Barat said, ‘Could you make out who the man was?’
‘I’m afraid not. But I know it was a woman. While I was in hot pursuit, I thought I caught a whiff of rose essence. Once I even heard the tinkling sound of bangles or a bunch of keys.’
‘A woman … who could it be?’
‘It could be Mukul or Mushkil’s wife. It could even be Damayanti Devi. Come on, it’s nearly nine-thirty.’
Barat accompanied us to the station platform from where we would be catching our train. The train hadn’t pulled in yet. As we stood there, Byomkesh said, ‘There’s one other thing you have to do. Inspector Barat, please do not imagine for one moment that I am trying to take over the reins. We are comrades in this endeavour. You have the unlimited resources of the police force backing you up. A chore that would take you no more than five minutes to accomplish might take me five days. Which is why I am requesting you …’
Barat laughed, ‘Do tell me what it is you wish me to do?’
Byomkesh said, ‘You’ll have to plant an informer in their midst. I need to be informed about anyone going to Calcutta from the farm. I also need to know when he or she is undertaking the journey. As soon as you come to know about it, give me a call.’
‘Done. I shall keep my men watching the farm as well as the station. You had given me the chipped piece of glass that belonged to Bonolokhhi’s broken bangle. What would you like me to do with it?’
‘You can throw it away. I’d thought we might need to have it tested. But that won’t be necessary.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not at the moment. What did you make of all that we saw and heard today? Do you suspect anyone?’
‘Damayanti is my prime suspect.’
‘But this was not a woman’s job.’
‘A woman could have used an accomplice.’
Byomkesh’s glance flitted towards Barat. ‘And who could that accomplice be?’
‘That is difficult to guess. It could be anyone. What’s to stop Bijoy from being one? The manner in which he was defending his Kakima …’
‘Yes, that is truly something worth looking into. On the other hand, there is a clear connection between Nepalbabu and Damayanti Devi.’
‘Tell me, is anything of particular interest known about Damayanti Devi’s personality and character?’
‘Haven’t been given any dirt on her. In fact, whatever I have heard so far is consistently positive.’
‘Here’s your train … By the way, I have arranged for the accounts of Rashik De’s vegetable stall to be scrutinized. If he has really embezzled money from there, I shall have an arrest warrant issued for him.’
In the train’s vacant compartment, Byomkesh stretched out on one of the seats and stared dreamily at the lights overhead for a while. Then he sat up suddenly, lit a cigarette and said, ‘It really is a menagerie.’
Intrigued, I inquired, ‘What makes you say so all of a sudden?’
Byomkesh exhaled some smoke and asked, ‘What else is it? A suspended doctor rattles off slokas in Sanskrit; a professor with a facial disfigurement plays chess with his daughter late into the night; the master is killed in a house whose doors are locked from the inside, but his wife, sleeping in the next room, knows nothing about it; the master’s nephew dips into his uncle’s funds and proudly proclaims it; the Vaishnav devotee absconds; the buggy driver’s wife eavesdrops … What else could it be, but a human menagerie?’
‘Did today’s investigations reveal anything of consequence?’
‘Just this—everyone is lying. None of their accounts are out-and-out fabrications, but the truth is so skilfully woven with lies, that it is difficult to tell them apart.’
‘Is Bonolokhhi also lying?’
‘At least she intended to. However, her conscience finally prompted her to come out with the truth.’
‘Tell me, what did you think of the alibis?’
‘None of them has a watertight alibi. Bijoy claims he was in Calcutta at the time of the murder. But he has no witnesses or evidence to substantiate his claim. He has even destroyed the anonymous letter. Nepalbabu was playing chess with his daughter, but no one saw them doing so. The doctor was playing the sitar in total darkness. Someone heard the instrument being played, but no one saw him playing it. Bonolokhhi was sewing at the machine and nobody had seen her do so either. Then there’s Damayanti. Could these be called alibis?’
Byomkesh gazed for a while into the play of light and shade outside; his brow was creased in deep thought. He asked, ‘Did you notice how Bonolokhhi had taken my hand in hers at one point?’
