fMr Mukeijee; he said, ‘I am not knowing too much about your city of Calcutta. But one thing I am knowing. It is a city of writers. Poets, yes. Novelists also. And of journalists. Mr Mukeijee. you are not the only editor of some small newspaper in Calcutta. I do not know the names of your many sister journals, but I can easily find same. And, when I have found one that may be your rival, I will be most happy to tell its editor how you yourself are succumbing to pressures. I have no doubt some way or another he will like to publish full details. Where then will be the respect The Sentinel has had for all its lifetime?'
He saw the look of rage on the round, doublechinned face on the other side of the desk. Of baffled rage.
For several seconds Soumitra Mukerjee was silent. But then a small smile stole over his sagging face.
‘Very well, Mr Ghote,' he said. ‘I will give you the name you have asked for. But I do so in the full knowledge that if you stir so much as one finger after you have heard it, you will be crushed like a fly under a swatter. Crushed, yes. Crushed.'
‘Sir, the name?'
A look of biting malice.
‘Listen to this then. Mr M. F. Tuntunwala.'
Slowly descending the narrow, cobwebbed, dusty stairs of The Sentinel's offices, Ghote thought about the name he had been given. It was one familiar to him. Familiar indeed the length and breadth of India. M. F. Tuntunwala, descendant of Marwari traders who a century ago had come hungrily from the harsh, sun-scorched deserts of Rajasthan to the fertile valley of the Ganges, was head of a concern called simply Tuntunwala Management. But the number and variety of the firms, the factories, the shipping lines, the mills, the newspapers, the new commercial television companies that the concern managed would, Ghote knew, fill half the pages of the little crusading Sentinel. No wonder that a single phone call from him to Soumitra Mukerjee had brought that order, Spike it.
And Ghote knew more about Tuntunwala Management than that. He knew what, years before, rival newspapers had delighted to report. At one time a dozen or more of the firms then under the Tuntunwala umbrella had been accused of tax evasion on a huge scale. But the validity of the Commission investigating these activities had promptly been challenged in the courts, and after barristers by the dozen had had their say, and pocketed their fees, it had been found that the Commission did not have the power to investigate which it believed it had possessed. The cases then had been handed back to Government officers for further action. And twenty years had passed away.
Not a man to be lightly tackled, Mr M. F. Tuntunwala.
Or, standing at the foot of the worn old staircase, Ghote began to wonder if he was a man it was possible to tackle at all.
Am I reaching to the end of it all? Should I be taking the advice that some of the other gentlemen at Bhattacharya Babu's adda were giving? To leave, as he was saying, well or ill alone? Was that a better advice than the one I was taking, to go to Assistant Commissioner Bhowmick? Well, that could hardly have been a worse one, the way it was bringing me nearly to disaster under the shade of the Great Banyan.
So it had been Mr M. R Tuntunwala then that ACP Bhowmick was lifting his telephone to call as I was leaving his cabin. Or perhaps, since M. F. Tuntunwala, powerful figure though he was in the world of commerce and industry, would not be able to arrange promotions and nice postings for a police officer, the ACP had been calling someone high up in the West Bengal Government. Someone who M. F. Tlintunwala had already bribed to make the decisions for a big new colony in the wetlands?
Thrusting down once again his revived pangs of hunger, he went back down to Khokon Roy's bare room.
At once the clever young journalist looked up from his VDU with a grin of welcome.
'Triumph?' he asked mischievously. 'You asked my boss a simple question and he replied straightaway with the answer you wanted?'
'Not altogether straight away.'
'What? He told you? Told you who he takes orders from? I don't believe it.'
'It is Mr M. F. Tuntunwala.'
Khokon Roy pulled a long face.
'Now I do believe you,' he said. 'If you had forced me to say who I thought it might be when you were here a few minutes ago, I would have produced that name. I had occasion some time ago to go through our back files in search of something or other, and I couldn't help noticing, as I did so, how many of the ads were from Tuntunwala companies or companies I happened to know came within his empire. With our ridiculously small circulation they could not have been commercially worthwhile. So I had said to myself, Tuntunwala. But I took jolly good care never to say it aloud.'
He looked up at Ghote, eyes widening in speculation.
