by Satyajit Ray
Madhavlal was right about the temple. It was certainly an ancient building, its walls broken and cracked. Plants had grown out of the cracks. Roots from a banyan tree hung down from all sides, as if they wanted to crush what was left of the roof. What must have been the inner sanctum was still there, but it was so dark inside that I didn’t think there was any question of going in.
Feluda, however, was not looking at the temple at all. He was staring behind it. About twenty yards away, just as Devtosh Babu had said, stood a large, old peepul tree. Its branches were dry, shrivelled and bare. There were virtually no leaves left. But what the tree did have, visible even from a distance, was a big hollow, at least five feet up from the ground.
We followed Feluda in breathless anticipation. As we got closer, we saw to our amazement that funny marks and patches on the tree trunk near the hollow, together with its uneven surface, had truly helped create the appearance of an old, toothless man with a gaping mouth. ‘Is that the east?’ Feluda asked, turning his eyes to the right.
‘Yes, sir,’ Madhavlal replied.
‘Look, the two palms! And I don’t think I need even bother with measuring the distance. It’s got to be fifty-five paces.’
The two palms were clearly visible, fifty-five yards away. We moved towards them, and spotted it almost immediately: the ground between the palms had been dug quite recently. There was a fairly large hole, now filled with water. Any treasure that might have been there had gone.
‘What! Hidden treasure vanished?’ Lalmohan Babu was the first to find his tongue. He forgot to whisper.
Feluda was looking grim again, although what we had just seen could hardly be regarded as a new mystery. Whoever killed Mr Sengupta had obviously removed the treasure. Feluda stared at the hole in the ground for a few seconds, then said, ‘Why don’t you rest for a while? I’d like to make a quick survey.’
My legs were aching after walking stealthily for such a long time. I was quite thankful for this chance to rest, and so was Lalmohan Babu. We found a dry area under the peepul tree, and sat down. Madhavlal put his rifle down, placing it against the tree trunk and began to tell us a story of how he had been attacked by a bear when he was thirteen, and how he had managed to escape. But I couldn’t give him my full attention, for my eyes kept following Feluda. He lit a cigarette, placed it between his lips and began examining the ground around the ancient temple. I saw him pick something up—possibly a cigarette stub—and then drop it again. Then he knelt, and bent low to look closely at the ground, his face almost touching it.
After ten minutes of close scrutiny outside, Feluda went into the dark hall. I could only marvel at his courage, the temple was probably crawling with snakes and other reptiles. When the temple was in use, it was supposed to have had a statue of Durga. Kalapahar chopped off its head and four of its ten arms. Hence its current name.
Feluda emerged a minute later, and made a rather cryptic remark. ‘This is amazing!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who knew one would have to step into darkness in order to see the light?’
‘What, Felu Babu, do you mean the darkness has gone?’ Lalmohan Babu shouted.
‘Partly, yes. You might call it the first night after a moonless one.’
‘Oh. That would mean waiting for a whole fortnight to get a full moon!’
‘No, Lalmohan Babu. You are only thinking of the moon. There is such a thing as the sun, remember? It comes out at the end of each dark night, doesn’t it?’
‘You mean to say tomorrow . . . tomorrow we might see the climax of this story? The end?’
‘I am saying nothing of the kind, Lalmohan Babu. All I am prepared to tell you is that, after hours of darkness, I think I am beginning to see a glimmer of light. Come on, Topshe, let’s go home.’
Ten
We had left the house at ten o’clock. By the time we got back, it was half past twelve. Feluda wanted to return the sword to Mahitosh Babu, but we discovered on our return that he had gone with Mr Sanyal to visit the Head of the Forest Department in the forest bungalow in Kalbuni. So we went to our room, taking the sword with us.
Before we did this, however, we spent some time on the ground floor. Feluda went to the trophy room. I could not tell what he was thinking, but he began to examine all the guns that were displayed there. He picked up each one, and inspected its barrel, its butt, trigger and safety catch. Lalmohan Babu began to ask him something, but Feluda told him to be quiet.