‘Didn’t I just!’ I retorted. ‘You also took her hand in both of yours and caressed it, I observed.’
Byomkesh smiled despondently. ‘I wasn’t caressing her hand. I was merely expressing my sympathy. I notice that the tip of her left index finger was calloused.’
‘What’s so strange about that? Those who do needlework often have calloused fingers.’
Byomkesh took a final drag on his cigarette, a worried frown on his face, threw the butt away and went back to his supine position.
It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when we returned home. No further discussions were held. We had our dinner quickly and went to bed.
18
I was awakened by a clamouring noise in my head. Day hadn’t dawned yet. It felt like someone was banging on a metal disc right next to my ear. A few days ago, another such jangling summons had dragged us from sleep.
I could not bring myself to linger in bed this morning. Striding swiftly into the next room, I found Byomkesh answering the telephone call. I sat down on the cot next to the instrument and listened to the audible end of the conversation.
‘Hello, Bijoybabu … what?’ I heard Byomkesh say. ‘Dead! When? What happened? … Yes, I can come over, but what’s the use of going now? Why don’t you give Inspector Barat a call instead, and he’ll make the arrangements … Yes, absolutely! An autopsy is a must and the bottle of medication has to be sent in for examination … Right …’
Byomkesh hung up and sat down in an armchair. The question that was bubbling on my lips burst forth: ‘Who was it? Who has died?’
Cobwebs of a nightmare seemed to hang over Byomkesh’s face. He rubbed his hand over his eyes as though to wipe it away. He said, ‘It’s Panugopal. His body was discovered just a while back. He had probably applied some medicine to his ears, because the unscrewed bottle was found next to him. The medicine had been poisoned and the stinging sensation of the poison had made him rush outside, where he fell from the top of the stairs. That’s where he died. It’s my fault. I should have realized that if Panu really knew something of crucial importance, his life would be in danger. Why didn’t I take preventive measures? Why didn’t I bring him home with me yesterday? But yesterday Bijoy had remarked that Panu was an idiot and that, perhaps, he really didn’t have very much to say. My mind was swayed by that logic …’
Byomkesh suddenly fell silent. A new suspicion had raised its ugly head while he was chastising himself and he covered his face with his hands.
The morning crept in slowly. Putiram came in with the tea. But Byomkesh didn’t touch it. Neither did he light a single cigarette. He lay in the armchair, as if in a stupor, a hand sheltering his face.
My heart was heavy. Nature had afflicted poor Panugopal with a congenital defect, but his mind had been sound. He was also capable of deep gratitude. Nishanathbabu had been fond of him and I too, had grown to like him. The news of his painful death continued to torment me.
At noon, Byomkesh got up in silence and had his bath and his lunch. Then he switched on the fan and stretched out on the bed. I knew he hadn’t done so for a quick nap. He held himself responsible for Panugopal’s death and needed solitude so that he could come to terms with it. Moreover, he was desperate to unmask the shrouded assassin who had silently removed two people in quick succession from the face of the earth.
That evening, we sat and drank our tea together. Byomkesh’
s face continued to look as menacing as a newly sharpened razor blade.
Pramod Barat arrived with the autopsy report when darkness had descended. He handed it to Byomkesh and said, ‘Death by nicotine poison. There was nicotine in the bottle of medicine as well.’
Byomkesh placed the cigarette case before Barat and asked Putiram for a second round of tea. He read the report without a single comment and passed it on to me.
Death had occurred at night between ten o’clock and eleven. Panu had been suffering from an ear infection. Before going to bed, he had dipped a ball of cotton in the bottled medicine and applied it to his ears. This was part of his daily routine. But yesterday, someone had mixed poison in his medicine without him coming to know of it. He had died within minutes of the poison entering his bloodstream. There were no marks of external wounds. These facts were evident from the post-mortem report and from what Barat had told us.
‘Who was the first to find the body?’ Byomkesh asked.
‘Nepalbabu’s daughter Mukul,’ Barat replied.
Byomkesh stared at him for a few seconds, then remarked, ‘Mukul again! Strange.’
