“I watched him walk down the path from the house and then off on to the dusty road. People do that in India. When they reach a certain time of life, they sometimes just walk off and become holy men and never come back. That is what my father did.
“My eyes were filled with tears as I watched him go. I knew, though, that this was what he wanted to do – his heart, you see, was broken when his factory burned down. Then, a short while later I set off on my own travels. These eventually brought me here – to this town – where I worked hard, day and night, until I had saved enough money to build the bubblegum factory in which you are sitting right at this very moment.”
Mr Gopal was silent for a moment, and Billy wondered whether he had come to the end of his story. But he had not.
“You will be asking yourself, Billy, What was in that book? Well, I shall tell you.
“When I opened the book, I had a great surprise. I don’t know quite what I had expected to find inside, but all that I saw was line after line of writing that made no sense at all. My father, you must realise, had written the whole thing in code, and he had forgotten to give me the key!
“So I sat and looked at the meaningless jumble of letters and tried to make some sense of it. What on earth could momixaying bomowl mean? And why did the word gomum keep appearing? I was quite at a loss as to what to do, and so I just carried the little book around with me, tucked away in my inside pocket.
“Then a short while later, on a long train journey from Bombay, I found myself sitting opposite a man who was busy doing a crossword puzzle. It was a hot afternoon, and I was half asleep as the train chugged along on its journey. But then, as my eyes rested on my fellow passenger, I was brought back to wakefulness by the sheer speed with which he was solving the clues. His pencil seemed to dart across the paper like a bird, filling in the letters, and in no time at all he had finished the puzzle.
“I sat bolt upright.
“‘Excuse me, sir,’ I said. ‘I noticed that you were very quick in solving that puzzle. I wonder if you could help me.’
“The other man looked at me over the glasses that were perched on the tip of his nose.
“‘You are addressing Mr P.J. Lal,’ he said, ‘the crossword puzzle champion of all India. If it is a crossword clue that is worrying you, then you are undoubtedly speaking to the right man.’
“I was encouraged by his helpfulness, and I immediately took out my little book and opened it before him.
“‘This was given to me by my father,’ I said. ‘And he did not give me the key to his code. It contains something I am very keen to read.’
“Mr P.J. Lal took the book from me and examined the writing. ‘May I ask you what your father’s name was?’ he said.
“I told him, and he wrote the letters of his name out on a strip of paper. Then the stub of pencil darted about, scribbling other letters underneath and moving them about. I watched in fascination and was very disappointed when, after several minutes, Mr P.J. Lal shook his head.
“‘And what was the name of your grandfather?’ he asked.
“I told him, and on another strip of paper he wrote out, in large letters: SIKRIT PAL PRAVIWALLAH GOPAL. Again there was much scribbling as he juggled with letters. Then he shook his head once more.
“‘May I ask where your father was born?’ he said.
“‘Bombay, of course,’ I replied.
“Mr P.J. Lal looked thoughtful for a few moments, but then he burst out laughing.
“‘Very simple,’ he said. ‘Take the Bs out of Bombay and you get OM and AY, do you not?’
“He did not wait for me to answer.
“‘Put an OM before each vowel – that is before any A, E, I, O or U. Then put an AY before the next vowel, and there you are.’
“I was not sure what he meant, and so he leaned forward and showed me.
“‘Bubblegum becomes BOMUBB-LAYEGOMUM,’ he explained. ‘And these words, MOMIXAYING BOMOWL, are simply mixing bowl. Do you see what I mean?’
“I had to agree. It was quite simple, and now, with a little effort, I could read what my father had written.
“I looked up to thank Mr P.J. Lal, but he was already on his feet, reaching for his suitcase, as we were arriving at a station. He smiled at me, put his hat on his head, and disappeared, and I am always sorry that I could not have rewarded him in some way for what he did. But I had the key to the code now, and for the rest of the journey I sat and read the very strange story which my father had written down.”
3
The Story of the Bubblegummies
“Was it a recipe?” asked Billy.
“Yes,” said Mr Gopal. “There was a recipe. But there was much more besides. My father, you see, not only told me what to put in the bubblegum, but where to get the ingredients.”
Billy was puzzled. “Can’t you just buy them from a supermarket – like anything else?”
“Oh, you can do that if you want to make just any old bubblegum,” said Mr Gopal. “But if you want to make real bubblegum, bubblegum that remains wonderfully chewy for days and days, you have to put something very special in it.” Mr Gopal paused. “Can you keep a secret, Billy?”
Billy nodded. He had always been good at keeping secrets, even those that were really very difficult to keep.
“In that case,” said Mr Gopal, “I shall tell you what was in that book.
“My father told me that right back in the days when he started his factory, one of the men who worked there came to his office. This man, who came from a remote part of India – a place where there are still great jungles and empty hills – told my father that he had something which would make his bubblegum even better. So my father asked him to show it to him.
“The man took a square of a rubbery pink substance out of his pocket. He handed it to my father and said, ‘This is from the bubblegum tree which grows in our jungle at home. If you add it to your bubblegum, it will make it the finest in the world.’
