The Cursed Inheritance

by Sutapa Basu

  Searching…that’s the cue!

  Yes. Clearly this mess is the consequence of a quest. For what? By whom? And did they find it? Three questions leaped instantly into my mind.

  Gingerly, I stepped around the papers carpeting the ground. Squiggly writing, I recognised as Dadu’s, marked many sheets…a few of them embossed with the Foreign Service letterhead. I approached the glass cabinets stacked with books and artifacts. Ornamental busts of kings and queens, jade cats, inscribed tablets and pottery interspersed books of reference, archaeology, and Egypt. My foot stubbed on a few tomes scattered on the floor. Apparently, the cabinets had also been examined. Who would want to steal books? Clearly, the snoopers were looking for something else. Possibilities churned my mind as I scanned the mayhem.

  I went to the armoire. Fingering the shirts, kurtas and trousers, I noticed a pair of khakis and a couple of floppy hats. I looked back at the photo on the wall. Dadu was wearing an identical pair of khakis…maybe this very one. I stretched my hand to touch it, disturbing the other garments. A rich aroma of Havana cigars tingled my nose. So Dadu smoked cigars…fine tastes…I sought out his face in the portrait…a man of contradictions…contemporary yet retro…smoked Havana cigars but liked food cooked on coal stoves….

  My eyes fell on the upended bedside table drawer and heaps of personal effects scattered on the marble floor; reading glasses, cigar box, silver cigar cutter, small prescription cases. The usual clutter….

  I glanced at the study desk. Its bareness perturbed me. Only two objects were on it; a green jade jar bristling with pens and pencils and a large, black piece of onyx. I examined the black stone that was sculpted into a kind of insect. Mounted on a wooden plinth, its body was a polished black shell with four bent splayed legs. What held my attention were two curved claw-like front legs. I picked it up and took it to the window. A thin patina of dust covered it. After surveying it from all angles, I identified it as a kind of a scarab beetle. I had read something about scarabs being significant in ancient Egyptian civilisation. Dadu must have picked it up on his tours and possibly used it as a paperweight. I put it back on the table. Other than these two antiques, a large writing folder inserted with several sheets of blotting paper lay on the glass surface of the desk.

  The desktop’s pristine appearance didn’t fit. I glanced at it and then at the rest of the chaotic room. And the cogs went into fast track. Hmmm…the sheets on the floor…evidently Dadu was a writer. Would he write down his thoughts, analysis, research notes on only random loose sheets of paper? Wouldn’t he prefer diaries or notebooks that would be more secure? But there were no personal books of this kind anywhere…neither on the table nor in the cabinets. That’s what does not fit. I went over to the desk and peeked into the open drawers. Their emptiness sealed my suspicions…all his written records had been stolen!

  All of a sudden, I was furious. How dare they? How dare people walk into my house with impunity, coolly steal things and leave brazenly? I made up my mind… No way will this go unchallenged… I must get to the bottom of this. I will nab them…the cheek!

  With this deliberation, I took a more discerning review of the situation. It occurred to me that while the thieves had stolen written material, nothing that could be sold for money, such as…the silver cutter or the jade penholder were taken. Why is that only diaries and notebooks were removed? Did something of great value reside in them…some kind information? If so, I need to get hold of them. I need to find the thieves. How? I could go to the police and report this break in, but should I? Wouldn’t that alert the culprits into hiding? No…no police at this stage. First, I need to identify the culprits and retrieve the valuable objects or information from them. I must investigate into this by myself before getting help from the authorities.

  6.

  Okay.

  Where do I start? My eyes roved the topsy-turvy room. I noted a small white card face down on the floor. I picked it up and turned it over. Black, engraved text sprang up.

  There’s a mistake in this. The ‘B’ must be an error for ‘H’.

  I read it again. No. It was Birendranath Sarkar not Hirendranath Sarkar! And Dadu was not a barrister. Who is this Birendranath? Is he from the Sarkar family? Were the thieves hunting for this? No…don’t think so….

