The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (73 page)

The next morning, we went for a long walk and explored the whole village. The local club, Jagarani, was rehearsing for a play. We were invited to watch the rehearsal. A lot of people were curious about life in Canada, so Feluda ended up giving a short lecture on the subject. Then we met the only mime artist of Gosaipur, called Benimadhav. He offered to visit us on Friday and show us what he could do. ‘I can climb stairs without any props . . . I can show you what happens to a man caught in a storm . . . change the expression on my face— through six different steps—from sad to happy!’

In the evening, Tulsi Babu took us to a fair in the next village. By the time we returned, having enjoyed ourselves hugely, it was nearly six o’clock. The sun had set, but it wasn’t dark yet. Feluda said he’d like to visit Jeevanlal Mallik. Tulsi Babu went home to wait for us.

Jeevanlal came out of his house even before we could reach the front door.

‘I saw you coming from my bedroom window,’ he explained. ‘Has there been any new development?’ Feluda asked.

‘No.’

‘May I look at your garden?’

‘Of course.’

The ‘garden’ was not really a garden: that is to say, there were no flower beds or a lawn. It was simply a large, open area in which stood a number of tall trees. Feluda began inspecting it carefully. I had no idea what he was looking for. I saw him stop at one point and stare at the ground for a few minutes. After a while, a voice cried out from a balcony on the first floor: ‘Who’s there? What are you doing among the trees?’

It was Jeevanlal’s grandmother. ‘It’s all right, Grandma!’ he shouted back. ‘It’s only me, and my friends.’

‘Oh. I keep seeing people roaming about in the garden. God knows what they do.’

‘Can she see well?’ Feluda asked.

‘No, not very well; nor can she hear unless one shouts.’

‘I don’t suppose anyone looks after the garden?’

‘No, not really. Bholanath Babu does what he can, but obviously that’s not enough.’

‘Do the guards keep an eye on it at night?’

‘At night? You’ve got to be joking. No guard here would dream of staying awake to do their duty.’

‘The front door is locked, surely?’

‘Oh yes. That’s Bholanath Babu’s job. But when I am here, I lock the front door and keep the key with me.’

‘I haven’t yet met Bholanath Babu. Could you call him, please?’ Jeevanlal asked one of his bearers to call Bholanath Babu, and bring us some lemonade. We were sitting outside by the pond. The recent monsoon rains had filled it to its brim. It was now covered with
shaluk
flowers.

Bholanath Babu arrived in a couple of minutes. He was wearing a dhoti and a shirt, but his appearance was really no different from an ordinary farmer. I could easily picture him working in a field, tilling the land.

Feluda began talking with him. There was no noise anywhere except the faint strains of music from a distant transistor. Had that not been there, it would have been quite easy to pretend we had travelled back in time by more than a hundred years.

‘Has Mriganka Bhattacharya visited this house just once?’ Feluda asked.

‘Recently, yes. Just once.’

‘You mean he has visited Mr Mallik before?’

‘Yes, a few times. I think the master had asked him to draw up his horoscope.’

‘And did he?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What made him pay a visit recently? Who asked him to come?’

‘The master did. Er . . . the doctor and I had both told him it might help.’

‘You visit Mr Bhattacharya regularly, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you believe in his powers?’

Bholanath Babu bent his head. ‘What can I say, sir? I had a daughter—Lakshmi, she was called. Beautiful like the goddess, and
she had manners to match. But. . . when she was only eleven, she got cholera and . . . she died. I was devastated. Then Mr Bhattacharya came to me and said, “Do you want to hear from her how she is?”’

Bholanath Babu stopped, and wiped his eyes with one corner of his dhoti. Then, with an effort, he pulled himself together and went on, ‘He then spoke to her. She came and she said she had found peace and was very happy where she was, so I must stop feeling sad. I mean, she didn’t actually say all this, but the words were written on paper. I . . . from that day . . . I . . .’ He choked again.

Feluda did not press him any more. ‘Were you present when Mr Bhattacharya contacted the dead Durlabh Singh?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Yes, but I was not in the room. The master did not want his mother to find out, so he told me to stand at the door and watch out for her. In the room were Mr Bhattacharya, his nephew Nityanand and the master.’

