A Royal Jeopardy

Note: All incidents mentioned here are fictional. Any resemblance to real occurrences is purely coincidental.

I hurried along in a huff, the briskness of my pace having been caused by annoyance rather than by an impending urgency elsewhere.It had been 60 years since my father’s services as an officer of the British Crown had caused my family to settle down in the erstwhile capital of the British Raj, Calcutta, I being a mere babe at the time. It was 1981 now, my family having taken a liking to the Bengali ways had decided to stay back here and Calcutta had already seen a decade since the terrific and exhilarating turmoil that the liberation of Bangladesh had presented. The war time uproar no longer besieging the city, Calcutta appeared dull and dirty now, the precise cause of my exasperation these days.

Following a conversation with a rickshaw puller- the kind that attracts the attention of passersby-over his insight on what the fare should be owing to the extra left turn he had to paddle, I began climbing up the stairs to my apartment on Free School Street. All my weekly grocery shopping having been settled, I wouldn’t need to bother stepping out onto the streets crowded up with uncultivated denizens. My apartment, though not so lavishly furnished as to gain the envy of visitors, afforded me a sense of peace and pride, more so because of the memories it was replete with.Nostalgies associated with childhood and the prime of my life were embedded in these rooms, that had stood the test of time and been through such momentous events as the Indian struggle for Independence. But the most pronounced impression was lent by the numerous cases that I had solved here. My engagement as a private detective, which had begun out of mere curiosity for the bizarre that in turn had arisen out of the hobby for gorging upon detective novels hour after hour, had surprisingly offered me a little fortune for myself through quite a distinguished clientele. Now that I was old and did not find myself occupied very often, I had time to reminisce on my career. As I sat down to a warm cup of tea in the solitude of my apartment, my mind drifted back to one remarkable incident of the past.

It was 1950 and I had made some name for myself due to my sleuth skills that had frequently taken me to the mansions of wealthy Seths or even the palatial residences of Maharajas across India. My family was away on a vacation to our ancestral home in Sussex. I had chosen to stay back with the intention of slackening for a bit, feeling enervated after having solved a particularly gruesome case of murder the past week. However my peaceful solitude was not to be for long. The doorbell rung noisily at about 10 in the morning. A letter was handed over to me by the post master. The letter cover announced no name or address of the sender. A premonition of duty calling took over me. It was evident that the sender had wished to maintain the utmost level of privacy.

The contents of the letter were rather concise- ‘PLEASE EXPECT A VISIT ON THE SECOND SUNDAY OF OCTOBER. WILL BE OBLIGED TO RECEIVE YOUR VALUABLE ADVICE.’ –and contained no signature of the author. The sender must have been so wary as not to even reveal his or her gender through the letter, having used capitals solely. Now today happened to be the very day when I was to anticipate my mysterious visitor. It was undoubtedly no coincidence. My visitor must have been in Calcutta already before dispatching the letter. The wish to maintain secrecy and yet seek my consent for my involvement must have made this person not visit me without letting me know and yet alert me of an urgency that possibly needed my immediate attention. ‘Very purposeful and civil indeed!’ –I chuckled to myself. Not even an hour had elapsed when the door bell informed me of my visitor.

A portly male, about 30 years old appeared in front of me. He was casually garbed in an ivory sports coat, trousers and a tie that must be considerable expensive with dark hair smartly brushed back. He had slanted eyes, a petite pointed nose and fair complexion-the features of the Mongoloid race- and gave off an air of grand dignity. As I ushered him in, I noticed him darting nervous glances about him. Refusing my offer for a cup of tea with a polite impatience, my visitor embarked upon his narration.

“You will surely have been curious as to the reason for my insistence upon such privacy, Ms. Markel. However, given your disposition as a famed private investigator, I take it that you will have understood the need for it. I am Noryu Phunsuk and here as a representative and a close confidante of His Majesty, Jigme Khesar Dorji, the 3rd ruler of the Wangchuk dynasty of the Royal Kingdom of Bhutan. Therefore, my need to maintain such secrecy for no matters related to His Majesty or any of his noble kin maybe revealed to the outside world at any cost. I might like to mention here the fact that our kingdom has been strictly adhering to the teachings of Lord Buddha, thereby considering peace as a pillar for prosperity. Hence the agitation upon the sudden inexplicable departure of the perfectly healthy Queen Dowager- His Majesty’s Mother- for the heavenly abode has been sufficient to shake us to the core.

