Chapter 23 – Ruins of Memory

Treasure Hunter: The Seventh Tide of Andaman

Chapter 23 – Ruins of Memory

S ome places don’t decay.

They remember.

And when you walk through them—
you don’t just see the past.

You feel it watching you.

🏝️ Ross Island

Morning came too quickly.

Or maybe—
we didn’t sleep enough to notice time properly.

🌅 The Departure

Breakfast was quieter than usual.

No jokes.
No casual travel talk.

Even Subho Kaku—
unusually focused.

“Today careful thakbo,” he said simply.

No explanation needed.

We all understood.

🚤 Journey to Ross Island

The jetty at Port Blair buzzed with activity.

Tourists gathering.
Boats lined up.
Life jackets stacked.

Normal.

Too normal.

“Ross Island trip, sir?” a boat operator called out.

Binod had already arranged it.

“Everything included,” he said.

That familiar efficiency of Andaman Kartik again.

But this time—
even smooth planning couldn’t calm the unease.

🌊 Crossing the Water

The boat ride was short.

Barely 15 minutes.

But the sea felt heavier today.

Less welcoming.

More watchful.

I sat beside Ishani Di.

Camera in her lap.

But she wasn’t shooting.

She was thinking.

“Ki bhabcho?” I asked softly.

“Jodi shob kichu already erase hoye thake…”

She paused.

“Then what are we really going to find?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

❤️ Quiet Between Them

Arindam Da stood near the edge of the boat.

Looking ahead.

Toward the island.

Ishani Di watched him for a second.

Then quietly moved closer.

Didn’t say anything.

Just stood beside him.

Wind moving her hair slightly.

And again—
that silent understanding.

No words.

But something deeper than that.

🏝️ First Sight of Ross Island

As the boat slowed—
the island appeared.

Not like a destination.

Like a memory.

Old British ruins covered in roots.

Trees growing through walls.

Nature reclaiming everything.

Beautiful.

And unsettling.

“Eta toh pura Jurassic Park,” I whispered.

“History Park,” Arindam Da corrected.

🚶 Stepping Onto the Island

The moment we stepped down—
something shifted.

The air felt thicker.

Still.

Less movement.

Less noise.

Even the tourists spoke softer here.

As if—
instinctively—
they understood.

🏚️ The Ruins

Old church walls.
Broken administrative buildings.
Collapsed corridors.

Everything—
half gone.

Half remembered.

And fully watching.

A guide nearby explained casually—

“This was the British administrative headquarters.”

“High-ranking officers lived here.”

“Luxury, compared to Cellular Jail.”

That contrast hit hard.

Suffering there.
Comfort here.

Same system.

🧠 Arindam Da Observes

He wasn’t listening to the guide.

He was watching structure.

Angles.
Paths.
Remaining layouts.

Mapping mentally.

Always mapping.

👁️ The First Sign

We walked toward an old administrative block.

Less crowded.

More broken.

And that’s when—
I saw it.

On a cracked wall.

Faint.

Almost erased.

But still there.

A mark.

Not random.

Carved.

Deliberate.

⚡ The Symbol Returns

“Dada…” I whispered.

He turned.

Followed my gaze.

And froze.

Because—
there it was.

The same symbol.

Seven lines.

Central marking.

Same pattern.

Again.

❤️ Ishani Di’s Reaction

She stepped closer.

Touched the wall lightly.

“This place…”

Her voice faded.

Because now—
she felt it too.

This wasn’t coincidence.

🧠 Subho Kaku Adds Something

“Admin building-e eta thakar mane ki?” he murmured.

“Eta toh prisoner area na.”

Exactly.

That was the problem.

🌧️ The Shift in Understanding

“Which means…” I started slowly.

Arindam Da completed it.

“The people who erased him…”

“…worked here.”

Silence.

Because that changed everything.

👁️ The Layout Begins to Speak

Arindam Da looked around carefully.

Then said—

“Administrative hub.”

“Record control.”

“Decision-making.”

He paused.

“And possibly…”

“Concealment.”

😄 Rit Trying to Cope

“Okay cool.”

I nodded slowly.

“So now the British headquarters is also part of the treasure hunt.”

“No,” Arindam Da said calmly.

“This is not a hunt.”

A pause.

“This is reconstruction.”

That sounded heavier.

More serious.

More dangerous.

🌿 Deeper Into the Ruins

We moved further in.

Away from guided paths.

Fewer tourists.

More silence.

More decay.

More truth.

A broken staircase led downward.

Partially hidden by roots.

Not marked.

Not guided.

Ignored.

⚡ The Hidden Entry

“Dekhcho?” I whispered.

Ishani Di nodded slowly.

“That’s not natural.”

No.

It wasn’t.

Arindam Da stepped closer.

Examined it carefully.

Then said—

“This wasn’t meant to be visible.”

🔚 End Hook

The wind moved softly through the ruins.

Leaves rustled.

Shadows shifted.

And standing there—
before a hidden path beneath a broken building—

I understood something clearly.

We had crossed a line.

From observation—
to discovery.

From curiosity—
to intrusion.

And somewhere below those ruins—

something had been hidden.

Not lost.

Hidden.

Waiting.

❄️ To Be Continued…