The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (86 page)

The letters sent by Biren Chowdhury told us nothing. They were all postcards, most of which had nothing but Mahesh Chowdhury’s name and address on them. The few that had hastily scribbled messages had been signed ‘Deuce’.

Bulakiprasad served dinner at nine o’clock. Feluda came to the dining table with some of the diaries and his notebook. There were a few more coded messages that he hadn’t yet been able to solve, he told us. I saw Feluda write these down in his notebook, using his left hand as easily as he used his right. Halfway through the meal, Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Look, Felu Babu, do stop writing; or you won’t be able to do any justice to this terrific lamb curry.’

‘I am busy with monkeys, Lalmohan Babu, so please don’t disturb me by talking of lambs.’

Feluda was frowning deeply, but a smile played around his lips. I had to ask him to explain. He read out a line from a diary:

‘Great generosity by the worshipper of fire. The nine jewels, according to the monkeys, value two thousand Shylock’s demands.’

Lalmohan Babu swallowed quickly. ‘There’s a loony bin in Ranchi, isn’t there?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard the people of Ranchi are all a bit . . . you know, not quite normal!’

Feluda ignored this remark. ‘Parsees worship fire,’ he commented, ‘but the rest of the message doesn’t make any sense at all.’

‘Shylock . . . isn’t that from
The Merchant of Venice?’
I asked. ‘Yes. That’s what makes me wonder. What did Shylock demand, Topshe?’

‘A pound of flesh?’

‘Correct. But that doesn’t help, does it?’

‘Felu Babu, please give it a rest,’ Lalmohan Babu pleaded, ‘at least while you’re eating!’

Perhaps Feluda was really tired. So he put away the diaries and his notebook, and said he’d like to go for a walk after dinner with both of us.

The moon had just risen when we set out. It still had a yellow glow. But there were patches of clouds as well, which made Lalmohan Babu say, ‘I think the moonlight’s going to be shortlived.’ Gusts of wind came from the west, bringing with them the faint sounds of a circus band.

A right turn soon brought Kailash into view. We could see the house through a row of eucalyptus trees. A window on the first floor was open, and the light was on. Someone was moving restlessly in the room. Feluda stopped. So did we. Whose room could it be? The moving figure came and stood at the window. It was Neelima Devi. Then she moved away again and began pacing once more. Why was she so agitated?

We began walking once more. Kailash disappeared from sight. Each house we passed had a large compound. A radio was on somewhere. We could hear snatches of the local news. Lalmohan Babu cleared his throat and had begun humming another unsuitable Tagore song (‘In the rice fields today, do the sun and shadows play hide-and-seek’), when my eyes fell on the figure of a man coming from the opposite direction. He was wearing a blue pullover.

I recognized him as he got closer. ‘Namaskar,’ said Shankarlal Misra. ‘I was going to call at your house.’ He seemed to have recovered somewhat, but had not yet regained his normal cheerful looks.

‘Is anything the matter?’ Feluda asked politely.

‘I . . . I would like to make a request.’

‘A request?’

‘Yes. Please, Mr Mitter, stop making enquiries. Drop your investigation.’

I was quite taken aback by such a request, but Feluda spoke calmly.

‘Why would you like me to do that, Mr Misra?’

‘It won’t do anyone any good.’

After a short pause, Feluda smiled lightly. ‘Suppose I told you it would do me some good? I cannot rest in peace if there are doubts in my mind. I have to settle them, Mr Misra. Besides, someone spoke to me from his deathbed and asked me to do something for him. How can I leave that task undone? I am sorry, Mr Misra, but I have to continue with my investigation. As a matter of fact, I need your help. Different people may say different things about Mahesh Chowdhury, but you had very deep respect for him, didn’t you?’

‘Of course.’ Mr Misra’s reply came a few seconds later, possibly because he couldn’t immediately accept what Feluda had said to him. Then he added more firmly, ‘I certainly did. But . . .’ his voice changed, ‘should one allow that respect, all those feelings, to be destroyed by one single blow? All that had built up over a number of years . . . should one let it go, just like that?’

