New Delhi Gothic

had been stolen, a queen with no kingdom. It might sound like something out of a Victorian novel, but for fifty years, the last rulers of Avid lived out their own Gothic tragedy right in the center of the Indian capital. The whole affair began in the early nineteen seventies when a regally dressed woman and her two adult children arrived at the New Delhi train station. The three quickly took

over the lobby. Fine woven carpets, potted palms, Nepalese servants in twin outfits, even a pack of massive great danes marked their corner of the station. After the woman had finally settled in, she called over the shock station master she had a message for him. He was now standing in the presence of Willyat, the Bagum of the stolen Kingdom of Avid. These were her children, Prince Cyrus and Princess Sakina, and they would not move until their kingdom

was returned to them. To understand the Bagum's demands, you'd have to look back over one hundred years. Before British colonization, much of modern day India was made up of either the Mughal Empire or independent states. Avid was a kingdom in the north ruled by a noble Muslim family until the British took it in the eighteen fifties. Wilayat claimed that this was her family and she was the ruler of Avid, and she would live in the station in

protest until she was given back her rightful throne. And her demands soon reached the Indian government, and while they wanted to wave her away, they worried that doing so would stoke conflict. This was thirty years after the partition of India, when the departing British divided their colony into India and Pakistan. Partition led to mass violence as Muslims in India fled to the new country of Pakistan, and

Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan moved to India. There was still religious tension in the country in the nineteen seventies, so the Indian government wanted to avoid forcibly evicting Waliat. The government offered her a house, which she dismissed out of hand. She would settle for nothing less than a palace, and surprisingly, after ten years, she finally got one, and in nineteen eighty five, she and her family moved to Malcha Mahal, a grand medieval hunting lodge on the outskirts

of Delhi. It had no water, no power or even telephone, and was open to the element, but it would do for Now settled into the lodge, Williot and her children continued to demand their lands, inviting foreign journalists to interview them and broadcast their complaints, and then, sadly, in nineteen ninety three, Williat died by suicide. According to Sakina and Cyrus, she drank poison mixed with crushed pearls and diamonds as

one final act of protest against the government. Cyrus and Sakina continued to dwell in the lodge, seen only occasionally by their neighbors. The Prince and Princess, whose comments to foreign journalists hinted at well educated and wealthy upbringings, were spotted with ragged clothes, matted hair, and sharp cheap bones

of near starvation. When the princess died sometime in the twenty tens, followed by the Prince in twenty seventeen, that seemed to be the end of the whole bizarre story, or it would have been, had one journalist not grown curious. Ellen Barry, a New York Times reporter, had struck up a friendship with Prince Cyrus after interview him in twenty sixteen. After his death, she returned to the lodge and was surprised to find evidence of another sibling who seemingly lived

in England. Traveling from Delhi to the former Kingdom of Avid to a small row house in Yorkshire, England, she finally uncovered the true story. Wellat Beagum of Avid was actually Wilyat Butt, wife of a university administrator, Princess Saquina was actually Farad, and Prince Cyrus was really Mickey. Their real story started with the Partition, when the Butt family fled to Pakistan. Walat was always opinionated and had no

issue pressing Pakistan's government over political matters. After one instance where she reportedly slapped the Prime Minister of Pakistan in the face, she ended up in a mental hospital. Soon after, she disappeared back to Lucknow with Mickey and Farhad in tow and that's when she began to refer to herself as the Bagum of Avid. Soon after, she showed up in that new Delhi train station demanding a kingdom that was not hers. She continued the lie for decades, and

her children continued it after her death. Whether Wi Li It was delusional or simply that dedicated to a very long con we don't know. But she did prove that sometimes the best way to get what you want is to be a royal pain. In nineteen thirty three, a magnitude eight point four earthquake occurred in the Pacific Ocean one hundred and eighty miles from Japan's northeast coast. It struck far enough from any city that there wasn't much damage,

at least from the quake itself. The shifting technotic plates triggered a massive tsunami, though for several hours, thirty foot waves battered the coast, obliterating countless seaside towns and fishing villages. When the waves finally subsided, thousands of people were dead

or missing. In the aftermath of the disaster, twenty four year old Kotoko Wamura watered through his devastated hometown of Fudai, watching in numb horror as bodies were dragged from the rubble, and he kept walking, taking a trail up into the nearby mountains. Just as he was preparing to turn back, he discovered a large stone tablet etched with Japanese characters. It was a tsunami stone, placed after a previous disaster to mark how high the water line rose. Japan is

full of them. Actually, this one memorialized a tsunami that struck the area in eighteen ninety four, causing similar destruction. Wamura read the inscription on the stone and was stunned by the implication the stone had been left there as a warning that this type of thing could happen, yet no one had done anything to prevent a repeat disaster. It made him realize that even this recent tsunami could soon be forgotten, but not by him. After that day,

Wamura was driven by a singular goal. He would prevent Fudai from falling prey to a third tsunami, even if it took the rest of his life. And fourteen years later, in nineteen forty seven, he ran for city mayor and managed to get elected, and he immediately threw himself into a pet project, the construction of a massive fifty one foot seawall including a floodgate. The city council bulked at the proposal. This seawall would be a massive iceore, blocking

the ocean view that residents had enjoyed for generations. Yes, they could see the wisdom of building a seawall of some kind, but did it really have to be so tall? Needless to say, Walmura refused to budge, and through the years he eventually managed to get the project approved. Construction of the wall and the gate cost an astronomical three point four million Japanese yen roughly forty million US dollars today,

almost twice NASA's annual budget. The residents of Fudai weren't exactly thrilled, and as the years passed with no more tsunamis, their feelings on the project only deepened. The wall became a laughing stock a black mark on Walmura's reputation, but the mayor remained defiant, confident that he would eventually be proven right. At his resignation speech in nineteen eighty seven, he told attendees and I quote, even if you encounter opposition,

have conviction and finish what you start. In the end people will understand. But for the most part, the people of Fudai did not understand. They continued to mock Wamura and his wall for years. When he died in nineteen ninety seven at the age of eighty eight, the sea wall was still viewed as an embarrassing and expensive waste of taxpayers money. It would remain that way until March eleventh of twenty eleven. That day, a magnitude nine point

one earthquake struck near eastern Japan. It was the strongest quake in recorded history and generated a tsunami of one hundred and thirty foot ways. For a nation that was used to natural disasters, this one was different. Those waves ravaged the Japanese coastline, leaving twenty thousand dead, six thousand injured, and twenty five hundred missing. It also triggered the meltdown of a nuclear power plant, causing environmental damage and forcing

the evacuation of hundreds of thousands of residents. It was the costliest natural disaster in history, and Japan's northeastern coast got the brunt of the disaster. Entire towns were washed away. Even a village with thirty foot walls was devastated. But for all the damage, one town was virtually untouched. Fudai's long maligned seawall and floodgate had held, and despite bearing the brunt of the storm, the town was still standing. In fact, it barely got wet. I hope you've enjoyed

today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Life, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at Theworldoflore dot com. And until next time, stay curious.