“Of course, my father did not believe him at first, but when he examined the curious, rubbery square, it smelled so good that he decided to try it. And it worked, just as the man said it would. It made the bubblegum wonderfully soft and chewy. So there must be a bubblegum tree after all!
“Well, my father was thrilled. And he was even more thrilled when the man told him that the people he knew up in the jungle would send a regular supply of this new raw gum, which they did. And in return, every month, my father sent money to repay them for their trouble. These people, he said, were called the Bubblegummies, and they seemed very friendly and gentle people indeed.
“My father wrote in his book exactly how to get in touch with the Bubblegummies – he even drew a map – and he also explained just how much gum should go into the mixture. And so, when I opened my own bubblegum factory, I wrote to these people, and received a very friendly letter back from them.
“They said that they were very sorry to hear about my father’s fire, and that they would be quite happy to send me squares of raw gum whenever I needed them.
“And that’s why my bubblegum has always been so chewy – and tasted so good as well. Every month without fail, a parcel has arrived from India with supplies of the gum. Then, two months ago, the parcel failed to turn up, and since then I have heard nothing from the Bubblegummies – nothing at all. I wrote to them, of course, but the post office from which they used to collect their mail sent my letter back to me. Nobody had collected it, they said.
“And that, Billy, is why you see me looking so sad. I am very worried that something has happened to the Bubblegummies.”
After Mr Gopal had told this story, they both sat silently for a little while. Then at last Billy spoke.
“Why don’t you go and find out what’s happened?” he asked. “Maybe there’s a very simple explanation.”
Mr Gopal looked at him in astonishment. “Do you mean – go to the jungle?”
Billy nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Surely somebody would be able to take you th
ere.”
Mr Gopal stared at Billy. “But I couldn’t possibly do that,” he protested. “Oh no. I couldn’t possibly go off to the jungle all by myself. There are … well, there are tigers and things like that out there.” As he spoke, he gave a slight shudder.
Billy thought for a moment. “You could go with somebody,” he said. “You needn’t go alone.”
“But I don’t know anybody who would want to go to the jungle,” wailed Mr Gopal. Then he paused, looking hard at Billy. “You wouldn’t help me, would you, Billy? You wouldn’t come to the jungle with me?”
Billy gave his answer immediately. “Of course I’d come. And my sister Nicola would come too. We’d both come with you.”
Mr Gopal heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, in that case, I shall be happy to go. We should make plans immediately.”
“There’s one problem,” said Billy. “India’s a very long way away. How shall we get there?”
Mr Gopal only had to think for a moment. “That will be quite simple,” he said. “I have an aunt who has a flying boat.”
“A flying boat?” asked Billy.
“Yes,” said Mr Gopal. “It’s a very old aeroplane that used to fly all the way out to India, landing on lakes and the sea on the way. It’s a funny old plane, but I’m sure that Aunty would be quite delighted to have an excuse to get it going again.”
Then Mr Gopal stopped, as if he had suddenly found a flaw in their plan.
“Will your parents let you go?” he asked doubtfully. “Some parents would get very worried about their children going off to India in flying boats. You know how parents are. Do you think yours are like that?”
“Not at all,” said Billy. “I’m sure that they’ll say yes – if you agree to bring us back safely.”
Mr Gopal nodded. “It will be a great adventure,” he said. “But I’m sure that it’s the sort of adventure that one comes back from safe and sound. So why not go and ask them right now? Then we can get everything ready.”
Billy was right about his parents.
“Off to India?” said his father, when he told him of Mr Gopal’s invitation. “In a flying boat? Sounds like a splendid idea to me! I wish I could come too, but I’m just too busy at the moment.”
And the children’s mother said much the same thing.
“The jungle!” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful adventure! Of course you can go. But promise me you’ll be extremely careful of snakes and tigers and things like that.”
4
Off to India!
It was a wonderful trip. With Mr Gopal reading the maps, and his aunt at the controls, the faithful old plane droned its way across mountains, plains, and long stretches of sea. Nicola and Billy passed sandwiches around and poured tea for everybody from large flasks which they had brought with them. And from time to time they slept, although it was generally far too exciting to do much of that.
They had to stop every now and then, to fill the tanks of the plane and to allow Mr Gopal’s aunt to have a rest. They landed in Egypt, on the river Nile, and watched the white-sailed boats drift by. Then they landed on the sea beside a desert, and watched the camels plod their way over the sand dunes at the water’s edge. And finally, after several days of travel, Mr Gopal looked up from his map and announced that unless he was mistaken – which of course he wasn’t – the smudge of land down below them was the coast of India.
They still had some way to go, as the jungle they were looking for was quite a distance from the coast. But Mr Gopal’s map was very accurate, and he guided his aunt right to the very river where they could land the flying boat. She landed the plane perfectly, hardly making a ripple on the water, and there they were, on the river at the edge of the jungle.
The engines of the plane stopped and the propellers came to a halt. It was terribly quiet now, after the roar of the engines had died away, and the jungle seemed very thick.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” asked Billy. “It all seems very deserted to me.”
