The Bandits of Bombay: Adventures of Feluda (8 page)

Our driver slipped into a gap between an Ambassador and a bus, and parked the car there. Mr Ghoshal came forward to greet us as soon as we emerged. He was wearing a white cap, and from his neck hung an object that looked like binoculars.

‘Good morning! Everything all right?’ he asked.

We nodded. ‘Listen,’ he went on, ‘I have a message from Mr Gore. He's gone to Matheran—I think to talk to some railway officials, and perhaps make some payments. He will make his own way here, either on the same train that we're going to use, or by car. You will be told the minute the train gets here. In any case, whether or not Mr Gore arrives on time, you three should get into the first-class compartment. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Feluda.

We met some of the other workers as we waited. I had no idea so many Bengalis worked in the Bombay film industry. It was hardly surprising that one of them should recognize Feluda. The cameraman, Dashu Ghosh, wrinkled his brows upon hearing Feluda's name. ‘Mitter? Are you the detec—?’

‘Yes,’ Feluda said hurriedly, ‘but please keep it to yourself.’

‘Why? You are our pride. When that statue in Ellora—’

Feluda placed a finger on his lips. Dashu Ghosh lowered his voice, ‘Are you here on a case?’

‘No, no. I am here on holiday, with this friend of mine.’

Dashu Ghosh had lived in Bombay for twenty-one years. Even so, he read Bengali books regularly, and had read two or three books by Jatayu. There were two other cameramen working with him that day. They came from other parts of India. Two of the four assistants who worked with Mr Ghoshal were Bengalis. But among the actors, none came from Bengal. Apart from Arjun Mehrotra, there was Micky playing the villain. He was just Micky, without a surname. He was considered the best amongst villains who were on their way up in Bombay at the moment. It was said that he had signed contracts for thirty-seven films, but twenty-nine of those were being rewritten, simply to reduce the number of fights. Thank goodness
Jet Bahadur
had only four fights. If it had more, Mr Ghoshal and Mr Gore would have been in big trouble.

We learnt all this from the production manager, Sudarshan Das. He was from Orissa. Like Dashu Ghosh, he had been in Bombay for many years; but as soon as
Jet Bahadur
was completed, he planned to return to Cuttack and start directing Oriya films.

Feluda had walked over to another group. All the actors who were going to play the bandits were being made up and dressed for the big scene. Suddenly, I noticed one of those men chatting with Feluda. Curious, I went forward and realized, as I heard his voice, that it was none other than the kung-fu master, Victor Perumal. He was made up to look like the hero's twin. It would be his job to jump from a galloping horse and land on the roof of the train. Then he would have to walk over as many as six coaches and enter the engine to fight with Micky, the villain, and kill him. That would be followed by a dramatic clash with the hero, who had been separated from his twin twenty years ago.

Lalmohan babu saw the elaborate arrangements and sank into silence. He really ought to have been pleased since all that action was centred around
his
story. He told me of his feelings: ‘I feel kind of peculiar, Tapesh,’ he explained. ‘At times, it's giving me a sense of power, you see, to think that
I
wrote the story that's led to so much work, such complex arrangements, so much expense! Yet, sometimes, I feel a little guilty for causing a lot of headache to a lot of people. And I cannot forget that the writer gets no recognition here. How many people in this unit know Jatayu's name, tell me?’

I tried to comfort him. ‘If the film is a success, everyone will learn your name!’

‘I hope so!’ Jatayu sighed.

The bandits who had finished their make-up were already on their horses, running around. All the horses were initially gathered under a large banyan tree. There were nine of them.

A minute later, a huge white Lincoln Convertible turned up, its tinted glass windows rolled up. It contained the hero and the villain. There was no need for the heroine that day, as the scenes in which she would appear, with her hands and feet tied, would be shot later in a studio. It was just as well, I thought. The two male stars caused enough sensation in the crowd. The presence of the heroine would only have made matters worse.

