By: Ganesh Saili
In our times, headhunting in the Doon means looking for bright, young students and giving them what is called ‘a package’. On finishing college, they will be gainfully employed as engineers, doctors, lawyers, or professionals. Headhunting did not always mean so.
In 1829, the job description of a district magistrate was slightly different: one of Mr. F. J. Shore’s chief pursuits was hunting dacoits, a task he took very seriously. After an encounter in which he was severely wounded, he decided enough was enough, and took to decapitating his victims. The heads were sent as proof to the higher authorities in Saharanpur. When the stench of the rotting heads in gunny bags that lined the storeroom shelves became unbearable, the powers issued fresh orders: ‘Send no more heads.’
A tale lives on of the most fearsome and zealous of the dacoits, a rogue called Kalua, whose depredations were at their zenith from 1822 to 1824. By February 1824, his new-found prosperity found him adopting the appendage of ‘Raja’ Kalyan Singh. Naturally, what was a rajah without a harem? And that is precisely the reason for his death and his onward journey to hell.
Planning a hit near Saharanpur, he took Sukhbir along with him, as it was the latter’s home too. While the bandit went about his wire-pulling, the other managed a peaceful family reunion. Finding his plans ripening fast, he arrived at Sukhbir’s home earlier than expected. He saw his lieutenant’s sister for the first time, serving her brother a meal.
For Kalua, it was lust at first sight. Having no fear of a sidekick, he immediately launched a proposal, which was equally promptly rejected. Finding that it was impossible to persuade Sukhbir, the bandit invited him to a special private dinner, midway through which the guest was informed that he had been poisoned and that his sister’s abduction to the host’s harem was now barely days away.
If only the Raja Sahib had paid more attention to a woman’s intuition and wisdom. As he set out to attempt the abduction, he found his bird had flown, and not even the parents knew where. Of course, they were soundly thrashed for their ignorance. This happened in September 1824. On October 5th, Kalua was merely a corpse.
Knowing that the dacoit would stop at nothing, the girl fled. She remembered snatches of conversation she had often had with her brother, in which he told her how Mr. Shore’s forces were constantly chasing him. She appeared before the Sahib, promising to guide him, for she was the only one who knew the gang’s whereabouts.
‘I will identify the wretch,’ she assured him, hoping to speed the brigand’s doom.
When the fight began, she prevailed upon an Indian soldier to give her his musket when she saw Kalua, fired a shot, missed him by yards, and fainted.
By the time she came to, the fight was over. Kalua lay dead, and the soldier congratulated her on her courage and sharpshooter skills which had ‘disposed of the terrible Kalua.’
Like all good stories, the couple were married and lived happily after, but unlike other sequels, descendants of the blissful couple still visit Mussoorie every October.
When Shore had finished headhunting dacoits, he followed the goat tracks up to the nearby hills and built himself a shooting hut near Zephyr Hall on the ridge above Camel’s Back. It is from these initial forays that this hill station sprouted roots. Later, Shore found that the seven flats existing in the hill station were attracting attention. These belonged to the local people, who used them for grazing their cattle in the summers. Some greedy Europeans tried to take possession of these flats by ousting the settlers, but Mr. Shore forbade all shady transactions, rightly considering them white-collar crimes. The result is that, to this day, one can still find traces of these fields.
Of late though, I am sad to report that craftier people have been nibbling away at the edges. As the world has progressed, so have the deviousness and duplicity of the land grabbers. And there’s no Mr. Shore to stop them.
Ganesh Saili, author-photographer, has written and illustrated twenty books, some translated into over two dozen languages. He belongs to those select few who illustrate their writing. His work has found publication in periodicals, columns, and journals.
