The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (6 page)

Srivastava looked visibly relieved. His lips spread in a smile. ‘That is exactly what I came here to propose, but couldn’t bring myself to say it. Thank you very much, Mr Sanyal. I shall feel a lot easier in my mind if you keep the ring.’

He took the ring out of his pocket and handed it to Dhiru Kaka, who went straight into his bedroom with it.

At this point, Feluda opened his mouth. ‘Who is Bonobihari

Babu?’ he asked.

‘Pardon?’ Dr Srivastava was still slightly preoccupied.

‘Didn’t you just say that houses where you live were safe from burglars because of one Bonobihari Babu? Who is he? Someone in the police?’

Srivastava laughed, ‘Oh, no, no. He has nothing to do with the police—but he gives us a special protection that’s even better than what the police could give. He’s quite an interesting character. His ancestors were zamindars in Bengal. When they lost their land, Bonobihari Babu went into business. He began exporting animals.’

‘Animals?’ Baba and Feluda spoke together.

‘Yes. Animals from here are often needed in Europe, America or Australia for their zoos, circuses and television. Many Indians are in this business. Bonobihari Babu made a lot of money, I believe. He
retired about three years ago and came to Lucknow, together with some of his animals. He bought a house not far from mine and turned it into a zoo.’

‘How very strange!’ Baba exclaimed.

‘Yes. What is special about this zoo is that all its animals are very . . . very . . . how shall I put it . . .’

‘Vicious?’

‘Yes, yes. That’s it. Most vicious.’

I had heard that Lucknow already had a very good zoo. Animals were kept out in the open there, on a man-made island. But what was this about a private zoo?

Srivastava continued, ‘He has a wild cat. And a hyena, an alligator and a scorpion. You can hear some of these animals even from a distance. Thieves don’t dare come our way!’

Feluda now asked the question that was trembling on my lips. ‘Is it possible to see this zoo?’

Dhiru Kaka returned at this moment and said, ‘That’s simple. We can go any time. Bonobihari Babu is a most amiable man, not vicious at all!’

Srivastava rose to take his leave. ‘I must go now. There is a patient I need to see.’

We went with him up to the main gate to see him off. He said ‘good-night’ to everyone, thanked Dhiru Kaka again and drove off in his Fiat. Baba and Dhiru Kaka began walking back to the house. Feluda took a cigarette out of his pocket and was about to light it when a black car shot past us and disappeared in the same direction as Dr Srivastava’s car.

‘Standard Herald,’ said Feluda, ‘I missed the number.’

‘What would you do with the number?’

‘It looked as though that car was following Dr Srivastava. Can’t you see how dark it is on the other side of the road? That’s where it was waiting. The driver changed gears in front of our gate. Didn’t you notice?’

Feluda turned towards the house. It was at least fifty yards from the gate. I could tell, for I have often run in hundred-yards races in school. The light in the living-room was on. I could clearly see through the window. There were Baba and Dhiru Kaka, going into the room. Then I looked at Feluda. He was staring at the open window. The frown on his face and the way he bit his lip told me that he was worried about something.

‘You know, Topshe—’

I am not really called Topshe. My name is Tapesh, but Feluda has changed it to Topshe.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That window should have been closed. You can see everything that goes on in that room from the gate. An ordinary bulb might have made a difference; but Dhiru Kaka has got a fluorescent light, which makes it worse.’

‘So what if you can see everything?’

‘Can you see your father?

‘Just his head. He’s sitting in a chair.’

‘Who was sitting in that chair ten minutes ago?’

‘Dr Srivastava.’

‘He stood up to show the ring to your father, remember?’

‘Yes. I don’t forget things so quickly.’

‘If someone was watching from the gate, he could quite easily have seen him do it.’

‘Oh no! But why do you think there might have been someone?’ Feluda stooped and picked up a tiny object from the cobbled path. Silently, he handed it to me. It was a cigarette butt. ‘Look at the tip carefully,’ said Feluda.

I peered at it closely and in the faint light from the street lamp, saw what I needed to see.

‘Well?’ said Feluda.

‘Charminar,’ I replied, ‘and whoever was smoking it was also chewing a paan. One end is smeared with its juice.’

‘Very good. Come, let’s go in.’

