by Satyajit Ray
‘Mr Craig,’ this time Somerville opened his mouth. ‘Do you mean to say that despite having lived for 150 years you still long to live? Getting on with years, one gradually loses interest in all attachments, isn’t it?’
With wide eyes Craig looked straight at Somerville. ‘But I haven’t got over my attachments, John Somerville.’
Ignoring his own condition, once more in a loud voice, he stated, ‘My ultimate mission is yet to be accomplished . . . My final adventure!’
While uttering these words, Craig’s head had risen from his pillow; the moment he finished speaking the head slackened. His devoted servant, Odin, had again appeared from the darkness and stood next to him, probably waiting for his orders.
Craig composed himself and when he spoke again, his tone was quite normal. ‘We cannot make a human live indefinitely. His death is inevitable. But . . .’
For some unknown reason, Craig looked straight at me and completed my sentence, ‘But a dead man can be revived at least once.’
The room went still. From a distant room we could hear the beautiful tunes from three clocks ringing in 7 p.m. When Craig spoke again, his voice sounded rather feeble. He was running out of energy.
‘I’m not saying this without the support of my research. There’s one person in this house who continues to do my work after being revived from his own death. I will not survive beyond tonight. Even Odin will not be in a position to pump in fresh energy into me. Odin will help you tomorrow morning. He will carry my dead body to a special room. Please follow him to this room. Everything will be ready there. A chart will bear all the instructions. Other than scientists, no one else will be able to follow this chart. You all will be able to understand the instructions. Odin will lay me down on a particular place. Then the rest of the work will be yours. Your work will begin twelve hours after my death. After three hours, you’ll begin to notice signs of life in me. At this point, your work ends. As I can’t depend on one person, I’ve asked for all three of you together. I know you won’t disappoint me. Nor will you betray me.’
Craig shut his eyes. It was getting very difficult to follow him now. Papadopoulos’ voice broke the silence.
‘After accomplishing this task, we’re free to leave, isn’t it?’
Craig’s eyelids parted for a while. Possibly the two corners of his lips produced a faint smile. And at that very moment, he became unconscious.
Now Odin stirred. With his right hand he pressed the button of a black box which was on the table next to the bed. In an instant we heard Craig’s voice again. ‘I’m grateful to all of you for accepting my invitation. My servant Nils will show you around the fort. You can ask him any questions. Whenever you require any food or drinks he’ll arrange for you. Goodbye for now.’
The servant named Nils was standing outside the room. The moment the recording stopped, he escorted us out of the room and we began our tour of the castle. While passing through a corridor, Papadopoulos asked Nils, ‘Do you know any Greek?’ Nils shook his head and said, ‘Only English and Norwegian.’
‘How old are you?’
I know why Papadopoulos asked this question: Nils definitely looked very old for this present job.
‘Eighty-three,’ Nils answered.
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Fifty-five years.’ He paused and then added, ‘Last year on the 7th of December, I died. My master brought me back to life.’
Is everyone here out of their minds or are they all lying? Or has Craig tutored them to give such precise answers to our questions?
‘You must be feeling quite fit now?’
Papadopoulos had questioned him with a touch of banter, Nils’s answer was, however, absolutely matter of fact.
‘I’ve never felt fitter.’
We toured the castle for a couple of hours. Each room could be described as an art gallery or a museum. We were shown all the rooms except for one, which was secured with a heavy padlock from the outside. When asked why that particular room was locked, Nils remained silent. Undoubtedly, this must be Craig’s laboratory as no other room we saw bore any evidence of scientific research.
My bedroom is marked by ultimate opulence. My entire house in Giridih would easily fit into it. The entire fort is centrally heated; each room bears a thermometer. The mercury points at 75 degrees Fahrenheit. The moment I sat down on a velvet sofa and was about to take out the diary from my pocket, I heard a knock on my door. Somerville and Papadopoulos entered. Typically, the former was composed; even if he was agitated you could never tell. On the other hand, the minute the excitable Greek gentleman stepped in, he chose a strong Greek word to articulate his present state of mind that roughly translates into English as ‘What the hell!’