Barat said, ‘From what I have heard, the girl is in the habit of rising very early in the morning and strolling about in the garden.’
‘Hmm. Have you conducted your own investigations?’
‘I interrogated everyone, but couldn’t come up with anything useful.’
‘The medicine that Panu used to apply in his ears—was it prescribed by Bhujangadharbabu?’
‘It was. All it contained was glycerine and boric powder. Bhujangadharbabu told me that he used to prepare a bottle every month and give it to Panu to use. Last night, some time before ten o’clock, the killer arrived and mixed the nicotine in the medicine. Most probably, Panu was at dinner at the time.’
‘Did you check at what time each of the persons on the farm had his dinner?’
‘Not all of them dined together. Some preceded the others. Panu went in at around quarter to ten, which was shortly after we left.’
‘Who did the cooking yesterday?’
‘Damayanti and Mukul. Both were in the kitchen throughout.’
There was a prolonged silence. Putiram left the tea and snacks on the table.
Byomkesh observed, ‘Nicotine … Ajit, I wonder if you’ve noticed—this is the second time nicotine has come into the picture.’
‘I have,’ I replied. ‘in other words, Sunayana.’
Barat interjected, ‘But we have already rejected the possibility that Sunayana, or any other woman for that matter, could string up Nishanathbabu from the ceiling. So we have to conclude that Sunayana has a male accomplice.’
‘Either male or female. The task that is impossible for one woman to accomplish could very well be within the reach of two. But the real clue is nicotine. Where did this poison come from? Inspector Barat, do you know anything about nicotine?’
‘All I know is that it is a deadly poison. After you’d told me Sunayana’s story, I made some inquiries and found that it was not available in the pharmacy; in fact, I doubt whether it is available anywhere. Unless, of course, it is a by-product of some large factory, in which case I would know nothing about it.’
‘It’s possible that the person who used this poison is either a chemist himself or having it made by one.’
‘It certainly is. There is one chemist close at hand, of course—Nepal Gupta.’
‘If it is indeed Nepal Gupta, in what way is he related to Sunayana?’
‘How about them being father and daughter?’
‘Nepalbabu also has a hold over Damayanti Devi,’ I added, ‘and it could be the two of them as well.’
Byomkesh gave a cynical smile and said, ‘It could be Damayanti Devi and Bijoy, Bijoy and Bonolokhhi, Bonolokhhi and Damayanti, Damayanti and Bhujangadhar, or Bonolokhhi and Brojodas. It may even be Mushkil Mian and Nazar Bibi. There are many possibilities, but there is no point in merely analysing them. We have to know for sure.’
Barat finished the snacks he had been served with tea, wiped his mouth and said, ‘Fair enough, but do suggest a method of confirming the truth. As far as the police are concerned, the coast is clear; even my superiors will admit that Panu was murdered. So I shall be able to help you with whatever comes within the purview of police authority. Just tell me what needs to be done.’
‘For one thing, you could search the room of each and every person on the farm,’ Byomkesh suggested. ‘But you wouldn’t find any nicotine. I have a feeling that routine operations would be of little use. Instead, it would be best to lie low for a while.’
‘Just sit back and do nothing?’
‘Not quite. Let the manhunt for Brojodas and Rashik continue. You can also look into the books in Rashik’s stall. And have some informers keep a close watch on Golap Colony. We really need to know who is going out and when.’
Barat rose to leave, ‘That is what I had decided to do right away, but Panu’s death threw everything out of gear. I’ll arrange for surveillance on the farm from tomorrow. Do you anticipate anyone else on the farm dying suddenly?’
Byomkesh closed his eyes for a while, then replied, ‘Perhaps not. And even if I did, we wouldn’t be able to prevent it.’
19
For a couple of days, it remained quiet on the Golap Colony front. No news came from Pramod Barat either. It was as if the people on the farm, with Death’s shadow hanging over it, had slipped to the peripheries of everyone’s consciousness. Byomkesh had his eye on the telephone and paced the floor like a discontented spectre. On a few occasions, we did set the chessboard for a game. But Byomkesh remained distracted and the games didn’t go well.