That night, before going to bed, Feluda asked Dhiru Kaka to show him the ring again. The two of us had a good look at it. I had no idea Feluda knew so much about stones. He turned the ring round and round under a table lamp and kept up a running commentary: ‘These blue stones that you see are called sapphires. The red ones are rubies and the green ones emeralds. The others, I think, are topaz. But the real thing to look at, of course, is this diamond in the middle. Not many would have had the privilege of actually holding such a stone in their hand!’

Then he slipped the ring on to the third finger of his left hand and said, ‘Look, my finger is the same size as Aurangzeb’s!’

True, the ring fitted perfectly.

Feluda stared at the glittering stones and said, ‘Who knows, this ring could have had an intriguing past. But you know what, Topshe—I am not interested in its history. Whether it had once belonged to Aurangzeb or Altamash or Akram Khan is not important. We need to know what its future is, and whether—at present—it’s being chased by an admirer. If so, who is he and why is he so desperate to get hold of it?’

Then he removed the ring from his finger, gave it to me and said, ‘Go now, give it back to Dhiru Kaka. And please open those windows when you return.’

The next day, we left for the Imambara after an early lunch. Baba and Dhiru Kaka went in the car. Feluda and I both chose to ride in a tonga.

It was great fun. I had never ridden in a horse-drawn carriage before. Feluda had, of course. It was his view that a bumpy ride in a tonga was very good for one’s digestion.

‘Dhiru Kaka has such an excellent cook that I can see it’s going to be difficult not to indulge myself,’ he said, ‘so I think an occasional ride in a tonga is a good idea.’

Bumping through new and unfamiliar streets, we finally reached a place that the tongawalla said was called ‘Kaiser Bagh’.

‘See how they’ve mixed Urdu with German?’ Feluda remarked. Most of the well-known Mughal buildings were around Kaiser Bagh. The tongawalla began pointing them out: ‘There’s Badshah Manzil . . . and that’s Chandiwali Barradari . . . and that’s called Lakhu Phatak . . .’

The path led through a huge gate. ‘This is Rumi Darwaza,’ we were told. Beyond the Rumi Darwaza was ‘Machchli Bhawan’, which is where the Burra Imambara stood.

I gaped, speechless, at its sheer size. I had no idea a palace could be so massive.

We had spotted Dhiru Kaka’s car from our tonga. We paid the tongawalla and went to join the others. Baba and Dhiru Kaka were talking to a tall, middle-aged man.

Feluda laid a hand on my shoulder and spoke under his breath:

‘Black Standard Herald!’

True enough, there was a black Standard Herald parked next to Dhiru Kaka’s car.

‘Look at that fresh mark on the mudguard!’

‘How do you know it’s fresh?’

‘It’s white paint, can’t you see? That car must have brushed against a newly painted wall or a gate. If the car wasn’t washed this morning, that mark could well have got there last night.’

Dhiru Kaka greeted us, ‘Come and meet Bonobihari Babu, the man with a zoo in his house.’

Surprised, I raised my hands in a namaskaar. Was this indeed that strange man? He was fair, about six feet tall, sported a thin moustache and a pointed beard and wore gold-framed glasses. The whole effect was quite impressive.

He thumped me on the back and said, ‘How do you find the capital of Laxman? You do know, don’t you, that in the ancient times Lucknow was known as Laxmanavati?’

His voice matched his personality. ‘Bonobihari Babu was going to Chowk Bazar,’ said Dhiru Kaka, ‘he stopped here only because he saw our car.’

‘Yes,’ said the gentleman, ‘I usually go out in the afternoon. Most of my mornings and evenings have to be devoted to the animals.’

‘In fact,’ said Dhiru Kaka, ‘we were planning to descend on you. These two are very interested in seeing your zoo.’

‘Good. You’re welcome any time. Why don’t you come today? I am always happy to receive visitors, but most people are too scared to step into my house. They think the cages I’ve put my animals in are not as strong as those in a regular zoo. If that was the case, how do you suppose I have survived all these years?’

Everyone laughed at this little joke, with the only exception of Feluda. He leant closer to me and muttered, ‘The man’s reeking with
attar.
Attempt at hiding the smell of animals, probably.’

The Standard, as it turned out, did not belong to Bonobihari Babu, for I saw him call his driver from a blue Ambassador and give him a couple of letters to post. Then he said to us: ‘You’ll see the Imambara, won’t you? We can go back to my place afterwards.’