Somerville sat next to me and asked, ‘Is it worthy of people of our calibre to participate in this farce? After all, we are not any Tom, Dick and Harry—we have a certain position and reputation to live up to in society.’
‘But, look, John,’ I said, ‘since we are here thanks to Craig’s money and have accepted his hospitality, we can’t afford to get angry so easily. Tomorrow he will die. Then let’s see what happens. At that point we can find out if he is a charlatan. Even if he doesn’t die, then there isn’t much we can do in any case. He can’t surely keep us captured till he dies.’
Papadopoulos hit his right fist into the palm of his left hand. ‘Luring us to meet other scientists, look how he has bluffed us all. Tch, tch.’
One thing was bothering me. I couldn’t help but comment on it.
‘I, too, could have agreed with you both but one thing is holding me back.’
‘What’s that?’ They both echoed together.
‘Odin.’
The moment I uttered his name Papadopoulos strongly protested.
‘Odin? This pompous brute, who was presented before us with make-up on, a clean shaven head, and with that dramatic dress on—what’s there to doubt? Don’t you think pressing at one’s temples to reactivate one’s energy is a sheer act of quackery? The entire operation of Craig’s is a hoax. He claims to be 150 years old! Out of his entire big talk only one thing is convincing—making money through gambling. I strongly feel this collection of his fancy art which adorns all the rooms are either stolen goods or forged stuff. Don’t know what sort of a goon we’re in the clutches of . . .’
I interrupted him. ‘Odin wasn’t batting his eyelids.’
Both Somerville and Papadopoulos looked unbelievingly at me. ‘Are you sure?’ Somerville asked.
‘I looked straight at his eyes for five minutes at a stretch. It’s not possible for anyone to look at you in such a state for that long. I feel he is a mechanical being i.e. a robot. I’ve had a similar experience with a robot once before.’
Somerville said, ‘Even then, does it prove that Craig himself is a scientist and has created this robot?’
‘No, that can’t be. We’ll get to know his real potential only if he can revive a dead person—’
I couldn’t finish what I was saying. The lights of the room suddenly grew dim, almost plunging us into darkness. As the curtains of the windows were closed, no light could enter the room.
‘What happened?’ Papadopoulos asked, sounding frightened. ‘How could this . . .?’
Drowning Papadopoulos’ question, an eerie grave voice boomed across the room.
‘The master is dead!’
Complete silence followed. Papadopoulos’s face turned pale. Somerville stood up from the sofa. Then we heard the very same voice again.
‘The master will live again!’
Moments after these words were uttered, the lights came back to the room.
‘A speaker must be concealed somewhere in this room,’ Papadopoulos remarked.
‘That is obvious,’ Somerville said. ‘But whether this news is true or this prophecy will prove to be valid is the main question.’
Papadopoulos got up and started pacing up and down. ‘This gentleman’s theatrics are crossing the limit
s.’
That thought had crossed my mind, too, ever since we got here. It had grown more intense during our tour of each room. The mere idea of building such a castle in the twentieth century itself was so dramatic. And that room bearing a huge lock in front of the door was no less theatrical. According to Papadopoulos, the room contains smuggled goods; but I’m not totally convinced. If Craig had stolen some of these items from any noted museums, the thefts would surely have been reported in some paper, and come to our notice. Either Craig is being unnecessarily secretive or indeed some mysterious stuff has been hidden there.
At exactly 8 p.m., Nils emerged to tell us that dinner was ready. What a royal feast! The fellow who was serving us also looked very ancient; but none of us dared find out the length of time he had been serving Craig. I could not have digested the food, even if it was such gourmet fare, had I known it was being served by a dead man, resurrected.
