by Satyajit Ray
Shubhankar Bose emerged from behind the temple. In his hand was a notebook, and a bag hung from his shoulder. He seemed engrossed in looking at the carvings. Then his eyes fell on us. He smiled, then seemed to remember something and asked anxiously, ‘Any news of your cousin?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, trying to sound casual, ‘he sent a message. He had to go to Bombay on some urgent work. He'll be back soon.’
‘Oh, good.’ Mr Bose went back to gazing at the statues. A faint click behind us told me Feluda had taken a picture. His camera was hanging from his neck. If he was to pass himself off as a photographer, the camera naturally had to stay with him whenever he went out.
I turned my head slightly and saw that Feluda was following us. We finished walking around the temple, and had almost reached the main entrance again when we saw someone else. Blue shirt, white trousers. Mr Jayant Mallik. He had probably just arrived. He was standing quietly, but moved towards the statue of an elephant as soon as he saw us. In his hand was the same bag I had seen him carrying before. He had travelled from Barasat to Calcutta with it. I had seen him walk into Queen’s Mansion, clutching it. Feluda had now almost caught up with us. I was dying to know what that bag contained. Why didn't Feluda go up to the man, grab him by his collar and challenge him straightaway? Why didn't he say, ‘Where's that broken head? Take it out at once!’
But no, I knew Feluda would not do that. He could not, without sufficient evidence. It was true that Mallik had gone to Sidikpur where that plane had crashed; it was true that he had travelled all the way to Ellora, and had been heard speaking to someone in Bombay, talking about a daughter having returned to her father. But that was not really enough. Feluda would have to wait a bit longer before speaking to him.
There was, however, one way of finding out if Mallik's bag contained anything heavy. I saw Feluda walk past us, go up to Mallik and give him a push. ‘Oh, sorry!’ he said quickly, and began focusing his camera on a statue. I saw the bag swing from side to side with the push. Its contents did not appear to be very heavy.
We left the temple. On our way out, we saw two other men. One of them was the stout gentleman Lalmohan Babu had recently tried to impress, and the other was the bald American.
The former was explaining something with elaborate gestures; the latter was nodding in agreement.
For some strange reason, I suddenly began to think everyone around us was a suspicious character. Each one of them should be watched closely.
Was Feluda thinking the same thing?
CHAPTER 7
Feluda wanted to stop at the guest house on our way back. ‘I want to see what newspapers they get,’ he said by way of an explanation.
Lalmohan Babu and I returned to the bungalow. We were both feeling hungry, so Lalmohan Babu called out to the chowkidar and asked him to bring us tea and biscuits. The dining room faced the small lobby. The room to its right—number one—was ours. Number two was empty. Opposite these two were rooms three and four. The stout gentleman was in one of them, and Feluda had the other.
Lalmohan Babu was still in a mood to snoop. ‘Listen, Tapesh,’ he said, sipping his tea, ‘I think we can leave the American out of this, at least for the moment. That leaves us with three other people: Bose, Mallik, and that man who’s staying here. We know something about Bose and Mallik—true or false, God only knows—but we know absolutely nothing about the third man, not even his name. We could peep into his room now, it doesn't appear to be locked.’
I did not like the idea, so I said, ‘What if the chowkidar sees us?’
‘He cannot see us if I go in, and you stay here to look out for him. If you see the chowkidar coming this way, start coughing. I will get out of that room at once. I think your cousin will appreciate a helping hand. This man's suitcase also struck me as quite heavy.’
The whole world was suddenly full of heavy suitcases. But I could not stop him. To be honest, although I had never done anything like this before for anyone except Feluda, there was a scent of adventure in the suggestion, so I found myself agreeing.
I went to the back veranda. There was a small courtyard facing the veranda, across which was the kitchen and, next to it, the chowkidar's room. A cycle stood outside this room. A boy of about twelve—presumably his son—was cleaning it with great concentration. I turned my head as I heard a faint creaking noise and saw Lalmohan Babu sneak into room number three. A couple of minutes later, it was he who coughed loudly to indicate that he had finished his job. I returned to our room.
‘There was nothing much in there,’ Lalmohan Babu said. ‘His suitcase seemed pretty old, but it was locked and it did not open even when I pulled the handle. On the table was an empty spectacle-case with “Stephens Company, Calcutta” stamped on it, a bottle of indigestion pills, and a tube of Odomos. Apart from these things, there was nothing that I …’
‘Whose possessions are you talking about?’ asked Feluda. We looked up with a start. He had walked into our room silently, almost like a ghost.
