by Satyajit Ray
‘You mean collecting press cuttings?’
‘Yes. He reminded me of an uncle of ours. Uncle Sidhu.’
I had been thinking of Uncle Sidhu, too. But he cut out anything that struck him as interesting, not just reports about murder and crime.
Pulak Babu took his leave. There was a lot to do, he said. They would take a few outdoor shots tomorrow, but the real work with the artists would start from the day after, in Mr Majumdar’s house.
We went to the Keventer’s open-air restaurant after Pulak Babu and his team left, and ordered three hot chocolates. Lalmohan Babu took a long sip with great relish, and said, ‘Felu Babu, my heart tells me this visit won’t go to waste.’
‘Well, why should it? We’ve come to Darjeeling for a holiday, the weather’s beautiful, and the air free of pollution. You’ll feel your health getting better in no time. Of course our visit isn’t going to go to waste!’
‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Lalmohan Babu replied, with a knowing smile.
‘What did you mean, Mr Ganguli?’
‘I am thinking of your profession.’
‘My profession? What about it?’
‘Something tells me your services are going to be required.’ Feluda lit a Charminar. ‘The problem is not related to my profession, Lalmohan Babu, but yours. You can’t give up looking for mysteries in every corner. I have no idea why you should get such a feeling, but what I can tell you is that if something untoward did happen, Felu Mitter wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing.’
‘Ah, that’s what I like to hear from ABCD! That’s just the right attitude, sir.’
ABCD was a title Lalmohan Babu had conferred on Feluda. It stood for Asia’s Best Crime Detector.
I said nothing, but somehow Birupaksha Majumdar had struck me as a mysterious character. Why did he spend all his time in Darjeeling, year in and year out, collecting information on crime? Of course, that did not necessarily mean that he himself was likely to get involved in anything suspicious. I suppose it was only our past experience that made me feel like this. I had lost count of the number of times we had gone on holiday, only to find ourselves mixed up in some mystery or the other. Perhaps that was the only reason why I, too, wondered whether Feluda would once again have to put his skills to the test.
Let’s just see what happens, I told myself.
Three
‘Sublime!’ said Lalmohan Babu. I had never heard him use this word earlier. But before I could say anything, he added, ‘Heavenly, unique, glorious, magnificent, indescribable—oh, just out of this world!’
The reason for this burst of excitement was simple. He had risen in the morning, and had seen Kanchenjunga from his window. It had just started to glow pink in the early morning sun. Unable to contain himself, Lalmohan Babu made me join him in his room. ‘One can’t really enjoy such a thing unless the joy is shared, you see,’ he explained. This remark was then followed by a stream of superlatives.
Feluda had seen it, too, but not from our room. He had finished doing yoga and left the hotel long before I woke up. He returned after a walk from the Mall to the Observatory Hill, just in time for our first cup of tea. ‘Each time I see Kanchenjunga,’ he declared, ‘I seem to grow younger. Thank goodness the new buildings that have cropped up in most places have made no difference to the road to and from the Observatory Hill.’
‘I feel just the same, Felu Babu. Life seems worth living, now that I’ve seen Kanchenjunga.’
‘Good. I’m very glad to hear that, for it shows you have still retained a few finer feelings, in spite of all the nonsense you write.’
Lalmohan Babu let that pass. ‘What are we going to do today?’ he asked.
We were in the dining hall, having breakfast. Feluda tore off a piece of omelette and put it in his mouth. ‘I’d like to visit Mr Majumdar today. His house is going to be very crowded from tomorrow. Today is probably the only day we can have a quiet and peaceful meeting in his house. I consider it my duty to cultivate a man like him.’
‘Very well, just as you say.’
We left at half past eight. We had to go down the Mall, past Das Studio and Keventer’s, and walk for three-quarters of a mile to get to Mount Everest Hotel. The road to Mr Majumdar’s house began after that. As it happened, we had no difficulty in finding it. It was a sprawling old bungalow, made of wood, with a red tiled roof. A well-kept garden surrounded it. Behind it stood a pine forest and, beyond that, a steep hill. The mali working in the garden came forward on seeing us.