‘Did you hear anything at all?’

‘I heard very little, sir, They were totally silent for the first ten minutes. Then, a jackal called in the distance, and I remember hearing the master’s voice the same instant. He said, “Are you there? Has anyone come?” But I heard nothing else after that. When it was over, I took Mr Bhattacharya home.’

Feluda finished his lemonade and lit a Charminar. ‘Durlabh Singh Mallik’s men had set fire to your house. Do you remember that?’

After a brief pause, Bholanath Babu uttered two words: ‘I do.’

‘Don’t you wish to take revenge? Have you never thought of settling old scores?’

I had heard Feluda ask such hard-hitting questions before. A lot depended, he had told me once, on how a person reacted to such questions.

Bholanath Babu shook his head mutely. Then he said, ‘Never. The master may have changed in the last few years, but certainly I don’t know anyone more kind, or more generous.’

Feluda had no further questions for him.

‘May I go now, sir?’ Bholanath Babu asked after a few seconds. ‘I’d like to go to Mr Bhattacharya’s house again, sir, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh no, please go ahead. Thank you for your help.’ Bholanath Babu left. Jeevanlal started fidgeting. ‘What is it, Jeevan Babu?’ Feluda asked.

‘Nothing. It’s just that I’m curious about whether you have made any progress.’ He was obviously worried about himself.

‘Bholanath Babu struck me as a very good man,’ Feluda replied. This seemed to upset Jeevanlal even more.

‘You mean that I . . . ?’ he began.

‘No, no. I liked Bholanath Babu. That does not automatically mean that I dislike you. Look, to be honest, I still haven’t reached any conclusions. I have a few doubts about certain things, but those aren’t enough to build a case, particularly when I can’t see how they can be linked to the main problem. I have to wait until something happens, something that might—’ He was interrupted.

‘Who’s there? Jeevan, is that you?’ shouted Jeevanlal’s grandmother again. We could hear her only because it was so quiet.

Feluda rose instantly and began running towards the back of the garden. We followed him. Lalmohan Babu had been staring at the water and humming under his breath. He, too, broke off and joined us.

We found Feluda standing by a gap in the compound wall. A portion of it had crumbled away.

He was shining his torch on the wall.

‘Did you see anyone?’ Jeevanlal asked.

‘Yes, but not closely enough to recognize him. He slipped out through that gap.’

We spent the next thirty minutes searching the grounds. Thousands of mosquitoes kept us company, as did as many crickets who kept up an incessant chorus. What we eventually found was immensely mystifying. At the far end, under what must have been the last tree, was a big hole in the ground. It had obviously been dug recently. Jeevanlal, who appeared as surprised as us, could not offer any explanation. ‘Hidden treasure!’ Lalmohan Babu declared. ‘Someone just removed it.’

But Jeevanlal shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Nobody in our family ever hid any treasure. I would have known if they had. I mean, there would have been stories and gossip.’

The comment Feluda made sounded just as mysterious. ‘Jeevan Babu, didn’t I say I was waiting for something to happen? I think it now has.’

We returned home after this. After dinner, Lalmohan Babu and I wanted an early night. He had ended up with cuts and bruises, for some of the plants in Jeevanlal’s garden were thorny. After dabbing
himself with Dettol, he declared he was ready for bed. So was I.

Feluda was the only one who didn’t seem tired at all. He opened his notebook, applied Odomos all over his hands and feet and face, and settled down on his bed, leaning against a pillow. Tulsi Babu came in with a plate of paan. Lalmohan Babu started to yawn, but broke off as Feluda glanced at our host to ask him a question.

‘Tell me, Tulsi Babu,’ he said, ‘if you told a good and honest man a way of cheating others, and that man then actually put that into practice, would you still call him good and honest?’

Tulsi Babu looked flustered. ‘Good heavens, Mr Mitter, I am hopeless with puzzles and riddles. But since you ask, if the man is really good, surely he wouldn’t stoop so low? And if he did . . . no, I would not call him good any more.’

‘Ah. I am glad to see you and I agree on this.’

