The Cursed Inheritance

by Sutapa Basu

  14.

  ‘Didi! Annadidi!’ Lokkhi Mashi was calling from below.

  Morning light blinded me as I stepped out and leaned over the balustrade to find the housekeeper looking upwards. ‘Yes, Lokkhi mashi? Has Gonuda come with the customer?’ I hope not…I have not decided, yet….

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, Gonu has not arrived. I did not know if you were awake. Should I bring you the morning tea?’

  ‘No, Lokkhi mashi. I am coming down,’ I replied, running back to the room. I concealed the letter in my suitcase, splashed water on my face from the pails that Lokkhi mashi kept filled in the bathroom and went downstairs. Strolling into the kitchen, I squatted down on the low stool. Lokkhi mashi was sitting before the earthen stove. Sipping the sweet, hot tea from the cup she proffered sent a punch through me.

  ‘Would you like a double fry egg and toast?’ she asked. I nodded, wondering what was a ‘double fry egg’. I watched her break two large eggs into an iron wok. Gently shaking it, she cooked the white to a crisp around melting yolks. What a makeover to sunny-side ups! I spooned the warm yellows with diminutive slices of bread, slightly burned from being toasted in a mesh over the open oven.

  ‘Lokkhi mashi, you are a superb cook!’ I exclaimed, winning a grateful smile from her. Of course, the food on my plate was delicious, but I had other reasons to melt her inhibitions. ‘Will you teach me?’

  ‘Certainly, but you will not cook on an unuun in your country.’

  ‘I might try it out here,’ I quipped.

  She stopped her work to look at me. ‘Didi, you are not selling…?’

  I shrugged. ‘I am still considering. After all Dad grew up here.’

  ‘Yes, he did. We missed him so much when he left. Everyone, Karta Babu, Ginni Ma, Biren Babu, Kona…,’ she stopped, her eyes wide on my face.

  I prompted her, softly, ‘Go on, Lokkhi mashi. Tell me about Kona.’

  She spread her hands. ‘What is there to say, Didi? Kona was my friend. We were around the same age…two young girls. She was Kedarnath Babu’s sister.’

  ‘Yes, I met her in Mr Raha’s house yesterday. She is widowed, isn’t she?’ I replied.

  ‘Widowed? Uhhh… When Kedarnath Babu started working for Karta Babu, he was still unmarried. He lived with Kona in that room.’ She pointed out a locked door on the gallery opposite. I turned my head towards it as her tone turned nostalgic. ‘We would play together, laugh and gossip. She was prettier than me and so Karta Babu noticed her.’

  ‘Dadu noticed Kona?’ My antenna began vibrating.

  ‘No, no… I did not say that.’ Lokkhi mashi instantly denied the words, her eyes not meeting mine.

  I made note to explore the innuendo that had slipped out . But first, I had to allay her fears. She had to be assured that speaking freely to me would not lead to dire consequences.

  ‘All right, tell me about Dadu,’ I declared, changing tack. ‘You said that you knew him well. What kind of man was he? Dad told me that he was very learned, well known in society, always travelling out of the country. I did not know that he disliked children, like you told me yesterday.’

  ‘That only happened after Ashish Babu left and Ginni Ma fell ill. Karta Babu used to be angry all the time. He would shout at Kedarnath Babu, at me, even at Ginni Ma…without any reason. Only Biren Babu could calm him down.

  When he went away on tours, packages would arrive from far off lands. Biren Babu would keep them safely in the storeroom until Karta Babu returned. Then he would unpack the boxes. Assorted bundles wrapped in straw and paper would be carried up to his room. I saw beautiful statues and objects in his cabinets when I cleaned them.

  No doubt, Karta Babu was learned…there were so many books in his room. Maybe he wrote books, too. However, book learning did not change his faith in religious rites. Every morning, he would offer prayers to Shurjodev. He observed fast during each new moon. Durga Puja was celebrated in that patio with what pomp and splendour! It was an annual Sarkar Bari tradition, at least till Ginni Ma died. People came to watch the Sarkar Bari arati from far-off places. Every time Karta Babu returned from a tour, a sadhu would visit the mansion to perform rituals. They would take place behind closed doors in Karta Babu’s room. All through night he and Karta Babu carried on the worship. When I cleaned up the next day, I would find ashes, once even small bones strewn on the floor and camphor redolent in the air. Why Karta Babu used bones in pujas, I don’t know…maybe part of some kind of yagna. I think all his learning had steeped him even more deeply into the ethnic culture.’

