Nishanathbabu’s reply was terse. ‘That’s not it. I have other reasons.’
‘Oh, well—you’ll probably find her in her quarters. I don’t suppose she’ll expose herself to the harsh sunlight—our delicate darling might wither away, you see.’
‘Doctor, why is it that you can’t abide Bonolokhhi?’
The doctor forced a laugh. ‘All of you can abide her; so I don’t suppose she stands to lose anything if I cannot. Be that as it may, it is time for you to donate some blood again. Should I go over with the syringe this evening?’
‘I don’t feel the need yet,’ Nishanathbabu answered before walking away.
7
I asked, ‘What did the doctor mean about donating blood?’
‘I don’t take much medication for my blood pressure problem,’ Nishanathbabu explained. ‘When the pressure rises, the doctor comes with his syringe and draws out a little blood. That’s what it was all about. It’s been nearly a month since I had it done.’
At this point, Byomkesh came up from behind and joined us. Taken aback, Nishanathbabu remarked, ‘Don’t tell me! The game is over already?’
Byomkesh looked downcast. He said, ‘Nepalbabu is an extremely cunning fellow.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘He offered me no clue at all about his strategy of attack. By the time I grasped it, it was too late. He checkmated me.’
We burst out laughing.
‘Oh, don’t you laugh!’ Byomkesh exclaimed. ‘Nepalbabu may look like a pumpkin, but at heart he’s a scorpion.’
We laughed again. Then Byomkesh changed the topic that was so distasteful to him and asked, ‘Who was the person I just saw standing on the porch of the hut behind us?’
‘He is the former doctor Bhujangadhar Das.’
‘How long has he been here?’
‘Nearly four years now.’
‘Has he been here throughout this period?’
‘Yes. Sometimes he takes off for a day or two, but comes back again soon.’
‘Where does he go?’
‘I have no idea. I have never asked. Neither has he volunteered the information.’
By this time, we had arrived at Bonolokhhi’s hut. Apart from this one, there was only one other hut near the front of the property close to the peripheries and that belonged to Bijoy (see map). Our tour of the farm had almost come to an end.
Nishanathbabu took a step towards the porch and paused. A woman was emerging from the hut. She carried a towel and a freshly laundered sari flung over her left arm. Her hair was undone. As she came out and saw us there, she stopped short in mild consternation. It was quite obvious that she was on her way to have a bath.
A little embarrassed himself, Nishanathbabu merely asked, ‘Bonolokhhi, I see you’re on your way to have a bath—why so late today?’
Bonolokhhi hung her head and replied, ‘Kakababu, I had really fallen behind with the sewing. I finished it all today.’
Nishanathbabu turned to us and explained, ‘Bonolokhhi is in charge of our tailoring section; she stitches all the garments the residents on the farm wear. Well, we’ll be on our way, Bonolokhhi. I just came by to tell you that Mukul has a headache and isn’t up to cooking today; Damayanti is rushing around trying to do it all by herself. It would be nice if you could give her a hand.’
‘Oh, goodness, I didn’t even know about it!’ Without a second glance, Bonolokhhi brushed past our group and hurried towards the kitchen.
Bonolokhhi had gone off, but not without making an impression on me. She reminded me of the soothing shade cast by the trees in a village and the refreshingly cool waters of a pond. She wasn’t beautiful, but pleasing to the eyes; her face exuded an air of youthful serenity. She must have been around nineteen or so. There was no suggestion of excess in her healthy, perfectly proportioned body. Just the ordinary, unassuming girl next door.
After Bonolokhhi was out of sight, Byomkesh asked, ‘So Ramenbabu …?’
Ramenbabu merely heaved a great sigh.
Nishanathbabu said, ‘I have troubled you for nothing. It was my mistake—Sunayana isn’t here.’
Byomkesh asked, ‘Is there any other woman in this place?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Come now, let’s go back. I believe there is time yet before lunch is served. Damayanti will send word as soon as it is ready.’
We came straight back to Nishanathbabu’s house and made ourselves comfortable under the whirring fan. Suddenly, Ramenbabu asked, ‘Do tell me, why did it occur to you that Netyakali—I mean Sunayana—might be here? Had someone given you information about her?’
