The Mystery of Munroe Island

by Satyajit Ray

  Although I must admit I would have been far happier if his forecast hadn’t turned out to be so accurate. He had said, ‘Three months from now a very grave situation will come your way. You’ll face the curse of Saturn. The situation will be so dangerous that even your own death will prove to be a better option.’ When I asked if I would be able to free myself from such a situation, he said, ‘You’ll attain freedom only if you can destroy your ultimate enemy.’ Naturally I asked him who this adversary is. He gave a cryptic smile and answered, ‘You, yourself.’ This prediction still remains a mystery but there’s no doubt that even my own death would certainly be an infinitely better option than the crisis I am facing now. The crisis was brought about through a letter which I received today.

  Two months ago, I had received an invitation from Madrid to attend a scientific conference. The organizer of the conference, the renowned zoologist, D’Sants, had written, ‘We are particularly keen for you to participate. Without your presence our conference will not attain the same level of success. I hope you won’t disappoint us.’

  Three days after receiving this letter, my dear friend Somerville wrote from London putting in a special request for me to join a conference at Madrid. I had no desire to disappoint D’Sants. I always try to travel abroad at least once a year in order to revive my contacts; as well as engage in discussions with scientists from different countries and from all age groups simply to renew my own thoughts and views. This has now formed into a regular habit. With the result that, despite my advancing years, my mind, soul and body forever remain rejuvenated.

  I’d already received the reply within two weeks of accepting and acknowledging the Madrid invite. On June 15, eight days from now, I’m to leave for the conference. And out of the blue I received this letter today. The letter contained only three lines. In a gist—the organizers of the Madrid meeting have withdrawn their invitation. They didn’t mince their words. They no longer want me to participate in this seminar. I was puzzled. The letter offered no explanation.

  What was I to follow from this? Whatever could have happened that they had to consider debarring me? I had no answer, no idea if I would ever attain any answer either. I can no longer write. My mind and body are both exhausted.

  10 June

  I received a letter from Somerville today.

  Dear Shonku

  I don’t know if you’ve returned to your country. I couldn’t sleep for two nights after reading the reports in the newspapers about your lecture in Innsbruck last month. Undoubtedly you must be suffering from some acute mental ailment; otherwise I cannot believe you could voice those words. After reading this news I called up Prof. Steiner in Innsbruck. He said he has had no news of you since your lecture. I fear you might still be in Europe and have fallen sick. If this is not the case and if this letter reaches you please send me a telegram immediately informing me about your well-being. Also please explain through a letter about the reason for your unbelievable behaviour.

  Yours truly,

  John Somerville

  P.S.—Here’s the newspaper cutting just to let you know how this was reported in the Times.

  First and foremost let me state, I’d never been to Innsbruck in my entire life.

  And now let me tell you about the Times’ report. In sum this was the account. ‘On May 11 in the Austrian city of Innsbruck, the world-famous Indian scientist Prof. T. Shonku delivered a lecture on the progress and development of science. The gathering was marked by the presence of many local as well as internationally noted scientists. Prof. Shonku directly attacked each of these scientists in offensive language. This incident created utmost commotion and furore amongst the audience, many of whom charged towards the dais to attack the speaker. An unidentified listener from the audience picked up a chair and threw it in the direction of Prof. Shonku. Hereafter, an Innsbruck resident, the chemist, Dr Carl Gropius, stepped forward to save the speaker from the assault.’

  Just as Somerville had requested, after receiving his letter I immediately wrote out a reply and personally put it in the post. But what can I expect in return? Will Somerville believe me? Will anyone in a sound state of mind be convinced that instead of me some clone of mine had gone to Innsbruck to deliver this lecture in order to destroy me? I’ve been friends with Somerville for the past thirty-three years. If he doesn’t believe me then who will? The report states that Dr Gropius saved ‘me’, that is, this mysterious second Shonku. I know Gropius. I had met him seven years ago in Baghdad at an international seminar on inventions. I had found him to be a quiet and amiable person. I also wrote him a letter along with the one I sent Somerville.