This called for an honest confession. Much to my surprise, he did not get cross with either of us. All he said was, ‘Was there any particular reason for doing this?’
‘No, it's just that we don't know anything about the man, do we?’ Lalmohan Babu tried to explain. ‘I mean, he hasn’t even told us his name. And he looks kind of hefty, doesn't he? Didn't you say there was a whole gang involved in this? So I thought …’
‘So you thought he must be one of them? There was no need to search his room just to get his name. He's called R.N. Raxit. His name’s written on one side of his suitcase. I don't think we need to know any more about him at this moment. Please don't go into his room again. It simply means taking unnecessary risks. After all, we haven't got any concrete reason to suspect him.’
‘Very well. That just leaves the American.’
‘He's called Lewison, Sam Lewison. Another Jew, and also very wealthy. He owns an art gallery in New York.’
‘How do you know all this?’ I asked, surprised.
‘The manager of the guest house told me. We got talking. He's a very nice man, passionately fond of detective novels. In fact, he's been waiting for thieves and crooks to arrive here ever since he read about the thefts in other temples.’
‘Did you tell him why you were here?’
‘Yes. He can help us a great deal. Don't forget Mallik is staying in his guest house. Apparently, Mallik has already tried to ring someone in Bombay, but the call didn't come through.’
That night, all four guests in the bungalow sat down to dinner together. Feluda did not speak a word. Mr Raxit turned to Lalmohan Babu and tried to make conversation by asking him if he specialized in any particular period of history. In answer to that, Lalmohan Babu said he didn't know very much about pyramids, except that they were in Egypt. Then he went back to dunking pieces of chapati into his bowl of daal. Mr Raxit cast me a puzzled glance. I placed a hand on my ear and shook my head to indicate that my ‘uncle’ was hard of hearing. Mr Raxit nodded vigorously and refrained from asking further questions.
After dinner, Feluda went straight to his room and Lalmohan Babu and I went out for a walk. It was quite windy outside. A pale moon shone between patches of dark clouds. From somewhere came the fragrance of hasnahana. Lalmohan Babu, inspired by all this, decided to start singing a classical raga. I suddenly felt quite light-hearted. Just at that moment, we saw a man walking towards us from the guest house. Lalmohan Babu stopped singing (which was a relief since he was singing perfectly out of tune) and stood still. As the man got closer, I recognized him. It was Shubhankar Bose. ‘I wish your cousin was here!’ Lalmohan Babu whispered.
‘Out for a walk, eh?’ Mr Bose asked. Then he cleared his throat, looked around a couple of times, lowered his voice, and said, ‘Er … do you happen to know that man in the blue shirt?’
This time, Lalmohan Babu couldn't pretend to be deaf. Mr Bose had spoken with him before.
‘Why, did he say he knew us?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.
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Mr Bose looked over his shoulder again. ‘That man is most peculiar,’ he told us. ‘He says he is interested in Indian art and this is his first visit to Ellora. Yet, when I met him at the temple, he didn't seem moved by any of it. I mean, not at all. I felt just as thrilled by everything, even though this is my second visit. Now, if the man does not care for art and sculpture, why is he here? Why is he pretending to be something he clearly isn't?’
We remained silent. What could we say?
‘Have you read the papers recently?’ Mr Bose went on.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Pieces of our ancient art are being sold off. Statues from temples are disappearing overnight.’
‘Really? No, I didn't know that. What a shame! It's a regular crime, isn't it?’ Lalmohan Babu declared. His acting was not very convincing, but luckily Mr Bose did not seem to notice. He came closer and added, ‘The man left the guest house a while ago.’
‘Which man?’
‘Mr Mallik.’
‘What!’ We both spoke together. Lalmohan Babu was right. Feluda ought to have been here.
‘Why don't we go, too?’ Mr Bose asked, his voice trembling with excitement.
‘N-now? Wh-where to?’ Lalmohan Babu stammered.
‘To the caves.’
‘But they must be closed now. Surely there are chowkidars?’
‘Yes, but there are only two guards for thirty-four caves. So that shouldn't be a problem. I saw Mallik leave with a bag. He and that hippie in your bungalow keep going about with bags. In fact, that hippie also strikes me as suspicious. Do you know who he is?’