Nishanathbabu replied dully, ‘I cannot answer that question. Someone else’s privacy is at stake here. If there is anything else you wish to know, please do ask.’
Byomkesh said, ‘I have a question for you that’s unrelated to the matter at hand. Please don’t mind my asking it. Is someone blackmailing you?’
‘No,’ was Nishanathbabu’s confident answer.
Thereafter, the conversation moved on to the usual chit-chat and an hour went by. I was just beginning to experience the first pangs of hunger when Bonolokhhi emerged through the door leading into the house and stood before us. She had changed into fresh clothes after her bath and her wet hair hung loose over her back. ‘Kakababu, lunch is served,’ she announced.
Nishanathbabu rose and asked, ‘Where?’
‘Right there, in the next room. Instead of putting you to the trouble of going all the way there, we have brought the food here.’
Nishanathbabu looked at us and invited, ‘Come on, then. Since they have taken the trouble, we are spared some. But what about the others?’
Bonolokhhi replied, ‘Goshaida has taken charge of that.’ She was referring to Brojodas, the Vaishnav. ‘Come,’ she urged us.
In the next room, the food was laid out on the table. But no forks or knives had been provided—just spoons. We sat down to our meal. There was a variety of dishes before us: rice with ghee, roasted moong dal, green jackfruit curry, prawn cutlets, green mango chutney, kheer and cottage cheese barfi. We stuffed ourselves to our heart’s content. Under the skilled supervision of Damayanti Devi and Bonolokhhi, lunch left us replete with food and contentment. It was clear that Damayanti Devi ran the house with faultless efficiency. At the slightest gesture from her, Bonolokhhi would hasten to carry out her responsibilities.
After lunch, we came back to sit in the drawing room. Bonolokhhi came in with paan and cigarettes, placed them on the table and disappeared, casting some overtly curious glances at us on her way out.
‘It’s time the two of you sat down to your meal,’ Nishanathbabu suggested, going back inside to address Bonolokhhi and his wife.
Having observed Bonolokhhi all this while, I thought I had an idea about her personality. She was by nature a spontaneous and open person, but for reasons unknown she kept herself in check and hid her real self from the world.
We sat there smoking for a while. Nishanathbabu went back into the house from time to time. Finally, he asked, ‘I hope you’re not in a hurry to get back?’
‘Even if we were,’ Byomkesh replied, ‘we would be quite incapable of doing so. After the feast Mrs Sen laid out for us, movement of any kind is beyond us. What do you have to say about it, Ramenbabu?’
Ramenbabu emitted a loud belch and said, ‘My guru has forbidden me to move around after a meal.’
Nishanathbabu smiled, ‘Then come on in. We have laid out some mattresses in the other room. You can relax for a while and take a short rest.’
It was a large room. Mattresses had been laid out on the floor to provide sleeping arrangements for three. A single bed stood along a wall. A table fan had been placed on a stool by the bed. I presumed this was Nishanathbabu’s own bedroom. The windows were shut to keep out the sun and the room was cool and shaded. We settled ourselves on the mattresses. Nishanathbabu set the table fan down on the floor at our level and switched it on. ‘The ceiling fan in this room has been sent for repair
. That’s why we’re having to use a table fan; I hope it’s not a bother for you?’
‘Not at all,’ Byomkesh replied. ‘Now why don’t you go and take a nap as well?’
Nishanathbabu replied, ‘I am not in the habit of taking a nap during the day …’
‘In that case, do stay a while and chat with us.’
Nishanathbabu sat down. But Ramenbabu took his kurta off quite unapologetically and lay down flat on his back. A devoted disciple of his guru, I suppose he seldom defied his spiritual master’s orders. The three of us continued to chat, keeping our voices low.
Byomkesh asked, ‘Has Bonolokhhi gone?’
‘Yes, she just left. Why do you ask?’
‘I’d like to know about her past. Since she has been given asylum in Golap Colony, her past must be tainted in some way.’
‘That it is. It’s quite a mundane past really. She used to be a village belle. A rogue had duped her and brought her to Calcutta, abandoning her after a while. There was no way she could return to her village and she was having a tough time surviving in the city. Finally, she found refuge in the farm.’
