Rakib Hasan used to playfully call Robin Milford an incommunicative. However, our lean, tousled-haired teenager had once captured the outside world like a star, joining a singing group that mesmerized all the girls in Los Angeles. Even though 13 years have elapsed since the day I first met Robin, I continue to be the most introverted person in Bangladesh. But Robin and his two friends have altered the course of my life in the most remarkable way. I possess a captivating fantasy realm, where I enter and leave behind the burdens, pressures, and regrets of life, momentarily becoming one of the happiest souls on this planet.

In the spring of 2007, I was in sixth grade. Before that, my life had been spent in a secluded village, far removed from everything, where electricity was a luxury we didn't have. I spent my days exploring with fellow village children, wandering from canal to canal, venturing through forests in search of bird nests. Once the sun set, I would retreat to my modest abode, kindle the light of a hurricane lamp, and immerse myself in the pages of my Bengali, English, and math books. Clad in blue pants and a white shirt, three books strapped to my waist, I would head to the local market's primary school. After receiving palm slaps from the village's teachers as a form of discipline, I'd absorb whatever knowledge I could. Gopinathpur, my small village, mirrored my confined existence, as I was too shy and inexperienced to engage with others. My world consisted solely of my own self.

Yet, I was profoundly emotional. The demise of a baby bird could engulf me in immense sorrow, while the fragrance of raindrops on a breezy morning could inspire me to dance with joy.

The year I was brought to Dhaka city and enrolled in a school with stringent regulations, I confronted a stark contrast. The view from the classroom window didn't present floating ducks in a dark canal, storms didn't compel me to shut windows, and the sweet sound of raindrops on tin roofs was absent. Fear gripped me. How would I adjust to this life? How would I navigate my days and nights?

Certain friendships lead to monumental shifts that reshape life entirely. One such individual was a chubby, tanned boy in my class. During breaks, I'd observe him silently engrossed in reading a small book in a corner of the classroom. Somehow, we struck up a friendship. He was a student, and at that time, his world revolved solely around books. In contrast, I was a boy who had only read a few fairy tales gifted by my father and spooky tales. Yet, he would regale me with stories of another world, speaking of the Pacific Ocean, California, and even sharing tales about a place called South America. He insisted that my life wouldn't be complete without reading three detective novels. Although most kids our age would have laughed it off, I took his words to heart. My daily tiffin money from my mother was 10 taka. Up until then, I'd fritter it away on ice cream and pickles. However, on a determined day, I decided to save 50 taka to buy a Three Detectives book. It was a must-have.

On the weekend, I ventured to a library in the Bahu Khuzepet area. An elderly gentleman, donning heavy glasses, sat there. Upon seeing my puzzled expression, he inquired about my requirements. I couldn't simply say I was seeking a Three Detectives book. My friend had mentioned an English word and a number accompanying it. I was clueless. But I had to ask for something. So, I pointed to a book on the shelf, distinct in color from the others. The man retrieved the green book and handed it to me. I gazed at it in awe. How captivating! Amidst the black-green and orange hues, a teenager in a brown overshirt stood, arms outstretched in a startled pose. Upon closer inspection, one could discern a colossal monster's eyes in the ground below. Inscribed above it: "Three Detectives, Volume 32, Rakib Hasan." Ah, the English word was "volume"!

The first book in my life without pictures was "Ghost Shadow." Though I don't recall specific details about when I read it, my life changed from that moment onward. It infused excitement into my dull, monotonous city existence, much like the three teenagers from Rocky Beach! I would eagerly anticipate Thursday afternoons, pocketing the 60 taka I had saved for books and heading to the library. On holidays when I visited my village, I'd ask my father for money to purchase multiple volumes at once. Instead of leaping into the canal, I'd sit under the shade of a babra tree in the corner of the yard, capturing the attention of Sejochachi, who had once been so strict with me.

My small, ordinary world continued to expand. Beyond my village, I discovered the vastness of the world, nature, people, their lives, thoughts—everything—with a sense of wonder. Prior to this, I had only known the name of my hometown. Now, I was learning about a thousand enigmatic nationalities worldwide—from the Amazon jungle to the Caribbean Sea, from African deserts to savannahs, and from the expanses of the Pacific to those of the Atlantic. Whenever I ponder how I gained such knowledge, it usually leads back to the three detectives. Their Amazon rainforest adventure let me imagine a world inhabited by Jivaro Indians and the shattered Pannadevta castle. Their daring escapades floating on a thunderbolt enchanted me. When Mirato died, it felt as if my heart had shattered. On a December afternoon, I lay beneath a mahogany tree by a mustard field in my village, wrapped in a blanket, suffocated by emotions, and lost in the woods.

