Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries

by Saradindu Bandyopadhyaya

  I sat up in bed and strained to hear this end of the conversation, but couldn’t decipher a word of it. A couple of minutes later, Byomkesh hung up and came back into the room wearing an uncharacteristic look of perplexity. ‘The storm has hit,’ he remarked.

  ‘Storm?’

  ‘Nishanathbabu is dead. Come on, we have to be off immediately.’

  I felt as if I had been struck on the head by a heavy object. I sat there in stupefaction for a while, then murmured feebly, ‘Nishanathbabu is dead? How did that happen?’

  ‘That is yet to be discovered. It could be a natural death, and then again it might not.’

  ‘But I find it hard to believe. Did he die this morning?’

  ‘Last night. Perhaps his blood pressure shot up in his sleep and he died of heart failure. Nobody was the wiser last night. This morning he was found dead in bed.’

  ‘Who called you?’

  ‘Bijoy. He suspects it wasn’t a natural death. He seemed frightened. Come now; get out of bed quickly. It’ll take too long by train. We’re taking a taxi.’

  When we drove up to the gates of Golap Colony, it was a little short of eight o’clock. But the heat was already growing in intensity. We paid off the taxi and entered the compound.

  The garden was deserted. None of the gardeners were at work. The huts too, looked abandoned. We looked around and couldn’t spot a soul anywhere.

  When we reached Nishanathbabu’s house, Bijoy stepped out. His hair was dishevelled and his feet were bare. He had a thin shawl draped around him and his eyes were bloodshot. In a hoarse voice, he said, ‘Please come in.’

  Once we had entered the drawing room, Byomkesh suggested, ‘Come, let me take a look around first. Then you can give me an account of it all.’

  Bijoy led us into the next room. It was the same one in which we had taken our siesta the other day. The window was open. The bed stood at one end. On it lay the corpse, covered with a sheet.

  We went and stood by the bed. Carefully, Byomkesh lifted the sheet.

  Nishanathbabu looked as if he were sleeping. He wore silk pyjamas. The rest of his torso was bare. His face looked a bit puffy, as though a surfeit of blood had flowed through it. But otherwise his body was unmarked by signs indicating death or its cause.

  After examining the body in silence for a few minutes, Byomkesh suddenly pointed and exclaimed, ‘What on earth …! Socks!’

  I hadn’t noticed—the soles of Nishanathbabu’s feet were partly covered by the material of his pyjamas—what I now saw: He was wearing socks. Byomkesh bent to examine them closely. ‘Woollen socks,’ he mused. ‘Was he in the habit of wearing socks to bed?’

  Bijoy was standing there like one in a trance. He shook his head and replied, ‘No.’

  Byomkesh pulled the sheet back over the corpse and said, ‘Okay, I’ve finished. Have you sent for a doctor? You’ll need a doctor’s certificate.’

  Bijoy replied, ‘Mushkil has taken the buggy and gone into town. Nagen Pal is a well-known doctor in these parts. But what conclusion have you drawn, Byomkeshbabu?’

  ‘We can discuss that later. Where is your Kakima?’

  ‘She is still lying in a faint.’ Bijoy led us to the next room. We parted the curtains at the door and found that this too was a bedroom. Damayanti Devi lay unconscious on the bed. Dr Bhujangadhar sat by it, ministering to her; he was sprinkling water over her face and head and holding an open bottle of ammonia to her nose.

  On seeing us, Bhujangadhar came over. His face was dolefully sombre, his natural devil-may-care briskness a trifle subdued. In a low voice, he whispered, ‘She’s still unconscious, but it won’t be long now before she comes to.’

  The conversation went on in hushed tones. Byomkesh asked, ‘Since when has she been in this state?’

  Bhujangadharbabu said, ‘For nearly three hours now. She was the first to discover him. When she woke up this morning, she must have gone into his room and found him like that. She screamed and fainted on the spot. She’s yet to regain consciousness.’

  ‘Have you seen the body?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘What do you think? Was it a natural death?’

  The doctor’s eyes widened as he looked at Byomkesh. Then he shook his head slowly. ‘I do not have the right to express my opinions on the matter. Let the “real” doctor arrive. He’ll tell us whatever there is to say.’ With these words, Bhujangadharbabu returned to Damayanti Devi’s bedside.