‘Is that what you were doing?’

‘Yes. Yes, I nearly allowed that to happen. But then I realized my mistake. I will not let anything destroy my beliefs. I have decided that, and now I have found peace.’

‘May I then expect you to help me?’

‘Certainly. How may I help you?’ Mr Misra sounded almost like
his old self. He met Feluda’s eyes directly.

‘I would like to know how Mahesh Chowdhury felt about his other two sons. No one but you can give me an impartial assessment.’

‘I can only tell you what I felt. I don’t think Mr Chowdhury had any affection left for anyone except Biren. Arun and Pritin had both disappointed him.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know the precise details, for I’ve never been very close to either of them. But Arun had started to gamble. Mr Chowdhury himself told me one day; not directly, but in his own peculiar style. He said, “I would have been pleased if Arun was good. But I worry because he’s better. I believe he visits the equine communities quite often.” It took me a while, but eventually I figured out that “better” meant one who lays bets and the “equine communities” simply meant horse races.’

‘I see. But why should Pritin have disappointed him? Surely he’s doing quite well in electronics?’

‘Electronics?’ Mr Misra sounded perfectly amazed. ‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Why? Doesn’t he have anything to do with Indovision?’

Mr Misra burst out laughing. ‘Good God, no! Pritin has a very ordinary job in a small private firm, which he managed to get only because his father-in-law knew the right people. Pritin is a good man, basically, but is extremely impractical and impulsive. Luckily for him, his wife is the only daughter of a wealthy father. That car you saw him using belongs to his father-in-law. He came here later than his wife and daughter because he had problems getting leave.’

It was our turn to be astounded.

‘But,’ Mr Misra added, ‘his passion for birds and bird calls is absolutely genuine.’

‘I have one more question.’

‘Yes?’

‘You were seen talking to a man dressed as a sadhu when we went to Rajrappa. Was that Biren?’

Mr Misra was naturally taken aback by such a question, but he recovered quickly. The reply he made sounded rather cryptic. ‘You are so clever, Mr Mitter, I’m sure you’ll soon unravel every mystery.’

‘There is a special reason for asking this question. If indeed that man is Biren, I have got something that his father wanted him to
have. I must hand it over to him. Can you arrange a meeting?’

‘I will try my best to make sure Mr Chowdhury’s last wish is fulfilled, I promise to try . . . but I cannot tell you anything more.’

Mr Misra turned abruptly, and went back in the same direction from which he had come.

I hadn’t realized how far we’d walked. Feluda looked at his watch and said, ‘Ten-thirty.’ We decided to go back. When we reached Kailash, the whole house was in darkness. The sky was now overcast, the moon had disappeared and the distant band was silent. Purely out of the blue, Feluda broke the silence by shouting one word: ‘Monkeys!’ Lalmohan Babu automatically turned his head and asked, ‘Where?’

‘In that diary,’ Feluda explained quickly. ‘Sorry if I startled you, but I’ve just realized what he meant by it. What a brilliant mind that man had! I’d totally forgotten about those monkeys that produce catalogues.’

‘Felu Babu, why are you doing this to me? Monkeys was bad enough, but now you want monkeys that produce catalogues? What catalogues?’

‘Gibbons! Gibbons! Gibbons!’ Feluda shouted impatiently.

Of course! Gibbons was a species of monkey. I knew that, but could never have made the connection.

‘He would have made a lot of money,’ Feluda said. ‘Who?’

‘The thief who stole the stamp album.’

Lalmohan Babu remained in our room until midnight to watch Feluda solve more puzzles. He had to call Arun Babu at eleven o’clock to get the answer to one of them. On 18 October 1951, Mr Chowdhury had written, ‘He passes away.’ Arun Babu told Feluda that was the day his mother had died, and she was called Heronmoyee. That explained who ‘He’ was.

A few entries made in 1958 said, ‘Be foolish’, ‘Be stubborn’, ‘Be determined’. These sounded like mottoes, but ‘Be’ in this case could only mean ‘B’, i.e. Biren.