"Wasn't he in the Caribbean adventure of the two detectives, Bob and Omar?" What about the pirate island? Or Shihran in the southern island? The teenage couple in Tahiti—the Pacific's paradise—with their smiles and oysters, enlarged my mind just like the vast ocean. The thrill lay in the three detectives' return to the Amazon, capturing gangster Louis Valenti on the Peruvian-Brazilian border, encountering the bounty hunter city, and Omar Bhai's quest. Remember the grimy German in Cruzeiro who bragged about not changing clothes for two years? I certainly do, and I recall poor Edith as well. The thrill existed in Athai Sagar, Kishore Pasha's mental combat with Dengue Parvi, and the mystery of the seven cockatoos with world-renowned art thief and code breaker Monsieur Shopa. The thrill also existed in battling poachers in Africa's scorching desert, Musa Aman's bite near the red clay city of Mombasa, and Digambar. How could I forget that? I can't forget the unforgettable night of teenagers at Lake Victoria's Treetop Hotel, where Princess Elizabeth visited as Queen. The three detectives taught me more about the impossible harmony of integrity and honor than any book. They're lifelong friends, yet they are addressed formally. Such a beautiful concept! The three detectives never belittled their adversaries and respected their elders, no matter who they were. Kishore Pasha's conversation with rival Shopa was groundbreaking. Even Shutky Terry was never cursed by the three detectives (except for Musa, who did so a couple of times—"Hey Musa, my Musa, bad boy Musa, very bad boy, wipe your feet before entering the house...").

Wild Horses of the Desert, Omar Sharif, Captain Fletcher, Victor Simon, Davies Christopher, Fogrampercott, Uncle Dick, Ladybug, Uncle Rashed, Mrs. Shelly Milford, Roger Milford, Rafat Aman, Mrs. Aman, Rabat Aman, Aunt Caroline, Parker Uncle, Miss Eileen, Bob (how many Bobs are there?), Frenchman Shopa, crippled Shopa, Hanson, the chauffeur of the Royal Rolls Royce, Musa's cheeky cousin Fariha, Mr. Terrier Doyle, Bocasoka Talker, Knotty, Ruffian, Kiko, and countless other colorful characters I can't recollect at the moment. They formed my world!

Omar Bhai is my Omar Bhai. I believed in him wholeheartedly! Such an incredibly vivid character! I fell in love with the Bedouin youth at first sight, much like the teenage Pasha!

Musa Aman taught me the value of friendship and selflessness. Musa Aman taught me many times how to be selfless. When Musa biographically spoke, it resonated with me deeply. He also taught me something else—eating. Initially, like many other teenagers, I resisted, attempting to mimic Moses. Yet, I found myself in an unexpected situation, uttering those very words! Even after all these years, I once blushed during a university project presentation in front of my professor!

In the vibrant tapestry of our youthful days, there was Robin—a beacon of innocence and a living lesson in selflessness. Robin Milford, an unassuming figure, held a priceless secret: the art of sacrificing personal desires for the sake of the team. His loyalty and unwavering dedication made him a role model, the embodiment of putting others before oneself. A true document researcher with an unwavering belief in his leader, Robin's actions spoke volumes about the strength of unity.

Then there was Kishore Pasha, a brown-skinned teenager whose love for his country was immeasurable. Kishore, who never saw eye to eye with life's trivialities, became the voice of his homeland. He shared stories of moonlit nights in fields, of lands a thousand miles away, infusing his friends with a sense of patriotism. Kishore taught us to stay rooted, to embrace humility and respect. His sharp mind dissected mysteries as intricate as water, solving puzzles that boggled the mind. From deducing behavior from a dog to unraveling the enigma of the cockatoo, Kishore's intelligence was a marvel to behold.

And then, the unforgettable Georgina Parker, or Master George. The one female character who escaped the grasp of youthful infatuation, she emerged as a hero in her own right. With her daughter Appaloosa horse, Comet, by her side, Gina was the image of a daring girl with copper hair and the swiftness of the wild. She charmed my imagination, creating a multitude of smiles in my shy heart.

These heroes and heroines of my past are etched deeply into my soul. The three detectives guided my emotions—eliciting laughter, tears, and clenched teeth. My mother watched in awe as I journeyed through these tales, often wondering how much we shared. Kishore Pasha's introduction still resonates, "Hello Kishore friends, I am Kishore Pasha, from Rocky Beach in America, by the shores of the Pacific Ocean…"

The adventures of the three detectives spanned continents, weaving their magic into every corner of my mind. Their prowess, their camaraderie—it's a tale for another day. But it's only natural to dream about stumbling upon the dice salvage yard in Rocky Beach during my world tour. There, a picture on the back wall showcases the harrowing fire in San Francisco in 1905—a challenge marked by a subtle pressure on the eyes of a red dog. Will I find the elusive mobile home with red dog four? Will the easy three lead me to the hidden button shack, or should I opt for the green gate or the two tunnels to Kishore Pasha's camp? Should Musa Aman Dasasi be my guide or will it be Shutky Terry and the secret passage? Ah, the "twelve detectives" shall be my guiding light!

As I bid farewell to the three detectives and Master George, I'm reminded of the journey these characters took us on—a journey of courage, camaraderie, and mysteries unravelled. They'll forever hold a special place in the chambers of my heart, a testament to the power of storytelling and the unending enchantment of youthful imagination.

×