16 hours on cycles. Add to these, lesser feats, for example, scaling the solitary Alps in the worst part of the year; going over the Rockies and the war-zone of fighting China, and may be, you have some idea of our tiny enterprise. We travelled 44,000 miles, at times in 140⁰F heat, for days without food, at times without water, at times in Alpine blasts, at times in pirate-infested territories, at times in regions and swamps in danger of worst maladies afflicting us, often through dense jungles full of wild animals, snakes, and hostile semi-savage tribes, and sometimes escaping death by inches. We carried no firearms. Sometimes we were treated kindly, some other time we were shut out in bitter cold. Often we tasted hospitality and sometimes saw the inside of a jail. We avoided the sea and went over the most difficult routes where cyclists had never been before us. But our aims sustained us in our world tour and after four years and five months of wanderings we returned, convinced of the innate goodness of human nature and unity of life, with increased devotion to God and faith in the truth of the ancient Indian saying, ‘He is One, Immutable and Transcendental manifesting Himself in various forms, the eternal abode of peace and bliss.’

We cannot conclude the preface without a word of thanks to those who assisted us in our enterprise and to whose assistance we owe our success. We thank Mr G.K. Nariman for his support of which the public will never become fully aware. We thank Sir Dorab Tata, Sir Cowasji Jehangir and his illustrious family, Sir Hormusji Adenwalla, Sir Hormusji Wadia, Capt. Unwalla, Capt. Sorab Mody, Dr Jilla, Messrs. Muncherji Patel, E.R. Hirjeebehedin, Dossabhoy Cama, Dhunjisha Cooper, P.J. Marazban, Burjor Bugli, and a host of other friends in remote nooks and corners of the world, too numerous to be mentioned here, but whose assistance we appreciate so much and the fond memory of whose name we carry within the recesses of our grateful hearts.

|ONE|

The Start

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THE FIRST STREAKS OF THE MORNING LIGHT HAD scarcely pierced the darkness over sleeping Bombay when everything was thrown into a state of excitement in a quiet quarter of the city, by a hum and bustle unusual at that hour. Bang! Crash! Bang! All of a sudden music, none too sonorous, and sounds of a large party disturbed the sleepers in their comfortable beds. Windows flew open and drowsy faces popped out trying to discern through the dim twilight the black forms in the procession from which the noise proceeded. In a few minutes the crossroads in the vicinity of the Bombay Weightlifting Club became alive with din and chatter.

It was 15 October 1923.

‘Yes, it’s the cyclists going round the world,’ said a little man with an air of importance. The Bombay Weightlifting Club had organized a hearty send-off to celebrate the commencement of our tiny enterprise. There we were, six of us, all buoyant and eager to set the iron steeds in motion. Nevertheless, before we could mount our ‘bikes’ there were the usual formalities to be gone through, friends to whom goodbye had to be said; friends to whom parting messages to be given, friends from whom words of cheers and encouragement to be received and received with a due exhibition of modesty – not unpleasant functions altogether though associated with that sweet sorrow, which is proverbial accompaniment of all parting. Nevertheless, we should be failing in our task if in the din and chatter that ensued as more people congregated realizing the purpose of our journey, we did not relate faithfully what transpired at the site of our headquarters. A kind friend had undertaken without any requisition from our Weightlifting Club to provide music suited to the occasion. We evidently had no idea of what this kind soul intended to do. It was music from this orchestra, which bore traces of having been hastily improvised and still more hastily manned, which was responsible for the breach of peaceful slumbers of many a happy citizen. To be sure, we cannot recollect now what musical pieces the gallant band of brass-blowers executed; but if there be any distinction between persons who execute musical pieces and those who murder them with impunity, it would not have taken a cynic to tell you that our musicians were doing their very best to have themselves enumerated in the latter category. At times they played what seemed some marching tune, composed by somebody, sometime, somewhere, none knew exactly what; at times they seemed to imagine that an indispensable attribute of good music was its audibility over a radius of half-a-mile. However, as the crowd which had collected did not notice the many sins of omission and commission on the part of those who constituted the orchestra, the music, if we may be permitted to call it so in courtesy, passed off as splendid performance and the musicians were cheered frequently and vociferously.