  We returned to the drawing room. In the meantime, Brojodas had come in and was standing by the door. He bowed low in greeting. Grief and distress showed on his face as did a sharp anxiety. In a broken voice, he said, ‘How could this befall us! We are so used to the shelter of a high mountain, what will happen to us? Where will we go now?’

  We seated ourselves. Byomkesh said, ‘In all likelihood, you won’t need to go anywhere. The farm will continue to run as before. Please sit down.’

  Brojodas remained on his feet. With a resolute look on his face, he stood with his back to the window.

  Byomkesh asked, ‘When was the last time you saw Nishanathbabu yesterday?’

  ‘In the evening. He seemed to be fine at the time.’

  ‘Did he mention anything about his blood pressure?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  Mushkil’s vehicle pulled up outside. Bijoy went out and returned with Dr Nagendra Pal. The doctor carried a bag in his hand. A stethoscope hung out of his pocket. He was an elderly man, but quite nimble in his movements. Murmuring practised phrases of comfort and commiseration in an undertone, Dr Pal followed Bijoy into the next room. I caught the tail end of his words of consolation: ‘… there is a cure for all illnesses except the one called death …’

  Once he had gone into the next room, Byomkesh asked Brojodas, ‘Is Dr Pal a frequent visitor here?’

  ‘He drops by once in a while. He is the farm’s official doctor. Of course, Bhujangadharbabu takes care of everything here. Dr Pal is summoned only when necessary.’

  Dr Pal emerged from the room fifteen minutes later, followed by Bijoy and Bhujangadharbabu. His features were arranged in a professional mask of condolence. Dr Pal darted a quick glance at Byomkesh—it appeared as if he had already obtained the latter’s particulars from Bijoy. He took a seat, brought a letterhead notepad out of his bag and made as if to write on it.

  Byomkesh leaned towards him and asked, ‘Do forgive me, but are you about to write out the death certificate?’

  Dr Pal raised an eyebrow as he looked up and replied, ‘I am.’

  ‘So you believe it was a natural death?’ Byomkesh asked him.

  A corner of his lips tilted up as Dr Pal smiled and observed, ‘There is no such thing as natural death; every death is unnatural. It is a state the body succumbs to when it is no longer in its natural condition.’

  Byomkesh said, ‘That’s true. But the body could deviate from its natural state either on its own or through some kind of manipulation.’

  Dr Pal’s brows rose a fraction higher. He said, ‘You are Byomkeshbabu, aren’t you? I understand what you’re trying to imply. But I have examined Nishanathbabu’s body carefully and found no marks of assault or violation. The time of death has been roughly established at sometime between ten and eleven o’clock last night. I believe that a vein in his head ruptured last night while he was asleep. That’s how he died. This is normally the way most patients suffering from high blood pressure go.’

  Byomkesh said, ‘But I suppose you have noticed that he was wearing socks? Was it plausible for him to have worn socks to bed at the height of summer?’

  A shadow of doubt swept over Dr Pal’s face. He conceded, ‘Although that doesn’t fall typically within the medical domain, it is a matter to be given some thought. It is indeed implausible that Nishanathbabu would wear socks to bed in this heat. But is it at all credible that someone else would pull socks over his feet in the dead of night? If someone had made the attempt, wouldn’t Nishanathbabu have woken up? What do you feel
?’

  Byomkesh said, ‘First, tell me something. Is blood pressure likely to shoot up if a patient suffering from hypertension wears socks to bed?’

  ‘Yes, it is. But there is no certainty that he would rupture a blood vessel in the brain and die. That may happen only in specific instances.’

  Byomkesh urged, ‘Dr Pal, please don’t issue a certificate stating that this is a natural death. It is not possible to deduce from a superficial examination of Nishanathbabu’s body what exactly has happened within it. A post-mortem is warranted.’

  The doctor fixed Byomkesh with a long, assessing stare. Then he began to screw the cap back on his pen as he said, ‘You have put me in a quandary. Well, all right. It’s fine by me. There’s no harm in it, anyway.’ He rose, bag in hand, and said, ‘I’ll be off, then. I’ll send word to the police station and arrange for an autopsy.’