I was too tired to worry about why Feluda was making cryptic remarks. So I got into bed, but could not go to sleep. My mind was still buzzing with questions: Why did Shyamlal Mallik have mud on his feet? Who sent the anonymous note and that noose? Who did his mother see this evening in the garden? Who dug that hole and what did it contain? Why didn’t Shyamlal want us to see the paper on which a spirit was supposed to have written?

God knows when I dropped off. When I opened my eyes, it was still dark. Then I realized I had been woken by a scream. It had probably come from Lalmohan Babu, for he was sitting up on his bed, having flung aside the mosquito net.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘A dream . . . a nightmare! Oh God, it was terrible. Do you know what I saw? I was being given a reception and my own grandfather was there, putting a garland round my neck. “See, what an exciting garland I have given you!” he said. I looked and . . . and . . . saw that they weren’t flowers, but tiny human heads, dripping with blood! Can you imagine it?’

‘Why, Lalmohan Babu, why must you have such an awful dream at this beautiful moment when dawn is just breaking?’ asked Feluda.

With a start, I realized Feluda was already up. I saw him coming in through the door that led to the terrace. He had obviously been doing his yoga.

‘What am I to do, Felu Babu? It’s all this talk of a reception and speaking to dead ancestors, and old Kali temples . . . all of those things got mixed up in my mind!’

There was no point in going back to bed. I rose and went out on the terrace quietly. Tulsi Babu might still be asleep. The moon was still shining, but its light had turned pale. I noticed a few stars, winking bravely, but they couldn’t possibly last long. The eastern sky had just started to turn pink.

This morning I had decided to chew on a neem twig instead of using a toothbrush. It was far more healthy, Feluda had said. So I picked one from the pieces I had kept ready the previous night, and had just put it into my mouth, when someone arrived at the front door and began screaming loudly:

‘Mr Mitter! Come quickly. Please, sir . . . Mr Mitter!’

We rushed down the stairs. It was Bholanath Babu. ‘Last night. . .’ he gasped as he saw us, ‘we were attacked by burglars. They tied me up, and they tied and gagged the master. There were two of them. Everything the big chest contained . . . all the money . . . has gone. Only Jeevan Babu was spared somehow. He came and untied me, and told me to call you. Please, sir, you must come at once!’

Shyamlal Mallik was not injured, but the two hours he had had to spend with his hands and feet tied had shaken him very deeply. He was sitting on the mattress in his room, staring blankly into space. ‘If they had to tie me up like that, why didn’t they kill me?’ I heard him mutter. I wondered if he knew all his money was gone.

Feluda searched Shyamlal’s room very thoroughly. Only the big chest had been opened. Everything else had been left undisturbed. The key to the chest used to be kept under his pillow. Bholanath Babu, who also slept on the first floor, was attacked in his sleep. Naturally, he had not been able to offer any resistance at all. The bearer had slept through it all, no one had gone anywhere near his room. One of the guards was away, and the other had been struck on his head by a heavy rod, which had left him unconscious for several hours. Jeevanlal’s grandmother lived in the rear portion of the house. Fortunately, she knew nothing of what had happened.

We spent fifteen minutes talking to Bholanath Babu and the servants, but there was no sign of Jeevanlal. ‘Did he go off to call the police?’ Feluda asked.

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Bholanath Babu faltered ‘He sent me to your
house and I saw him go out, but I haven’t seen him since.’

Without a word, Feluda ran towards the stairs, with Lalmohan Babu and me behind him. We climbed down to the ground floor, crossed a courtyard and went into the garden through the back door. The sun had just risen, and there was a thin mist. The grass and the leaves were wet with the early morning dew. Crows and mynahs and some other birds I couldn’t recognize had started going about their business.

We made our way through the garden, but had to stop in just a few minutes. Under a jackfruit tree lay the figure of a man. I recognized the blue shirt he was wearing, the white pyjamas and the chappals. It was Jeevanlal Mallik. Feluda strode forward quickly and looked down at him.

‘My God!’ he exclaimed in horror, stepping back.

‘Felu Babu!’ Lalmohan Babu called, pointing at an object lying a few feet away from the body.

‘I know, I have seen it. Please don’t touch it. That’s what was used to kill Jeevanlal.’

It was a square piece of cloth, with a stone tied round one corner. Bholanath Babu had followed us out and realized what had happened.

‘I don’t believe this!’ he cried and looked as if he was about to faint.