Presently we were all garlanded, much to our confusion and dismay; uninitiated as we were in the art of receiving flowers or the compliments which usually accompanied them, we looked such silly beings, our lips splitting from ear to ear, and showing most of our thirty-two teeth; as if we felt mightily satisfied with ourselves though nothing was remoter from our minds than conveying such impression. We suppose, we tried to make and made some sort of speech in reply, but thanks to the musicians, our voices were drowned in their music to the irritation of our audience, but to our satisfaction, each of whom knew his limitations as an extempore speaker, especially when placed in an embarrassing position. Then there was a final ‘bang’ from a little cannon that was a part of the orchestra. Odds Tympana! How the little thing boomed! That was the signal for us to begin our journey. We set out on our enterprise accompanied by a score of cyclists, who wished to see us off over a little distance.

We cannot quite recollect whose genius from among us conceived this enterprise, or how it assumed its final plan. We were conscious of our environments; these were ill-suited to rearing ideas of a world tour on bicycle. It was an enterprise which nobody from India had ever attempted and we knew well what chances of success we had of securing the approval of even our friends. It is not until one tries to do something that others cannot understand, that he realizes the difficulties which mushroom up in the execution of his plans practically overnight. Realizing fully well the dangers of exposing our plans to publicity we nourished them within our bosoms as some conspirators perfecting an evil design. The floodgate of unsought advice that in such a case would have been opened upon us would have completely ruined all our plans. As it is gratuitous advice against the perils of such a task and on matters both relevant and irrelevant to the enterprise, was forthcoming in unpleasant abundance. Each kindly tenderer of advice vied with the other in chilling our enthusiasm. We never for a moment knew before this that human nature was so exceptionally prone to giving advice; if only men retained and digested what they give out so lightly to others in form of admonitions would not this world be a much happier place to live in?

*

But more than the damp quibble we had from all directions where we turned to for relief, what weighed most with us, was our painful realization that we shared a common characteristic with all persons, who just stumble upon novel plans. Like all persons whose heads teem with lots of ideas, and whose purses exhibited an unseemly void, we were faced with the question of financing our project. If poverty be a blessing, well, we were all thrice blessed. Certain it is that we had not too much of money burning the proverbial hole in our pockets, that we could overlook the problem of balancing on budget; ah, if only those individuals who showered their arguments on us in trying to convince us of the futility, stupidity, impossibility, and many other ‘ities’ of our plans had showered upon us half as many coppers as their arguments, the financial problem would have been splendidly solved. But fate had decreed otherwise. In our anxiety we turned to one Mr X, a venerable old gentleman, with a view to divulge to him our intentions. We wanted to do it ‘diplomatically’. Mr X was an exceedingly simple individual living in a gorgeous villa in a respectable quarter of the city. As we entered a beautifully decorated apartment, an old man whose very plain clothes bore ample testimony of his being a household servant came forward and greeted us.

‘Well, what brings you here,’ he enquired with the look of an inquisitive employee who always makes it a point to be acquainted with his master’s business better than his own.

‘Will you please inform your master, Mr X,’ said one of us handing over a visiting card, ‘that we shall feel thankful to him if he spared a few minutes for conversation as we have something important to communicate to him.’