‘This is a time to think, Lalmohan Babu,’ he said, ‘not to chat.’ By this time, Lalmohan Babu had become quite familiar with Feluda’s moods, so he promptly shut up.
Feluda finished inspecting the trophy room and turned to go upstairs. We followed silently. He spoke again on reaching the veranda on the first floor. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, stopping suddenly and staring at Devtosh Babu’s room. ‘Why is the elder brother’s room locked?’
There was a padlock on the door. Where could he have gone? Why had he left the room locked? Feluda said nothing more. We reached our room.
Feluda spent the next few minutes sitting quietly, frowning; then he got up and paced restlessly, stopped short and sat down again. Two minutes later, he was back on his feet. I knew this mood well. He always acted like this as he got closer to unravelling a complex mystery.
‘Since there is no one about, and Devtosh Babu’s room is locked,’ he said suddenly, ‘it might not be a bad idea to do a bit of snooping.’
He left the room. I stuck my head out of the door and saw him go into Mahitosh Babu’s study. I came back into our room to find Lalmohan Babu stretched on the leopard skin on the floor. He was using its head as a pillow. Clearly, seeing a tiger’s pug mark in the forest had gone a long way to boost his courage. After a few seconds of silence, he remarked, ‘Thank goodness I thought of dedicating my book to Mahitosh Sinha-Roy! Could we ever have had such a thrilling experience if I hadn’t? Just take this morning: a bullet in a bamboo grove, a snake in the grass, pug marks of a Royal Bengal, a ruined old temple, a famous peepul tree . . . what more could anyone want? All that’s left to make the experience complete is an encounter with the man-eater.’
‘Do you really want that?’ I asked.
‘I am not scared any more,’ he replied, yawning noisily. ‘If you have Madhavlal on one side, and Felu Mitter on the other, no man-eater can do anything to you!’
He closed his eyes, and seemed to go to sleep. I picked up Mahitosh Babu’s book and had read a few pages, when Feluda returned. His footsteps made Lalmohan Babu open his eyes and sit up.
‘Did you find anything?’
‘No. I did not find what I was looking for, but that is what is significant.’ After a brief pause, Feluda asked, ‘Do you remember why Yudhisthir’s chariot got stuck to the ground?’
‘Because he told a lie?’
‘Exactly. But these days, a liar doesn’t always get punished by God. Other men have to catch and punish him.’
I could not ask him what he meant, for a jeep arrived as he finished speaking. Only a few minutes later, a servant turned up to say Mahitosh Babu had returned, and lunch had been served.
Despite all that had happened, we had all enjoyed our meals every day. Mahitosh Babu obviously had a very good cook. Today, the food looked inviting enough, but our host began a conversation on a rather sombre note. ‘Mr Mitter,’ he said solemnly, ‘since you have discovered the meaning of Adityanarayan’s message, I don’t think I have the right to keep you here any longer. If you like, I can make arrangements for your return. One of my men is going to Jalpaiguri. He can book your tickets for you.’
Feluda did not reply immediately. Then he said slowly, ‘I was thinking of going back myself. You have been an excellent host, but naturally we cannot stay here indefinitely. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here tonight and leave tomorrow morning. You see, I am a detective, and there’s been a murder. I’m sure you’ll appreciate why I want to stay a bit longer to see if any light can be thrown on the case. It is immaterial whether I can
discover the truth, or the police do their job. I only want to know what happened, and how it happened.’
Mahitosh Babu stopped eating and looked straight at Feluda. ‘There is no one in this house who would plan a murder in cold blood, Mr Mitter,’ he said firmly.
Feluda paid no attention. ‘Where is your brother?’ he asked casually. ‘Has he been taken somewhere else? His room was locked.’
Mahitosh Babu replied in the same grave tone, ‘My brother is in his room. But since last night, his . . . ailment has become worse. He has to be restrained, or he might cause serious damage to whoever came his way, yourself included. Sometimes, he starts imagining he’s seen people who died hundreds of years ago—you know, characters out of a history book. Then he attacks them if he thinks they did anything wrong in the past. Once he mistook Torit for Kalapahar and nearly throttled him to death. One of the servants saw him, luckily, and managed to take him away.’
