The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (42 page)

I waited for another ten minutes to see if Feluda turned up. When he didn’t, I went in and knocked on Lalmohan Babu’s door. He opened it at once and said with large, round eyes, ‘I’ve seen it all from the lobby! Don’t both those characters look highly suspicious? I wonder if they’ll go to Ellora? One of them—you know, the bearded one—might well be into ganja and other drugs.’

I nodded. ‘Jayant Mallik has also arrived and checked in,’ I told him.

‘Really? I didn’t see him. I came back to my room as soon as that hippie walked in. What does Mallik look like?’

When I described him, Lalmohan Babu grew even more excited. ‘Oh, I think he’s been given the room next to mine. I saw him arrive and something struck me as very odd. A bearer was carrying his suitcase, but it was obviously extremely heavy. The poor man could hardly move. And no wonder. Isn’t the yakshi’s head supposed to be in it?’

I could think of nothing except Feluda’s disappearance, so I said, ‘What is much more important now is finding Feluda. Never mind about Mallik’s suitcase. We’ve made no arrangements to go to Ellora. Mallik, I am sure, hasn’t come here simply to see the sights of Aurangabad. If he reaches Ellora before us, he might damage more—’

‘What’s that?’ Lalmohan Babu interrupted me, staring at the door. I had shut it after coming into the room. Someone had slipped
a piece of paper under it. I leapt and grabbed it quickly. It was another note, written by Feluda:

‘Collect all our luggage and wait outside the hotel at one-thirty. Look out for a black Ambassador taxi, number 530. Have your lunch before you leave. All hotel bills have been paid in advance.’

I ran my eyes over these few lines and opened the door. There was no one in sight. A second later, however, Jayant Mallik came out of his room and went busily towards the reception desk. He caught my eye briefly, but did not seem to recognize me.

‘He didn’t lock his room,’ Lalmohan Babu whispered. ‘There’s no one about. Shall I go in and have a look? Think of the stolen statue—!’

‘No! We mustn’t do anything like that without telling Feluda. It’s nearly one o’clock now. I think we should both be getting ready to leave.’

Sometimes, Lalmohan Babu’s enthusiasm caused serious problems. Luckily, he agreed to restrain himself.

We had a quick lunch and came out with our luggage—including Feluda’s—at one twenty-five. An empty taxi arrived in a few minutes, but it was green and had a different number. Its driver stopped it a few feet away from us. I saw him raise his arms and stretch lazily.

Three minutes later, another taxi drove up to us. A black Ambassador, number 530. Its driver peered out of the window and said, ‘Mr Mitter’s party?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Lalmohan Babu replied with an important air. The driver got out and opened the boot for us. I put the three suitcases in it.

Two men came out of the hotel: Shubhankar Bose and Jayant Mallik. I had seen them having lunch together. They got into the green taxi. It roared to life and shot off down Adalat Road, which headed west. Ellora lay in the same direction.

All this suspense is going to kill me, I thought. Where were we going to go? Why wasn’t Feluda with us? I couldn’t help feeling annoyed with him for having vanished, although I knew very well he never did anything without a good reason.

Another man emerged from the hotel. It was the tall hippie, carrying his canvas bag. He came straight to us, stopped and said, ‘Get in, Topshe. Quick, Lalmohan Babu!’

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the back of the taxi. The hippie
opened the front door, pushed the bemused Lalmohan Babu in, then got in beside me. ‘Chaliye, Deendayalji,’ he said to the driver.

I knew Feluda was good at putting on make-up and disguises, but had no idea he could change his voice, his walk, even the look in his eyes so completely. Lalmohan Babu appeared to be speechless, but he did turn around and shake Feluda’s hand. My heart was still speeding like a race horse, and I was dying to know why Feluda was in disguise.