Preparations for the Thimpu Tsechu festival had just started. Her Highness the Queen Dowager, had been overseeing the preparations in the capital when one day she collapsed suddenly. The royal physicians initially suspecting it to be stress induced, advised her bed rest. But one night, she had terrible convulsions and without any warning passed away. The entire kingdom was gripped in gloom, all the festivity preparations having been marred. However, the heavens seemed to be mocking our misery and as if the evil spirits had seized our land, His Majesty too started showing similar symptoms and hasn’t shown any signs of improvement ever since then. The Queen Dowager might have succumbed to age, but the young King too falling to such a strange illness has caused the Royal household to go berserk. Strange whispers of conspiracies have been haunting the corners of the palace. And to be honest, I dare say I fail to put such rumors to rest myself. His Majesty’s ascension to the throne had not been without opposition, you see. Though he has suited his role remarkably well, unsettled matters with his past contender, His Highness the Prince Sangye Dorji, elder brother to the incumbent king and his supporters might be rearing up-that is what I have begun fearing. ““Unsettled matters?”

“The position of the heir apparent to the throne had originally belonged to the Prince Sangye Dorji. His Highness used to be an excellent horse rider and would canter down the far flung valleys of the kingdom whenever there were no pressing matters at hand. The Prince was however a reckless one and favoured adventure in sports, often challenging his younger sibling to horse races and feeling satisfied only after a smooth victory the odds of which would be mostly in his favour. It was on one such excursion that the princes had been on- the elder brother having challenged the younger one on another race and the latter having dutifully accepted it- that Prince Sangye Dorji’s passion turned into his nightmare. The horse stumbled upon a treacherous bit of rock causing the Prince a violent fall. The Prince, being a trained rider could save his neck but not his right leg which was so mangled that it needed to be amputated and replaced with a wooden one. The Royal head cannot be allowed to be physically disabled as stated by the Rules of Heredity of the Kingdom of Bhutan. Their ended the then heir’s grasp on the throne. The Prince was left physically as well as emotionally scarred. He has had the empathy of the entire kingdom and His Majesty has often blamed himself for his brother’s misfortune. Although the Prince has always appeared to be on amiable terms with the King, but he has often been reported by the servants as bearing the appearance of a tormented man. I would however be the happiest man on this earth, Miss Markel, if you could prove otherwise.”

So saying, Sir Phunsuk stared at me intently with a questioning gaze. I did not hesitate before giving him my reply –“I would be honored to be at His Majesty’s service, Sir.”

On the following morning, I reached the Calcutta Airport for I was to board the chartered flight sent by His Majesty, as I had been informed by my visitor during the discourse of the meeting. He had already left the previous night for Thimphu. In the plush interiors of the plane that I had the fortune of observing owing to my imperial benefactor, thoughts swirled around in my mind. A conspiracy truly? Or only something trivial that none could imagine?

In about an hour and a half, the Captain of the flight announced our descent upon the lands of the Himalayan Kingdom. Upon my arrival, I was escorted by none other than Sir Phunsuk to a royal buggy that stood waiting to take me to the Palace. My companion chose to stay silent for most of the journey, speaking only occasionally about the traditions of the kingdom, which left me with quite the time to take in my surroundings. Though only the capital of a tiny kingdom nestled in the Himalayas, the architecture and planning of the city of Thimphu was commendable. The autumn sun shone warmly while the distant valleys glowed scarlet in the season of the fall. The great mountain range stood surrounding the city majestically.

Our destination was reached not long after. The palace, similar to the commoners’ houses dotting the city, in its dzong like architectural style typified by squat roof tops, was guarded by huge magnificent teak gates with gigantic statues of Bhutanese deities placed on both sides. The palace situated on the peak of a slope was surrounded by forests rendering it an enigmatic charm. As the buggy jogged in through the cobbled pathways upon the palatial grounds, I could see impressive verdant gardens embellished with fountains and orchards full of ripe red apples.

The palace interiors boasted of a blend of western and traditional Buddhist architecture. Gloom however overshadowed the atmosphere. I was ushered into my allocated room in the west wing of the palace by the royal maids, who were on an order to allow me to visit any place in the royal residence for a smooth scrutiny. The room which offered a direct view over the Thimphu River to its east had a teak finish and was furnished with imposing wooden furniture. Though in a state of jeopardy with the recent turn of events, I had nevertheless been offered a king’s welcome to its truest sense.