'But how on earth did you wring Tuntunwala's name out of our look-alike Netaji Bose?'
'So you are noticing that also?'
'Doesn't everybody? But, you know, despite that pose I have quite a high opinion of my crusading editor. He does, in fact, crusade to good effect often enough. But I also recognize he has his weaknesses. Doing his best to look like our great Calcutta hero is one of them. I well remember the day he came into office with a new pair of spectacles, exact replica of those you see on Subhas Babu's pictures. He was hardly able to stop himself asking me if I had noticed them. But all that doesn't mean I have forgotten my question. What is the secret of your magical powers, Mr Ghote?'
'In the end not one great secret. I was blackmailing.'
'Black— Ah, I see it now. You must have threatened to tell the world . .. But how would you be able— No. No, this will be it. You actually threatened to tell some other editor that Soumitrada - you see I still give him our Bengali affectionate da - has had to bow the knee to pressure. Yes, poor chap, he would not have liked that idea at all. Well done. Well done, indeed.'
'Yes, well enough done, if you are liking to say it. But, you know, after all finding out M. F. Tuntunwala's name is leaving me almost worse off than before.'
'Yes.' Smile fading. 'Yes, my dear fellow, you are not exactly happily placed, are you? I don't suppose Soumitrada will, but what if he does decide he has to tell Tuntunwala you forced him to give you his name? I don't want to scare you, but, if I were you I'd be making tracks now for your familiar Bombay. Tonight, if you can get a flight.'
'A flight? Well, yes, a flight is no problem. My wife is a first-class briber of airline ticket desks.'
'Then, and I'm serious about this, why don't you get her to go to Dum Dum and start laying down money? You may be safe, if Soumitrada hasn't used his phone. But I wouldn't like to guarantee it.'
'No. No, I will not do it. When I was coming here to Calcutta I was secretly hoping that somehow I would not have to stay in the house my wife has inherited. But now, when it is looking as if I could easily go back to Bombay, persuade her because of the dangers not after all to become a bhadrolok lady, now I am no longer wanting. I have seen in front of me one crime. And I am not willing to let it go forward.'
'Bravo, my friend. Bravo.'
Again Khokon Roy wiped the smile from his face.
'Bravo, but think. Think who you are up against. I do not know for certain that M. F. Tuntunwala is capable of having you put out of action. He may be a perfectly good man. My thoughts about him may be only the prejudices of a Bengali intellectual towards a Marwari businessman. But, all the same, I must tell you I think the warning I gave you just now is one you should pay heed to.'
'No. I cannot.'
'Then what, in God's name, do you intend to do?'
Ghote thought for a moment.
'Just now I was thinking,' he said, 'that Mr M. F. Tuntunwala cannot be the only person involved in attempting to buy my wife's house for corrupt purposes. He must have someone beside him, the person who has been putting one Assistant Commissioner Bhowmick where today he is.'
'Yes,' Khokon Roy said. 'I don't doubt you're right. There will be a shadowy figure - I could easily name two or three West Bengal politicians, more perhaps -who will be in this business with our friend Tuntunwala. Because to make a really big financia
l coup he needs to know just when the road he'd like to build over your wife's house will be needed. Or, indeed, if it will be needed at all. Remember what is in full swing, that agitation to save the wetlands. Well, in fact our muchloved supplies of fish. So Tuntunwala has to have someone in Government who can tell him if the plan is to be pushed through or to keep the details secret long enough for him to acquire, not just your wife's house, but all the designated area of the wetlands beyond. You know, that's a tradition in Calcutta that goes right back to our earliest days. It was the British then who were playing the game, but it was the old Calcutta game all the same. Played, for instance, by none other than a Chief Justice of the time, one Sir Elijah Impey, lampooned in what you might call the predecessor of The Sentinel, something called the Bengal Gazette, as "Sir Poolbundy" because - and listen to this - he gave a pulhundi, a contract, for river embankments to none other than his own cousin. Wonderful.'
He chuckled happily.
Ghote, reflecting sourly yet again on Calcuttans' stick-at-nothing pride, gave a sharp cough.
Khokon Roy stopped laughing.