One page in 1975 said, ‘A is ruled by three.’ He was obviously referring to the six deadly sins, and ‘A’ meant Arun. His father thought he was greedy.

The last entry had been made the day before he died. All it said
was, ‘Come back. Hope, return.’ The following pages were all blank.

By the time we finished with the diaries, it was one o’clock. I went to bed, but Feluda began reading the book on the circus in Bengal that Lalmohan Babu had lent him. It had been agreed long ago that Feluda would read it after Lalmohan Babu, and would pass it to me when he had finished.

I heard him speaking just as my eyes began to feel heavy.

‘When there’s a murder, the police place a mark over the spot where the body is found. Do you know what it is?’

‘X marks the spot?’ I said sleepily.

‘Exactly. X marks the spot.’

I fell asleep almost immediately, and had a rather awful dream. A huge figure of Kali was standing before me, her arms and legs spread like the letter ‘X’. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at Arun Babu, and saying, ‘Three rules you, three rules you, three rules you!’

Then, suddenly her face dissolved and it became Lalmohan Babu’s face. He was grinning from ear to ear and saying, ‘Three thousand copies sold in one month . . . Kalmohan Bengali, that’s my name!’

Then I woke with a start. A noise at the door had woken me. This was followed by the sound of two men struggling with each other. It was raining outside.

I reached out automatically and pressed the switch of the bedside lamp. Nothing happened. I had forgotten Bihar, like Calcutta, had frequent power cuts.

Something fell on the floor with a thud. ‘Get your torch, Topshe,’ said Feluda’s voice, ‘I dropped mine.’

I groped in the dark and eventually found my torch, but not before I had knocked over a glass of water and broken it.

Feluda was standing near the door, his face flushed with helpless rage.

‘Who was it, Feluda? He got away, didn’t he?’

‘Yes. I didn’t see his face, but he was large and hefty. I think I know why he had been sent here.’

‘Why?’

‘To steal.’

‘Did he take anything?’

‘No, but he would have taken something very valuable, if I wasn’t a light sleeper.’

‘Something valuable? But we haven’t got anything valuable, have we?’

Feluda did not answer me. ‘One thing is now quite clear, Topshe,’ he said slowly. ‘I am not the only one who was been able to work out the meaning of Mahesh Chowdhury’s riddles. But for this other man, it is a bit too late.’

When Lalmohan Babu heard about the thief the next day, he said, ‘I told you to keep your door locked, didn’t I? There have always been petty thieves in these areas!’

‘You keep your door locked for fear of the tiger, Lalmohan Babu, not because of possible theft. Come on, admit it.’

‘All right, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it? A locked door would protect you from both a thief and a ferocious animal . . . Bulakiprasad, where’s our breakfast?’

‘Why are you in such a hurry this morning?’

‘Why, aren’t we going to watch the capture of Sultan?’

‘Who’s going to catch him? Karandikar has vanished, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but he’s still bound to be around somewhere, and I bet he’s heard of plans to kill his tiger. He won’t be able to stay away, Felu Babu, mark my words. Just think what a thrilling event we might get to watch! Oh, we mustn’t miss this chance. I don’t understand how you can take this so calmly.’

We finished breakfast by eight o’clock and got ready to go to Kailash to return the diaries and the letters. Akhil Chakravarty turned up unexpectedly.

‘One of your neighbours is a homoeopath, and a friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘I was going to see him, but I thought I’d just drop in to say hello, since your house was on the way.’

‘Good. Please have a seat. Tell me,’ Feluda said, ‘did the herbal oil help in controlling your friend’s temper?’

‘Good heavens, did Mahesh mention that in his diary?’

‘Yes, amongst other things.’

‘I see. To tell you the truth, what really helped Mahesh was his own will power. I saw how difficult it was for him to give up drinking, but he did it. It wasn’t simply because of a herbal oil or anything like that.’

‘Since you mention the word “will”, can you tell us if he made one?’