Without wasting further time, I rang the bell and inquired of the maid who appeared if I could see Sir Phunsuk. She hastily replied that my presence had already been requested for in the King’s chambers. I was then led into His Majesty’s bedroom.

King Jigme Khesar Dorji reclined upon his coach languidly while his personal attendant who now wore the Bhutanese royal uniform and the royal physicians stood looking worried by his side. Slightly farther waited a young man in his thirties wearing a strained expression. He was garbed in the traditional Bhutanese robe with a fine Orange scarf wrapped around the upper half of his body. My interactions with Sir Phunsuk during my journey to the palace reminded me of how the colours of the scarves donned by the nationals determined their ranks. This must be then His Highness, Prince Sangye Dorji-our object of suspicion. The young King waved his fingers weakly at Sir Phunsuk who lowered himself down obediently to receive His Majesty’s message. Clearing his throat at the physicians who departed immediately, he glanced at the Prince expectantly to follow their lead. “Must I as well?”- He retorted in an acerbic tone. “Your Highness…Please understand.” – Sir Phunsuk uttered uneasily. The Prince, his face bearing no expression, strutted out of the room without so much as even a glance at us.

“Sir Phunsuk, I would like to interrogate His Majesty about a few particulars, if that wouldn’t be too much for him.” He glanced uncertainly at the form on the bed, who gave a weak nod of approval.

“Your Majesty…Judging by your appearance, I understand that no kind of diet must have agreed with you for a while. Since when did your illness begin?”

“It was after I had returned after paying a diplomatic visit to China this August. The visit had gone well with favorably trade agreements having been signed off between the two nations. Lots of gifts-silk, herbal tea, jade ornaments-were offered as tokens of appreciation by the Chinese. The preparations for the ThimphuTsechu festival were about to begin. I felt contented at the thought that prosperity would be further blessing our land of peace in the near future. The heavens seemed to be favoring us. And yet a few days later, Mother passed away and now I lie here helplessly. Please put in your best to deliver us out of this crisis. Please feel free to scrutinize anyone. Do not hold out… ” The King could not go on after this, seized by a sudden bout of coughing. The royal physicians were called in urgently. I could only bow and take my leave from the commotion that had ensued.

His Majesty’s diplomatic visit was a new revelation. “To the Royal kitchen then…”- I observed quietly. Turning to the palace maid who had been waiting on me outside the King’s chambers, I requested her to take me to my target of investigation. The kitchen occupied a separate building to the west of the main residential chambers of the Royal family. Once there, I begged of her to leave me alone for my inspection. Although reluctant to do so initially, she was soon persuaded to follow my wish through my nonchalant lectures on patriotism. The Royal chief chef-a woman in her forties- stood waiting inside. Ignoring the suspicious glances I received from her, I continued my examination via sniffing and tasting. Various kinds of meat and vegetables lay scattered around in baskets. In a corner of the kitchen, lay a shelf full of exotic varieties of tea. I proceeded to un-lid each of these jars and sniff in the aroma.

My examination here complete, I headed out of the kitchen. Dusk was growing deeper. As I walked down the path towards the West Wing deep in contemplation, I could sight two figures beyond an apple tree in the nearby orchard. I was pleased to notice that there were two larger apricot trees near me that could provide me with a convenient hide out. Edging my way carefully over to the trees, I found myself looking at the Prince conversing in a low voice with a terrified looking palace maid.

“Do you wish me to withdraw my financial aid towards your family?”

“Your Highness!”

“Fine…I shall leave you to fend off for yourself and your sick mother.”

“No please Your Highness… I shall obey your command. Ginger it is today as well.”

Ginger? Could it be some sort of a code? Was the Prince truly plotting something?

As I reached my room, I found my patriotic maid waiting. “Take me to the royal physicians’ chamber, will you?”

The physicians who were engaged in a grave discussion as regards the King’s health looked up at me in surprise. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen. But I will need to take up a bit of your precious time.”

“As you might understand, we are gathered here to seek out a solution for His Majesty’s deteriorating health. And we have not the time to spare.” –perceived a physician rancorously.

“I am afraid I have been ordered to investigate anyone and everyone, if need be, by His Majesty himself to help resolve the matter. Will you be bothered for disobeying his command?” A few exchanges of fearful and anxious glances later, I asked-“What were the late Queen Dowager’s symptoms? Are they very similar to His Majesty’s?”

“We are afraid so… Symptoms of nausea, dizziness and labored breathing very similar to that of Her late Highness have been plaguing His Majesty.”