‘Is Mr Majumdar at home?’ Feluda asked.
‘Yes. Who shall I say—?’
‘Just tell him the people he met yesterday are here to see him.’ The mali disappeared inside the house. While we waited outside, I kept looking at the house and admiring its surroundings. Kanchenjunga was clearly visible in the north, now a shimmering silver. Whoever had chosen this spot to build a house clearly had good sense as well as good taste.
Mr Majumdar and the mali came out together.
‘Good morning! Do come in,’ Mr Majumdar invited. We went through a white wooden gate with ‘Nayanpur Villa’ written on it, and joined our host. He must have been very good-looking once, I thought. Even now, he certainly didn’t look as though he might be ailing. Another gentleman had come out with him. He was introduced as Rajat Bose, his secretary. A man of medium height and a clear complexion, Mr Bose was wearing a dark blue polo neck sweater over brown trousers.
We were taken to the drawing room. There was glass case in one corner, crammed with silver trophies of various shapes and sizes. These had obviously been won by Mr Majumdar in sports competitions. A leopard skin was spread on the floor, and on the wall hung the heads of two deer and a bison. We sat on two sofas.
‘My son, Samiran, is coming this evening,’ Mr Majumdar told us. ‘I don’t think you’ll find any similarities between him and me. He is a businessman, very involved with the share market.’
‘Is he coming on holiday, or is it strictly business?’
‘He said he had taken a week off. But he’s very restless, just not the type to sit at home and relax, even for a few days. He’s almost thirty, but is showing no signs of getting married. God knows when he’ll settle down. But never mind about my son. Tell me about yourselves.’
‘We came here to hear about you,’ Feluda said.
‘Then I hope you’ve got all day,’ Mr Majumdar laughed. ‘I have led a very colourful life. Until I was about forty, there was very little that I didn’t do—sports, both indoor and outdoor, shikar, just name it. But afterwards, I was put in charge of a bank, which meant handling enormous responsibilities. So I had to cut down on most other activities, and concentrate on my job.’
‘But you still had your favourite hobby?’
‘You mean collecting press cuttings? Oh yes. I never gave that up. Rajat can show you a sample.’ He nodded at Mr Bose, who got up and went into the next room. He returned with a fat scrapbook, and handed it to Feluda. Lalmohan Babu and I moved from where we were sitting to get a closer look.
It was a remarkable object, undoubtedly.
‘I can see that you’ve got cuttings from a London newspaper as well,’ Feluda remarked.
‘Yes. A friend of mine is a doctor in London. He has my instructions to send me copies of any sensational news he gets to read.’
‘Murder, robbery, accidents, fires, suicide . . . you’ve got them all, haven’t you?’
‘Yes that’s right.’
‘But what were you telling me about a criminal case that hasn’t yet been solved?’
‘Yes, there is such a case. I can show you the relevant report. There is one more case like that, though you won’t see a cutting, for the press didn’t get to hear about it.’
‘What happened?’
‘No, please don’t ask me to explain. I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you anything more. Go, Rajat, please get the 1969 volume.’
Mr Bose came back with another scrapbook.
‘This particular
report appeared sometime in June, in the Statesman. The headline, as far as I can remember, said, “Embezzler Untraced”.’
‘Here, I’ve got it,’ said Feluda, quickly turning the pages. He read the first few lines, then looked up and exclaimed, ‘Why this is about your own bank!’
‘That is why I cannot forget it. A young man called V. Balaporia used to work in our accounts department. One day, he disappeared with 150,000 rupees. The police did their best, but couldn’t catch him. I was then the Deputy General Manager of the bank.’
‘I seem to remember the case vaguely,’ Feluda said slowly. ‘You see, before I became a full-time investigator, I used to read a lot about real life crime. This one happened such a long time ago that I can’t now recall all the details.’
By this time, Lalmohan Babu and I had read the report.
‘Even at that time, I had wished we could get hold of someone like Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot,’ Mr Majumdar shook his head sadly. ‘A private detective might have been able to do something. Frankly, I haven’t got a lot of faith in the police.’