‘How long has she been here?’
‘About a year and a half.’
‘Did you verify whether her story was authentic or not?’
‘No. She refused to give me the name of her village.’
‘Hmm. How did she come upon Golap Colony? This is not a public institution.’
Nishanathbabu’s face grew a shade sombre as he said, ‘She didn’t come on her own. Bijoy turned up with her one day. There is a restaurant near Hogg Market in Calcutta where Bijoy goes for tea every evening. One evening, he noticed a girl sitting by herself at one of the corner tables and weeping. By that time, Bonolokhhi hadn’t a paisa to her name and had been surviving on nothing but tea for two days. When Bijoy heard her story, he brought her along.’
‘What do you think of her behaviour?’
‘I have never had occasion to find fault with it. If she had erred in the past, she had her misfortune to blame rather than herself.’ At this point, Nishanathbabu suddenly got up. ‘Get some rest now,’ he suggested, shutting the door behind him as he left.
His abrupt departure seemed at odds with what had gone before. Had he chosen to leave because he didn’t want to divulge more than he already had in response to Byomkesh’s questions?
We lay back on our mattresses. The fan whirred near our heads. Ramenbabu was fast asleep beside us; he wasn’t exactly snoring, but a gentle dialogue was in progress between his nose and him. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but a pair of sparrows had flown in from some undetected opening and had begun to build a nest on one of the iron rods across the ceiling. Stealthily they came, with bits of straw clutched in their beaks, storing it and going back for more. Their wings fluttered rhythmically … frrr … frrr … As I lay on my back, watching them build their nest in seclusion, my eyes drooped and I dozed off.
8
That evening, we gathered in the drawing room once again. Instead of tea, Damayanti Devi served us cool, sweet buttermilk. ‘Don’t even think of leaving before the sun’s rays die down,’ was Nishanathbabu’s advice. ‘Mushkil takes the buggy down to the station at five-thirty. If you leave at that hour, you’re sure to get a train almost as soon as you arrive there.’
While we were drinking the buttermilk, we were given another opportunity of meeting the people living on the farm. The first among the visitors were Professor Nepal Gupta and his daughter Mukul. She was making for the house’s private quarters, when Nishanathbabu called out to her. ‘How is your headache now?’ he asked.
Mukul paused for a second and replied, ‘It’s gone,’ before hastening inside as if she were greatly discomfited by the situation. Her voice was husky, even a little hoarse, the way it gets when one is suffering from a cold.
This time, we had a chance to look at her properly. If she hadn’t used so much make-up, she’d have looked far more attractive. But the excessive amounts of powder she’d applied on her face and the dark rouged slash of her lips seemed to camouflage her natural charm. The cold severity of her glance did nothing to help matters. Such hardness of expression in one so young was, perhaps, a feature shared by those who had been beset by a series of misfortunes during their growing-up years.
Nepalbabu too, seemed to have arranged the scarred side of his face into an expressionless mask. When his eyes fell on Byomkesh, they danced with a devilish merriment. He said, ‘Hey, how about another round again?’
‘Spare me,’ Byomkesh replied.
Nepalbabu guffawed loudly. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid? So what if I checkmate you again? You can learn a few tricks when you play with a maestro. They say practice makes …’
Fortunately, the proverb remained suspended in mid-air as Nepalbabu turned towards the Vaishnav, Brojodas, who was about to come in. ‘Hey there, Brojodas,’ he said, ‘I believe you’ve been handing out medicines to the cows? What do you know of treating cattle?’
Brojodas scratched his head uncertainly and replied, ‘Well …’
‘In spite of being a Vaishnav, you’re bent on slaughtering cows, are you? And Nishanath, don’t you have any sense either? How many times have I told you that you should get hold of a vet? But no. You leave the cows in the hands of a pair of quacks instead.’
I could see that Nishanathbabu was irritated, but he remained silent.
Nepalbabu carried on, ‘To each his own. Leave those cows in my hands and see how I change the way they look in a few days. I am not just a chemist, but a bio-chemist, understand? Come on, Vaishnav, let us take a look at your cows.’