  ‘What is a yagna?’

  ‘Lighting a sacred fire to invoke the gods,’ Lokkhi mashi explained.

  It was comforting that she was opening up to me. In fact, she was right about Dadu being a stickler for rites because I recalled how Dad used to joke about his father’s insistence on bathing before entering the pooja room. Strange that such a serious scholar of Egyptology would be so immersed in peculiar ritualistic customs! I wondered whether his profound study of mystic legends and myths had converted him to an adherent of primeval cults. However, nothing about my enigmatic grandfather surprised me anymore given the recent disclosures in his own hand.

  ‘When Ashish Babu left, everything changed,’ Lokkhi mashi ruminated.

  ‘Why did Dad never return?’ I interposed.

  ‘When Kona…no, no. I don’t know, Didi. I am only a servant…Ashish Babu must have had his reasons. I don’t know them.’ She waved her hand. Pretending to be busy, she walked off into a corner. Careful! Careful! I warned myself, you will turn off the tap….

  ‘All right. Of course, you don’t know,’ I soothed her. ‘How did things change when Dad left?’

  ‘Ginni Ma fell sick. Biren Babu brought doctors here. In the midst of all this, a winter festival was being planned by the relatives in the mansion. One night, Karta Babu came home to find musicians loudly practising their chorus in the patio while the mistress lay groaning in her room. He flew into a rage. He shouted at everyone, telling them to clear out. Next day, Biren

  Babu tried to smooth things but Karta Babu stubbornly held on to his dictate that all the relatives must leave. In the next few days, the families scattered. Within a month, Ginni Ma died.’

  Her words conjured up wretched despair…a hollow mansion with two old men rattling around served by a man and two young girls…sombre…forlorn.

  ‘It must have been so sad for you. What did you do then, Lokkhi mashi?’

  ‘There was a lot of work during the day. By night I would be too tired, sometimes, even to eat.

  ‘What about Kona? Didn’t she help you?’

  ‘No.’ Lokkhi mashi shook her head. ‘We hardly spoke. I was not aware then that more tragic events awaited us.’ Anguish was raw in her voice.

  ‘What tragedies?’ I asked softly, not wanting to break her chain of memories.

  ‘Uh? Didi, gossiping like this will be my bane. I have not even brought the milk. He will shut the booth…oh no! I must go, Didi.’ Lokkhi mashi picked up a milk can and rushed out.

  15.

  I sat for a while in the kitchen stringing together the bead dropped by her. Lokkhi mashi’s tale inevitably leads to Kona…and then stops. Is Kona the common link to all that happened in the past? Definitely a mystery linked Kona and Dadu. What could it be? Now that I know that my grandfather was a cheat, a crook, a man of erratic ideas and temper, could it be that he was also a degenerate? Dad had left Sarkar Bari, never to return. Why? Was his father’s behaviour the reason?

  I went upstairs, bathed, changed, and sent off an email to Robin. He had still not communicated to me the date he was reaching here. Then I took out Dadu’s letter and began reading it…more slowly now. Since I was familiar with its perfidious portions, I paid more attention to my grandfather’s personal remarks. His remorseful appeals to Dad emerged more forcefully through the pathetic tale. Is it possible that loneliness, grief over a son he had lost, and his constant drinking had distorted his mind…erased his sen
se of right and wrong? After all, Hirendranath Sarkar had been a worthy officer of the government’s elite foreign service for a very long time. Evidently, there had been enough to commend him. Then why did he stoop to such lowdown actions? Not only had he had committed felony with aplomb but even claimed rights to the stolen treasure in his dying declaration. No, the flaw always existed in his character. Actions and words clearly pointed to a delinquency despite his capabilities.

  When I read the letter a third time, despite my repugnance, I could not help a spark of excitement running through me. Horror became awe as the amazing fact permeated my consciousness…a treasure reposed in Sarkar Bari. Not just any treasure, it was an Egyptian treasure…that may have belonged to the pharaohs at one time. What an anomaly!