‘Listen, my dear fellow,' he said. ‘Don't you see that there being someone in Assembly House involved in this business makes your plight all the worse. If the one doesn't put a stop to your interference while the scam is still on the cards, the other will. No, my dear chap, get your wife off to Dum Dum this very afternoon.'
‘That might not be too easy.'
‘Oh, come now. Enough modesty. When it comes to the crunch, I bet I know who in your family gives the final orders.'
Ghote did not answer for a moment.
'i suppose you maybe correct.' he said at last.
‘All right then, give out your orders.'
‘But I do not want. Mr Roy, I am going to find out enough of this corrupt scheme to go, not to Mr Mukerjee, but to Statesman itself.'
‘Well,' Khokon Roy said with caution, ‘I suppose you might pull that off. You just might. But think what you've got to do. This is it: you've got to get to see M. F. Tuntunwala himself. He's the only person you'll ever learn enough from, trick enough out of, to have something hard to take to The Statesman. All right, I suppose you can appeal to him, seemingly wanting no more than to keep your wife's house intact. And he might— He just might fall for that. If he doesn't see through you within two minutes of you stepping into his office. And don't forget he didn't make himself, as we say here, so rich even God cannot buy him, without being rather more cunning than all the monkeys in India. And all this depends on you getting to see him in the first place.'
‘Well, but if that is the only way— '
‘No, wait. Wait. I do believe I can help you a bit here.'
‘You are able to give me an introduction to Mr Tuntunwala? One that will admit me to his office itself?'
‘No, my dear fellow. I am not your favourite Bombay god, Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles. But I do, as it happens, know something about M. F. Tuntunwala that not everybody knows. And, because of that, I think I can tell you how you can get to meet him face to face. And, what's more, in perfect safety.'
Chapter Seventeen
Khokon Roy looked at Ghote.
‘Listen,' he said, ‘don't be a fool after all. What business is it of yours that M. F. Tuntunwala and some Assembly House crony of his are aiming to make a lot of money, however corruptly? Let them just get on with it.'
‘No. I have said.'
Another long look. No hint of the ever-ready smile now.
'All right then, have it your own way. Do you know our famous Marble Palace?'
Ghote frowned.
What was this?
‘Yes,' he said, ‘I am hearing about that place. One of the old palaces of the City of Palaces, yes? One famous Calcutta sight, built by some rajah, still owned by the family and in ruin altogether, no?'
‘Yes. On the whole. Though it's not in ruin altogether, as you politely put it. But it is in a pretty sad state and sometimes people wonder, rightly or wrongly, how the Mullick family, for all their wealth, can continue to keep it. Which brings me to my point. Among those who may be wondering about that, as I have chanced to find out, is our friend, M. F. Tuntunwala.'
'Yes?'
‘Yes, indeed. And I'll tell you how I came to know. You see, I am one of those who has a great fondness for the Marble Palace. I like it for its decay. Decay, you may know, is sometimes seen as the essence of Calcutta. Well, I'm not sure I go that far. After all, you have only to look at buildings like the Tata Centre, just behind the Victoria Monument, or a dozen other semiskyscrapers like it, to know that we in Calcutta have our full share of twentieth century get-up-and-go.'
Oh God, Ghote thought. Just only one word triggers it off, with anybody in this city of chatterers. The full Bengali boastfulness.
‘You were telling you were knowing a secret fact about Mr M. F. Tuntunwala,' he said dryly.
‘My dear fellow, I've been wandering again. We Bengalis . . . Now, what was I saying? Ah, yes. That I love the old Marble Palace. So much so that, whenever I get a chance, I go off to Muktaram Babu Street, give some baksheesh to the darwan at the gate if it isn't the laid-down public visiting hours - give him a bribe, if you like - and spend an hour or so strolling round. Now, wait. Be patient, be patient. This is actually all leading up to what I'm about to tell you. You see, on one of those occasions, on more than one in fact, who should I see strolling there like myself but M. F. Tuntunwala. Only perhaps strolling is not quite the right word for what he was doing. Prowling, I think would be better. Yes, prowling. Prowling the way a pi-dog prowls round one of our never wholly removed rubbish heaps.'
