Byomkesh emptied his cup in one gulp and lit a cigarette. I asked, ‘So Bhujangadharbabu’s actions did not offer any clues?’
Byomkesh frowned for a moment before observing, ‘Something didn’t seem quite right there. When Bhujangadharbabu came out of the house, an object fell out of his pocket. It made a jingling sound as it fell. He struck a match to locate it and picked it up from the ground. I noticed it was a key chain with two or three large keys hanging from it.’
‘So, what wasn’t right here?’
‘Perhaps nothing is amiss, but I can’t get over my feeling that I’ve missed a clue.’
After a spell of silence, I asked, ‘And what happened at St Martha’s which you visited earlier?’
Byomkesh said, ‘Damayanti Devi had attended the school for about eight months or so. She didn’t go every day. Neither was she too keen on learning English. There were a few Punjabi girls there with whom she used to chat …’
‘Punjabi girls?’
‘Yes. Damayanti Devi knows how to speak Punjabi.’
At this moment, the telephone rang. Byomkesh promptly picked up the receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Hello … Inspector Barat—what a surprise! … Rashik De has been arrested! Where did you find him? … What? At the Banga Bilash Hotel near Sealdah! Did he have any money on him? … Just thirty rupees? Please keep him in your custody for the night and I shall be there first thing tomorrow … That’s it. Oh yes, I shall be giving you an address to which you’ll have to send a couple of your men for a good look. No. 19 Mirza Lane … No, not a terribly nice place, but I’m sure you have people in your division who are quite capable of going there and chatting them up … Ha! Ha! Ha! Right then, tomorrow morning it is … Namaskar.’
Byomkesh hung up and said, ‘Come on, let’s get dinner over with and go to bed. We have to get an early start tomorrow.’
20
The Golap Colony affair had halted en route like a speeding automobile gone awry. Three days later, the vehicle was repaired and began to hurtle along at the same speed as before.
At around eight-thirty the following morning, we arrived at the Mohanpur station. From midnight onwards, the sky had been overcast, the clouds like ashes on a smouldering fire with the sun’s tortured rays striving to get past them. We set off for the police station on foot.
We had nearly reached our destination when Nepalbabu charged out from the building like a wild boar. He came rushing along in our direction and, on spotting us, halted in his tracks. Then he grunted and charged past us.
Byomkesh called out, ‘Nepalbabu, please, do stop and listen.’
Nepalbabu spun around as though it were a martial-arts move and glared at us ferociously. Byomkesh walked up to him and asked, ‘What’s up—you came to the police station? What’s the matter?’
Nepalbabu exploded, ‘Trouble, that’s what! I went to offer my assistance to the police. My mistake, apparently. Never again!’ He turned away and stomped off.
Byomkesh caught up with him a second time and asked, ‘But what is the problem? What kind of help did you offer the police?’
With hands flailing wildly in the air, Nepalbabu said, ‘Oh no, no, not any more! I have had enough! Which ass would bother to stick his nose into police matters again? It was sheer lunacy on my part …!’
‘But what’s the harm in telling me about it?’ Byomkesh asked, ‘I am not the police, after all.’
But getting Nepalbabu to see reason was not an easy task. After much effort and many conciliatory pats on the back, Byomkesh managed to calm him down. We stood beneath a tree while the conversation between them ensued. Nepalbabu said, ‘Two murders have taken place on the farm and the police probably feel comfortable doing nothing. But how can I remain aloof like them? I have to shoulder this responsibility, don’t I? I know who committed the murders and I went to the police with my information. But instead of extending their cooperation, they turned on me and began to harass me! Splendid! As if I were the murderer!’
Byomkesh asked, ‘You know who the murderer is?’
‘What’s there to know? Everyone on the farm knows! It’s just that no one has the guts to come out with the truth.’
‘Who is it, then?’
‘Bijoy! Bijoy! Who else would do it? First he conspired with his Kakima and got rid of his uncle. Then they went after Panu. That boy had caught on, you see.’
‘But … do you know what Panu died of?’
‘Nicotine. I know everything.’
‘But where would Bijoy get his hands on nicotine? Is it available in the market?’
‘Cigarettes are available in the market. With a little sense, anyone at all could extract as much nicotine from a packet of cigarettes as was necessary to kill all the people on the farm.’