Feluda turned a few more pages, glanced briefly through some of the other cuttings, then returned it to Mr Bose with a polite ‘Thank you’.
A bearer came in with coffee on a tray. I was faintly surprised to see him. He had such a bright and polished air about him that it would’ve been quite difficult to guess he was a servant. We picked up our cups from the tray.
‘We saw your horse outside,’ Feluda said, ‘is that what you normally use to go around?’
‘I stay at home all day, going out only once in the evening. My habits are quite different from others. In fact, my daily routine has become decidedly strange since my retirement. I told you I suffer from insomnia, didn’t I? Do you know what I do? I sleep in the afternoon—but that, too, after taking a pill with a glass of milk. I set the alarm for 5 p.m., after which I have a cup of tea, and then I go out. I spend my nights reading.’
‘Don’t you sleep at night at all?’ Feluda asked, surprised.
‘No, not even a wink. I believe my grandfather had a similar habit. He was a powerful zamindar. At night, he used to go through his papers, check his accounts and do whatever else was required to look after his land and property. During the day, he used to take opium and sleep the whole afternoon. By the way, if you wish to smoke, please do so. I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Thank you,’ Feluda said, lighting a Charminar. I looked at Mr Majumdar again. He was nearly sixty, but he neither looked nor behaved like it.
‘The shooting starts here tomorrow, doesn’t it? It may mean a lot of stress and strain for you.’
‘Oh no, I don’t mind in the least. I’ll be in one end of the house, on the northern side. The shooting will take place at the opposite end. That director struck me as a very nice chap, so I couldn’t refuse.’
Before anyone else could say anything, a jeep came and stopped outside. Some members of the film unit got out of it. Pulak Ghoshal crossed the garden and knocked on the door.
‘Come in, sir!’ Mr Majumdar called out. Pulak Babu came in, followed by Raina and Mahadev Verma.
‘We are on our way for some outdoor shooting,’ Pulak Babu said. ‘We thought we’d just drop by and say hello. You haven’t met these actors, have you? This is Rajen Raina and that’s Mahadev Verma. One is the hero and the other’s the villain.’
‘Very pleased to meet you. Why don’t you stay for coffee?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Majumdar. We haven’t got the time today. Besides, from tomorrow we’ll be spending almost the whole day in your house. Oh, incidentally, your secretary said you normally sleep in the afternoon. We’ll have to have a generator working near this house. I hope that won’t disturb you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I always shut my door and all the windows, and draw the curtains. No noise from outside can reach me.’
I noticed Mr Majumdar casting piercing looks in the direction of Raina and Verma. After a brief pause, he added, ‘I can now tell people I’ve met two film stars. I hadn’t had the good fortune before.’
Pulak Babu turned to Lalmohan Babu. ‘Laluda,’ he said, ‘I have a request.’
‘Yes?’
‘I have a fairly sharp memory, Laluda. I distinctly remember you playing a role in a play we had organized in the Gorpar Friends’ Club, way back in 1970.’
‘Heavens, Pulak, I haven’t forgotten it, either. It wasn’t a very easy role, was it? My first and last performance as an actor!’
‘No, no, not your last performance.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Yes, I’m coming to that. You see, the local Bengali Club had promised to provide a couple of men for small roles. But now they’re saying most of their people have gone on holiday to Calcutta. I feel very let down. There is one particular role, you know, of the villain’s right-hand man—’
‘Who? Aghorchand Batlivala?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he appears only in two scenes.’
‘I know. That’s why I need your help. I’ll get someone to go and give you your lines this evening. Please don’t say no. I know you can do it. You’ll have to work with me for just three days.’
‘But. . . but . . . I don’t look like a villain’s right-hand man, do I? Besides, we came to Darjeeling just for ten days!’
‘That’s plenty of time, I don’t need more than a few days, I told you. With full make-up, a short beard and a wig, you’ll most definitely look the part. Tell me Mahadev, haven’t I made the right choice?’
‘Sure. Absolutely!’ Mahadev Verma grinned.
‘Have you ever smoked a cigar, Laluda?’