On the third evening, following our regular tea session, Byomkesh announced, ‘I shall be going out.’
My antenna was instantly on alert. ‘Where are you off to?’ I asked him.
‘I need to make a few queries at St Martha’s Girls’ School. But you’ll have to stay home, just in case there’s a phone call.’
Byomkesh left, and I spent the next two hours counting each minute.
Precisely at five minutes to six, the telephone rang. My heart skipped a beat.
It was Barat calling. He said, ‘He’s gone out? Please tell him that Bhujangadharbabu, dressed formally in jacket and trousers, took the 5.45 train to Calcutta. There’s one other bit of news: A scrutiny of Rashik De’s books revealed a deficit of three thousand rupees. I have taken out a warrant in his name.’
‘What’s new at the farm?’
‘Nothing at all.’
After Barat hung up, my agitation grew. I had no idea of the import of Bhujangadharbabu’s trip to Calcutta. When would Byomkesh be back?
Byomkesh returned at a quarter past six. The minute I told him about Bhujangadharbabu, his face lit up. He glanced at his watch and said, ‘There’s still half an hour to go before the train reaches the city. I have a lot of time.’ He went into his bedroom and shut the door.
I approached the closed door and told him, ‘Rashik De has stolen three thousand rupees from the store.’
From the other side came the answer, ‘Oh, good!’
Five minutes later, the man who emerged from Byomkesh’s room was a middle-aged foreigner. He wore a scruffy pair of jeans and a faded jacket of alpaca wool. A moth-eaten nightcap crowned his head and a half-smoked cheroot stuck out of his mouth beneath his bushy moustache.
I said, ‘Hey, where are you off to, dressed like Guanci Pedru?’
‘None of your business, young man,’ the sahib sternly replied before clicking his heels together and walking out.
I didn’t set eyes on him again until ten-thirty that night. He took a shower and came into the drawing room, sitting down with a hot cup of tea in his hand.
‘One great thing about Western clothes,’ I began, ‘is that the minute you wear them, your temper inevitably rises by leaps and bounds. Have you calmed down now?’
‘One great thing about Western clothes,’ Byomkesh retorted, ‘
is that it precludes the need for further disguise. I suppose you are terribly curious about what’s been happening?’
‘That I am. You may unburden yourself now.’
‘Which do you want first? The Bhujangadharbabu episode?’
‘Absolutely.’
Byomkesh took a sip from the cup and said, ‘I suppose it’s obvious that I dressed up as a foreigner and went to Sealdah Station. The purpose was to check out where Bhujangadharbabu was headed. I located him at the station and began following him. Darkness had nearly descended and it wasn’t difficult to go unnoticed. He boarded a tram and so did I. He got off it at the Moulali junction. I did the same. Then he walked along Dharmatolla for a while and slipped into a tiny lane. It led into a maze of similar lanes, one running into the other. I realized we had entered an Anglo-Indian neighbourhood and that was an advantage, because my disguise merged completely into the background. The one great thing about Western attire is that it doesn’t stand out, no matter which neighbourhood you happen to be in.’
‘Go on.’
‘Two women were leaning against the wall near the doorway of a dilapidated house. Bhujangadharbabu approached them and spoke to them in an undertone. Then he entered the house. The women continued to stand there.’
I asked, ‘What did they look like?’
Byomkesh said with an expression of distaste,
‘When the gods are asleep, they awaken,
When the gods wake, they go to sleep;
At the portals of hell on this earth,
They light the evening lamps!’
‘Go on with the story.’
‘I was in a fix. From what we have come to know of Bhujangadharbabu, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But I couldn’t have let him go either without first verifying if this dilapidated house was indeed his only destination for that evening. I walked past the house once and noted that the number on it was nineteen. Then I secreted myself in a dark corner and waited. The two women continued to stand by the door and smoke.
‘Nearly forty minutes later, Bhujangadharbabu emerged. Without glancing this way or that, he headed back the same way he had come. I followed. I am back after watching him board the 9.45 train at Sealdah Station.’
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 11