‘Really! Is it that easy to extract nicotine?’
‘Of course it is! All they’d need is a retort.’ At this point, Nepalbabu’s manner grew circumspect. Without uttering another word, he began heading for the station.
We accompanied him. Byomkesh said, ‘You are a scientist and you must be right. I had no idea it was so easy to extract nicotine. Where are you off to in such a rush? Aren’t you going back to the farm?’
‘I am going to Calcutta to look for a place to stay. Respectable people can no longer live on the farm …’ he shot back before marching off.
A peculiar smile played on Byomkesh’s lips as we went back to the police station.
Once there, Byomkesh took a seat in Pramod Barat’s room and said, ‘We bumped into Nepal Gupta on our way here.’
‘Oh, please,’ Barat pleaded, ‘the man is out of his mind! He has been annoying me since this morning. He believes Bijoy to be the killer, but hasn’t the slightest evidence to support his claim. He’s just full of malicious spite. I said, “If you wish to lodge a complaint against Bijoy, you may do so, but how would you deal with the situation, if Bijoy sued you for libel later?” At this, Nepal Gupta got up and sneaked away. Actually, Bijoy has handed him his marching orders. He apparently told Nepalbabu that he could stay on the farm only if he did so quietly without trying to lord it over all and sundry as has been his habit all these years. Otherwise, he would be on his own. Hence Nepalbabu’s animosity towards Bijoy.’
Byomkesh said, ‘I thought as much. Anyway, you may bring Rashik out now.’
The man was brought before us. A night spent in prison had not improved his appearance in any way. His disgruntled face bore an expression of martyred obduracy. When he saw us, he gulped, making the bones on his throat stand out.
But his interrogation by Byomkesh failed to elicit a single morsel of information. In fact, Rashik was silent nearly all through. No answer was forthcoming to Byomkesh’s question as to whether he had committed the theft or not. Nor did he reply to the query about what he had done with the stolen money. He spoke up only once and that too almost unconsciously.
Byomkesh asked, ‘Did you have a row with Nishanathbabu on the night he died?’
Rashik’s eyes widened for a moment. Finally, he asked, ‘Is Nishanathbabu dead?’
Byomkesh replied, ‘He is, and so is Panugopal. Didn’t you know?’
Rashik merely shook his head.
Byomkesh subsequently asked him many more questions but received no answers to them. Finally, he said, ‘Look, you haven’t wasted the money you stole; you’ve stashed it away somewhere. If you let us know where you’ve hidden it, I can speak to Bijoybabu on your behalf and have him withdraw the case against you, so that you won’t have to go to jail. Will you tell us where and with whom you have kept the money?’
Rashik remained silent.
After persisting for a while longer, Byomkesh gave up and told him, ‘Well, you’re making a big mistake. Ultimately, we shall find out whatever it is you’re trying to hide. And you’ll end up serving a five-year jail sentence.’
Rashik’s throat muscles constricted again, as if he were about to part his lips and say something. Then he shut his mouth again resolutely.
<
br /> After Rashik was taken away, Byomkesh said heavily, ‘So, nothing seems to have turned up here. But we can’t afford any further delay—we need to strike while the iron is hot. I have a plan …’
‘What is it?’ Barat asked him.
But we didn’t get to hear the plan. For at this very moment a thuggish young face peeped in and announced, ‘Sir, I have got hold of Brojodas.’
Barat said, ‘Bikash, come on in. Where did you find Guruji?’
Bikash stepped into the room and grinned broadly. ‘He was playing the tambourine at a religious gathering in Nabadwip, the mecca of all Vaishnavs. He didn’t create a fuss. The minute I said he would have to accompany me to the police station, he quietly followed me here.’
‘Oh, good. Send him in.’
Brojodas Vaishnav entered the room. He wore a shawl inscribed with the name of God, and the stubble of several days on his unshaved face made him look like a porcupine. His expression was sheepish and embarrassed. He stood before us, bowing low in humble greeting.
Barat exchanged a look with Byomkesh. The latter permitted himself a tiny smile and asked the Vaishnav to take a seat.
As if further embarrassed by the invitation, Brojodas chose a stool instead of a chair and sat down.