  However, the dormant exhilaration soon fizzled out as the full measure of responsibility descended on me. Since Dad was no longer around to deal with this infamy, we, Robin and I, had inherited his duties. I was not sure how Robin would view the entire matter. He had never been inclined towards Dad’s sentimentality about all things Indian. I think there was more English in him than in me. Besides, he did not have the big picture here…or, to be truthful, I had not given it to him. So it fell to me, eventually, to carry out Dad’s wishes.

  Now that I was committed, I tried to think coherently as the hum of traffic wafted through the open window. What would Dad do? He had always respected the law and brought us up to do the same. Besides, throughout his journalistic career, he had fought on the side of justice.

  What would be lawful and just in this situation? To right the wrong.

  Dad would have ensured the purloined goods went back to the rightful owners with sincere apologies. No doubt, it would involve going public with my grandfather’s crime and stain the family’s reputation. And Dad had been so proud of his ancestry…all those tales he had told us about the exploits of his kin fighting for the freedom of India! However, nothing would have convinced him to cover this up, let alone keep what did not belong to him.

  That is the road that I will walk, too. Being Dad’s daughter, I will hand over this property to its rightful claimants. Yes. That is what I am going to do.

  Now that my path was clearly visible, I felt lighter. Instead, a kind of zeal darted through me…to wave aloft the banner of Sarkar Bari. I calmed down sufficiently to reflect on the pragmatic aspects of my altruism. To hand over this illicit property of inestimable value cached away in Sarkar Bari to its owners or the authorities, I had to embark upon another journey: hunt it out.

  Rather than a journey, this appeared more like an adventure. I was going on a treasure hunt! Pursuing a sensational fortune…no less than Egyptian riches so fantastic that it compelled my grandfather to iniquity. Exciting! Intriguing! Dramatic! What a turn on! It was the stuff dreams are made of!

  Let’s get started….

  I recalled a line in the letter. I scanned it carefully. There it was! ‘Along with this letter are directions to the treasure’s hideout.’ I turned the sheet over, but it was blank. I went back to the letter…nothing. Where were the directions? Is there another sheet?

  My eyes roved the room. A white blur showed under the bed. I crawled in to retrieve it. Must have dropped from my hand…good that I found it before Lokkhi mashi had come up to clean. Smoothening out the thin paper, the first thing that caught my eye was an ornate sketch of the Egyptian scarab. So my grandfather could sketch, too! Certainly, a man of subtle flairs….

  Under the drawing were his squiggles:

  Scarabs were associated with the sun and considered messengers of eternity and rebirth in Ancient Egypt.

  I recalled another line…visible to only minds that see. Obviously, he was obsessed with the Egyptian scarab. There were also four more lines as cryptic as in the first riddle.

  To guard you is the scarab’s creed

  Shadows stretch from one to two

  Unmoving from the corner tree

  The finger points to scarab’s coup

  Below them was another sketch, rather a diagram. It was a rectangle with each side made of double parallel lines. Turning the crinkly sheet round and round, I deduced that the rectangle represented the open patio of the mansion. It matched the quadrangle with four mansion blocks on each of the sides. Then I saw the small circle drawn inside one corner of the rectangle.

  I was becoming quite adept with Dadu’s ciphers. My eyes went to the lines above: Unmoving from the corner tree. Was the circle for the tree mentioned in this line? The patio did have one tree…the neem in a corner.

  I went back to the lines…shadows? Shadows are made by sunlight and the motion of the sun. Probably…one to two denotes time. Doesn’t the moving sun at different times casts shadows of various shapes? They can stretch or stunt even though the object is static. Hmmm…tree is unmoving.

  … the finger points to scarab’s coup? That’s a googly!

  Quite a few bits had unravelled, but the crucial piece was still missing. My grandfather seemed a master at brain teasers. However, I enjoyed solving his riddles and now there was a purpose to it; I had to find Dadu’s treasure to fulfil my obligation to Dad.

  I checked the time on my phone. It showed nearly 2 pm. I had not been aware of the passing time, so absorbed I had been. I stepped off the bed and padded across the room. My bare feet burned as I stepped on the sunny laser slanting on the marble floor. It would be quite hot outside. Still strolling down to the McDonald’s would help me think. Locking the two fragile sheets in my suitcase with a passcode, I pocketed the keys and called out to Lokkhi mashi that I was going out.