Sudarshan Das had given us some tea. We were in the process of returning the empty cups, when suddenly a raucous voice could be heard on a loudspeaker: ‘The train is coming! Train's here! Everybody ready!’

C
HAPTER
10

A
n old-fashioned engine came into view, huffing and puffing, blowing thick black smoke. Behind it were eight coaches. It stopped at the level crossing at exactly five minutes to one.

Even from a distance, we could see that there was only one first-class compartment. Other coaches already had passengers in them—they had been planted there when the train left Matheran. There were men, women and children, both young and old. Mr Ghoshal became extremely busy as soon as the train arrived. We could see him rushing from one camera to another, from the hero to the villain, and from one assistant here to another assistant there. Even Lalmohan babu was forced to admit that it wasn't simply the producer's money that made a film.

Arjun Mehrotra—the hero—was ready. He was at the wheel of his car, wearing sunglasses. Beside him sat his make-up man, and two other men, possibly hangers-on. A jeep with an open top was ready, too. In it stood a camera on a tripod. Victor and his men had already departed with their horses. They would wait for a signal from the moving train, and then ride down a particular hill. Then they would be seen galloping alongside the train. I saw Micky go towards the engine, accompanied by one of Mr Ghoshal's assistants.

We didn't know what to do. There was no sign of Mr Gore. Was he on the train? There was no way to tell.

The crowd had dispersed by now, but no one had told us what to do. Lalmohan babu began to get restless. ‘What's going on, Feluda babu? Have we been totally forgotten?’ he asked.

‘Well, we were told to get into a first-class compartment, and there is only one such coach. So we should get into it … but let's wait for two more minutes.’

Before those two minutes were up, the engine blew its whistle, and we heard Sudarshan Das call out to us: ‘I say, gentlemen! This way!’

We ran towards the first class carriage, clutching our bags. Mr Das went with us up to the door to the carriage. ‘I knew nothing of the arrangements,’ he said. ‘Someone just told me Mr Gore will arrive in half an hour. After the first shot, this train is going to return here.’

We got into the compartment, to be greeted by a large flask standing on a bench, together with four white cardboard boxes. The name of the Safari Restaurant was printed on every box. In other words, it was our lunch. I was surprised by Mr Gore's care and attention, in spite of his being so busy.

There was another whistle, then the train started with a jerk. All of us got ready to watch the activities outside. This was going to be a totally new experience, so I was feeling quite excited.

The train was now gathering speed. A road ran by the track on the right hand side. On our left, very soon, we'd see hills. The bandits would arrive from the left, and the hero from the right.

A little later, when the train was running faster, the jeep with the camera could be seen, travelling down the road. It was followed by the hero's car. Now the hero was alone, his companions had gone. The camera was facing him. Apart from the cameraman, there were three other men in the jeep. One of them was Mr Ghoshal's assistant. He was speaking through a microphone, instructing the hero: ‘Look to your left!’ and ‘Now to your right!’

Mr Ghoshal himself was handling the second camera, which was placed inside one of the carriages. The third camera was on the roof of the last coach, towards the rear of the train.

The hero wasn't driving all that fast, which I found somewhat disappointing. But Feluda pointed out that, in the film, it would appear fast enough as the speed of the camera had been reduced to shoot this particular scene.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘that car isn't moving as slowly as you seem to think, because it's running to keep pace with our train; and the train is moving pretty fast, isn't it?’

True. I hadn't thought about that.

In a few minutes, the hero's car and the jeep passed our compartment and went further down the road. Since it was an old-fashioned carriage, there were no bars on the windows. I wanted to lean out and see how the remaining scene was being shot, but Feluda stopped me. ‘How do you suppose you'd feel if you went to see
Jet Bahadur
at a cinema, and found yourself on the screen, leaning out of a train?’