“Does His Majesty have any sort of food allergy?”

“Not really…or not anything that has been detected as of yet. However he has always shown a great dislike for Ginger. Hence, though ginger is known to alleviate nausea, we haven’t been able to ask the royal kitchen to add it to his dishes.”

Inspiration hit me suddenly. Thanking my interviewees hurriedly, I dashed out of the room and ran towards the kitchen. If this was not it, then I would be at my wits’ end.

As I reached the kitchen, kitchen maids were readying themselves to carry the dinner to be served to the King. “Halt! Please!” – I panted out. To my relief, I did not meet any resistance. Uncovering all the lids, I spotted my source of misgiving. A porcelain cup full of aromatic herbal tea sat on the embellished brass tree. I picked up the cup and held it near my nose. A strong wave of cinnamon swept over me.

“Please refrain from serving His Majesty this cup of tea. It holds poison.”

The chief chef started in an agitated manner-“What do you know of poison! It is none other than the herbal tea His Majesty received as a parting gift from China. We who prepare it taste it every day before serving it to His Majesty. Why do you place such a terrible blame upon us?”

“Was it served to Her Late Highness as well?”

“It was prescribed as a medicine to her owing to her low blood sugar levels.”

“Do not be afraid. I will explain all later. Only carry the remainder of His Majesty’s dinner and let me accompany you.”

Not much later, in the King’s bed chamber, I embarked upon my unraveling of the mystery, once all the stakeholders had been gathered.” With Her Highness’s sudden death and His Majesty’s strange illness, the Royal residence has been troubled for days. Indeed it has been a case of slow poisoning.”

“Poisoning! Who would dare?”- The Prince uttered with great trepidation.

“I am here precisely to let all of you know that. True, the Late Queen Dowager and His Majesty have indeed been subjected to poisoning but it is no conspiracy. The cinnamon herbal tea that is served to them is the culprit. Cinnamon though known to possess massive healing powers for diabetes or low blood sugar levels possesses a substance called coumarin. Allergies to this particular substance may lead to nausea, dizziness, breathlessness and even a fatal condition called Anaphylaxis that may bring about coma followed by death.

A case similar to this had once occurred in London. The victim had been consuming herbal tea with a high content of cinnamon for about a month. He had suffered from sudden convulsions before his death. Traces of cinnamon had been found in his blood upon post mortem. Her Late Highness, being a low blood sugar patient, had been consuming the herbal tea His Majesty brought from China as a medicine. However, her food allergy turned fatal for her. His Majesty, though not keeping well has not had this misfortune because of the neutralizer he has had in his diet- Ginger- due to his well wishing elder brother’s secret order to add the spice into his food despite his dislike for it.”

Prince Sangye Dorji turned an astonished gaze towards me-“How did you…?”

“Your Highness, I must beg your forgiveness for having eavesdropped upon your conversation with a certain kitchen maid.” I smiled.

“I had to do it. No matter the past resentment, I dearly love my little mother. Besides, Mother’s passing away has left me with this little one only as my family.” – The Prince spoke in a wavering voice.

“Now of course, His Majesty’s treatment, the cause of his illness being known, must be left upon the hands of his trusted physicians. I hope to have served your Majesty to my best as I had promised.”

All the while, the King who lay in a seated posture and had been listening with an amused expression spoke in a faltering yet steady voice-“Miss Markel has rendered the Kingdom of Bhutan a great service. I shall soon be bestowing a title upon you. And my dear brother…forgive me for the slightest bit of doubt that had lodged in my heart. Forgive me for having been such an unthinking fool.”

After 2 more days of stay in the Palace, I decided to leave for Calcutta, thwarting all the requests of either His Majesty who was already on his way to recovery, the Prince, Sir Phunsuk or even the patriotic palace maid. On the last day of stay, I was called for once again in the King’s royal chambers.

“You are proclaimed as Madam Markel, Royal Friend to The King of the royal kingdom of Bhutan. Congratulations!”- Smiled Sir Phunsuk and placed a scroll into my hands containing the proclamation and the royal insignia of the kingdom of Bhutan.

A few days later, when I had settled down well in Calcutta and my family had returned from their vacation, a parcel arrived. It contained a letter from Sir Phunsuk, mentioning the King’s steady recovery and the bestowing of the title of “Special Royal Advisor” upon Prince Sangye Dorji and of course the little silver dragon that I have kept treasured to this day. What an extraordinarily silly yet wonderful case it was!