Nancy drew a Golden Mask A few days after the theft of a gold Ganesha mask from a temple in Diveagar, Joanna Lobo pays a visit to discover that there’s more than just gold in this beach village

Nancy drew a Golden Mask

A few days after the theft of a gold Ganesha mask from a temple in Diveagar, Joanna Lobo pays a visit to discover that there’s more than just gold in this beach village

It felt like a page out of a Nancy Drew novel. A crime had taken place and I was there to sniff around. In the village of Diveagar, a 24-carat gold Ganesha mask had been stolen. Trying to invoke the indomitable investigative spirit of the teenage sleuth, I was eager to discover the secrets of this small beach village. I had a friend for company. Thankfully, she loves beaches. Together, we’d get to the bottom of it all. We were sure. Out up front, however, there seemed to be just the one most obvious offence that was being committed. Diveagar’s small beach was left unpopulated. It seemed like a criminal waste of beauty. IT ALL STARTS WITH GANESHA The original plan was to explore Shrivardhan, which along with Diveagar and Harihareshwar, makes up the Raigad trio of beaches. Time, though, was against us. Stepping off the bus at the Shrivardhan depot after a hot and dusty six-hour journey, we realised there was no steady network of transport to speak of. Besides, it was almost time for the sun to set. There wouldn’t be enough time to explore the beach, the famous fish auction or the historic temples. And to add to all that, everyone we spoke to for help could think of nothing else but the chori in Diveagar. The decision was simple. We had to get to Diveagar soon to see what the fuss was about. The tam tam (a larger version of the autorickshaw) was the only way to traverse the 16km stretch. Adding some friendly entertainment to the distance were the driver and his companions, who found that butting into our curious conversation was perfectly justified. Nodding their heads gravely, they advised, “Do not go to the temple, you won’t be allowed in. Do you have a place to stay … people may look at you suspiciously.” The litany went on. The Ganesha mandir had truly taken on divine proportion. People spoke about it in both, equal awe and fear. Our hosts for the night were the Joshi family, who like numerous others, have turned their houses into home-stays. The Joshi’s house had a huge mud courtyard, sparsely furnished with a jhula (a common feature here), a low table and when not sleeping, their two dogs. Our rooms were separate from the main house and had attached baths. We had it good. Our room was close to the beach and closer to the temple, with the added advantage of having a small provision store out front. Here too, the robbery weighed heavy on their minds. “Everyone is upset about it. They beat up two of our guards. The village is in shock,” lamented our hostess, Joshi kaku. From her, we also learned that the police had been asking around the village for details of strangers. We were warned not to open the doors during the night. The temple, when we did visit it, was small and unremarkable; clearly the Suvarna Ganesha was the main attraction. The story goes that in 1997, a woman from the village found a copper trunk containing the gold Ganesha mask and a few ornaments, while working in a coconut and betel nut garden. Later, the idol was deified and instated in the temple. It must have been something about my Nancy-like stature that allowed the authorities to let us enter the temple, but with little to find and even littler to deduce, we decided it may be time for a different exploration. CURFEW IN THE VILLAGE Paranoia seemed to have engulfed the inhabitants of Diveagar. When we asked our hostess to suggest a few locations from where we could best bask in the scenery, she had just one word of cautionary advice — ‘Don’t be out too late.’ By the time we reached Diveagar’s 5km-long beach, we found it secluded. The few people around were a bunch of tourists playing football and some coconut vendors. The horse and camel rides that added their colour to the evenings were only replaced by a flock of seagulls in the morning. A contended sense of solitude remained constant. We remembered our hostess’ warning at around seven in the evening. The roads were empty and bleak. All that we could hear were crickets and stray dogs howling. In films of yesteryear, this would have been the perfect setting for some unwanted devil or alien to make an appearance. We, of course, were more concerned about being confronted with accusations that we were the thieves of Ganesha’s mask. MANY FISH IN THE SEA Most home-stays shut their doors for dinner fairly early, but after countering some resistance with our powers of persuasion, we were finally allowed in. My vegetarian friend was thankfully given a thali that tended to her cravings perfectly, but I could bet my last penny that my pomfret thali was better — about the size of my hand, it was lightly spiced with chilli and haldi, had crispy edges and was extremely soft. Even if you aren’t one for adventurous expeditions, there is much that you can finally see and do in Diveagar. It is indeed rare that you would walk on the sands of a deserted beach, letting water bathe your ankles, scaring crabs with each step, getting sucked into many a local narrative along the way. Nancy Drew in Diveagar — there are still pages I’ll need to turn for that book to finish.  HOW TO REACH: There are direct ST buses to Shrivardhan (6-7 hours) and to Mangaon (which is also accessible by train). Mangaon has regular buses to Shrivardhan. From there, you take a shared tam tam to Diveagar (Rs20). WHERE TO STAY: There are numerous home-stays and fancier guest houses available in Diveagar, all within walking distance to the temple and the beach. Prices at these places start at Rs800.