‘I don’t know the details, but I do know that Mahesh changed his first will.’

‘I think his second son, Biren, was dropped from the second will.’

‘What makes you say that? Did he mention this in his diary?’

‘No. He told me just before he died. Do you remember his gestures? He raised two fingers, then he said “we . . . we . . . ” and then he shook his thumb. He couldn’t quite manage to say “will”. If the two fingers indicated “Deuce”, then the rest of the message could only mean that Deuce had not been left anything in his will.’

‘Brilliant! And you’re quite right. Biren had a share in the first will Mahesh made. But when he stopped writing, Mahesh waited for five years before changing it, cutting him out altogether. He was deeply hurt by Biren’s silence.’

‘If Biren came back, do you think Mahesh Chowdhury would have changed his will a second time?’

‘Undoubtedly. I am sure of it.’

Feluda paused for a second before asking his next question. ‘Did you ever think Biren might have become a sadhu?’

‘Look, it was I who drew up Biren’s horoscope. I knew he would leave home quite early in life. So the possibility of his renouncing the whole world and becoming a sadhu cannot be ruled out.’

‘One last question. That day, in Rajrappa, you said you were going to look for your friend. But you arrived on the scene long after we had found Mr Chowdhury. Did you get lost? It’s not a very large or complex area, is it?’

‘I knew you’d ask me that,’ Akhil Chakravarty smiled. ‘You’re right, of course. It’s not a complex area, but you must have noticed how the main path parts in two directions. I would have found Mahesh easily enough if I had turned left. But I turned right instead. Do you know why? It was only because my childhood memories suddenly came back. Fifty-five years ago, I had visited the same spot and carved my initials and the date on a rock. I remembered that and felt an irresistible urge to go and see if it was still there. And it was, as were the figures I had carved: ABC, 15.5.23. If you don’t believe me, you can go and see it for yourself.’

We reached Kailash to discover that Arun Babu had already left. Old Noor Muhammad told us Pritin Babu was at home, and went off to inform him. He came down to see us in a few moments.

We handed him the packets of diaries and the letters and were about to leave, when someone else entered the drawing room, it was Neelima Devi. I noticed her husband going pale as she came in.

‘There is something you ought to know, Mr Mitter,’ she said. ‘My husband should tell you himself, but he doesn’t want to.’

Pritin Babu looked at her appealingly, but Neelima Devi didn’t even glance at him. ‘When he found my father-in-law that day,’ she went on, ‘my husband dropped his tape recorder. I found it and put it in my bag. I think you’ll find it useful. Here it is.’

Pritin Babu tried once more to stop his wife, but failed.

‘Thank you,’ Feluda said and took the small, flat recorder from Neelima Devi. Then he put it in his pocket.

Pritin Babu looked as if he was about to break down.

I had a feeling Feluda was as interested in watching the capture of the tiger as Lalmohan Babu and myself. The instructions he gave our driver upon leaving Kailash proved that I was right.

Lalmohan Babu’s enthusiasm, however, now seemed to be mixed with a degree of anxiety.

‘Arun Chowdhury has a number of guns. Why didn’t you ask for one, Felu Babu?’ he said after a while. ‘What good will your Colt .32 do if we see the tiger?’

‘Well, if a fly came and sat on the tiger, my revolver would be quite adequate to destroy it, Lalmohan Babu, I assure you.’

Then Feluda lapsed into silence, holding the recorder close to his ear and listening intently. He did not tell us what he heard, and we knew better than to ask him.

Last night’s rain had left the earth wet and muddy in many places. As we got closer to a crossing, it became clear that a car and other vehicles had turned left from here, for there were fresh tyre marks going towards the forest. We made a left turn, too, and followed these marks. A mile later, we saw three different vehicles standing next to a banyan tree: a jeep from the Forest Department, Arun Babu’s Fiat and a huge truck from the circus that had the tiger’s cage in it. Five or six men were sitting under the tree. They told us a team had already gone into the forest to look for the tiger, and pointed us in the right direction. I recognized one of the men, having seen him at the circus before. Feluda asked him if Sultan’s trainer had gone with the others. He said the new trainer, Chandran, was with them, but
there was still no sign of Karandikar.