‘Why did you suddenly decide to disappear?’ Byomkesh asked him. ‘As far as I know, you didn’t steal money or anything else from the farm.’
‘No, sir.’
‘So why did you choose to abscond?’
Brojodas sat there quietly with a shamefaced look. As I continued to look at him, I suddenly remembered Nishanath having told us that Brojodas had stopped lying. Was that really possible? Could he have fled from the farm because he didn’t want to divulge the truth, but couldn’t bring himself to lie either? But what lethal truth could it possibly be?
‘All right,’ Byomkesh conceded, ‘we’ll come to that later. Now tell me, do you know anything about Nishanathbabu’s death?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Do you suspect anyone?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then …’ Byomkesh halted before continuing, ‘were you on the farm the night that Nishanathbabu died?’
‘Yes, sir, I was.’
I noticed that, finally, Brojodas seemed to have relaxed a little and had lost his sheepish air. Byomkesh asked him, ‘Where were you after dinner and what were you doing?’
‘The doctor and I finished our dinner at the same time and came back to our respective cottages. He began to play the sitar and I lay on the porch, listening to him play.’
Byomkesh looked at him for a while, then asked, ‘Oh! So Bhujangadharbabu was playing the sitar then?’
‘Yes, sir. He was playing an alaap of the raga Malkauns.’
‘How long did he continue to play?’
‘Well, until nearly eleven-thirty. He plays beautifully.’
‘Hmm. Did he play continuously without stopping for a moment?’
‘That’s right, sir. He played nonstop.’
‘He didn’t even pause for five minutes?’
‘No, sir, he didn’t. Well, he stopped to tune the sitar a few times, but that took about ten seconds, no more than that.’
‘But you didn’t exactly watch him play?’
‘How could I? He was playing in the dark. But I’m familiar with his style of playing. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’
Byomkesh looked slightly morose for a few moments. Then he sighed and changed the subject. ‘You were acquainted with Nishanathbabu before you came to the farm, right?’
Once again, Brojodas looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted nervously as he replied, ‘Well, yes, sir.’
‘You worked in his office and on the basis of his testimony, you went to jail, right?’
‘Yes, sir, I had committed a theft.’
‘Was Bijoy living with Nishanathbabu at the time?’
‘Yes, sir, he was.’
‘Was Nishanathbabu married to Damayanti Devi at the time?’
Brojodas looked close to tears. Silently, he averted his face. Byomkesh said, ‘Why don’t you answer me? You’ve known Damayanti Devi from back then, haven’t you?’
Brojodas mumbled a ‘yes’. Byomkesh went on, ‘So that means, Nishanath and Damayanti Devi were married before the time I’m referring to, right?’
Brojodas broke down. ‘This is the reason why I ran away!’ he confessed. ‘I knew you would raise these issues! Please, Byomkeshbabu, I beg of you, do not ask me to answer that question! I have lived on their largesse for seven years now. Please don’t force me to be an ingrate.’ He clasped his hands together imploringly.
Byomkesh straightened up in his chair and his gaze sharpened. He asked, surprised, ‘Pray what is all this about?’
Brojodas replied brokenly, ‘I have uttered many a lie in my life and I shall lie no more. Since I was released from jail, I have taken up Vaishnavism, and the sacred beads; but the beads aren’t everything. Where is my spiritual fervour, my feeling of universal love? So I have vowed never to tell a lie again in the hope of winning the Lord’s heart. So, gentlemen, please have mercy on me and refrain from asking me questions about these people whom I revere.’
Byomkesh said with deliberation, ‘From what you’ve just said, we infer that you do not lie any more. Yet you are hesitant to disclose the truth about Nishanath. To refrain from lying is an admirable quality, but concealing the truth isn’t a terribly moral thing to do either. Just think about it: If we don’t know the truth, how can we solve the mystery of Nishanathbabu’s murder? Don’t you want it to be solved?’
Brojodas continued to sit there with his head bowed. Then, when all of us joined hands in begging him to cooperate, he asked helplessly, ‘What is it you wish to know?’
‘There is something fishy about Nishanath’s marriage to Damayanti,’ Byomkesh declared. ‘What is it?’
‘They are not married.’
We sat there, stupefied.
Byomkesh was the first to recover. Then, gradually, by asking a series of questions in quick succession, he managed to extract the whole story from Brojodas.