Feluda continued to eat. ‘Did you know,’ he said conversationally, ‘the death of Mr Sengupta is not the only mystery we are dealing with? Someone ran off with your treasure, possibly the same night.’
‘What!’ Mahitosh Babu turned into a statue, holding his food a few inches from his mouth. ‘You mean you went and checked?’
‘Yes, the treasure’s gone, but we found the sword, with bloodstains on it.’
Mahitosh Babu opened his mouth to speak, but could only gulp in silence. Feluda dropped the third bombshell. ‘When the tiger attacked Mr Sengupta, someone shot at the tiger. The bullet hit a bamboo stem, but it is likely that it grazed the tiger’s body, for we found a few strands of hair. So it seems Torit Sengupta was not the only one who had gone to the forest that night. Different people with different purposes in mind . . .’
‘Poacher!’ Mr Sanyal spoke unexpectedly. ‘It must have been a poacher who entered the forest after Torit was killed. It was this poacher who shot at the tiger.’
Feluda nodded slowly. ‘That possibility cannot be ruled out. So, for the moment, we need not worry about where the bullet came from. However, we still have the bloodstained sword and the missing treasure to explain.’
‘Never mind the sword. The treasure is far more important,’ Mahitosh Babu declared. ‘Mr Mitter, we’ve got to find it. The history of the family of Sinha-Roys will remain incomplete unless it is found.’
‘Very well,’ Feluda suggested, ‘if that is the case, why don’t we all return to the spot later today? It is very close to the temple of the Chopped Goddess.’
Mahitosh Babu agreed to accompany us back to the forest. However, torrential rain—which began at half past three and continued well after six—forced us to abandon our plan. Feluda had been looking withdrawn; now he looked positively depressed. It was obvious that Mahitosh Babu wanted us to leave. If the weather did not improve the next day, we might well have to go back without solving the mystery surrounding Mr Sengupta’s death. How another visit to the temple could make a difference, I could not tell, but I knew Feluda was definitely on to something. The occasional glint in his eyes told me that very clearly.
Unable to sit in our room doing nothing, we came out and stood on the veranda when the grandfather clock struck five. The door to Devtosh Babu’s room was still locked.
‘There’s no one around,’ Lalmohan Babu whispered. ‘Why don’t we try looking through the shutters? What can the man be doing?’
Like many of Lalmohan Babu’s other suggestions, Feluda ignored this one.
The sky cleared after seven. When the stars came out, they looked as if someone had polished them before pasting them on an inky-black sky. Feluda sat on his bed, holding the sword. Lalmohan Babu and I were standing at the window, admiring the stars, when suddenly he clutched at my sleeve and said in a low voice, ‘A small torch!’
The chowkidar’s hut was visible from our window. There was a large tree near it. A man was standing under it. Another man—carrying a torch—was approaching him. His torch was of the kind that can be plugged into an electric socket and recharged. It had a small bulb, and an equally small point, but the light it gave out was very bright.
Feluda switched the light off in our room and joined us at the window.
‘Madhavlal!’ he murmured. I, too, had recognized the man who had been waiting under the tree as Madhavlal, for I could vaguely see his yellow shirt even in the dark. But it was impossible to see the other man. It could have been Mahitosh Babu, his brother, Mr Sanyal, or someone else.
The torch was switched off, but the two men were still standing close, talking. After a while, the yellow shirt moved away. The torch light came back on and returned to the house. Feluda waited for a few seconds before switching on our own light.
Lalmohan Babu was probably carrying out an investigation on his own. I saw him slip out to the veranda and return a moment later.
‘What did you see? Is that door still locked?’ Feluda asked. Lalmohan Babu gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Did you really think it was Devtosh Babu who was speaking with Madhavlal?’
‘Yes. I told you I did not trust him. A madman must not be trusted. We used to have one where I live. He was often seen standing in the middle of the road, throwing stones at passing trams and buses. Just think how dangerous that was?’