“One hundred per cent sure,” said Mr Gopal. “Or almost …”
They stared out of the window of the plane. The edge of the river was lined with great trees, which seemed to get even taller further away. It looked as if it would be very difficult to go anywhere in jungle as thick as that. But then Mr Gopal gave a cry.
“There it is!” he said. “Over there. A clearing – in just the place the map said it would be!”
They tied the plane to a tree at the water’s edge. Then carefully looking where they were putting their feet, they stepped out of the plane and into the grassy clearing.
“I think we should sit down and have a cup of tea,” said Mr Gopal’s aunt, producing a flask. “It’s been a very long flight.”
The children were keen to start exploring, but they knew that there would be plenty of time for that. So they all sat down and sipped at their tea while they looked at the jungle around them. From close up, it seemed even thicker than it had looked from the window of the plane, and they wondered how they could possibly find anybody in all that greenery.
Suddenly Billy reached out and tapped Nicola on the arm. “Don’t stare too hard,” he whispered, “but I’m quite sure that that bush over there moved!”
Nicola followed his gaze to a large bush at the edge of the clearing. “You must be imagining things,” she whispered back. “It’s just a bush.”
And at that moment, the bush moved again. It did not move far, but it moved, and both children gave a start.
“Mr Gopal,” whispered Billy. “There’s a moving bush –”
He did not have time to finish. The bush now dashed across the clearing, making for the far side.
“Mr Gopal!” shouted Billy. “Look at that bush!”
As he called out, Billy leapt up and stuck out his leg, right in the way of the moving bush. There was a grunt, followed by a muffled cry, and over went the bush in a shower of leaves. Then, from the middle of the fallen bush, there emerged a rather tall man.
He looked at Billy. “You really should be more careful,” he said. “I could have taken a painful fall.”
“I’m sorry,” said Billy. “I thought you were just a bush. I didn’t know …”
The man turned away, looking rather annoyed, and spoke to Mr Gopal.
“And who may you be?” he asked directly.
“I am Walter Alliwallah Pravindar Gopal,” said Mr Gopal.
The man seemed very surprised. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean you are the Walter Alliwallah Pravindar Gopal?”
“I believe so,” said Mr Gopal.
The man broke into a smile. “In that case, I needn’t even have bothered to spy on you at all! So you are Walter Alliwallah Pravindar Gopal! Well, well, well!”
“Are you one of the Bubblegummies?” asked Mr Gopal.
The man nodded enthusiastically and began to shake hands with everybody.
“I am Mr Bhalla,” he said. “And you are all very welcome. I’m sorry that I seemed so suspicious to begin with. Please, come with me. I can’t say we were expecting you, but everybody will be very pleased that you have arrived.”
They followed the man along a path through the jungle. Billy had never been in a jungle before, and found it very strange and delicious to be walking through the green light that filtered down from above. He noticed the trailing vines, and the orchids, and the broad-leaved ferns. He noticed the butterflies – bigger than any he had ever seen before – and the twisted roots of the great trees. It was an intriguing, wonderful place.
“Almost there,” called out Mr Bhalla after a while. “Just a little way to go.”
The jungle had now thinned out, and they seemed to be reaching the edge of a plain, with dotted trees, and mountains in the distance.
“We don’t actually live in the jungle itself,” said Mr Bhalla. “We prefer to be just on the edge. And now, if you look closely, you’ll see our place up ahead.”
They all looked ahead. There was a lot of grass, and a larg
e cluster of tall trees, but nothing else.
“I can’t see any houses,” said Mr Gopal’s aunt. “Are you sure we’ve come the right way?”
“Ah,” said Mr Bhalla, smiling broadly. “Perhaps you should look up a bit rather than down.”
They looked up, and it was Nicola who saw it first. “Look,” she cried, pointing at the trees. “There’s a house!”
“That’s right,” said Mr Bhalla. “That’s my brother’s house, actually. Mine is a bit further on, in that large tree with the bushy top. And over there, at the far end, is the school. And the hospital is over there. It has two trees all to itself.”
Billy was astonished, and as they drew closer to the trees, his astonishment grew. The Bubblegummies had made an entire village in the trees! Craning his neck, Billy could see just how skilfully they had made it. Each house, which was beautifully fashioned out of wood, was connected to the tree next to it by a wooden walkway, and that tree would be connected to the tree beyond, and so on. There were ladders, too, which led from level to level, and swinging bridges, knotted with vines, crossing the wider spaces. You could live entirely in the trees, it seemed.
Mr Bhalla led them to the bottom of a large tree, looked up into the branches, and whistled. For a moment nothing happened, and he whistled again. Then, out of the thick leaves above, there appeared a long ladder, being lowered slowly down to them.
“Please,” he said, gesturing politely. “Please climb up here.”
5
Bungee Jumping
This is my house,” said Mr Bhalla, when they reached the top of the ladder. “Please come in.”
They followed him into the tree house, and found themselves in a large room filled with colourful furniture. Mr Bhalla asked them to sit down, and then went off to fetch refreshments.
“Now, what is the trouble?” asked Mr Gopal, as they sipped at long glasses of a delicious pink sherbet drink which Mr Bhalla had given them.