Timbuktus of our fancy

It has been my favourite resort — more attractive than Nainital, Ooty, Gulmarg, Venice or Hong Kong. No blemish could attach to it for the simple and sufficient reason that for me it was a product of somebody’s fancy, a utopian daydream like Robin Hood or Amaranth. But here comes a chap who not only declares that it exists but even admits to have hidden his fabulous booty there! I would have believed him as easily as one who claims like Agastya to have drunk the ocean.

There should be, I thought, in some encyclopaedia proof that it is an imaginary place invented to indicate any blessed or God forsaken place, but in no atlas. As I explored reference books, lo and behold, there it was, concealed in an obscure mention of the Sahara desert.

“All routes across the Sahara desert converge in the S.W. of the desert at Timbuktu which, with a population of 14,500 is the only town of any size… Through it pass camel caravans laden with trading goods… Tracks trodden for centuries by camels are now used by motor buses.” And so on.

In an apology for a town by our standards, the Khan has built a “fabulous” hotel, for which the furniture was carried by Pakistan air force planes to Libya and from there by land route. One wonders, of course, how many camels will pass through this new hotel. Be that as it may, for camels to have a chance of civilised treatment, the Khan has demolished the retreat of so many of us who journeyed away in our minds to Timbuktu during so many discourses.

What a sad passing away!