‘What did the locked door prove?’
‘That he didn’t go down just now.’
‘How can you be so sure? Have you heard any noises from that room today? How do you know that room isn’t empty?’
Lalmohan Babu began to look rather crestfallen.
‘Felu Babu, I try so hard to follow your methods and work on the same lines as you, but somehow . . . I get it all wrong!’
‘That is only because you work in reverse gear. You pick your criminal first, then try to dump the crime on him. I try to understand the nature of the crime before looking for the person who might have committed it.’
‘Are you doing the same in this case?’
‘Of course. There is no other way.’
‘But where did you start from?’
‘Kurukshetra.’
After this, Lalmohan Babu did not dare ask another question. When I went to bed that night, I had no problem in falling asleep, for the mosquito nets had been changed. But, in the middle of the night, a sudden shout woke me. I sat up, startled, to find Feluda standing in the middle of the room, clutching Adityanarayan’s sword. Moonlight poured in through an open window, making the weapon shine brightly. Feluda looked steadily at the metal blade, and repeated the word he had just spoken very loudly. Only, this time he lowered his voice.
‘Eureka! Eureka!’ he said.
Thousands of years ago, Archimedes had said the same thing when he had found what he was looking for. There was no way of telling what Feluda had discovered.
Eleven
Mr Sanyal arrived in our room the following morning, just as we finished our bed-tea. What did he want so early in the morning? I looked at him in surprise, but Feluda greeted him warmly. ‘We haven’t really had the chance to get to know each other, have we?’ he said, offering our visitor a seat. ‘As Mahitosh Babu’s friend, you must have had a lot of interesting experiences yourself.’
Mr Sanyal took a chair opposite the table. ‘Yes. I have known Mahitosh for fifty years, since our school days.’
‘May I ask you something?’
‘About Mahitosh?’
‘No, about Torit Sengupta.’
‘Yes?’
‘What sort of a man was he? I mean, what was your impression?’
‘He was a very good man. I found him intelligent, diligent and very patient.’
‘How was he at his work?’
‘Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.’
‘Yes, I got that impression myself.’
Mr Sanyal gave Feluda a level look. ‘I have come to make a request, Mr Mitter,’ he said simply.
‘A request?’ Feluda asked, offering him a cigarette. Mr Sanyal accepted it and waited until it had been lit for him. I s
aw him smoking for the first time. He inhaled deeply before replying. ‘Yes. You have seen a lot in the last three days,’ he said. ‘You are far more clever than ordinary men, so obviously you have drawn your own conclusions from what you’ve seen. Today is probably the last day of your stay. No one knows what the day has in store. No matter what happens today, Mr Mitter, I’d be very grateful if you could keep it to yourself. I am sure Mahitosh would want the same thing. If you look at the history of any old family in Bengal—particularly the zamindars—I’m sure you’ll find a lot of skeletons in their cupboards. The Sinha-Roys are no exception. However, I see no reason why the facts that come to light should be made public. I am making the same appeal to your friend, and to your cousin.’
‘Mr Sanyal,’ Feluda replied, ‘I have enjoyed Mahitosh Babu’s hospitality for three days. I am very grateful to him for his generosity. I can never go back to Calcutta and start maligning him. None of us could do that. I give you my word.’
Mr Sanyal nodded silently. Then Feluda asked another question, possibly because he couldn’t help himself. ‘Devtosh Babu’s room is still locked. Can you explain why?’
Mr Sanyal looked a little oddly at Feluda. ‘By the end of this day, Mr Mitter, the reason will become clear to you.’
‘I take it that the police are still working on this case?’
‘No.’
‘What! Why not?’
‘Well, suspicion has fallen on someone . . . but Mahitosh does not want the police to harass this person at all.’
‘You mean Devtosh Babu?’
‘Yes, who else could I mean?’
‘But even if that’s true, even if he did kill, he’s not going to be charged or punished in the usual way, is he? I mean, considering his medical condition?’
‘Yes, you are probably right. Nevertheless, the news would spread, wouldn’t it? Mahitosh doesn’t want that to happen.’