‘Pray take a seat,’ said the gentleman, casting a glance at the card and trying to gauge our mission from it. ‘I am Mr X myself,’ he slowly added. We exchanged quick glances with each other; our faces fell as we hastened to convey to him our expression of sorrow at mistaking the identity of so illustrious a person. And sorry we mightily were, that our diplomacy should have launched us into such an embarrassing position. We wondered what influence this tragedy of error was to have upon his decisions and on our plans. In fairness to Mr X may it be said that other considerations than the unwitting insult weighed with him. It was a part of our diplomacy to divulge slowly our plans of a world-tour. We first would say we desired to go over India and tour across Persia and if, by then, we did not perceive an expression of dismay or surprise on the face of our hearer we would enumerate other countries one by one till we either found him wondering at us or we completed the world-tour! Often we had not to go long narrating our views, as scarcely we talked of crossing the Persian border, when the change in the features of our hearer would warn us that we could not proceed further divulging our plans except at the peril of being laughed out of court. In this particular case Mr X heard us through, and shrugged his shoulders. The shrug accompanied by a peculiar contortion of his facial muscles told us a world more than what Mr X did in the course of the next hour, during which he inflicted a lecture upon us. The theme of the old gentleman’s oration was tremendously comprehensive. The topics he discussed ranged from shallow- mindedness of the present-day youth to mythical giants, which in the imagination of Mr X still stalked the deserts of Persia. The garrulity of the old gentleman was marvellous and the zeal with which he emptied himself was certainly worthy of an honourable cause. We gazed and Mr X talked; Mr X talked and we gazed, and as we gazed at him and wondered if Dame Nature had compensated our preceptor with an extra measure of vitality in the tongue, for the loss of vitality in the cerebrum due to old age. In short, our diplomacy had failed and so the negotiations were terminated as ceremoniously as could be expected under similar circumstances from patient and forbearing youths. Nor was this a solitary instance. Elsewhere we met with the same scanty measure of success. Those who did not convey with the tongue what they thought our plans did so with their looks, and that too, unmistakably. But it would be difficult to appreciate kindness if the reverse of it were unknown. Our ideas were sympathetically entertained by a few of our friends. To them we owe the success of our little enterprise; to their encouragement, their sporting spirit and ceaseless effort, credit, if any be due, should be assigned. The foremost amongst them was an oriental scholar, G.K. Nariman, Esq, who is as devoted to sports as to his books. Amongst others who virtually led us to success may be mentioned Sir Hormusji Adenwalla, whose name is synonymous with generosity, and Sir Hormusji Wadia, who just lived long enough to see crowned with success the enterprise which he fostered. What with the assistance of these friends and sportsmen, and what with our determination to earn money en route, we decided finally to undertake a world tour though we publicly announced that our intention was to cycle to Persia and come back.

*

But we would be wrong if we conveyed an impression that the difficulties we had to contend with were only those which were not attributable directly to us. The success of a world tour, whether you undertake it on ‘bike’ or by any other means, will depend entirely on the composition of the assembly of tourers. We were aware of how one cynical individual could damp the enthusiasm of a whole party. Our anxiety was, therefore, to exclude those faces who could well serve for a title-page to tribulation. However, the six members who ultimately composed the group were not all angels. Each of us possessed some defects, which made the defect in the other appear markedly tolerable. There were characteristics common to all; and amongst characteristics that were common there were many habits which had ingrained in ourselves and without which we would have been certainly better off. For instance, we possessed in an unpleasantly large measure that characteristic which is known in the beasts of burden and nonentities like ourselves as obstinacy and in big folks as determination, firm-mindedness or strong will. There were six of us. One of us bore the name of Jal P. Bapasola, and with a physique that weighed 180 lbs. His poor cycle! It creaked and groaned beneath those 180 lbs and the weight of his luggage especially with a prospect of journey round the world. His capacity to eat was quite commensurate with his weight. But in this he resembled the ostrich; he ate and digested everything hence he taught the rest of us to utilize as edibles many curious objects which at first we thought were outside the genus of edibles. He spoke less and acted more. Often in the course of the tour it fell to Bapasola’s lot to exhibit his constitution to convince some intractable individual our arguments, when the milder contentions did not succeed. Some may style this as ‘show of criminal force’; we do not know about that; all we do know about is, very often this was a short cut to convincing our opponents. Yet to a physiogonomist the geography of his face showed him a man of affable disposition. He had sweet eyes, a homely smile furrowed his face and in demeanour he was generally bashful. When in company of ladies this unfortunate trait of character was responsible for several blunders.

