This one is a real mini-potboiler. If Erle Stanley Gardner had written about it, Perry Mason and Della Street would have been investigating my utter dislike – bordering on hate – of the Barracuda fish. Had it been Ian Fleming, I am sure James Bond would have felt utterly at home at the Desroches Island in the Amirantes Group in Seychelles and also enjoyed the company of lovely Ayu of Lovina Beach, Bali. Even Robert Ludlum would have enjoyed the intriguing scene-shifting, involving 6770 km – as the crow flies, or the ships sail – in the Indian Ocean. G.K.Chesterton’s famous detective, Father Brown, would have enjoyed pottering about the Desroches and Lovina beaches. Perhaps, even Sherlock Holmes, pipe clenched firmly in his mouth, Mrs Hudson hovering around, may have said: “Elementary, my dear Watson, Rajen Bali’s revenge upon the Barracudas is a matter so simple that it requires no deductions whatsoever”.

The storyline includes: a trip to Seychelles,  one of the most exotic destinations anywhere, with its super-abundance of touristic treasures, one of the top island resorts in the world on the tiny island of Desroches with the nearest still smaller island then said to be owned by the sister of ex-Shah of Iran;  the adventure of deep-sea fishing; the scene shifting – a few years later – to the beautiful Lovina beach in North Bali; one of the best seafood restaurants in Lovina, Hate, Love, Revenge, and – Yours Truly.

I know the prelude is getting a bit long, but I must say a few things about Seychelles and Lovina Beach. Seychelles is an island nation of 115 islands scattered about in the Indian Ocean, a thousand miles from the African or any other coast. Only less than twenty islands are inhabited. When I went there, the total population of the country was around 75,000. The capital, Victoria on the Mahe Island, boasted of just one traffic light! Yet, Seychelles was one of the most expensive destinations in the world, boating of three UNESCO World Heritage sights. Seychelles is so beautifully exotic that the British Victorian hero, General Gordon (‘Pasha’) of Khartoum believed that Praslin Island in Seychelles was the site of the Biblical Garden of Eden. His belief may be disputed, but the heavenly beauty of Seychelles just cannot be disputed.

Our story begins by my reaching Seychelles on the invitation of the gracious Madame Simone de Comarmond, the then, tourism minister. The practice then was to invite travel-writers and journalists for a regulation flight-to-flight visit of one week. So, I was extremely surprised when Madame Comarmond asked me to extend my visit by another week. I agreed, provided I was permitted to make my own program for the extra week. Permission was granted. Among requests like visiting the coffee plantations, a visit to the Tuna Factory, being introduced to some local artists, I asked to be taken to an island to which no other visiting travel writer had been taken before, and to be taken for deep-sea fishing.  My wishes were granted readily.

Early in the extension-week I was aboard a twin-Otter plane, bound for Desroches Island, just about 230 km away from Mahe. It was not a long flight but we did encounter some air turbulence. But the landing was one of the most frightening experiences of my life. Even though I am an ex-aviator with experience of flying small planes, THAT landing had my heart in my mouth and I was s**t-scared. It was a narrow runway with grass verges and was less than 1400 metres in length, more than enough for normal landings by small planes like our Otter. But here were strong gusting 90 degree cross-winds. The windsock was blowing parallel to the ground and trying to go skywards. During training, we used to call this type of wind ‘Crazy Tree Wind; as it made the branches of even huge trees swing-and-sway like crazy. We were not permitted to fly in such conditions. But our pilot, a smart young Frenchman named Martin, was quite cool. He approached the runway with the nose 70-degrees into the wind, and straightened the aircraft just moments before touching ground. A superb display of the highest degree of airmanship. First there was a collective sigh of relief on having landed and then a burst of clapping. Martin just gave a nonchalant smile!

So, I was at Desroches Island. The place deserves a story of its own. For the time being let us stop at being described as: “....an almost undisturbed, unspoilt island in the Indian Ocean...a pristine paradise....” The only hotel – rated one of the best of its kind in the world – at that particular time, had Yours Truly as the only guest. Forgive me for thinking/feeling “I am the monarch of all I survey.” The first day was spent in enjoying the prevailing peace and tranquillity, long walks on the silver sands and looking at the wonders under the clear azure waters.

Now in our story enter young and ebullient ‘Speedy’ Gonzales, the resort manager, and Chef Badri. Speedy regaled me with great stories and Chef Badri produced an excellent prawn/lobster meal, enjoyed al fresco to the Music of the Ocean, balmy breeze, under a canopy of twinkling stars.

The next morning, I was taken for deep-sea fishing aboard the luxurious ‘Cookie Two’. There was a boat captain and a mate and Speedy. I was strapped in the hot chair, facing backwards and enjoying the twin thrills of the foaming backwash and the anticipation of a bite. Soon there was a tug and the line went taut. With a continuous stream of instructions by the Captain and encouraging smiles/gestures by Gonzales, I started reeling in the catch. It was a beautiful Parrot Fish.

I handled the next bite with much more confidence and landed a fish which I was told was a ‘Captain Fish’. “Ex-Colonels do not catch ‘Captain’ fish,” I thought, and for a moment thought of putting it back into the sea but the aching-by-now arm/leg/back muscles protested that it was a fish reeled in after great effort. In any case, named ‘Captain’ or ‘General’, a fish is a fish is a fish. So, it went into the bag.

Despite being rather tired by then, I opted for another try. Soon the reel was singing and the battle to bring in the fish commenced. For all of around 20 minutes, it was Man versus Fish. I was at the point of giving in when the head of the fish appeared. Just as I was at the point of hoisting it out of water, like a flash, a Barracuda appeared and bit off half of my fish and swam away in the ocean. Was I angry, or was I? From that moment on, I became deadly against all barracudas and kept on plotting revenge.

The revenge thoughts lingered in the mind even when I went to Lovina some years later. I asked my guide Ayu about the best seafood place in Lovina. She suggested a place and added that they had fresh catch on the menu every day. That evening, we went to that restaurant, presided over by a very large middle-aged lady dressed in sombre black. “What’s on the menu tonight,” was answered by “Barracuda.”    I had Barracuda for dinner that night. And every following night for one week! To her credit, the Lady-in-Black made a different preparation daily. Why did Barracuda taste so heavenly? Was it –along with excellent cooking – garnishing by a ‘special spice’ called ‘Revenge’?

This one is a real mini-potboiler. If Erle Stanley Gardner had written about it, Perry Mason and Della Street would have been investigating my utter dislike – bordering on hate – of the Barracuda fish. Had it been Ian Fleming, I am sure James Bond would have felt utterly at home at the Desroches Island in the Ami