  I’d never found myself to be so utterly helpless. I fear I’ve to live in Giridih like a hard-core criminal the rest of my life carrying the horrible burden of this inexplicable scandal.

  21 June

  I received a letter from Gropius—and a very significant one. I’ve to arrange to leave for Innsbruck today itself.

  The fact that the Times report wasn’t an exaggerated one was confirmed when I read Gropius’s letter. The microbiologist from Romania, George Popescu, had aimed a chair at me when I’d apparently ridiculed and dismissed his noteworthy research on enzymes. Naturally, he had become very agitated. Gropius was sitting right next to me on the dais. He instantly pulled me by hand and pushed me aside to save my life. That chair put one microphone out of order and crashed two glasses of water.

  Gropius wrote:

  ‘I took your hand and got you straight out of the Liebnitsch Hall. It became impossible to control you as you were in such a severe state of agitation. My car was waiting outside. Somehow I managed to shove you in and we drove off. When I touched your hand, I realized you were running a very high temperature. I wanted to take you to a hospital but after a kilometre, when the car stopped at a red-light crossing, you suddenly opened the door and jumped out. Even after a thorough search I could not locate you. After receiving your letter I realized you’d returned to your country. I’ve no idea how you can get rid of this tarnished image you’ve acquired in the international scientific world but if you can bring yourself to Innsbruck I can find you a good doctor. After an examination, if they identify any problem with your brain or any neurological disorder then one can easily understand your behaviour of that day. And this will stand to your advantage. If you’re indeed unwell there’ll be no dearth of treatment in Innsbruck.’

  Gropius had also sent me an image of that day’s incident from an Innsbruck newspaper. In a flurry Gropius had put a hand on ‘me’ to push ‘me’ aside. I could not spot any difference between me and the ‘me’ in the photograph. Except for a slight anomaly with my spectacles—which I could see were almost falling off. The lenses looked opaque instead of clear. Amongst the people sitting on ‘my’ right and left, I could recognize two. One was the Russian scientist, Dr Borodin, and the other was a resident of Innsbruck itself—a young archaeologist, Prof. Finkelstein. Finkelstein had raised his hands towards me. Perhaps he, too, was about to strike me!

  After giving it much thought, I realized I have to visit Innsbruck. I remembered that astrologer. He had said unless I get rid of this staunch rival there’ll be no reprieve for me. I strongly felt that this person is still in Innsbruck, in hiding. My sole aim would be to look for him.

  I’ve written to Somerville about my plans. Now let’s see how things unfold.

  23 June

  Yet again, I’m stricken by a fresh bout of panic.

  I was going through the entries I had made in my diary over the last three months. I noticed there was no entry from the 3rd to the 22nd of May. That’s not unusual since I do not write every day unless there’s anything worth mentioning. But I am feeling a bit uneasy as the incident had taken place in Innsbruck during that same period. Suppose it so happened that I had received that invite, gone to Innsbruck, delivered that very lecture and then returned from Innsbruck—yet this whole episode has now been wiped out of my memory? Is it possible to suffer from such a lapse of
memory due to some mental imbalance? I could have checked on this very easily. But alas, none of the two individuals whom I meet on an everyday basis were in Giridih at that time. My retainer, Prahlad, had taken two months leave to go to his village. I asked the person who had replaced him, Chhedilal, ‘Do you remember if I’d left Giridih during the last two months?’ He rolled his eyes and said, ‘If you don’t remember this, then how can I?’ Clearly, it was my mistake. You can’t cross-check this with anyone. I could have verified this with one person though. My friend Avinash Babu. But he, too, had left for Chaibasha last Friday for his niece’s wedding.

  I couldn’t locate any letter from Innsbruck in my file. I hope it’s a case of a false alarm.

  I’m leaving for Innsbruck on the 6th of July. God knows what’s in store for me.