Another individual of our company was Rustom B. Bhumgara. He was blessed with handsome looks and hot temper, a sharp tongue and hands that would not stay still. An encyclopaedia of jokes and wits, he was always an enigma to us as how handsome looks and jovial disposition would be compatible with such shortness of temper. Good features, coupled with a sense of humour, gave this individual an undoubted advantage over us all when it came to striking friendship with the members of the gentler sex. The lightning rapidity with which he became familiar with his female admirers on the continent constantly made us feel so blue, and we did not conceal this from him. To this happy-go-lucky fellow there was nothing that mattered and very little that worried. He was the kind who leaped before he looked, nay more, not even cared to look after leaping. Such a disposition, perhaps, developed in him a short temper. Impatient as he was, he was always in favour of using argumentum ad baculum in preference to milder species of disputations, as, according to him, first blow was half the battle. To his credit it may be said that whenever an opportunity presented itself he took care to see that the first half of the battle was begun by him and never forgot to see that the other half was finished.

The third member of our company was Adi B. Hakim. With Bhumgara he shared a common characteristic. Every fight that Bhumgara started was maintained faithfully by Adi Hakim. The least excuse sufficed this individual for getting himself into a fury. Quick temper and obduracy are formidable, when blended into one individual. Hakim had this blend in ideal proportions for creating trouble for himself and others. There were very few points upon which he agreed with us. Often he observed a sphinx-like silence; that silence was often the calm preceding a storm or the innocent silence in the vicinity of a volcano before it belches forth its mass of destruction. He had a smart appearance and carried his head erect. Whether it was the quick temper that was responsible for this gait or whether this deportment was responsible for his quick temper, is a riddle that we leave you to solve. However, there was a cardinal principle which he always acted upon scrupulously and never for a moment deviated for any reason whatever. As he put it, ‘Everyone for himself and the Devil take the hindermost.’ And so it was, Hakim did not share much of anything with us but always exacted a share of everything from us, though in fairness to him we shall say in good things as well as in melees.

Keki D. Pochkhanawalla and Gustad D. Hathiram were two other members of our party. We mention them together for they ate, drank, moved, and did everything in fellowship and company. They both possessed dispositions quite different from the foregoing individuals. In fact, the work of these two commenced when that of Hakim and Bhumgara ended. They always stood for peace at any price, and often their services were requisitioned, both when we fell out or a third party fell out with us. Thus Pochkhanawalla and Hathiram endeared themselves to the rest of the company. But besides the quiet dispositions and a love for peace, Pochkhanawalla was gifted with a charm of manners and prepossessing appearance. He was so gentle, so obliging, so generous, and in fact so everything we are apt to like in a young man. But though Pochkhanawalla and Hathiram shared the common characteristic of love for peace, the latter differed from the former in that though usually not easily provoked, once provoked he would not be easily calmed. To set off this defect, Hathiram possessed an indispensable qualification which at times stood us in good stead. He was well versed or, shall we say, gradually became well versed in the art of cooking. Often when, either on account of our depleted purse or some other reason, ready meals could not be had, Hathiram shouldered this responsibility. In the beginning of our travel, his experiments in this sphere often marred our night’s repose. Often after supper we felt thankful that some or the other medical practitioner was close at hand and when there was none we always ate wisely but certainly not well.

Last but not the least was Nariman B. Kapadia, a slim and tall individual aged about twenty-three, who observed the philosopher’s quiet at all times and especially when meals were being shared by us from a common plate. He generally sought the company of Rustom Bhumgara and owned him allegiance, which he suspended temporarily whenever Bhumgara became busy in one of his hot arguments. Kapadia had one trait of character which made him very popular with us. In difficulties he always remained cool and collected and with a surprising facility managed to find a way out of the impasse, though even under such circumstances he spoke little. We have not yet been able to ascertain whether the silence which this individual observed was due to his having at his home little opportunity to speak or due to some other cause; suffice it to say at times he was provokingly reticent. At times the only answer to our queries consisted in a shrug of his shoulders, which drew forth from one or the other of us a sermon on the subject of silence being brazen.