Feluda opened his mouth only when we had left the main town and reached the open country. ‘The disguise was necessary,’ he explained, ‘because Mallik might have recognized me, although we had exchanged only a few words in that garage in Barasat. Naturally, his suspicions would have been aroused if he saw that the same man who had asked him awkward questions was also going to Ellora. I didn’t tell you about my plan, for I wanted to see if my make-up was good enough. When neither of you recognized me, I knew I didn’t have to worry about Mallik . . . I had these clothes and everything else in my shoulder bag this morning. When I said I was going off to take photos, I actually walked ahead and disappeared into cave number six. Not many people go in there, since it’s far from the others and one has to climb higher to get there. When I finished, I climbed down and walked back to town. First I arranged this taxi, then went to the station to see if Mallik got off the train. When he did, I followed his taxi, having collected another passenger who also wanted to go to our hotel. This helped me as I could then share the taxi fare with him. Now, if Shubhankar Bose asks you anything about me, tell him I’ve sent you a message saying I had to go to Bombay on some urgent business. I cannot remove my disguise until I go to bed. In fact, we shouldn’t even let Mallik see that you and I know each other. You and Lalmohan Babu will share a room. I will be in a separate room wherever we stay.’

‘But who are you?’

‘You don’t have to bother with a name. I am a photographer. I’m here to take photos for the
Asia
magazine of Hong Kong.’

‘OK. What about Lalmohan Babu and myself?’

‘You are his nephew. He teaches history in the City College. You are a student in the City School. You are interested in painting, but you want to join your uncle’s college next year to study history. Your name is Tapesh Mukherjee. Lalmohan Babu need not change his name, but please read up on Ellora. Basically, all you need to
remember is that the Kailash temple was built during the reign of Raja Krishna of the Rashtrakut dynasty, in the eighth century.’

Lalmohan Babu repeated these words to himself, then took out his little red notebook and noted them down, although writing wasn’t easy in the moving car. Now I could see why Feluda had asked him to come with us. He must have known he’d have to be in disguise and pretend he didn’t know me. Lalmohan Babu’s presence ensured that there was an extra pair of eyes to check on Mallik’s movements, and I had an adult to accompany me. I didn’t mind having to call Lalmohan Babu ‘Uncle’, but pretending Feluda was a total stranger was going to be most difficult. Well—I had no choice.

I looked out of the window. There were hills in the distance, and the land on either side of the road was dry and barren. Cactus grew here and there, but it was a different kind of cactus, not the familiar prickly pear I had seen elsewhere. These bushes were larger and taller by several feet.

Another car behind us had been honking for some time. Our driver slowed down slightly to let it pass. It had the bald American we had seen this morning, and the stout man who had travelled with Feluda in the same taxi.

Half an hour later, we found ourselves getting closer to the distant hills. To our left stretched a small town, called Khuldabad. We were going to stay in the dak bungalow here. At any other time, it would have been impossible to find rooms at such short notice. Thank goodness it was not the regular tourist season. However, the absence of tourists also meant that the thieves and vandals could have a field day.

A little later, to our right, the first of the many caves of Ellora came into view.

‘To the dak bungalow?’ our driver asked. ‘Or would you like to see the caves first?’

‘No, let’s go straight to the dak bungalow,’ Feluda replied.

Our car made a left turn where the road curved towards Khuldabad. I was still staring at the rows of caves in the hills. Which one of them was Kailash?

There were two major places to stay in Khuldabad. One was the dak bungalow where we were booked, and the other was the more expensive and posh Tourist Guest House. The two stood side by side, separated by a strong fence. I spotted the green taxi standing outside the guest house, which meant that was where Jayant Mallik
had checked in. Our bungalow was smaller, but neat and compact. Feluda paid the driver, then asked him to wait for fifteen minutes. We would leave our things in our rooms, and go to Kailash. The driver could drop us there, and return to Aurangabad.

There were four rooms in the bungalow. Each had three beds. Feluda could have remained with us, but decided to take a separate room. ‘Remember,’ he whispered before he left us, ‘your surname is Mukherjee. Lalmohan Babu is your uncle . . . Rashtrakut dynasty . . . eighth century . . . Raja Krishna . . . I’ll join you in ten minutes.’ Then he went into his own room and shouted, ‘Chowkidar!’ in a voice that was entirely different from his own.

Lalmohan Babu and I had a quick wash and went into the dining hall, where we were supposed to wait for Feluda. We found another gentleman in it, the same man we had just seen travelling with the American. Clearly, he was going to stay in the bungalow with us. At first, he had struck me as a boxer or a wrestler. Now I noticed his eyes: they were bright and intelligent, which suggested he was educated and, in fact, might well be a writer or an artist, for all I knew. His eyes twinkled as they caught mine.