It transpired that Nishanathbabu had been a judge in Pune and Brojodas a clerk in his record office. Lal Singh, a Punjabi, was charged with murder and appeared in Nishanath’s court for the case to be tried. Damayanti had been the accused’s wife at the time.
While the session’s case hearing was on in Nishanath’s court, Damayanti would come to his bungalow and sit there all day, crying and pleading for her husband to be shown clemency. Nishanath would shoo her away, but she’d come back again. She’d argue, ‘I’m an orphan and if my husband were jailed, where would I go?’
Damayanti was then nearly twenty years old and exquisitely beautiful. Bijoy was then around fourteen and he grew quite attached to her. He used to plead her case to his uncle. But Nishanath never gave him any encouragement. He did not know that Bijoy was secretly providing Damayanti with meals and keeping her hidden in the bungalow.
It all came to light after he had sentenced Lal Singh to death. Nishanath scolded Bijoy roundly and arranged to send Damayanti away to a home for destitutes. But she fell at his feet and wept, and young Bijoy too wept and wailed. As a result, Nishanath was forced to allow Damayanti to stay on in his bungalow. Brojodas got all this information from the household servants.
Lal Singh’s appeal to the High Court resulted in his death sentence being commuted to fourteen years of imprisonment. Damayanti remained in Nishanath’s care. This led to some gossip in the judicial circles of the time. But Nishanath’s reputation as an upright man was unimpeachable and none dared challenge him openly about his conduct.
A few months later, Brojodas was arrested for taking a bribe. Nishanath’s testimony sent him to prison. Brojodas was therefore unaware of what had transpired in the next few years.
When he was released from prison, he came to know that Nishanath had retired. So he set off in search of the man. While in jail, Brojodas had undergone a complete change of perso
nality and had become a Vaishnav. His search for Nishanath brought him to Golap Colony.
When he arrived there, he found that Nishanath and Damayanti were living as man and wife. Nishanath allowed him to live on the farm, but cautioned him against divulging the details of Damayanti’s past. Damayanti and Bijoy had seen Brojodas only a few times in the past and they failed to recognize him after all these years. From then onwards, Brojodas had been living on the farm. He had yet to come across a nicer pair of human beings than Damayanti and Nishanathbabu. If they had sinned in any way, only God ought to be the judge of that.
Byomkesh expelled a deep sigh and said, ‘Inspector Barat, come on, let’s visit the farm. The mists are slowly rising.’
Dolefully, Brojodas asked, ‘What’s to become of me now?’
‘Come along with us to the farm,’ Byomkesh suggested, ‘and carry on living there the way you did before.’
21
When we emerged from Pramod Barat’s room, it was nearly noon. In the next room, a few employees of the police station were working at their books. When Barat came out, the head clerk approached him and muttered something in an undertone.
Barat turned to Byomkesh. ‘There’s a slight hitch. I shall have to go out right away in connection with another case. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll see you at the farm this evening.’
Byomkesh thought it over and suggested, ‘Why don’t we do something else, instead? Let’s all go to the farm together this evening. Why don’t you go ahead with your other assignment now and meet us at six o’clock in the waiting room of the railway station?’
‘That’s decided, then,’ Barat replied.
Brojodas protested, ‘But … I …’
‘You may go back to the farm now,’ Byomkesh told him, ‘but there’s no need to tell the others about all that has transpired.’
‘Right, sir.’
Brojodas headed for the farm while we returned to the station. On the way, Byomkesh remarked, ‘We were wearing blinkers, it seems. It hadn’t even occurred to us that Damayanti wasn’t a common name in Bengal. And we never paused to think that a complexion so bright, along with those chiselled features, could seldom be found in this part of the country. All we surmised from the difference in their ages was that it might be a second marriage for the couple. We failed to consider the possibility of there being another angle to it. The fact that Damayanti went to the school to chat with Punjabi women didn’t arouse our suspicions either. But it most certainly should have. It is difficult to accept that at the age of forty-seven, Nishanathbabu would marry a Bengali girl of around nineteen, particularly in the Bombay region. Ajit … my grey matter is obviously on the decline. It’s time I retired from this profession and took up cattle-breeding or something similar.’
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 12