Such was the constitution of our party and we may observe here that the complimentary characteristics that we possessed, enabled us on the whole to work harmoniously. But if the composition of our company left nothing to be desired, the composition of our purse left much to be wished for. This reflected unerringly in our equipments. ‘Cut your coat according to your cloth,’ was too wise an adage for us to be unmindful of in considering the question of our equipments. Often our decision was influenced by the need for economy. We aimed at securing the maximum of services from the articles we carried as would be compatible with lightness and economy. But do whatever we would, the irreducible minimum of our paraphernalia far exceeded our expectation in weight, number and cost. True it is, later, with the experience gained in the course of the journey we were in a position to dispense with many of our articles which at first seemed indispensable. But at the commencement we had to load ourselves in a manner not very different from those in which beasts of burden are loaded; to our cycles which weighed only 28 lbs the luggage proved a handicap of no less than 100 lbs. This meant that whenever riding was impossible on account of the condition of the roads we had to drag our machines over stones and pebbles or where even dragging was out of question as when big boulders obstructed our path, we had to lift this load and the bicycle in the bargain, performing our journey, not we riding the bikes, but the bikes riding on us. Thanks to our indulgence in the hobby of weightlifting, we got through this ordeal well though not without much trouble.

A very wide range of commodities appeared in our equipments. We do not know who was responsible for hitting upon the ingenious principle which we attempted, with disastrous results, to follow in the matter of fitting ourselves with the necessaries. Somehow or other an idea perhaps, none very bright, found an admission into our heads, be a self-sufficing! Be that as it may, amongst the many articles we carried we had a complete camera out at a doctor’s dispensary on a miniature scale, an enormous number of maps and charts of all imaginable countries and districts through which our route lay or did not, Dunlop tyres, Lucas cycle accessories, three luggage-carriers stuffed with spare parts, shorts, shirts, pyjamas, slippers, toilet requisites, boot-polish, overcoat, not to mention thread and needle to all which we tacked later on a Primus stove and a few spare forks. Lest the mention of forks along with the stove convey to our readers an idea that the last-named commodity was used at tables, we hasten to add that the forks were cycle-forks, which we were obliged to keep in spare as one after another of them snapped during our journey through mountainous Baluchistan.

Some of us had thought of division of this paraphernalia amongst us on some principle, which defies amplification. Bapasola took charge of maps and plans; there came to be accorded to him the function or distinction of pointing out the road which he performed much as the oldest and the biggest of the bull-elephants in a herd points out the way. Perhaps this assignment of function was logical for Bapasola, was to the rest of us what the leading elephant is to the herd, at least in constitution. To Bhumgara was entrusted the complete charge of bicycle tools and accessories and as his help was sought every time that our machines became ill-inclined to perform their normal functions he came to acquire the degree of ‘veterinary surgeon of the iron horse’. The only reason or excuse for assigning this function to him was that no one else felt inclined to carry tools which often meant a demand upon its incumbent at very frequent intervals. The camera outfit was left in charge of Kapadia. The camera at times tests your patience, and therefore, when it is also to be the sole record of many interesting sights one has seen. It is best left in the charge of an individual with a placid disposition, one who would not get ruffled at the many naughty tricks which it is apt to play in the hands of an amateur. But whatever reasons we may have had for distribution of these commodities to the individuals, we all unanimously and without discussion, decided, for a very weighty reason, that Pochkhanawalla should take charge of the medical equipment and act for us either as physician or surgeon or both as occasion demanded. The main consideration which enabled us to decide in favour of Pochkhanawalla assuming this responsibility was that his brother-in-law was a medical practitioner who undertook to initiate Pochkhanawalla into the mysteries of his profession within a fortnight, and Pochkhanawalla promised us one and all, with due diligence to acquire all knowledge that this distinguished medical luminary had to impart. ‘Little learning is a dangerous thing’; that may be the case generally, but in this particular instance it was not so. We had not proceeded far when for some unknown cause the labels on the bottles left their assigned stations and fell higgledy-piggledy into the medicine chest. As, however, the bottles possessed as much or as little difference between one another in appearance as twins bear to each other, their identity was completely lost. When next the chest was opened poor Pochkhanawalla could not tell Iodine from tannic acid and glycerin mixture. As his fortnight’s training had not yet enabled him to distinguish the one from the other by any other means than these labels, the problem of problems for our physician was how to assort his wares. One of us suggested that Pochkhanawalla should just try and recollect which label was affixed on which bottle. The danger in following this course was that if through a wrong guess the bottles and labels got interchanged, the cure would literally prove worse than the malady. Besides it required courage to put through this scheme, courage not in our physician, but in the patient; however we thought it much more preferable to get along with a cough rather than to take the risk of having some smarting tincture applied to entrance of someone’s windpipe. Poor Pochkhanawalla was completely nonplussed and he finally decided to abandon the unidentifiable portion of the dispensary on the roadside. Pochkhanawalla had also brought a hypodermic syringe, either believing that the same would be of use to us or with a view to impress on us the extent or limit of his knowledge in medical science which he had compressed into his head during his fortnight’s apprenticeship. Either as the necessary vaccine was forgotten or consigned to the roadside or as the syringe without the vaccine was useless, by common consent we disposed off the syringe in the same manner in which we had disposed the medicine chest. It was thus that in our case little learning of Pochkhanawalla did not prove a dangerous thing either to himself or to the rest of the company.