‘Off to Kailash, are you?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Yes, yes,’ Lalmohan Babu replied eagerly, ‘we are from Calcutta. I am a . . . what d’you call it . . . professor of history in the City College; and this is my nephew, you see.’

There was no need to tell him anything else. But, possibly because he was nervous about playing a new role, Lalmohan Babu went on speaking, ‘I thought . . . you know . . . that we must see this amazing creation of the Rashtraput—I mean kut—dynasty. My nephew is . . . you know . . . very interested in art. He wants to get into an art college. He paints quite well, you know. Bhuto, don’t forget to take your drawing book.’

I said nothing in reply, for I had not brought my drawing book. Thankfully, Feluda came out at this moment and glanced casually at us.

‘If any of you want to go to the caves, you may come with me. I’ve still got my taxi,’ he said in his new voice.

‘Oh, thank you, that’s very kind,’ Lalmohan Babu turned to him, looking relieved. Then courtesy made him turn back to the other gentleman. ‘Would you like to come with us?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you. I’ll go later. I must have a bath first.’ We went out of the bungalow.

‘Tell me a bit more about the history of this place, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu pleaded in a low voice. ‘I can’t manage unless I have a few more details.’

‘Do you know the names of different periods in Indian history?’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as Maurya, Sunga, Gupta, Kushan, Chola . . . things like that?’

Lalmohan Babu turned pale. Then, getting into the taxi, he said, ‘Tell you what, why don’t I pretend to be deaf? Then, if anyone asks me anything about the history of the caves, or anything else I might find difficult to answer, Í can simply ignore them. Isn’t that a good idea?’

‘All right. I have no objection to that, but remember your acting must be consistent at all times.’

‘No problem with that. Anything would be better than trying to remember historical facts. Didn’t you see how I messed things up just now? I mean, saying “put” instead of “kut” was hardly the right thing to do, was it?’

We were passing the guest house. Jayant Mallik was standing outside, his hands in his pockets, staring at our bungalow. The green Ambassador was still parked by the road. On seeing Mr Mallik, Feluda took out a small comb from his bag and passed it to me. ‘Change your parting,’ he said, ‘make a right parting.’ I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and quickly changed the parting in my hair as Feluda suggested. Who knew a little thing like that would make such a lot of difference? Even to my own eyes, my face looked different.

We reached the main road. Another road rose up the hill from here, curved around and finally brought us to the famous Kailash temple. We got out here, and the taxi returned to Aurangabad.

At first, I didn’t realize what the temple was like. However, as soon as I had passed through its huge entrance, my head began reeling. For a few moments, I forgot all about the yakshi’s head, the gang of crooks, Mr Mallik, Shubhankar Bose, everything. All I was aware of was a feeling of complete bewilderment. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine a group of men, carving the whole temple out of the hill twelve hundred years ago, using no other tools but hammers and chisels. But I could not. It seemed as if the temple had always been there. It couldn’t be manmade at all. Or maybe it had been created by magic; or perhaps—as Feluda’s book had
suggested—creatures from a different planet had come and built it.

The temple had hills rising on three sides. A narrow passage went around it. On both sides of the temple were a number of caves—that looked like cells—which had more statues in them. We started walking down the passage to go around the temple. Feluda kept up a running commentary: ‘This place is three hundred feet in length, one hundred and fifty feet in width and the height of the temple is a hundred feet. Two hundred thousand tonnes of rock must have been excavated to build it . . . they built the top first, then worked their way down to the base . . . the statues include gods and goddesses, men and women, animals, events from the
Ramayana
and the
Mahabharata
, the lot. Just think of their skill, the precision of their calculations, their knowledge of engineering, quite apart from the aesthetics . . .’ he stopped. There were footsteps coming towards us. Feluda fell behind deliberately and began inspecting the statue of Ravana shaking Kailash.

Shubhankar Bose emerged from behind the temple. In his hand was a notebook, and a bag hung from his shoulder. He seemed engrossed in looking at the carvings. Then his eyes fell on us. He smiled, then seemed to remember something and asked anxiously, ‘Any news of your cousin?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, trying to sound casual, ‘he sent a message. He had to go to Bombay on some urgent work. He’ll be back soon.’