  Once again, I delved through the cabinets, armoire, even under the bed. But my efforts did not yield any evidence of why the burglary had taken place or what had been stolen. Eventually I was left with just a hunch that diaries and notebooks had been pilfered. However, why they were valuable, I hadn’t the foggiest. The only thing worth investigating, was the visiting card with the curious name.

  Qualms rose up…could I accomplish what I want to? Should I tell somebody, maybe, Lokkhi mashi about the robbery? But it did not appeal to me. Why give up so soon…need to take a little more time… Furthermore, I was not sure of who was guilty. I may end up confiding in the culprit.

  Something else riled me up! I realised that not only was this audacious offender familiar with the mansion but…had the nerve to think he could easily manipulate me. I went through the list of people who fell into this category of suspects.

  To enter through the padlocked door, access to the keys was imperative. Till now, who had the keys? The estate manager, Gonuda.

  No doubt, Lokkhi mashi could have filched the keys, too. But the kind of search conducted here needed time. Would she be able to retain the keys that long? Probably not.

  Therefore, the needle of suspicion points to the estate manager. Was this nefarious deed his handiwork? Gonuda’s face flitted across my mind…his sudden wariness when I had asked for the keys. Is this what he was afraid I would discover?

  After a couple of minutes reflection, I decided to say nothing. I would act as if the disorderliness of my grandfather’s room was not an extraordinary occurrence. And I would watch like a hawk. If Gonuda is the culprit, he will give himself away, somehow. And then I will find a way to make him confess…the villain!

  However, I couldn’t help feeling my amateur sleuthing was not up to the mark. Dejectedly, I strolled over to the desk and bent over the blotting paper folder. It was a white blank… But hey! What are these marks? Faintly ingrained into the thick paper were some impressions. From the lot in the jar, I chose a pencil with a blunt graphite nib. Very gently, I started rubbing the graphite across the marks. Gradually, the imprint became darker…and words began to leap out one by one. When all of it was visible, I read them, stumbling over some of them.

  The squiggly letters were Dadu’s typical handwriting. I read them over and over.

  What do they mean? I could not make the head or tail of them. Was it like a riddle? I needed time to pore over this.

  I slid out the specific sheet from the folder. Squeezing the bulky paper into a wad, I stuffed it into my pocket. Whether it was gibberish or not, the pilferers had certainly missed it. Or…the unpalatable thought hit me…they had found what they were seeking for…and so ignored it.

  Just then the bell chimed. Gonuda!

  Quickly pulling the doors shut, I turned the key in the lock. Over the balustrade, I observed Lokkhi mashi crossing to the gates. As I watched, she opened them a little and stuck her hand out. Within minutes, she was bolting them again. In her hand was an old cloth bag with green leaves poking out. She must have called for fresh vegetables, I surmised.

  I took a few deep breaths. This entire episode of exploring Dadu’s room had shaken me up. Walking could help calm me down. Besides, after the intense mental workout, my brain needed some airing. As I exited the gates, the rickshaw pullers perked up. However, their eagerness dwindled when they saw it was that girl who prefers to walk. I turned away from the main street and began walking down towards the other end of the avenue. Morning coolness had given way to sultriness. Still, I preferred a little perspiration to the freezing London drizzle dribbling under my collar. I smiled. My Indian traits are stronger than I knew.

  Little way ahead, I observed few people staring
up at a large billboard set up on the pavement. Curious to see the advertisement that was getting so many eyeballs, I approached it. When I looked up at the board, I was amazed to see newspaper pages pasted on it. Men and women were reading the day’s daily whose separate pages, front and back, were plastered on the board. Both the English and Bengali newspapers were there. What a fine way to take the day’s news to people! Especially, to those who could not afford to buy it. Shuffling in among the readers were house helps, rickshaw pullers or street vendors. This is what Dad had meant when he said Kolkata was a city of the literate rather than the rich. It sure was!

  I walked on scanning the drab yellow houses, wondering who lived in them. A ubiquitous rickshaw rolled by. The scrawny puller hung desperately on the shafts trying to balance the weight of the plump housewife plonked on the high seat with overflowing shopping bags. Her apathetic expression made my toes curl.