‘Are you coming in with us?’

‘Yes, why not? I’ve been in it just once before. That was in 1963, two days after I arrived in Lucknow. Time I saw again what those nawabs could get up to.’

We passed through the gate and began walking across a large courtyard towards the main building.

‘Two hundred years ago,’ said Bonobihari Babu, walking by my side, ‘Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula built this palace. He wanted it to outshine all the buildings in Agra and Delhi. So a competition was held among the most well-known designers and architects. The best design was selected—and you can see the final result. It may not be as beautiful as some of the other Mughal buildings, but it is certainly the number one as far as the size of a palace goes. No other palace in the world has such a large audience hall.’

A whole football stadium could fit into this, I thought, staring at the hall. But that wasn’t all. Outside, there was a massive well. The nawab had clearly thought big. The guide told us the well was used for punishing criminals. They were simply thrown into it, and no one ever saw them again.

But what took my breath away was the Bhoolbhulaia. Little passages ran in all possible directions. No matter where I went or what corners I turned, it always seemed as though I was back where I’d begun. All passages were identical—walls on both sides, a low ceiling and, in the middle of the wall, a tiny niche. The guide said that when the nawabs played hide-and-seek with their queens, oil lamps used to burn in those little niches. The thought of flickering lamps in those spooky little passages gave me goosepimples.

Feluda, I noticed, kept very close to the wall. But I couldn’t understand why he was lagging behind all of us. Then I got totally absorbed in the excitement of going through the winding maze and had forgotten all about him, until I heard Baba exclaim: ‘Oh, where is Felu?’

I turned around quickly. Feluda was nowhere to be seen. My heart missed a beat. However, only a few seconds later, he reappeared after Baba called out to him. ‘If I were to walk so fast,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t possibly get an idea of how the maze is designed.’

The door at the end of the last passage in the maze opened onto the huge roof of the Imambara. It had a wonderful view. One could see practically the whole of Lucknow from it. There were a few other people already on the roof. One of them—a young man—came walking towards Dhiru Kaka, smiling.

‘Mahabir!’ Dhiru Kaka exclaimed, ‘When did you arrive?’

‘Three days ago. I always return to Lucknow at this time of the year. I’ll go back after Diwali. I have two friends with me, so we’re
out sightseeing.’

‘This is Pyarelal’s son,’ said Dhiru Kaka, ‘he lives in Bombay. He’s an actor.’

I looked at Mahabir. He was staring at Bonobihari Babu as though he had seen him before.

‘Have we met before?’ asked Bonobihari Babu, echoing my thoughts.

‘Yes, I think so,’ Mahabir replied, ‘but for the life of me I can’t remember where.’

‘I met your father once. But you were not here then.’

‘Oh. I see,’ said Mahabir, embarrassed, ‘I must have made a mistake. Sorry. Well, I must get back to my friends. Namaskaar.’

He left. He must be younger than Feluda, I thought. A good-looking man, and very well built. Perhaps he was interested in sports.

Bonobihari Babu said, ‘It might be a good idea to go to my place now. If you must see the animals, it’s best to do so in daylight. I haven’t yet been able to arrange lights in their cages.’

We paid the guide and went down. A staircase ran from the roof straight to the ground floor.

Just as we came out of the gate, I saw Mahabir and his friends get into the black Standard.

It was nearly 4 p.m. by the time we reached Bonobihari Babu’s house. It was impossible to tell from outside that the house contained a mini zoo. The animals were all kept in the back garden.

‘This house was built about thirty years before the Mutiny by a wealthy Muslim merchant,’ Bonobihari Babu told us. ‘I bought it from an Englishman.’

The house was obviously quite old. The carvings on the wall were typically Mughal.

‘I hope you don’t mind having coffee. There’s no tea in my house, I am afraid,’ said Bonobihari Babu.

I felt quite pleased at this for I wasn’t allowed to have too much coffee at home. But we had to see the animals first.

The living-room led to a veranda, behind which sprawled a huge garden. Individual cages for the animals were strewn all over this
garden. There was a pond in the middle surrounded by tall iron spikes. An alligator lay in it, sunning itself lazily. Bonobihari Babu said, ‘Ten years ago, when I found it in Munger, it was only a baby. I kept it in a water tank in my house in Calcutta. Then one day I discovered it had slipped out and swallowed a kitten!’

