I
1840
Park House, Mussoorie.
By the time George Everest returned to Dehradun from Calcutta, summer had already settled over the hills. But here, it was gentler – breezy and forgiving, and the air was filled with the sweetness of fruits and flowers. The pretext of work, too, offered a fitting retreat. Crates from the foothills of the Himalayas had already arrived in succession – full of maps, mineral samples, field notes, and so on. A dedicated team of surveyors remained in the field, continuing the herculean task of measuring the meridian arc – the most ambitious geodetic arc ever attempted on Earth. The great arc of triangles stretched from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, of which George Everest would be responsible for measuring from Bidar at 17° 55’ to Banog at 30° 29’ – a span of nearly 870 miles. This arc was significant not only as the foundational framework for all future survey work in India, but also because it represented the longest precise measurement of the Earth's surface ever attempted till then. It offered new insights into the planet’s curvature and geophysical shape.
Though Everest himself no longer had the fitness for the physical rigours of the frontier, he was still the head of operations. From his study at Park Estate, perched above the Doon Valley, no decision passed without his scrutiny. It was now the season for analysis – an arduous sorting and synthesis of the data gathered so far, and the drafting of interim reports. These updates were part of standard procedure – sent regularly to the Queen’s office to document the progress of the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India.
It was morning, and Everest sat on the verandah, sipping a cup of specially delivered first flush from Assam Tea Company and sampling delicate pastries from the local bakery. Around him, his Indian staff moved quietly through their routines –watering the garden, replacing baskets of fruit, dusting yesterday’s film from the window panes. But Everest’s mind was already occupied. The careless handling of instruments tested his patience endlessly: the theodolite, the survey’s most valued instrument, had gathered dust in its grooves; its legs were streaked with mud stains; the measuring wheel bore fresh dents that would need to be beaten back into shape. And then, of course, there were the reports – volumes of data that awaited his attention.
As the staff began clearing the breakfast table, Everest had already retreated to his study. He set about sorting stacks of papers and shifting the newly arrived sample boxes into place. This was a task he insisted on doing himself – too much was at stake to risk someone else’s oversight.
Thud!
While adjusting a metal shelf to make room, a hardbound notebook slipped free and landed at his feet. Its spine was weathered, edges frayed. It came from a bundle of old records sent from Calcutta – papers that had sat untouched for years, long dismissed by Everest as unimportant.
_
Even if one could avoid clerical oversight, it was harder to escape the slow workings of time. At first glance, the termite-bored pages looked like children’s scribbles, filled with unfamiliar symbols and textures. And yet, there was an uncanny resemblance to cartographic maps – something about them felt intuitively spatial.
Everest leafed through the pages, half amused, half frustrated. Some of them stuck together, sealed by years of inaccess. He eventually called in one of his Indian staff, hoping they might recognise a native script or symbol. But the effort proved unsuccessful.
There were no grid cells, no triangles, none of the basic structural formats typical of the GTS surveys. What appeared to be roads wandered in long, winding paths across the paper. Sometimes, these straight dashes grew wavering, dissolving into dotted expanses. Sometimes, there were celestial-looking shapes or hints of figures lying on these areas. Everything confused him. And the stained pages – swollen from droplets, and browned with age, enraged him more.
Everest had an inkling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these remnants were connected to a rumour he had once heard, long ago. Could it have been true, after all?
_
Buried within the neglected archives of the Surveyor General’s office was a lesser-known chapter of the Great Trigonometrical Survey – a covert mission that sent a British surveyor into Portuguese-controlled Goa. Officially, the purpose was to map the region, but rumours suggested another motive: gathering intelligence on Portuguese defences and British territorial interests in this strategically crucial area to have trade leverage.
The secret surveyor, tasked with charting Goa’s geography, was also to observe the weaknesses of the Portuguese empire. Moving discreetly through dense jungles and coastal cliffs, he had to map not only the landscape but also the contours of a declining colonial power. His work, though vital, remained secret, hidden away in forgotten reports and sealed documents.