  All the exertion had made me hungry. Lokkhi mashi’s mamlette had long since vanished. I retraced my steps towards the McDonald’s. Sipping mango shake and munching a Chicken McGrill, I chewed on the morning’s occurrence. In my mind’s eye, I scanned each inch of Dadu’s room, trying to spy some detail that I may have missed. While the needle did point to Gonuda, I did not have infallible evidence that he was the transgressor. If I only I knew what he was looking for, it would throw light on this question.

  And what about the lines on the blotting paper? How did that happen? Did they transfer on the sheet accidently, when Dadu was writing for some other purpose? Or did he intentionally hide the lines in that manner…to be discovered by the right person not the wrong one? If the latter was true, then the meaning hidden in those lines are of great significance. Possibly it alludes to the asset Gonuda or the thief was searching in Dadu’s writing… I wish I knew… I need to decipher those lines to find what is hidden in them… I have to read them….

  Picking my dinner bag, I walked out resolutely. Layered in orange and pink cumulus, dusk was falling as I entered Sarkar Bari. Returning Lokkhi mashi’s smile, I ran upstairs. Slipping a hand under the mattress, I extracted the sheet. The folds had smoothened out somewhat as I read the lines, slowly.

  Your destiny my claws have knit

  No Man can ever destroy me

  Forever on Pharaoh’s chest I sit

  Visible to only minds that see.

  What did it all mean? I tried to fathom it line by line.

  The second line seemed clear… No Man can ever destroy me. So, it is about the indestructibility…whose? Who is this immortal person…creature? The first line mentions ‘claws’, so I can assume the immortal being is a creature. The third line says it is sitting on the Pharaoh’s chest. Oh God! I groaned. I know nothing about Egypt, pharaohs or their history. Why did Dadu have to assume that people knew everything that he did?

  Then my head cleared. This was Dadu’s way of sheathing information. Unless one knew about Egyptian history or had access to it, all this would be Greek to the finder. Clever!

  I took out my phone to google Egypt.

  Right then, young voices floated up. Golpo Didu’s children had come. I kept the phone down and went out into the gallery. Maybe, the boy from last night would be among them….

  Shadows smudged the patio though the sky was still pale blue in the aftermath of sundown. I tried to seek my friend in the excited group below, but the light was not sufficient to discern faces. As I leaned on the balustrade, Lokkhi mashi began her story. This evening, it was about a deity gifted with ten arms. My interest was piqued for I had attended a few Durga Puja celebrations at Indian temples in London with Dad. Mesmerising me, her melodious rendition glided up on the salty sea breeze. Towards the end, the storyteller began to describe how the festival used to be held at Sarkar Bari.

  Her graphic eloquence made pictures dance before my eyes. I saw the iconic splendid idol ensconced in the patio. Ten hands holding symbols of war and peace, her sons and daughters around her, the third eye sagacious, lips curved in contentment, restraining Evil with one foot, she stood triumphantly tall. Scurrying below her were the denizens of Sarkar Bari. Men bringing in offerings, women garbed in marital opulence propitiating the deity, children in new clothes running around. Merriment, laughter and joy ringing through the patio, pillared galleries and open rooms. How glorious Sarkar Bari must have looked…how elated the mansion must have felt…! I heard conch shells blowing, bells ringing, incantations chanted in the depths of the tranquil moonlight cascading through the mansion. Why do tales, both myths and truth, have to end? Nostalgic melancholy filled my heart though I had never seen Sarkar Bari’s dazzling days.

  7.

  Slowly, I turned back to the room. The sheet fluttering on my bed recalled my task. Lokkhi mashi’s tale had filled my senses so much that it had gone clean out of my mind. Taking the sheet, I strolled over to the window to catch the moonlight. I began reading each word slowly.

  It was the last line that troubled me the most. Visible to only minds that see. It is the most convoluted part…the creature can be seen only by minds not eyes…what kind of mind game is Dadu playing?

