The Killer Handkerchief

William Henry Sleeman was soaked to the bone.

It wasn't just the scorching Indian summer. He was experiencing malaria-like symptoms, which had been bothering him since his infection fifteen years ago, in 1813.

His head was bouncing about.

But recurring malaria or the hot Indian summer wasn't stressing him out. It was the fifth police complaint that day.

Another pilgrim on his way to Benares had vanished. Benares was a holy city for India's majority Hindu population, drawing thousands of pilgrims.

There were reports that pilgrims were going missing at an alarming rate. Fear and panic gripped the plains of Northern India in the early nineteenth century.

The police didn't find any bodies or clues.

Sleeman was reminiscing about his time as a paleontologist when he was researching dinosaur fossils. It was a hot topic in Europe's intellectual circles, and Sleeman wanted to make his mark.

But the Company required his investigation skills to solve the cases of missing people. The East India Company inherited India's law and order from the Mughal dynasty. The responsibility was now on them to deliver.

Sleeman had a distinguished military career, and now the British needed him to investigate the mysterious disappearances.

The unnamed pilgrim.

Gangaram was drained of all energy. Every bit of his vitality had been depleted by the exhausting day’s walk. He took a deep breath and gazed up at the sky.

“Praise Lord Shiva, today it will rain!” Gangaram exclaimed. Radharam’s mouth was dry, but he couldn’t hide his enthusiasm as he stood next to Gangaram.

On the dusty road, the rain dropped like stinging needles.

The two pilgrims sought refuge at a nearby village school. Gangaram reached for his packed food as it rained cats and dogs.

The rains slowed to a trickle. But now the mosquitoes began biting them. The temperature dipped. The refreshing summer downpour caught them off guard.

“Join us, by the fire, O fellow pilgrims,” came a voice from the distance. Because he was the younger one, Radharam checked out who was calling them.

A group of pilgrims gathered around a campfire, sharing dinner. The smell of frankincense kept the bugs away.

Gangaram couldn’t endure the constant buzz and piercing bites any longer. There would be no doctors nearby if he got bitten by a snake.

He reluctantly walked over to the campfire. As the night grew darker and the howl of wolves became more distinct, he felt more secure among fellow travelers.

“Where are you headed, Brahmin?” asked one of the pilgrims.

“Benares. On the banks of the river Ganges, we’ll do penance and pay a visit to the Holy Vishwanath Temple,” replied Gangaram.

“What a stroke of luck that is our destination. Hail Lord Shiva!” replied the pilgrim who had invited Gangaram to join them by the fire. “Be very careful Brahmin, we heard of people disappearing on this route.”

Then Gangaram ate his dinner, saying, “Lord Shiva will protect me.”

The pilgrims also brought their supper. They’d have to go thirty miles to the next village before they could replenish their supplies.

Another pilgrim arrived to join the group. The more the merrier. The moon was full. Gangaram was at ease. Pilgrims, whose legs had become numb from the long hours of walking, fell asleep soon after.

Gangaram’s eyes were drooping from exhaustion. He heard a rustling sound soon after. It was an owl's hoot. While trying to ignore the nocturnal noises, he nearly fell asleep.

Gangaram was startled when he felt a chilly metal around his throat. He had the sensation that someone was cramming cotton in his windpipe, and he was struggling to breathe.

In the blink of an eye, Gangaram was dead. Radharam suffered the same fate.

“Throw their bodies in the well.” said a hoarse voice. His mustache glistened in the full moonlight. He was the pilgrim who invited Gangaram and Radharam to join them by the fire.

A widow's anguish.

“Sahib, my husband has been missing for three months.”, a young widow’s heart-wrenching plea for help moved Sleeman.

On that day, she was the fifth woman in his office. Everyone shared the same complaint about the disappearance of a male relative they loved. But there was something about her that made her stand out from the rest.

“What is your name?” asked Sleeman.

“Maya Devi.” replied the woman.

“My husband is missing, and I doubt I’ll ever find him. The Thuggees murdered him.”

“How are you so sure?” asked Sleeman.

“I know them, Sahib. They prey on the souls of the innocent. I had lost my uncle to them.” replied Maya Devi. “You have the soldiers, Sahib. I am a poor lady. But you know nothing about this country or its people.”

The menace of the Thuggee cult was well known in India since the 1300s. All classes of Northern India's Hindu and Muslim societies, according to British arrest records, joined the Thuggee cult with the shared goal of killing and robbing innocent travelers. They treated it as a lifestyle.

Sleeman was willing to listen to this remarkable woman, unlike any he had met. Her gaze was lowered, and she avoided eye contact, as was customary for ladies of her social status.

Sleeman had never met a woman with such humility and determination in his years of service to the Company. She raised her eyes briefly to glance at him.

Her eyes were not those of a bereaved soul, but of one seeking justice. Sleeman understood she wasn’t in his office seeking sympathy or money. She wanted a solution for the Thuggee menace.

But what could she offer?

“I know my husband is no longer in this world. But you Sahib can stop other wives from becoming widows.”

She had a plan, but it would require trust and some protocol bending. Sleeman was close to India’s Governor-General, Lord William Bentinck. He knew well that his employer would not tolerate disobedience.

"It's a trap!"

Maya Devi dressed up as a bride-to-be. She hadn’t touched her exquisite silk saree with gold brocade since her wedding day. Her glittering jewelry glimmered in the fading light.

It was a sin for her to wear her wedding clothes and jewelry if she was a widow. But as she never saw the body of her husband, she prayed for forgiveness and got dressed.

She knew deep down in her heart that the merciful Lord Shiva would forgive her transgressions for a noble cause.