  7 July Innsbruck. 4.00 p.m.

  After boarding a train from Vienna, I reached Innsbruck at ten in the morning. The minute I stepped into this city, I felt the repercussions of the report of my lecture along with my photo in the newspapers. Three hotels in succession denied me a room. After coming out of the third hotel, when I was getting into a taxi, the driver firmly shook his head and said no. Finally, carrying my bag, I walked for forty-five minutes till I found a room in a small inn located inside an alley. Noticing the thick lenses of the owner’s spectacles I assumed he couldn’t see too well and hence there was no dearth of hospitality from his side. But my work would definitely suffer if I had to live in this state of being incognito.

  Somerville was arriving tonight. I had written to him from Giridih informing him of my visit to Innsbruck. And I called him after my arrival here. He had some prior commitments, yet he has promised to visit me.

  I had also called Gropius. I’ve an appointment with him at five this evening. He lives ten kilometres from here. He said he would send his car.

  In the meantime, I’d also made another call to Prof. Finkelstein. It wouldn’t be correct to hear the only one version of the report so I decided to speak with Finkelstein as well. He wasn’t at home. The servant picked up the phone. I gave him my number and asked for him to call me back when he returned.

  Surrounded by mountains, Innsbruck is a beautiful city. A lot of it had been destroyed during the war. Some of it has been newly built. But of course, I was in no state to enjoy the beauty of this place. My sole aim would now be to depend on the astrologer’s judgment and to look for a way to attain my freedom.

  7 July, 10:30 p.m.

  I’m trying to write about my meeting with Gropius in a coherent manner. A little before five, a young lad working at this Alpine inn informed me that Herr Doctor Gropius had sent a car for Herr Professor Shonku. I was a bit surprised to see his car. At some point—at least thirty years ago—this must have been a very fancy car, but now it looked much run-down. Is Gropius hard up or just a miser?

  By 5 p.m. I reached Grunewaldstraße. Gropius’s house was located on this street. After passing through an old church and cemetery, the car took a left turn and entered a gate. The house matched the car. On my way to the house, the variety and profusion of flowers in gardens of the other houses had given such pleasure to my eyes but the path on two sides of the road from the gate to the main door of Gropius’s house was marked by a wildly-grown garden.

  Gropius himself looked in a worse shape since the time I’d met him in Baghdad. He should not have greyed so much within seven years. Maybe he had faced some tragedy in the family. I professed no curiosity in this regard as he looked much more concerned about my own health rather than his own.

  When we sat face to face in the drawing room, Gropius observed me for two minutes. Finally I was compelled to ask him lightly, ‘Are you trying to gauge if indeed I’m that Shonku?’

  Gropius did not give me a direct answer. Instead what he said doubled my worry.

  ‘Dr Webber is on his way. He will examine you. That day I was taking you to Webber’s clinic but you gave me no chance. I hope you won’t raise any objection this time. It’s only I who firmly believed that you could speak of such things simply because you were unwell. But others around me didn’t share my opinion. Given a choice, if they get to meet you, they’d love to tear you to bits. But if Webber’s examination proves you’re suffering from a mental disorder then perhaps they’ll pardon you. And not just this, with the help of treatment you’ll get better and perhaps you’ll earn back your reputation.’

  Left with no choice, I was forced to say that in the last forty years not once had I been indisposed. I faced no problem either with my physical or mental health.

  Gropius said, ‘Do you mean to say that all these noted scientists—Shimanovsky, Ritter, Popesku, Altman, Streicher, in fact myself included—are unworthy . . . Do you hold such low opinion of all of them?’

  Trying my best to control myself, I spoke in a composed voice. I said, ‘Gropius, I firmly believe that there’s another individual who looks just like me and he, at someone’s instigation, is doing such things only to upset me.’

  ‘In that case, where’s he now? After getting off my car did he simply vanish from this city? At least you possessed your own passport, tickets and straightaway boarded the plane and returned to your own country. But it’s not that easy for an imposter to flee from a city.’