Around 8:30 p.m. we all said goodnight to each other and retired to our respective rooms.
When I pulled away the curtain to see if there was still any sunlight outside, I realized the room was actually situated within the walls of the fort. Instead of the sky, what could be seen was a dark corridor. I could spot a wall which was perhaps within ten yards of the window. A suit of armour stood against the wall.
I sat on the bed. God knows what our future holds. I’m repeatedly thinking of one thing: a comment by Craig—‘My ultimate mission is yet to be accomplished . . . My final adventure . . . !’
What work is Alexander Aloysius Craig referring to?
Do we have a role to play in this adventure?
When can we get freedom from this state of captivity?
13 May, 6 a.m.
As we’ll be called downstairs soon, I’ll write about last night’s episode in my diary now.
In the middle of the night—looking at the watch later, I realized it had been 2:30 a.m. I got up when I heard a knock on my door. I’m a very light sleeper in any case, but the added discomfort I was feeling about a few things in this place ensured that I wasn’t sleeping too well. I opened the door and saw our Greek friend, Hector Papadopoulos—his eyes wide open and his forehead dotted with drops of sweat despite the cold weather.
The fellow rushed into my room, breathing heavily, and could utter only a few words–‘I’ve opened the lock!’
Good lord! What was this renowned scientist up to in the middle of the night?
‘What lock?’ I asked with great trepidation. In reply I heard a few more words—
‘The forbidden room.’
The gist of what Papadopoulos told me was this:
When we noticed the locked door and not having received the right response from Nils, Papadopoulos was determined to enter the room anyhow. With this plan in mind he stayed up till twelve and then left his room. Despite the darkness in the corridor, he finally reached the room with the padlocked door. He then opened the lock. When asked how this was done he took out a small vial from his pocket. He told me it was some kind of acid; if a few drops of it are poured into the keyhole of the lock, all the contraptions of the lock automatically melt away and the lock opens up. This happens to be his own invention. When asked why he was carrying this stuff along he said this was just one of many such small inventions he had brought here to show to the ‘world’s most remarkable scientist’.
I was curious. ‘What did you see in the room?’ I asked. To this he said he didn’t have the courage to enter the room alone because as he opened the door he detected a smell similar to the smell of a zoo.
We decided to take Somerville with us and visit the room. Ideally, I should have prevented Papadopoulos from doing so, but the moment I heard about the animal odour, even my own curiosity aroused. Somerville is obviously a light sleeper; we didn’t have to knock at his door more than once. Taking great precautions to avoid using the torch, we made our way slowly by the faint light that came in from the windows and skylight overhead along the corridor. We finally arrived in front of the unbolted door. Opening the door ajar I, too, got a whiff of the animal smell but it wasn’t as strong as Papadopoulos had described. Papadopoulos obviously has a very sharp sense of smell. We all marched into the forbidden room.
It was a huge room with no window. The impenetrable darkness of the room was slightly broken thanks to the light coming in from three skylights in the ceiling. This room was entirely different from the rooms in the rest of the castle. There were no valuable paintings or precious artefacts here; what was present were only work related items. If you can imagine an enormous room which included a scientist’s study, laboratory and workshop—this room was one such. One side of the wall was marked by a bookshelf containing numerous books, the majority of which were scientific books. In the middle stood three long tables, all bearing chemicals and other equipment. In front were two rows of steel cabinets and in between the cabinets was a wide mahogany table. There’s no doubt that Craig sat behind this table to do his work. Behind that table, on the wall hung an enormous world map. And certain areas of this map were marked by small coloured flags stuck with pins. Focusing the torch on the map, I realized the pins were fixed on all the capitals of each country.
‘Hypnojen.’ It was Somerville. He had started going through Craig’s papers. He muttered this word while leafing through the first page of a fat leather-bound notebook. I had never heard this word before.