  Bijoy saw the doctor off and returned. He collapsed wearily into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

  Bhujangadharbabu was still standing near the door that led into the house. He said in a forceful voice, ‘Bijoybabu, why don’t you go to your cottage and lie down? Let me give you a sedative. You cannot afford to fall apart at this time.’

  Bijoy didn’t raise his face. In a strangled voice, he said, ‘I am fine.’

  Bhujangadharbabu wore a look of exasperation on his face. He said, ‘That’s precisely what Nishanathbabu would also say. He pampered his ailments, never taking the medicines prescribed to combat them. If I pressed him to allow me to draw some blood, he’d say, “There’s no need … I am fine”. Do you see the consequences now?’

  Abruptly, Byomkesh turned towards him. ‘So you too believe his was a natural death?’

  Bhujangadharbabu said, ‘What I happen to believe is immaterial. You have your doubts. Go ahead and have the postmortem done. But nothing will come of it.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  Bhujangadharbabu gave a wan smile. ‘I too was a doctor once upon a time.’ Slowly, he turned into the house.

  Byomkesh turned to Bijoy and said, ‘Bhujangadharbabu is right. You need some rest …’

  Bijoy looked at him with a shattered expression and said, ‘I cannot go and lie down now, Byomkeshbabu. Kaka …’ His voice choked on the words.

  ‘Well, that’s understandable. Okay, then tell me all that has transpired since yesterday. In the morning, you had come by to give me the letter before going to the shop. By the way, do you know what your uncle had written to me?’

  ‘No. What was it?’

  ‘He wrote that he wouldn’t be requiring my assistance any more. But let’s put that aside for the time being. When did you return from Calcutta?’

  ‘By the five o’clock train.’

  ‘Did you meet your uncle?’

  ‘I saw him strolling in the gardens. We didn’t speak.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘That was it. I didn’t see him again. Once evening set in, I was on my way here to speak to Kaka, but I heard him engaged in an argument with Rashikbabu …’

  ‘Rashikbabu? You mean the gentleman who looks after the vegetable shop? What were they arguing about?’

  ‘I didn’t hear all of it. I just heard Kaka say, “I’ll have you thrown into prison”. I didn’t go in. I just turned around and went back the way I’d come.’

  ‘Hmm. Didn’t you meet your uncle at dinner?’

  ‘No. I had my dinner early and took the eight o’clock train back to Calcutta.’

  ‘You went to Calcutta again?’ Byomkesh looked at Bijoy steadily.

  Bijoy’s pale face grew a shade more distressed. His voice held a note of defiance as he said, ‘Yes. Something came up.’

  Byomkesh didn’t ask him what it was. Calmly, he inquired, ‘When did you return?’

  ‘After midnight. I went to my cottage and fell asleep. This morning Mukul came and …’

  ‘Mukul?’

  ‘Mukul was passing this way early in the morning. She heard Kakima scream and came in to find her in a dead faint and Kaka dead in bed. So she ran out and woke me up.’

  There was silence all around. Byomkesh was absent-mindedly on the verge of lighting a cigarette when he stopped short and put it back in its case. He asked, ‘Where is Rashikbabu?’

  ‘Rashikbabu has been missing since this morning. His cottage is deserted.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Now Brojodas spoke up. All this while, he had been leaning against the window and listening in silence. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I think Rashikbabu left last night itself. His cottage is right next to mine and I didn’t see any lights on last night.’

  Bijoy concurred, ‘That may well be the case. Perhaps after the disagreement with Kaka …’

  Byomkesh said, ‘Maybe he’ll come back. Is everyone else on the farm wherever they ought to be? Nepalbabu …’

  ‘Everyone else is there.’

  There was another lull in the conversation. Then Byomkesh said, ‘Bijoybabu, tell me something now: How did you come to suspect that Nishanathbabu’s death was not a natural one?’

  Bijoy replied, ‘First, when I noticed the socks on his feet. Kaka didn’t wear socks even in winter. In fact, he didn’t own any. Second, when I entered the room and found the window shut.’

  ‘It was shut?’

  ‘Yes, bolted from within. Kaka never shut the window while he slept. So who did?’

  ‘A valid question. Bijoybabu, please don’t mind my asking you a personal question. Did your uncle have a deep, dark secret?’