Little pavements ran from the pond to other cages. A strange hissing noise came from one of them. We left the alligator and made our way to it.

A large cat, nearly as big as a medium-sized dog, stared at us through bright green eyes. It had a striped body and was really more like a tiger than a cat.

‘This comes from Africa. An Anglo-Indian dealer in animals in Calcutta sold it to me. Even the Alipore zoo doesn’t have a creature like this.’

We moved on from the wild cat to look at a hyena, then a wolf and then an American rattle-snake. I knew it was extremely poisonous. An object like a long, narrow sea-shell was attached to its tail, not different from the kind of shell I had often collected on the beaches of Puri. The snake shook its tail slightly as it moved, dragging the shell on the ground, making a noise like a rattle. In the western states of America, it was this noise that warned people of the movements of a rattle-snake.

We saw two other creatures that made my flesh creep. In a glass case was the large and awful blue scorpion of America. In another was a spider, sticking out its black, hairy legs. It was probably as big as my palm, with all my fingers spread out. This, I learnt, was the famous Black Widow spider from Africa.

‘The poisons of the scorpion and this spider are neuro toxins,’ Bonobihari Babu said. ‘What it means is that one sting from either can kill a human being.’

We returned to the living-room and sat down on sofas. Bonobihari Babu himself took a chair and said, ‘Often, in the silence of the night, I can hear the hyena laugh, the cat hiss, the wolf cry and the snake rattle. It makes a rather strange chorus, but it helps me sleep in peace. Where would I find a better battery of bodyguards, tell me? But then, if an outsider did break in, none of these captive animals could really do anything. I have a different arrangement to take care of that. Badshah!’

A massive black hound bounded out of the next room. This was

Bonobihari Babu’s real bodyguard. Not only did Badshah protect his
master, but he also made sure that no harm came to the animals in the zoo.

Feluda was sitting next to me. ‘Labrador hound,’ he said softly, ‘the same breed as the Hound of the Baskervilles!’

Baba had been silent throughout. Now he said, ‘Tell me, do you really enjoy living with these wild animals in your house?’

Bonobihari Babu took out a pipe and began filling it. ‘Why not?’ he replied. ‘What’s there to be afraid of? There was a time when I used to go hunting regularly, and my aim was perfect. But I never killed anything except wild animals. Once—only once—did I kill a deer. I was simply showing off to an American friend, trying to prove how good my aim was, and the deer was about a hundred-and-fifty yards away. I felt such bitter remorse afterwards that I had to give up hunting altogether. But animals had become a part of my life. So I went into the business of exporting some of them. Then, when I retired, having a zoo in my house seemed only natural. The good thing about living with these animals is that they don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are—vicious and venomous. But look at man! One who appears to be totally good and honest may turn out to be a first-rate criminal. You can’t really trust even a close friend these days, can you? So I’ve decided to spend the rest of my life in the company of animals. I don’t meddle in other people’s affairs, you see. I keep to myself. So what others think or say about my lifestyle doesn’t matter to me at all. But I’ve been told that my little zoo has been responsible for keeping burglars at bay. If that is true, I must say I’ve unwittingly done some good to the whole community.’

This last remark made me first look at Dhiru Kaka, and then at Feluda. Could it be that Bonobihari Babu didn’t know about the attempted theft at Dr Srivastava’s house?

I didn’t have to wait long to get an answer. Dr Srivastava himself arrived almost as soon as Bonobihari Babu’s bearer appeared with the coffee and some sweets.

After greeting everyone, Dr Srivastava said to Dhiru Kaka, ‘A boy fell from a tree and broke his arm, not very far from where you live. I went to your house after seeing him. Your bearer told me you hadn’t returned. So I came straight here.’

Dhiru Kaka gave Dr Srivastava a reassuring look, to indicate that his ring was safe.

Srivastava appeared to know Bonobihari Babu quite well. Perhaps friendliness among neighbours ran more easily in small towns.

‘Bonobihari Babu,’ he said jokingly, ‘your watchmen are getting slack.’

Bonobihari Babu seemed taken aback.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘A thief broke into my house the day before yesterday, and none of your animals made a noise.’

‘What? A thief? In your house? When?’

‘At about 3 a.m. No, he didn’t actually take anything. I woke suddenly, so he ran away.’