  The afternoon sun seared my face, but I was too busy churning out and binning ideas. At the intersection to the main street, I stood for a while. Right across was a small fenced-in brown patch. A couple of boys desultorily kicked a ball in one corner. On cue, Dad’s narration sprang up in my mind. As a child he would walk down to the end of the lane with his friends to play football in a field. Where had the field gone? Dad had said it had been big and green. Could it be this place? But it was too small to be a football field. My eyes went beyond to the high rises that surrounded the patch. Dad had never mentioned any houses around his field. These must have come up later. His verdant breathing space had been swallowed up by the concrete jungle Kolkata was turning into. Only this bleak dusty spot remained to mark it.

  Isn’t that how it will be once Sarkar Bari is pulled down? That sobered me…one more decision that I must take. Walking towards the café, it occurred to me that Gonuda had not shown up till then. Was his frustration keeping him away? Anyway, the farther he remained, the better I was.

  16.

  Chilled air scented with warm food brought my hunger to fore. I ordered a Big Mac and an ice-cream shake and took a corner table by the power socket. As I plugged my phone in for charging, my thoughts began to run. Since that last line of the riddle seemed to be getting more and more obscure, I decided to give it a rest and put my mind to the other aspects of the situation.

  I was now quite sure that the ‘unscrupulous people’ mentioned by Dadu were the Rahas. Pot calling the kettle black…I chuckled. The father and son seemed aware of the secret wealth but did know its hiding place. That is the reason they had been constantly dissuading me from selling the mansion. That is the reason the senior Raha directed his son to spy on me. They thought I could lead them up the trail to the treasure. A fury stirred up inside me. Did I appear so naïve?

  Whatever I finally did with the treasure, its location was in my mansion, nonetheless. So it was my property to give away or whatever. There was no way that I will let these rogues get their hands on it. Trump cards were in my hands, even if I had still not figured it all out. Somehow, the Rahas chasing after it and after me only added drama to the adventure…a sharp edge of risk. It should not be too difficult to throw them off the scent. Even if they had got hold of these riddles, making any sense of them was beyond their capability. Shivers of anticipation ran down my back. You had to hand it to Dadu…for all
his foxiness, he was brilliant… I chortled, startling the young boy who was cleaning the next table.

  Once I returned to my room, I lay back against the pillows and pored over the cipher. Reading the first three lines repeatedly, I was convinced my rationale was correct. It was the last line that beat logic. I ran circles around it, but it just would not open up.

  ‘Your grandfather would expect you to think like him.’ Padding in silently through the open door, the boy must have been standing there for a while.

  I smiled at him. ‘You were right. The next clue was in Dadu’s room.’

  ‘He had hidden it carefully so that the others don’t get to it. But I knew you would discover it. Your mind is as sharp as his was, though you are a better person.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Really! And why am I better?’ His words sounded more mature than his appearance. But I was interested to know his views.

  ‘He was smart, but he went astray. You will never leave the right path,’ he stated it matter-of-factly as if it was an unshakeable reality. I could only gaze at him baffled, how he had guessed my justifications?

  Violent gnashing of brakes outside the window twanged the air between us and we jumped. Like any curious child, he stepped to the open window and leaned on the sill, looking outside. Light glimmered on the thin golden chain stretched across his chest.

  ‘Since you know so much about Dadu’s smartness, what do you think he meant by…the finger points to scarab’s coup?

  ‘What is a scarab?’ he asked turning around, brows creased.

  ‘Uhmm…a scarab…it’s a kind of beetle.’ The frown did not erase. Where had I seen those eyes? ‘…a…an insect…like a cockroach…’ I stuttered.

  ‘Oh!’ He walked back to the bedside table. Resting an elbow on its surface, his brown eyes looked at me earnestly. ‘Could your grandfather be a scarab?’

  Dadu? A scarab? I looked down at the spindly writing…scarab’s coup…Dadu’s coup?

  ‘Of course, it was Dadu’s coup.’ I cried out, jubilantly…his triumph…winning this treasure… But the boy’s focus had moved on…to a silver spoon left behind by Lokkhi mashi on the table. He was holding it up trying to reflect the bright light spilling from the window on its scoop.