We got out of the car and began walking. I had no idea what lay in store, but knew that Arun Babu had a gun, and the shikari from the Forest Department was undoubtedly similarly armed. There was therefore little fear of the tiger being allowed to attack anyone. Lalmohan Babu looked a little disappointed, presumably because Chandran was there instead of Karandikar.

Faint footprints on the damp ground guided us. There were not many trees in this part of the forest, so movement was fairly easy. A peacock cried out a couple of times, which could well be a warning to other animals that a tiger was in the vicinity.

Ten minutes later, we heard a different noise. It was decidedly the tiger, but it wasn’t actually roaring. It sounded more like a growl, as though the tiger was irritated by something.

We walked on and, only a few minutes later, through the gap between two trees, our eyes fell on a strange sight. I call it strange because I never thought I’d see something like this outside the arena of a circus.

Three men stood in a row a few feet away from where we had stopped. Two of them had guns. The one in Arun Chowdhury’s hands was raised and pointed at some object in front of him.

What they were facing was an open area, a bit like a circus ring. A man was standing in the middle of this ring, a long whip in his right hand and a torn branch in his left. Judging by the dressed wound on his left shoulder, he was the new trainer, Chandran.

Chandran had his back to us. He was moving forward slowly and with extreme caution, cracking his whip every now and then. The animal he was approaching was one we had met already. It was Sultan, last seen on the road to Ramgarh.

Four other men were standing at a little distance. Two of them were holding a heavy chain, which would no doubt be put around Sultan’s neck, if he allowed himself to be captured. What was most amazing was Sultan’s behaviour. He clearly did not wish to be caught, but—at the same time—was making no attempts to run away. His eyes seemed to convey not anger or ferocity, but annoyance and a great deal of contempt. The low growl he kept up indicated the same thing.

Chandran was getting closer every minute, but he did not seem too sure of himself. Perhaps he could not forget that the same animal had attacked him already. I cast a quick look at Arun Babu. From the
way he was holding his gun, I had no doubt that he would fire at once if Sultan showed the slightest sign of aggression. Feluda was standing before me, a little to the left; and Lalmohan Babu was by my side. His mouth was hanging so wide open that he didn’t look as if he’d ever be able to close it. He told me afterwards that the memory of everything he had seen in circuses before had been totally wiped out by the show we witnessed in the forest.

When Chandran came within five yards, Sultan suddenly stiffened and began to crouch. At the same instant, Feluda leapt and reached Arun Babu, stretching a hand to change the position of his gun. Its point now faced the ground.

‘Sultan!’

A deep voice boomed out. We had been joined by another man. Feluda had obviously seen him arrive and decided to act before it was too late.

‘Sultan! Sultan!’

The voice became softer, and the tone much more gentle. The man stepped forward and entered the stage. It was Karandikar. In his hand was another whip, but he was not cracking it. He moved closer, calling Sultan softly in a low voice, as if he was a pet dog or a cat.

Chandran looked absolutely amazed, and stepped back. Arun Babu lowered his hands. The officer from the Forest Department gaped, very much like Lalmohan Babu. There were eleven men present in the forest to witness what followed in the next few minutes. With incredible tenderness and dexterity, Sultan’s old trainer calmed him down, put the chain around his neck and then walked him over to where the truck stood with his cage. The men waiting outside quickly opened its door and placed a high stool before it. Mr Karandikar cracked his whip just once and said, ‘Up!’ Without further ado, Sultan ran, jumped on the stool and into the cage. The men locked the door instantly.

We had followed Mr Karandikar and were standing at a distance. He turned to face us as soon as the tiger was safely back in his cage. Then he gave us a salute, and made his way to a taxi waiting near the other cars. Without a word or a glance at anyone else, he got into it and drove off.

‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Arun Chowdhury. Turning to Feluda, he added, ‘Thanks.’