by Satyajit Ray
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.
<
br /> ‘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.
Four
It seemed cooler the following morning, so Baba told me to wrap a muffler round my throat. I could tell from his frown and preoccupied air that he was deeply worried. Dhiru Kaka had left the house very early in the morning without telling anyone where he was going. After yesterday’s incident, he had said only one thing over and over: ‘How will I now face Srivastava?’
Baba had tried to comfort him by saying: ‘But it wasn’t your fault! How were, you to know the thief would turn up in your absence dressed as a sadhu? Why don’t you go to the police? Didn’t you say you knew Inspector Gargari?’ So it could be that Dhiru Kaka had gone to inform the police.
Baba said over breakfast: ‘I had thought of taking you to the Residency. But perhaps it’s best that I stay in today. You two can go out for a while, if you like.’
I nearly smiled at this, for Feluda had already said he’d like to explore the place on foot and I had decided to join him. I knew what he had in mind was something other than just aimless walking. His eyes had taken on a steely glint since last night.
We left shortly after eight.
As soon as we were out of the house, Feluda said, ‘Let me warn you, Topshe. If you talk or ask too many questions, I’ll send you back. Just keep your mouth shut and walk by my side.’
‘But what if Dhiru Kaka informs the police?’
‘So what if he does?’
‘Suppose they catch the thief before you?’
‘No matter. I’ll change my name, that’s all.’
Dhiru Kaka lived on Frazer Road. It was a quiet street, with houses which had large gardens on either side. It led to Dupling Road. Unlike Calcutta, all roads in Lucknow were clearly marked.
There was a paan shop at the corner where Dupling Road joined Park Road. Feluda ambled towards this shop.
‘Can I have a meetha (sweet) paan?’ he asked.
‘Yes, babu, I’ll make you one with special masala,’ said the paanwalla.
‘Thank you.’
The paan was duly handed to him. Feluda paid for it, put it in his mouth and said, ‘Look, I am new to this town. Can you tell me where can I find the Ramakrishna Mission?’
‘Ramakrishna Mishir?’
‘No, no. Ramakrishna Mission. I’ve heard that a great sadhu is visiting Lucknow and is staying at the Ramakrishna Mission.’
The paanwalla shook his head and muttered something I couldn’t catch. But we got some information from another source.
A man with a huge moustache was lying on a string bed nearby, singing merrily and beating an old rusted tin. He now stopped singing and said, ‘Would that be a bearded sadhubaba? Wearing dark glasses? Yesterday I spoke to such a man. He asked me where the nearest tonga stand was, and I showed him.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Five minutes from here. Just after that crossing, you can see a whole row of tongas.’
‘Shukriya,’ said Feluda.
‘That was “thank you” in Urdu,’ he said to me as an aside. I had never heard the word before.
The eighth tongawalla we asked admitted that a bearded, saffron-clad man had indeed hired his tonga the previous evening.
‘Where did you take him?’
‘Istishan,’ said the tongawalla.
‘You mean the railway station?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘How much do you charge to get there?’
‘Seventy-five paise.’
‘And how long does it take?’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘If I pay you a whole rupee, can you get us to the station in eight minutes? Now?’
‘Why, have you a train to catch?’
‘Yes, the best train in the world. The Imperial Express!’
The tongawalla grinned, foolishly and said, ‘All right. I’ll get you there in eight minutes.’
On our way, I asked a little hesitantly, ‘Do you think the sadhu is still waiting at the station clutching that ring?’ At this, Feluda glared at me so furiously that I promptly shut up.
A little later, he asked our driver, ‘Did the sadhubaba have any luggage?’
The driver thought for a minute and said, ‘Yes, I think he had a case. But not a large one.’
‘I see.’
On reaching the station, we began asking all the likely people who might remember having seen the sadhu. But those at the ticket booth or the gate couldn’t help; nor could the porters. The manager of a restaurant at the railway station said, ‘Are you talking about Pavitrananda Thakur? The one who lives in Dehra Dun? He arrived only three days ago. He couldn’t have gone back so early. Besides, he always travels with a huge entourage.’
At last, the chowkidar of the first-class waiting-room said he had seen a man who fitted our description.
‘Did he sit here in the waiting-room?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Well?’
‘He went into the bathroom. He was carrying a small case.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I don’t know, babu. I didn’t see him after that.’
‘Were you here throughout?’
‘Yes. The Doon Express was about to arrive. There were a lot of people here. I didn’t leave the room at all.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t notice him again.’
‘Well—all right, perhaps I didn’t.’
But the man looked as though what he really wanted to say was that if the sadhubaba had come out of the bathroom, he would certainly have seen him.
If that was the case, where had the sadhu disappeared?
We came out of the station. Here, too, stood a row of tongas. We got into one. I was beginning to look upon these contraptions with a new respect. The last one had taken exactly seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds to reach the station.
I couldn’t help asking another question as we set off. ‘Did the sadhubaba simply vanish in the bathroom?’
‘Yes, he might have done,’ said Feluda. ‘Sadhus and sannyasis in the olden days could disappear at will—or so I’ve heard.’
I knew he wasn’t serious, but he spoke with such a perfectly straight face that it was impossible to tell.
A funny noise greeted us as we reached the main road. It sounded like a band, and it was coming closer. Bang, bang, twiddle-dee-dum!
Then we saw it was a tonga like ours, with the difference that this one was decorated with artificial flowers, balloons and colourful flags. The music was coming from a loudspeaker, and a man wearing a fool’s cap was throwing great fistfuls of printed paper at people.
‘Advertisement for a Hindi fi
lm,’ Feluda said.
He was right. I could see, as the other tonga went past us, that a brightly painted poster was pasted on its side. The film was called Daku Mansoor. A couple of handbills landed in our tonga, and with them, came a white sheet of paper, screwed into a ball. It hit against Feluda’s chest and fell on the floor.
‘I saw the man who threw it, Feluda,’ I yelled, ‘he was dressed like an Afghan. But—’
Before I could finish speaking, Feluda had picked up the piece of paper, clambered down and started to run in the man’s direction. I simply watched with amazement the speed at which he ran, despite jostling crowds, without colliding into anyone.
The driver, by this time, had stopped the tonga. I could do nothing but wait. The music from the loudspeaker had grown faint, although a few urchins were still busy collecting the handbills. Feluda returned a few moments later, panting. He jumped into the tonga, gestured to the driver to start, and said, ‘He managed to escape only because I wasn’t familiar with the little alleyways of this place!’
‘Did you actually see him?’ I asked.
‘How could I have missed him when even you saw him?’
I said nothing more. If Feluda hadn’t already seen the man, I would have said that although he was dressed like one, the man was remarkably short for an Afghan.
Feluda now took out the screwed-up piece of paper, smoothed it out and read its contents. Then he folded it three times and put it in his wallet. I did not dare ask what was written on it.
We returned home to discover that Dhiru Kaka had come back, and with him was Srivastava. The latter did not appear to be too upset by the loss of his ring. ‘That ring had a jinx on it, I tell you,’ he said, ‘it caused trouble everywhere it went. You were lucky it was stolen in your absence. Suppose they had broken into your house at night? Suppose they had turned violent?’
Dhiru Kaka smiled at this.
‘That would have made more sense,’ he said. ‘This man simply made a fool of me. It is this that I find so hard to accept!’
‘Stop worrying, Dhiru Babu. That ring would have gone, anyway, even if I didn’t part with it. And please don’t go to the police. That would make matters worse. Whoever it was might try to attack you again!’