Ghote, for a moment, saw the heap he had watched all one afternoon from his window at the Fairlawn, the crows hopping and squawking over it, the cats, low-bellied, pouncing at the crows at last, the black pig coming scavenging next and then the pi-dogs, necks extended, muzzles pointing, eyeing what was there for the snatching.
'So Mr Tuntunwala is envying the Marble Palace, yes?' he said.
'Yes. And yes again. I'm willing to bet that in secret inside the head of that monstrous millionaire thoughts are lurking. Thoughts about what one day he might do with all the valuables slowly rotting away, too many of them, there in the Marble Palace.'
'And you are thinking that if I also go there I could, if I am being lucky, find M. F. Tuntunwala?'
For a few instants thoughts of the triumph he might somehow achieve flashed through his mind. The monster of corruption confronted, questioned police-style till he broke, a grovelling confession . . . And then they faded into nothingness.
'First snag,' he managed to say.
'A snag? Come, show us a little Bombay determination.'
'Well, it is just only that I have never seen Mr M. F. Tuntunwala, so how would I be able to recognize him there in the Marble Palace?'
Khokon Roy broke out in laughter.
'Trust Bombay common sense to see difficulties Calcutta high-flying had utterly overlooked,' he said. 'The police officer must have his mug-shot, yes? But perhaps Calcutta can come to your rescue over that. Let me see if I can find yesterday's Amrita Bazaar Patrika. They had a picture of Tuntunwala. A good full-face. Hold on a minute.'
He rummaged through the papers and files on his table, dipped down and peered underneath it. And in a moment emerged with the paper. He folded it to the right page and held it in front of Ghote.
Head and shoulders of what seemed to be a man of dark complexion. An aggressively large nose. Thinning hair oiled back from a sloping forehead. Heavy spectacles. And, most prominent of all, ears long-lobed, close to the sides of the sharply-boned face and apparently carved into a moonscape of miniature valleys and ridges.
‘Yes, I would know him now,' he said. 'If I am finding him. And . . . And perhaps then, because of the secret thoughts he may be having about that palace and its many, many treasures, I would have him at one disadvantage, and if I am questioning he may let slip more than he would like.'
'Well
, don't be too hopeful. It's a long shot at best, a very long shot. But I can be just a little more help to you about finding our friend. You see, for some reason no doubt connected with his schedule, or perhaps because on Thursdays the palace is not open to the public, I can tell you that Tuntunwala is very often to be found there in the morning. And I suppose that you, being an on-the-ball Bombay police officer, know what day of the week it is today.'
'It is Wednesday, of course.'
'Yes, even I, vague Calcutta walla that I am, know that. So why don't you ask your Bengali wife to take you to the Marble Palace tomorrow morning, Inspector? My small bribe for the darwan and he'll let you in. And good hunting.'
'Orphaned child of a very, very wealthy Calcutta merchant, Raja Rajendra Mullick began to build this palace in the year 1835,' Protima said.
Guidebook, guidebook, Ghote thought distantly.
For a moment he wondered, though, whether he had been right to have told Protima only that he wanted to see the Marble Palace, claiming that Khokon Roy had told him of its delights. All right, she had snapped up this sign that at last he was beginning to appreciate her Calcutta, city of palaces, city of elegance, city of softly sad decay.
But should I instead have told her why it really is that I am wanting to come here? To find moonscape-ears M. F. Tuntunwala, the man who for his corrupt purposes is wanting to get hold of her house? The man who is so powerful that, if he is wishing it, he can crush me, as Soumitra Mukerjee was threatening, like just only one fly under a swatter? But, no. No, what weakness it would be to tell one's wife one is putting one's head into danger in the hope that she would cry out so loudly that there would be nothing to do but promise not to go forwards.
But perhaps M. F. Tuntunwala will not be here, Thursday morning or no Thursday morning. But perhaps he will be.
'Rajendra, as he grew up,' Protima's voice came to him, 'was combining his fine education from his British guardian with his very great business genius to amass one first-class fortune, and he was spending and spending on acquiring many fine things. You would be able to see three paintings by famous Rubens, one statue by Michelangelo and many other costly objects. The whole building also was made from marble and the Viceroy of those times was consequently saying to Raja Mullick, Call it the Marble Palace, which he was at once doing.'
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