  I said, ‘I strongly feel this person is still present in this city. It could be that he is not so famous a scientist, but had seen me in many places, and had heard my speeches. It’s obvious he resembled me to an extent and the rest was covered by make-up.’

  Gropius’s retainer served me hot chocolate. Along with him a dog also entered the room. It was a Doberman Pinscher. Noticing me, the dog came near, wagged his tail, and began to sniff at my trousers. But when he looked at my face he growled. It was only when Gropius shouted at him saying, ‘Frica! Frica!’ did he move away from me and settle down on a carpet nearby.

  ‘Does anyone else know of your visit here?’ asked Gropius.

  I said, ‘In Innsbruck there’s only one person who I think knows me. I’d called him after arriving here, but he wasn’t home. I’ve left my number with his servant.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  With a slight smile, I said, ‘He, too, was present during Professor Shonku’s lecture. I spotted him in the newspaper cutting that you’d sent me.’

  Gropius frowned.

  ‘Whom are you talking about?’

  ‘Professor Finkelstein.’

  ‘I see.’

  Gropius didn’t look too happy when he heard this. After remaining silent for about half a minute he looked straight at me and asked, ‘Do you remember what you said that day about Finkelstein’s research?’

  I had to shake my head and say ‘No.’

  ‘If you’d remembered, you wouldn’t have called him. You’d said, even a three-year-old child has more intelligence than him.’

  My heart trembled. I jolly well know that I’m not to be blamed for this outrageous speech but if people here actually think that this imposter is the real Shonku, then there’ll be no end to my trouble. In that case can’t I trust anyone else other than Gropius?

  We heard a car pull up outside.

  ‘Oh, Webber must have arrived’, said Gropius.

  I didn’t like the doctor. Austrians are very polite, when compared to Germans, and so this doctor seemed fake. The fixed smile on his face also looked put on. His politeness was extremely laboured. It made me feel rather uncomfortable.

  For half an hour Webber questioned me and physically examined me. I quietly suffered him. Before leaving he said, ‘Gropius will send you his car. Come to my clinic in Godfistrasse tomorrow as I’ve all my apparatus there. It’ll be a challenge to cure you.’

  I thought to myself—I’m ten times healthier than you are. You haven’t clipped your nails for at least two months, the cigarette paper is still stuck to your lips, due to your faulty speech you swallow up your own words—and you’ll treat me for my mental disorder?

  Gropius left the room to see Webber to his car. Bored
, I wandered around the room. Noticing a photo album on a shelf, I leafed through a few pages and spotted myself in one photo. I don’t have this photo with me but I clearly remember it being clicked. It had been taken in front of the Hotel Splendid in Baghdad. Gropius, the Russian scientist Kaminsky and I were standing next to each other.

  ‘What baggage do you have with you?’ Gropius asked me after returning to the room.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I feel you should come over to my place here. I’m suggesting this for your own safety. I’ve a big guest room; you’ve lived in this room earlier too—though you may fail to remember this. When you were here in May you had accepted my hospitality.’

  Although I knew this was impossible, my head reeled. I asked him, ‘Was it you who had invited me?’

  In response, Gropius brought in a file from the next room. In the file among other correspondence, I saw two letters from me. This was exactly my kind of paper, my signature and the fonts of my Olivetti typewriter. In the first letter I wrote, as I was anyway going to Europe in May, there would be no problem in visiting Innsbruck. In the second letter, I mentioned the date on which I was to arrive.

  The mystery now deepened and so did my state of crisis. As it is, no one had allowed me accommodation in any of the hotels; in addition to this, I can jolly well predict the attitudes of the people I’d openly abused in my lecture.

  But I had to let Gropius know that it was not possible for me to move into his house.

  ‘Tonight, my friend Somerville is arriving from London. Will it be fine if the two of us put up at your house tomorrow?’ ‘Who’s Somerville?’ Gropius asked me suspiciously. I gave a brief description of Somerville, adding, ‘He is a special friend of mine; he is particularly concerned about me after he heard about this episode.’