I moved towards Somerville. He had sat down on a chair with the notebook opened in front of him on the table. The words ‘Hypnojen Related Notes’ were written in red ink on the first page of the book. Below that was written ‘A.A. Craig’ and right below that were dates mentioned, going back over four years. We both began to leaf through the notebook. After reading a few pages, no doubt remained regarding Craig’s scientific knowledge. There was nothing phony in the calculations and chemical formulas mentioned in the book. But what was this Hypnojen? If you go back to its Latin origin, it amounts to some hypnosis related sleep inducing medicine. Was it connected to some cerebral reactions in one’s mind?
The first few pages of the notebook discussed a proposal that chilled the blood in our veins. With rising disbelief and terror we finally finished reading it. Alexander Aloysius Craig had outlined his ‘ultimate mission’ or ‘last adventure’. The mission was essentially this—to establish himself as the singular ruler of this world. The rest of the world would live under his thumb. All the treasures of each and every museum, library and art gallery of this entire planet would belong to him alone. And this would be made possible with the help of this ‘Hypnojen’.
Craig’s Hypnojen is a vaporous component. Craig has described two easy methods by which this vaporous element or gas could be released over a city; one was through pipes or tubes and the other was by throwing a bomb from a plane. The bomb would be made of plastic and would automatically release the gas in all directions, seconds before hitting the ground. One got a fair idea about the outcome of this act from Craig’s notebook. When a particle or a molecule from the gas enters a person’s body through his breath, that person comes under a spell of hypnosis for the next twenty-four hours. One bomb would be enough to hypnotize the total population of a city like London or New York for an entire year. And the advantage is that the bomb will not otherwise destroy the city in any way. If one gets to control the mind of the people then where’s the trouble in ruling over them?
While we were coming to terms with this incredible plan by Craig—was this all real or just a bunch of loony thoughts—a faint scream turned our attention to the other direction of the room. We saw Hector Papadopoulos standing in front of a door a little farther down from us in a state of sheer panic.
We ran to him. When Papadopoulos stepped back we came in front of the door. The feral stench was much stronger now. And the reason was quite obvious. In the room—a smaller one in comparison—a few yards from the door, we noticed a pair of green, glowing eyes staring at us. This antechamber was even darker as there was only one skylight overhead
, and when we focused the torch in the direction of these eyes, a terrifying scenario appeared before us. A black panther stood in the middle of the room, looking straight in our direction. The vicious nature of this particular animal of the tiger family is well known. With a peculiar groan, Papadopoulos fell to the ground with a thud in a faint. However, I noticed something unnatural in this animal’s manner. Somerville put a hand on my shoulder to stop me but I paid no heed and walked into the room.
I went towards the panther and knelt down in front of him. It was beyond my imagination that a ferocious animal of this nature could look so blank. I focused my torch right into his eyes. It would be wrong to describe them as harmless. Perhaps a foolish expression would be closer to the truth. This animal had become witless, as if he was waiting to obey someone’s orders; he was no longer in possession of his own power or his own mind.
I noticed something else. There was a tag hanging from the panther’s neck. A date of six months ago was written on it. Craig had obviously experimented on this animal on that day.
In the meantime, Somerville had focused his torch on the other side of the room. We were fascinated to see a series of glass boxes spread across the room. Each box contained a deadly creature—the majority of these were either insects or reptiles in nature.
We proceeded towards the first box. The top showed a label with a date. Inside the entire glass case was a black krait, all coiled up. When the snake saw me he raised his head but didn’t expand his hood. I opened the lid of the box, put my hand in and partly took out the snake. He was harmless. I put him back into the box.
I looked at my watch and noticed it was almost 3:15 a.m. I wondered what state our Greek friend was in now. When we walked out of the antechamber, we saw that he had got up from the carpet and was now sitting on a chair. I said, ‘It’s time we return to our rooms. We have work to do tomorrow; we’ll be sent for at eight in the morning.’ Papadopoulos looked at me with fear in his eyes. ‘What if Craig really comes back to life?’