I had to resist the temptation to poke my head out. Then I decided to get up and sit near a window on the opposite side. The scent of Gulbahar hit my nostrils as soon as I got to my feet.

Suddenly, I realized that Feluda was no longer by my side. He had sprung up and moved to the opposite end of the carriage. His eyes were fixed on the door to the bathroom, and his hand was in his jacket pocket.

‘It's no use, Mr Mitter. Don't take out your gun—a revolver is already pointed at you!’ said a voice.

The door on our left opened. A man entered and stood blocking the exit. In his hand was a revolver. Where had I seen him before? Oh, of course, this was Mr Red Shirt! But today he was wearing different clothes, and there was a vicious expression on his face that had been absent that day when we'd seen him at the airport. Looking at him now, I had no doubt in my mind that this man was a killer, and he would kill without the slightest qualm. His revolver was aimed straight at Feluda.

The door to the bathroom, which was ajar, opened fully and the whole compartment was filled with the scent of Gulbahar.

‘San … San …’ muttered Lalmohan babu, then his voice trailed away. His whole body seemed to have shrunk with fear.

‘Yes, I am Sanyal,’ said the stranger, ‘and my real business is with you, Mr Ganguli. You have brought that packet here, haven't you? Open your bag and give it to me. I needn't tell you what's going to happen if you don't.’

‘P-p-packet …?’

‘Surely you know which packet I am talking about? I did not meet you at the airport that day in Calcutta just to hand you a copy of your own book, did I? Come on, give me the real packet.’

‘You are mistaken. That packet is with me, not Mr Ganguli.’

The train was making such a lot of noise that everyone had to raise his voice to be heard; but Feluda spoke slowly and steadily. Even so, his words reached Sanyal's ears and his eyes lit up behind his glasses.

‘You destroyed so many pages of
Life Divine
. Did that bring you any special gain?’ Feluda was still speaking calmly, his words were measured.

‘Nimmo,’ Sanyal gave a sidelong glance at the hooligan and spoke harshly, ‘finish this man off if he creates any trouble. Keep your hands raised, Mr Mitter.’

‘Aren't you taking a very big risk?’ Feluda asked. ‘You will not release us, will you, even if you get what you want? You're going to finish us off, anyway. But what's going to happen to
you
, once the train comes to a stop? Have you thought about that?’

‘That's easy,’ Sanyal's face broke into an evil grin, ‘No one knows me here. There are so many passengers on this train—you think I couldn't just disappear amongst them? Your corpses will lie here, and I will move to another compartment. It's that simple.’

Feluda and I had faced many tricky situations before and that had taught me not to lose my nerve easily. But, right at this moment, although I was trying very hard to stay calm, one thing kept making me break into a cold sweat. It was the figure of Nimmo. I had only read about such characters. The look in his eyes held pure malice. He had closed the door and was now leaning against it. The fine cotton embroidered shirt he was wearing was fluttering in the breeze; his right arm was shaking a little because of the train's movement, but the revolver was still pointed straight at Feluda.

Sanyal advanced slowly. My nostrils were burning with the scent. His eyes were fixed on Feluda's bag. It was an Air India bag, placed on a bench in front of Sanyal. Lalmohan babu was standing behind me, so I couldn't see the look on his face. But, in spite of the racket the train was making, I could hear him breathing heavily, wheezing like an asthma patient.

The train was speeding on its way. It meant that the shooting was going ahead as planned. Did Mr Gore have any idea just how badly he had messed things up?

Sanyal sat down, grabbed the bag and pressed its catch. It did not open. The bag was locked.

‘Where's the key? Where is it?’ Sanyal's entire face was distorted with impatient rage. ‘Where the hell did you put it?’

‘In my pocket,’ Feluda replied coolly.

‘Which pocket?’

‘The right one.’

That was where Feluda kept his revolver. I knew it.

Sanyal rose to his feet, still looking livid. After a few uncertain moments, he suddenly turned to me. ‘Come here!’ he roared.