‘I used to smoke, but I gave up cigarettes ten years ago,’ Lalmohan Babu replied.
‘Never mind. You must have a cigar in your hand. And wear dark glasses.’
Lalmohan Babu’s eyes began glinting. I could tell he wasn’t going to need much persuasion.
‘OK, Pulak, since you’re in a spot, I must try and help you out, mustn’t I? Besides, a guest appearance in my own story might be quite a good idea, come to think of it. But I must insist on one thing.’
‘What is it?’
‘There must be an “am” after my name in the credits. I refuse to be known as a professional actor. People must know I am only an amateur. All right?’
‘OK, sir.’
I seized this opportunity to put in my own request. ‘May I please come and watch the shooting?’ I asked. ‘Of course, dear boy, of course!’ said Pulak Ghoshal.
Four
Pulak Ghoshal and his team left. We had finished our coffee, so Feluda rose to his feet. ‘We ought to leave now, I think,’ he said. ‘I hope we shall soon meet again.’
‘Pardon?’ said Mr Majumdar, sounding as though he was miles away. But then he pulled himself together, and said quite naturally, ‘Oh, all right. Yes, I hope so, too.’ We came out of Nayanpur Villa and began walking back to our hotel.
Feluda didn’t say a word on the way back. For some reason, he also seemed rather preoccupied. But, over lunch, he turned to Lalmohan Babu and said, ‘Why, Mr Ganguli, you are a dark horse! We’ve known you for years, and yet you didn’t tell us about your acting career! You played a difficult role in a play, did you?’
Lalmohan Babu transferred a piece of a fish-fry into his mouth, and said, ‘Well, to be honest, Felu Babu, there are loads of things about myself that I have never mentioned. I was the North Calcutta Carrom Champion in 1959, did you know this? I have many records in endurance cycling. Then I won a medal in a recitation competition—not once, mind you, but three times. This is not the first time I’ve had an offer to act in a film. Even twenty years ago, I had received such an offer. This bald dome that you now see was then covered by thick, curly hair. Can you imagine that? but I didn’t accept that offer. No, sir. My mind was already made up. I wanted to become a professional writer, just to see if it was possible to earn enough simply by writing. An astrologer had told me it would work. “There’s magic in yo
ur pen, you must write,” he had said. He was right. But I never thought so much success would come my way.’
‘I see. There is one little thing I must point out, Lalmohan Babu.’
‘What?’
‘You said you gave up smoking ten years ago. Now if you are made to smoke a cigar, the result may well be disastrous.’
‘Hey, you’re quite right. What do you think I should do?’
‘I suggest you buy some cigars and start practising. Don’t inhale the smoke. If you do, you’re bound to start coughing and that will mean the end of every shot.’
‘Yes, thank you for the advice, sir.’
We had a little rest in the afternoon, then we left for a walk at four o’clock. We wanted to walk to the Observatory Hill. There was a wonderful view of Kanchenjunga one could get from the northern side of the hill.
Lalmohan Babu bought a packet of “cigars from the first tobacconist he could find. The first drag very nearly resulted in disaster, but he managed to avoid it somehow. I noticed a cigar in his hand had brought about a change in his whole personality. He seemed a lot more sure of himself, striding ahead with great confidence, looking around with a slight smile on his lips. He had clearly started to play the role of Aghorchand Batlivala.
The next left turn brought Kanchenjunga into view. The last rays of the sun were shining directly on it, making it glow like a column of gold. Lalmohan Babu opened his mouth, but refrained from bursting into adjectives. By the time we returned to the Mall after going round the hill, it was past five and the sun had disappeared behind the hill. A small crowd had gathered near the horse-stand. A closer look revealed the film crew, who were returning after a day’s shooting, followed by a large number of onlookers. But the people seemed pretty civilized, so I didn’t think they would create any disturbances. Raina and Verma both had to stop a few times to sign autographs. Then the whole group turned left into Nehru Road and went in the direction of their hotel. ‘Good evening!’ called a voice.
It was Birupaksha Majumdar, riding his horse. He climbed down as we got closer.