As the sun dropped, she set off towards Benares on the long and dusty road. Four tall and dark men accompanied her. Two held the palanquin for her, while the other two stood guard. During the night, they switched positions.

The palanquin carriers were muscular and fit. They didn’t resemble the average men on the job.

Her cheeks were getting a little wet with sweat. Though the weather was cooler than the summer months, it was humid. The combination of the thick silk saree and the gleaming gold was oppressive. The sky was overcast. You could hear hooting owls in the distance.

As they were passing by a pond, a group of robbers popped out.

“Hand us all your gold, and we will not harm the lady,” their leader roared. He was in his early sixties. Maya Devi observed his white beard and scarlet turban. He appeared to be a seasoned professional, not someone on his first day at the job.

When palanquin bearers encountered dacoits, they fled. But these men were unflinching.

“What are you waiting for? Remove the gold from her!” thundered the ringleader. The palanquin bearers went near the lady's palanquin and swiftly emerged, not with jewels but swords and flintlock revolvers.

The robbers only had lathis and knives.

“Drop your weapons, you filthy thugs!” yelled the palanquin bearers. They were also dacoits, disguised as Maya Devi’s attendants. She had pleaded with Sleeman for their amnesty. They had arrived on her doorstep a few weeks before, looking for safety from the Company’s sepoys. Although they were bandits, they only targeted tax collectors. But now they wanted to give up their criminal ways and atone for their misdeeds. They offered to guard her and accompany her on a pilgrimage.

Thanks to Maya Devi, the British agreed not to arrest and prosecute them in exchange for their help in solving the case of the missing pilgrims.

Maya Devi’s bodyguards sent a fire signal. Eight sepoys of the East India Company and their officer showed up and arrested the Thuggees who were about to rob Maya Devi.

The confession.

The sepoys brought Syed Ameer Ali to Sleeman for interrogation. He was the ringleader of dacoits who walked into the ingenious trap set by Maya Devi.

Sleeman thought he had his man, but he was wrong. Syed said he was not responsible for the disappearing bodies, but he knew who did them. It was his protege who turned into a violent serial killer, thug Behram.

“I trained him, Sahib. It was a big mistake. He took pleasure in killing innocent travelers,” remarked a regretful Ali.

“How did he kill them?” asked Sleeman.

“He follows the same pattern every time. Disguising themselves as pilgrims, he and his gang become friends with them. A bird-like sound wakes up other members of the gang when they fall asleep. They strangle the pilgrim by wrapping a handkerchief with a medal fastened to it around their necks.” Ali’s head drooped in shame as he narrated the story.

“But believe me, Sahib, I gave up this life long back. I only rob people for my survival. I even give donations from the theft to the Kali temple.”

This did not impress Sleeman.

“What happens to the bodies?” asked Sleeman.

“They dump them in a well or bury them in the fields, Sahib. That is why your sepoys have yet to find a single body. Please accept my apologies, Sahib. I’ll help you with capturing him. I’ll show you where the dead are.”

Sleeman’s eyes lit up. He was on the verge of solving the case after a decade of investigation. Finally, he had a source who knew the whereabouts of the legendary thug Behram.

Sleeman spent the next few weeks following Ameer Ali’s leads and discovering more than a hundred buried bodies of unsuspecting pilgrims. He devised sophisticated strategies and penetrated Behram’s inner circle, promising them amnesty in exchange for cooperation.

An end to the bloodlust.

It was early morning before the sun came up. Behram awoke and went for a swim in the nearby pond. His daily practice after bathing was to pluck hibiscus and offer it to the goddess Kali. He was overjoyed to see the red hibiscus bloom. It was the favorite of the goddess.

He had planned to sacrifice a goat because it was a good year. Behram had killed and looted over a hundred people. As he walked to the temple, he chanted the name of Kali while holding hibiscus flowers in his palms.

But he saw that the priest was nervous. Before he could ask him what happened, an English voice roared, "Put your hands up Behram, this place is surrounded."

His time was up.

The sepoys presented Behram before Sleeman. He knew his fate was sealed.

Sleeman began the interrogation. Behram was cooperative yet unapologetic. He revealed that he was involved in the murder of over 900 people and executed 150 of them with his own hands.

The clerks who recorded the interrogation were stunned. How could a man be god-fearing and feel no guilt for killing so many innocent people?

"You wouldn't understand it, Sahib. This is my profession. People fear me. Respect me. They avoid roads for miles if they hear I have been in the area. This kind of power over people is something even you do not have with so many soldiers and guns." said Behram with no sign of remorse.

"I wouldn't understand it, but I want you to meet someone who will," smirked Sleeman.

Maya Devi walked into the interrogation chamber.

"Why did you kill my husband? Now, who will take care of me?" seethed Maya Devi.

"I have killed so many people I don't know who your husband is," remarked Behram.

"Don't you know killing a Brahmin is the sin of the highest order? You will suffer in this life and beyond," said Maya Devi as she was about to storm out of the interrogation chamber.

"What was his name?" asked Behram.

"Gangaram," replied Maya Devi.

Glossary of terms.

• Brahmin: Priestly class of the Hindu society.
• Dacoit: Term for bandit used in the Indian subcontinent.
• Lathi: A long, heavy wooden stick often made of bamboo used as a weapon in Medieval India.
• Palanquin: A mode of transportation formerly used especially in South Asia usually for one person that consists of an enclosed litter borne on the shoulders of men by means of poles.
• Thuggee: Cult of bandits in pre-Modern India. The English word Thug is derived from Thuggee. The base Hindustani word, also thug, means "to swindle".
• Sahib: Polite way of addressing people of respect and power. Sahib was used in pre-Independence India to address the British officers.
• Sepoy: Indian soldiers employed by the East India Company.





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