Brojodas threw an imploring glance at Nishanathbabu who said in a voice that had turned a trifle stern, ‘Nepal, take a look at the cattle as often as you like, but don’t even dream of giving them any medication.’
Nepalbabu said with careless disregard, ‘You don’t understand a thing! All you can do is play the boss. I shall treat the cows. I’ll show …’
Nishanathbabu’s voice rang out, sharp as a knife-edge: ‘Nepal, if you defy my orders and do that, you’ll have to leave the farm.’
Nepalbabu turned around. His bulging, egg-shaped eyes seemed to spurt blood. In a contorted voice, he shrieked, ‘Are you trying to insult me? I can’t get over your audacity! Do you think I don’t know anything? Shall I let the cat out of the bag?’
Nishanathbabu went rigid and stood up. I could see his veins swelling and his nerves throbbing. In a barely restrained voice, he said, ‘Nepal, please go … get out of here this very instant …’
Nepalbabu’s features twisted into a snarl. He was about to start shouting again when Mukul rushed out and clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘Father, please! Come along now, come with me,’ she implored, nearly dragging Nepalbabu from the room. At Mukul’s remonstration, Nepalbabu followed her out without a word.
We were astounded by this display of aggression between two adults and gentlemen over so trifling a matter. At this point we noticed that at the first signs of trouble Brojodas had slipped away. Dr Bhujangadhar had meanwhile come in unnoticed. As Nishanathbabu collapsed into a chair, the doctor expelled an audible sigh. He came and sat on the chair beside Nishanathbabu’s, shaking his head in distress. ‘Mr Sen,’ he said, ‘too much stress is detrimental to your health. If a tiny vein in your head is damaged, Gupta stands to lose nothing, but … Let me check your pulse.’
Nishanathbabu said, ‘There’s no need; I am fine.’
The doctor sighed again and turned to us, looking each of us over in turn and said, ‘I had seen these gentlemen in the morning, but didn’t get the opportunity to be introduced.’
‘They have come to see the farm,’ Nishanathbabu explained.
The doctor’s smile was lopsided as he inquired, ‘So, is the motor-parts mystery anywhere near being solved?’
We looked at him, startled. Nishanathbabu frowned and asked, ‘So you know the reason for their visit?’
‘I can’t say that I do, but is it so ve
ry difficult to hazard a guess? No one comes to see the farm in this scorching heat. So what other reason could there be? Recently, a mysterious development has taken place on the farm. Therefore two and two make four.’ Then he looked at Byomkesh with a smile and asked, ‘You are Byomkeshbabu, right?’
‘You are absolutely right,’ Byomkesh said idly. ‘Now if I were to ask you a couple of questions, would you be willing to answer them?’
‘I certainly would. But, perhaps, you have already heard all about my peccadilloes.’
‘Not quite all, actually.’
‘Fine. So ask away.’
Byomkesh took a sip from his glass of buttermilk and asked, ‘Are you married?’
The doctor wasn’t expecting this question. He stared at Byomkesh in surprise. Then he nodded and said, ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Where is your wife?’
‘Abroad.’
‘Abroad?’
Dr Bhujangadhar laid bare his marital history with a smile. ‘While I was in England for three years, studying medicine, I had married a foreigner. But she couldn’t stand being with a dark-skinned man for long and soon left me. And I, the prodigal son, came back where I belonged. Since then, we have not been in touch.’
He picked up the cigarette case from the table and lit one nonchalantly. His manner held a note of courtesy tinged with insolence that was both attractive and repellent. Byomkesh continued, ‘One other question: The felony for which your licence to practise was suspended—what was it?’
Complacently emitting a smoke ring through his lips, the doctor replied, ‘I tried to save an unmarried girl from social disgrace but I was caught. Many are the hurdles along the path of virtue.’
9
We headed for the railway station in Mushkil Mian’s buggy. Nishanathbabu sent us off with a despondent air. After the incident with Nepal Gupta, he seemed to have withdrawn into a shell.
Dr Bhujangadhar boarded the van with us and offered, ‘Let me keep you company for part of the way.’
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 5