  ‘It’s not difficult if you don’t think so hard.’

  I looked up. There he was…standing in the half-light, hair falling into his eyes…eyes that observed me with empathy. Once again, that feeling came over me… I have seen him…somewhere, sometime….

  ‘Come here,’ I crooked a finger. ‘You read it and tell me what’s so easy about understanding this line.’

  He did not move. ‘I know it,’ he declared, tossing his hair.

  That made me frown. ‘You do?’ Was he the intruder who had foraged through Dadu’s room?

  ‘Yes. I was there when he wrote it,’ he replied.

  That made my eyes pop out. ‘Then you must know what he meant by these words.’

  ‘Uhhh.’ He shook his head.

  My shoulders sagged.

  Miffed, I retorted, ‘Then how do you know the words are easy to figure out?’

  He shrugged. ‘They speak about your fate. Your future is already decided, you see. And it will take place in Sarkar Bari. Simple!’ He spread his hands. ‘What is difficult about that?’

  ‘What do you mean…my future is decided? Who decided it? Besides, I know what my future is and it is not even in India, let alone Sarkar Bari,’ I countered.

  He chuckled, as if that was a joke.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Because…you think you know a lot,’ he declared, his childish face taking on a wise look. ‘But you can’t even solve a simple riddle.’ He smiled…hey! I know that smile…but where….

  ‘Okay, Mr Know All! Tell me what Forever on Pharaoh’s chest I sit means?’ I held out the sheet to him.

  Those familiar eyes turned serious. ‘You have look for the path. It is right here though you are unable to see it. Walking the path will not be easy. Evil people will hinder you, but you will know what to do. When you reach the end, there is immense joy waiting. Your mission makes it worthwhile to crush all barriers.’

  I gaped at him. What is he spouting? Predicting my future…journey… Isn’t he a little boy and I, the adult?

  ‘I don’t…don’t understand a word of what you are saying,’ I stuttered.

  His large brown eyes, suffused with compassion, regarded me. It was not a feeling associated with children. But to me, he seemed less a child, now and more a counsellor. However, I needed direct answers not ambiguity right now.

  ‘Don’t leave Sarkar Bari. Go back to the room. Your answers are there,’ he advised.

  Somehow, it seemed normal that he had known what I was thinking. So much was unusual about him... What baffled me more was his mere presence had erased all doubts within me…as if things will surely fall into place simply because he said so.

  I asked, ‘Whose room? Dadu’s?’ The boy nodded, his bright eyes on me. However, one answer was still missing. ‘What is your name?’

  About to get up and approach him, I halted seeing Lokkhi
mashi hastening inside holding up a lighted lamp. Its sudden illumination blinded me…fading out the boy. When I peered into the shadows beyond the housekeeper, I could not see him anymore.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ I shouted, ‘Where are you? What’s your name?’ I ran out into the gallery, looked up and down its length.

  A breeze lightly touched my face murmuring, ‘Shurrr…’ I wasn’t really sure I heard it because I was too absorbed in surveying the deserted, dark gallery.

  Lokkhi mashi came out. ‘Who is there, Didi? Who are you calling?’

  ‘The…the boy. Didn’t you see him? He was just inside the door when you entered…,’ I was confused. Where had he gone so quickly?

  ‘What boy, Annadidi? One of my story children?’ She did not see me shaking my head. ‘Don’t worry. I will see to them. Tell me, what will you have for dinner?’

  ‘Uhhh…?’ I was still sorting it out in my head. ‘No, no. Nothing.’

  ‘All right, Didi,’ the woman said and began to arrange the bed and the netting.

  When she left, I called after her, ‘Make sure all the gates are locked.’ And then wondered why I had said that. Never been so concerned about security…until now….

  I lay gazing up at the net roof, my mind full of the evening’s conversation. As opposed to my turbulent mind after the morning discovery, a peace had descended on it. Very few words had actually passed between the boy and me, yet the warm benevolence he exuded had calmed my fears. Nothing seemed so dubious or uncertain or challenging.