‘Even so, I must say he must have been an expert to have escaped Badshah’s attention. Why, your house can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards from mine! Whoever it was must have walked past my compound. There is no other way!’

‘Never mind,’ said Srivastava, ‘I just wanted you to know what had happened.’

The sweets were still lying on our plates. ‘Have some of these,’ Bonobihari Babu invited, ‘these are called
Sandile ka laddoo
and
gulabi reori.
These and
bhoona pera
—all three are a speciality of Lucknow.’

I wasn’t too fond of sweets, so I paid little attention to these words and began watching Bonobihari Babu closely. He seemed a little thoughtful. Feluda, however, was busy stuffing himself. Having eaten two laddoos already, he stretched out a hand and pretended to wave a fly away from my coffee-cup. Before I knew it, he had picked up a laddoo from my plate with supreme nonchalance.

Rather unexpectedly, at this point Bonobihari Babu turned to

Srivastava and asked, ‘Hope you still have the Emperor’s ring?’

Dr Srivastava choked. Then, pulling himself together with an effort, he covered the sudden fit of coughing with a small laugh and said, ‘Good God—you haven’t forgotten!’

Bonobihari Babu blew out smoke from his pipe.

‘How could I forget? Mind you, I’m not really interested in such things. But you don’t often get to see something so remarkable, do you?’

‘Oh, the ring’s quite safe,’ said Dr Srivastava, ‘I am aware of its value.’

Bonobihari Babu stood up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘it’s time to feed my cat.’

We took our cue and rose with him to take our leave.

On our way out we saw a man carry a bag into the house. A
powerful man, no doubt. His muscles were bulging under his shirt. His name was Ganesh Guha, we learnt. He had apparently been with Bonobihari Babu for a long time, right from the days of animal exporting. He now looked after the zoo.

‘I couldn’t have managed without Ganesh,’ Bonobihari Babu told us. ‘That man knows no fear. Once the wild cat clawed him. He stayed on, despite that.’

‘It was really a pleasure to have you,’ he continued, as we got into our car, ‘do come again. You’re going to be in Lucknow for some time, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Baba, ‘but we might go to Haridwar for a few days.’

‘I see. Someone told me of a twelve-foot python that’s just been found near Laxmanjhoola. As a matter of fact, I was toying with the idea of going there myself.’

We dropped Dr Srivastava at his house. Just as he got out of the car, a sudden strange, eerie howl coming from Bonobihari Babu’s garden startled us all. Only Feluda yawned and said, ‘Hyena.’ Heavens—so this was the famous laugh of a hyena? It chilled my blood.

‘Yes, that noise often gave me the creeps,’ Dr Srivastava said through the window, ‘but now I’ve got used to it.’

‘You didn’t have any further problems last night, did you?’ Dhiru Kaka asked.

‘No, no. Nothing,’ Dr Srivastava laughed.

It was nearly dark by the time we got home. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of drumbeats. ‘Preparations for Ram Lila,’ Dhiru Kaka explained.

‘What is Ram Lila?’

‘Oh, it’s a north Indian performance held during Dussehra. The whole story of the Ramayana is staged as a play. It ends with Ram and Lakshman galloping across in a chariot and shooting arrows at a colossal effigy of Ravan. The effigy is filled with gunpowder. So, when the arrows hit it, it bursts into flames. Crackers burst and rockets fly . . . and, eventually, the mighty Ravan is reduced to ashes. Oh . . . it’s a spectacle worth watching!’

‘Dr Srivastava came while you were out,’ Dhiru Kaka’s bearer told us as we got home, ‘and a sadhubaba. He waited for about half-an-hour and then left.’

‘Sadhubaba?’

It was obvious that Dhiru Kaka had not been expecting a visit from a holy man.

‘Where did he wait?’

‘In the living-room.’

‘And he wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he actually mention my name?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s strange!’

Dhiru Kaka thought for a minute, then suddenly rushed into his bedroom. We heard him open his Godrej almirah, which was followed by an agonized cry: ‘Oh no! Disaster!’ Baba, Feluda and I ran after him.

Dhiru Kaka was standing with the small blue velvet box open in his hand, his eyes bulging. The box was empty.

He stared foolishly into space for a few seconds. Then he flopped down on his bed with a thud.