  A shadow of fear crossed his eyes as Bijoy muttered indistinctly, ‘A deep, dark secret! Why no, not that I know of.’

  Byomkesh remarked, ‘Well, I’m not surprised. Perhaps something had happened to him in his youth. But have you never harboured even a vague suspicion of something along those lines?’

  ‘No.’ Bijoy wearily lowered his face into his palms.

  At this point, I noticed that Brojodas had quietly disappeared from the room during the conversation. Since our attention was focussed on Bijoy, we didn’t noticed his departure.

  Bhujangadharbabu came out through the door leading to the private quarters and paused in our midst. ‘Mrs Sen has regained consciousness,’ he told us gently.

  Bijoy hastily got to his feet and made as if to go in. Bhujangadharbabu stopped him for a moment and said, ‘It would be best not to mention the post-mortem to her right now.’

  Bijoy left. A few seconds later, heartrending wails came from Damayanti Devi’s room.

  ‘Kakima …’

  ‘Bijoy, my child …’

  Bhujangadharbabu stifled a deep sigh and went back the way he had come. We remained there, detached witnesses to the lament of two grief-stricken souls.

  12

  Byomkesh looked at the watch on his wrist and said, ‘Nine-thirty. There is time yet for the police to arrive. Come, let’s go for a walk.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just around the farm. Come on.’

  The two of us set off. The sound of Damayanti Devi’s lamentations still hadn’t died away. Bijoy was with his aunt. Probably Bhujangadharbabu and the others were present there as well.

  We stepped out through the main entrance of the house. Taking the road on our left, we had gone a few steps when a sight suddenly stopped us in our tracks. On this side of the house, the two windows facing out were partly hidden by flowering creepers. The first belonged to Nishanathbabu’s room and the second to Damayanti Devi’s. Standing on the ground just outside Damayanti Devi’s window was a woman craning forward to look into the room. Her expression was one of complete absorption. The moment she noticed us, she flashed us a look and took off through the bushes with the stealth of a reptile, vanishing around the back of the house.

  It was Mushkil’s wife Nazar Bibi.

  Byomkesh frowned and continued to stare. I asked, ‘Did you see that?’

  Byomkesh resumed walking and observed, ‘She was eavesdropping at the window.
’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘Could be sheer curiosity. After all, she’s a woman! Nishanathbabu has died, but the people on the farm haven’t been told much. Nor do they have the guts to come right out and ask about it directly. So, perhaps …’

  I wasn’t entirely satisfied with this explanation. While it was true that women often eavesdropped out of plain curiosity, was it no more than that in this particular instance?

  As we passed the cowshed, we saw Panugopal sitting in the doorway of his hut and staring at the sky. His eyes brimmed with feelings of utter desolation. Catching sight of us, he stood up and, grabbing his hair in both hands, tried desperately to convey something to us. His lips moved but no sound emerged from his throat. Then he sat down again. Without uttering a single word, the helpless creature had managed to communicate to us the magnitude of his sense of loss at Nishanathbabu’s death.

  We walked on ahead without pausing. Going past the next crossing, we turned at the subsequent one and arrived before Nepalbabu’s cottage.

  Nepalbabu was sitting practically naked on the charpoy in the room and writing something in a bound notebook. On noticing us, he hastily shut the book. He glared at us for a few seconds, then exclaimed in a tone of great annoyance, ‘You again!’

  Byomkesh entered the room and sat on the charpoy. Wearing a sorrowful expression, he proceeded to lie through his teeth. ‘Nishanathbabu had written to us, inviting us over,’ he said. ‘We came here only to discover …’

  Nepalbabu contemplated him with watchful eyes, made a strange sound deep in his throat and made to light a half-smoked cigar.

  ‘We are really shocked,’ Byomkesh went on. ‘We never imagined that Nishanathbabu could die suddenly like this.’

  Nepalbabu exhaled some smoke and declared, ‘Most patients of hypertension die that way. Nishanath was very stubborn; he wouldn’t listen to anyone. How many times I had told him …’

  ‘You were close friends, weren’t you?’

  Nepalbabu paused for breath and said, ‘Yes, we certainly were. But because of his obstinacy, we sometimes came to loggerheads.’