‘Please pull yourself together,’ Feluda said to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘This is not the time to give way to despair. You must inform the police. If you like, Lalmohan Babu will go with you. Nobody must touch either the body or the weapon. This must have happened pretty recently. Perhaps the killer is still in the area. Go at once, but please make sure your master is not told about the murder.’

Feluda ran towards the compound wall, and stopped before the gap in it. Then we both slipped out of it and found ourselves facing the bamboo grove through which we had walked on our first night here. There were no houses within a hundred yards. We stepped into the bamboo grove. What was that structure, tucked away in a corner? Oh, it was probably the old Kali temple Tulsi Babu had mentioned.

A man was standing by the temple, looking at us. ‘Why are you up so early?’ he asked, coming forward. It was Tarak Kaviraj, the ayurvedic doctor.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ Feluda asked.

‘Heard what?’

‘The old Mr Mallik—’

‘What!’

‘No, no, it’s not what you think. Mr Mallik is fine, but his house was burgled last night and . . . his son has been killed. But the old man does not know that, so please don’t tell him.’

Tarak Kaviraj hurried on. After a few moments, we decided to return. The culprit had clearly escaped.

We slipped back into the garden. What I saw next—or, rather, what I did not see—made me blink and wonder if I was dreaming. Could this really be true?

The ground under the jackfruit tree was empty. Jeevanlal’s dead body had vanished, and so had the piece of cloth.

Lalmohan Babu was standing a few feet away, trembling visibly. He had to make an effort to speak: ‘Bh-bholanath Babu and I went back to the house, but he s-said he’d go to the police station al-alone. I let him g-go, and then I walked this way to look for you, b-but th-then I s-saw . . .’

‘ . . . That the corpse had gone?’

‘Y-yes.’

Feluda ran again, but in a different direction. This time, we made our way to the far end, where we had found the hole in the ground. Behind the garden, we now realized, was another large pond as well as a bigger gap in the wall. No doubt the body had been dragged out through the gap and thrown into the pond. The tree under which the hole had been dug, I noticed, was a mango tree.

We retraced our steps and went back into the house, using the staircase at the back to go up to the first floor.

‘Jeevan! Jeevan!’ we heard his grandmother call. ‘Where’s he got to, now? Didn’t I just see him?’

We saw the old lady—clad in a white saree—come out of her room. Her heavily lined face looked sunken, her hair was cut very short and her eyes were hidden behind thick lenses. She must be at least eighty, I thought.

Feluda stepped forward to speak to her. ‘Jeevanlal had to go out. Do you need anything? Perhaps I can get it for you?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am a friend of his. My name is Pradosh.’

‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’

‘No. I arrived from the city only two days ago.’

‘From Calcutta?’

‘Yes. Can I get you anything? What did you want Jeevanlal for?’ The old lady suddenly seemed uncertain. She raised her face, looked around and said a little helplessly, ‘I can’t remember. What did I want him for? I can’t remember anything any more.’

We left her mumbling to herself and made our way to Shyamlal’s room. The doctor was with him, feeling his pulse. ‘Where’s Jeevan gone?’ Shyamlal asked, his tone as helpless as his mother’s. The doctor had obviously refrained from saying anything about the murder.

‘Didn’t you want him to go back to Calcutta?’ Feluda asked. ‘Back to Calcutta? You mean he left without telling me? How did he go? In a palanquin?’

‘No. There’s no way anyone can go all the way to Calcutta in a palanquin. You know that very well.’

‘Are you mocking me?’ Shyamlal sounded hurt.

‘I am not the only one, Mr Mallik,’ Feluda replied. ‘The whole village makes fun of you. Surely you realize your present lifestyle is not doing any good to anyone, least of all yourself? If you had a guard with a gun, that would have been far more effective than one with an old and blunt spear. Tell me, isn’t this kind of a shock as bad as the electric shock you received years ago? Trying to put the clock back doesn’t achieve anything, Mr Mallik. You cannot bring back the times that have gone by. It’s just not possible.’

I expected Shyamlal Mallik to flare up and order Feluda to get out at once. To my amazement, he didn’t. In fact, he did not speak at all. All he did was sigh, and stare at the opposite wall.