These clandestine surveys, unlike the ones in Tibet, were largely unacknowledged in official histories and remained a whisper within the larger narrative of British expansion. And as Everest leafed through the damaged records, he wondered if these pages contained fragments of that hidden mission, or were they simply overlooked maps, with no greater significance?
Soon, he sat down to write a letter to London.
II
Somewhere amid this vast and uncertain world, the incident began to surface – its meaning long obscured by human oversight, the slow erosion of time, and the hungry dust mites feeding on paper. These minute creatures, unaware of their task, became accidental archivists – turning remnants of the past into something only accessible to the earth.
Today, neither the book, nor the maps, nor the original letter remains intact. What endures is a digital trace, buried deep within the folds of LibGen or the Internet Archive. What might those maps have revealed? That, too, is lost to time, leaving us only with the fragments our imagination dares to piece together.
Below is the transcript of that letter:
Surveyor General’s Office
Great Trigonometrical Survey of India
Calcutta
June 1840
To Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria,
and the Right Honourable Members of Her Majesty’s Government,
Your Majesty,
Honoured Sirs,
With the utmost humility and loyalty, I take pen in hand to convey the latest progress and observations pertaining to the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India, which proceeds diligently under my charge. We are presently engaged in the ongoing measurement of the great arc of the meridian – an extraordinary endeavour which, though yet incomplete, has already begun to yield knowledge of great import for both scientific inquiry and the administrative governance of this vast dominion.
It is not solely to report these advancements that I trouble Your Majesty’s esteemed attention. I write, too, to relay a curious anomaly recently encountered amidst the archival labours relating to the work of our late and distinguished predecessor, Colonel Colin Mackenzie. On reviewing certain neglected chests within our holdings, we came upon a bundle of peculiar maps, dated to the year of our Lord 1817. These documents are marked by strange inconsistencies, lacking in mathematical precision, and more closely resembling the deranged illustrations of a fevered mind than the charts of a trained surveyor.
It is our supposition that these artefacts may pertain to a covert initiative – one perhaps intended to examine the political strategies then undertaken by the Governor-General of Portuguese India, Manuel António de Portugal e Castro, and to chart, by stealth, portions of the coastal regions held under Portuguese dominion. There is some cause to believe that Colonel William Lambton, whose untimely death forestalled further clarification, may have sanctioned such efforts in the service of intelligence gathering. Alas, lacking further corroboration, this remains a matter of speculation.
More troubling still is the implication of an individual referred to in private memoranda as “the secret-surveyor.” This personage, whose identity is yet unknown, appears to have operated outside the bounds of official sanction, conducting unauthorised expeditions under the guise of cartographic duty. His methods are most irregular, purportedly influenced by dreams, murmured voices, and spectral intimations rather than the fixed principles of trigonometry and empirical observation upon which our science depends.
The so-called secret-surveyor has, over time, produced a number of charts and notations – strange artefacts rife with curious symbolism, irregular coastlines, and depictions of unnatural phenomena. Reports attributed to him speak of unrecorded species, bizarre atmospheric events, and signs and portents whose meaning eludes our comprehension. While such tales might delight the imagination, they stand in stark contrast to the rigour demanded by our profession, and if unexamined, may cast aspersions upon the good name and trustworthiness of the Survey itself.
I therefore submit that an inquiry of discreet but thorough nature be undertaken to investigate the origin and veracity of these curious materials, and to determine the extent of deviation from sanctioned work. It is of paramount importance that we uphold the standards of precision, probity, and service to which this great endeavour is pledged in Her Majesty’s name.
The Great Trigonometrical Survey of India remains firm in its resolve to extend the bounds of knowledge and governance alike. Yet, in this instance, I trust that Your Majesty’s Government will lend support to our efforts to safeguard its integrity and ensure that its findings, now and henceforth, be of undoubted value to the Crown.
I remain, with the highest respect and dutiful devotion,
Your Majesty’s most humble and obedient servant,
Col. George Everest,
Surveyor-General of India,
The Great Trigonometrical Survey
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Disclaimer: This is a work of historical fiction. While inspired by real figures and events, the details, characters, and correspondence are imagined and should not be regarded as fully factual.
Short story