The suburban roads glided underneath the wheels of the bicycles as we left the suburbs one after another. For 20 miles our friends bore us company and would not permit our thoughts to dwell upon the more important subject of where we were to lodge our weary bones at the end of a toilsome day. That was evidently not our companions’ business who could look back to their homes for a good night’s rest. Nevertheless, both good manners and impossibility to concentrate thought on a matter different from that which formed the theme of our companions’ conversation dictated that we should interest ourselves in their topics only. It was, therefore, not without a sigh of relief that we finally bade these friends a loving goodbye. As they turned back, we watched them mounting their bikes one after another waving their kerchiefs, cheering and smiling. We set our bikes towards the north; there was a long, long trail before us; prospect of a many thousand weary miles packed with thrills and adventures in dangerous and unknown regions. But then we had the will to achieve a purpose and we set to do it.

Scarcely had we mounted our bikes when a loud thud arrested our attention. We found our friend Pochkhanawalla nursing his ankle, with his cycle lying by his side in a position in which we do not see cycles usually resting.

‘How on earth did that happen, Keki,’ asked one of us who should have gauged from Pochkhanawalla’s long face that he was in no mood to answer any questions.

‘Nice time, this, to ask me riddles!’ replied poor Pochkhanawalla with much warmth.

Without further comment upon the cause of the accident we collected Pochkhanawalla’s paraphernalia, administered to him firstaid under his own instructions and proceeded.

‘First day of our journey and first accident; it’s a bad omen,’ muttered one of us prophetically.

‘If we meet with an accident a day,’ chimed in another, ‘well, before we finish our journey there would not be much of us people left to finish it with.’

It was in the afternoon that we arrived at Salsette Creek. We had two choices before us – either to deviate 11 miles out of our course or to undertake crossing the creek. We decided upon the latter, not without much regret which always comes just a little too late. The bed of the creek seemed like a track ingeniously prepared for a cross-country obstacle race. Patches of water which varied in depth from a few inches to several feet, stones of all kind, mud, and sand, a variety of peculiar networks of hedges and countless pits and holes interspersed the creek. Suffice it to say we saved 11 miles but at the expense of three hours and as much energy as we would have spent in covering twice the distance.

Soon we headed for Padgha. The last rays of the setting sun contributed to the beauty of the landscape. The sun went down and we continued our journey in the grey of the twilight. Before darkness could hide the track from our view we arrived at Padgha, having covered in all a distance of 42 miles. We rested our weary limbs, and Pochkhanawalla his aching ankle, at the mansion of a co-religionist whose invitation we accepted without the usual expression of reluctance to put our host to trouble on our account, as we apprehended our observations of formalities may cost us a night’s supper. The suppertime was the best time. Our host said he felt honoured at our arrival and this sentiment he expressed in a more tangible form. Our stay was responsible for the loss of the lives of a few fowls, which made their appearance on the table in a manner that made our hungry stomachs feel hungrier. In addition to this, many other articles figured at the table. Another thing needs mention. Our host was no advocate of the prohibition movement; though our views on this subject coincided with those of the ‘wets’, at first we firmly declined the offer. The kindness of our host and the arguments on the advantages of taking a ‘wee drop’ now and then, soon overpowered us and as we were only too willing to be convinced. We each had a peg of the best brewn ale. The fatigue, the supper and beverage did their work well; we soon fell fast asleep and lest our readers imagine it was under the tables, we hasten to add, in our beds.

Early next morning we bade our host farewell and made for Shahapur, where we halted for dinner and tea at the request of two gentlemen. We left Shahapur, richer by Rs 15, an auspicious gift from our host. With the setting sun we entered the little sleepy town of Khardi. As bad roads and the steep gradient made further journey after sunset not very safe, we took shelter at a dak bungalow. Thanks to the stones which lay strewn all along the way we had traversed this day barely 23 miles.

|TWO|

Across the Ghats

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THE WESTERN COAST OF INDIA IS SEPARATED BY A chain of mountains known as the Western Ghats. On the left of this chain lies a long strip of low lands, which we had traversed. On the right lies the mainland of Hindustan. The ghats provide incomparable resorts to sightseers; to us they presented lot of difficulties. In the ghats the average rainfall is about ten times what it is in England; this means at times drenching rain in mid-October.

We left the village of Khardi at 8 a.m. and advanced towards Kasara, a railway station, well known to all who live on either flanks of the Western Ghats. ‘Tiffin good. Roads bad.’ is all what our diary says about Kasara, where we found accommodation at an engine driver’s running shed. At 4 p.m. while we were yet preparing to leave, rain and storm burst forth with all majesty of a newly broken monsoon, whereas at that time of the year the monsoon should have been over in these parts of the country. But soon a treacherous calm followed to allure us out of our cosy abode at 5 p.m. We had to negotiate a steep ascent. Mud and mire deposited rapidly under the mudguards and applied effective brakes to the tyres. To aggravate our difficulties, it began to pour with redoubled vigour as if to make up for the temporary interval of clear weather. Strong cool winds swept the mountains. Cold reminded us of an article which we carried and which is capable of generating heat inside the human constitution. We do not know how we forgot to enumerate this article in the list we mentioned before. In short, we extracted from the depth of our haversack a bottle of Cognac and each took a tiny swallow of it! Bitter cold compelled us to reiterate our visits to the bottle at rather frequent intervals until soaked to the very bones and besprinkled with mud we dragged our bikes and ourselves into a Fire Temple at Igatpuri. It was midnight. The piercing cold and fatigue soon laid our physician Pochkhanawalla in bed with fever, and he found the next day his sprained ankle indisposed to perform its normal duty of pedalling.

After a day of forced inactivity at Igatpuri we resumed our journey. We soon left Nasik behind and as the evening shades were fast falling we arrived at Pimpalgaon. Our search for a resting place brought us to a dak bungalow. Dak bungalows are a feature of considerable importance in India especially to the touring community. They lie scattered all over the country, though generally they make their welcome appearance along railway tracks. Some dak bungalows are cosy apartments with good service at a traveller’s disposal, while others are ‘bungalows’ by courtesy only. The latter species are nothing more than four walls placed at right angles with a roof over them. The sole decoration of these walls would be your shadows if you had with you a candlestick and a matchbox of your own.

Early in the morning on 20 October we left Pimpalgaon for Dhulia. Not far from Pimpalgaon is Chandor, a place which derives its name from a mint established by a native ruler of the Holkar family for coinage of silver. Before we reached Malegaon, another town on our way to Dhulia, we had to cross the ghats of Chandor. Our exertion and difficulty in ascent were amply repaid by the good track that stretched before us once we gained the top. Cycling down the inclines is a pleasant pastime but one which is fraught with considerable danger. The steep ingredient necessitates constant application of the brakes while the sharp and unexpected curves test one’s nerves and judgement alike. At times these declines were no more than tracks on the sides of the mountain with steep cliff on one hand and yawning chasm on the other. One little misstep and your world tour might terminate in an uncomfortable pit at the bottom of which your companions would not be much in a position to distinguish the man from the mangles of the machine. Nevertheless, we successfully negotiated these declines and arrived at Malegaon.

The cosy beds in which we spent the