Lalmohan Babu nearly choked. ‘He … he is a photographer. A very good one. He showed us some of his photos. He's here on an assignment.’
Someone came out of the bungalow. It was Mr Raxit, carrying a stout walking stick in one hand, and a torch in the other. He was wearing a dark, heavy raincoat. He stopped for a minute to shout into Lalmohan Babu's ear: ‘After dinner, walk a mile!’ Then he smiled and disappeared in the direction of the guest house. Mr Bose said, ‘Good night!’ and followed him. Lalmohan Babu frowned and said, ‘Why did that man tell me to walk a mile?’
‘That should help your digestion. Come on now, Let's go and find Feluda. He must be told what we just heard. Everyone seems to have gone off to the caves. I don't like it. Let's see what Feluda thinks.’
It was dark inside the bungalow, except for a lantern in the chowkidar's room. This surprised us. Mr Raxit had naturally switched off his light before going out, and so had we. But why was Feluda's door closed? Why couldn't I see any light under it? Had he already gone to sleep? It was only ten-thirty.
His room had a window that opened out on the veranda. At this moment, however, it was firmly shut and the curtains drawn. I walked up to it and softly called out Feluda's name. There was no reply. He must have gone out. But if he had used the main exit, we would certainly have seen him. Perhaps he had gone out of the little back door behind the chowkidar's room?
Rather foolishly, we went back to our own room and switched the light on. At once, our eyes fell on a piece of paper that was lying on the floor. ‘Stay in your room,’ it said in Feluda's handwriting.
‘Tapesh, my boy,’ Lalmohan Babu said with a sigh, ‘do you know what is worrying me the most? It's your cousin's behaviour. That is what is most mystifying. Otherwise, frankly, I cannot see too many mysteries in this case.’
Feluda had told us to stay in, but had said nothing about when he might return. There was no question of going to bed. So I spent the next thirty minutes playing noughts-and-crosses with Lalmohan Babu. Then he said he'd tell me the plot of his next novel. ‘This time,’ he announced, ‘I've introduced a new type of fight. My hero's hands and feet are going to be tied, but he'll still manage to defeat the villain, simply by using his head.’
I was about to ask whether by this he meant Prakhar Rudra's brainpower, or was his hero simply going to butt his way to victory, when Feluda returned. We looked up expectantly, but he said nothing. By this time, we had both learnt that if Feluda did not wish to part with information, even a thousand questions couldn't make him open his mouth. On the other hand, he'd tell us everything, if he so wished.
What he finally said took us by surprise. ‘Lalmohan Babu,’ he asked solemnly, ‘did you bring a weapon this time?’
Lalmohan Babu had a passion for collecting weapons. When we had gone to Rajasthan, he had taken a Nepali dagger with him. Then, when he went to Simla, he had a boomerang. At Feluda's question, his eyes started glinting. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘This time, I've got a bomb.’
‘A bomb?’
I could hardly believe him. Lalmohan Babu opened his suitcase and took out a heavy brown object, shaped a little like a torch. He passed it to Feluda, saying, ‘My neighbour Mr Samaddar's son, Utpal, is in the army. He came to my house last March and gave it to me. “Look, Uncle, see what I have brought for you!” he said. “This is a bomb. It is used in serious warfare.” Utpal loves reading my novels.’
Feluda inspected it briefly before saying, ‘Let me keep this. It's too dangerous to remain anywhere else.’
‘Very well. How many metaguns do you think it weighs?’
What he meant obviously was ‘megaton’, but Feluda ignored this last remark completely. He put the ‘bomb’ in his shoulder bag and said, ‘Let's go out. Everyone else has gone, so why should we stay in?’
When we left the dak bungalow, it was half past eleven. The moon was now almost totally obliterated by clouds. It was still windy. One of the rooms in the guest house had a light on. It was the American’s room, Feluda said. It was impossible to tell whether Bose and Mallik had returned.
By the time we reached the main road, the eastern sky was heavily overcast. A loud rumble in the sky made Lalmohan Babu exclaim, ‘Good heavens, what if we get caught in the rain?’
‘If we can get to the caves before it starts raining, we'll have plenty of places to seek shelter,’ Feluda reassured us.
Fortunately, it remained dry for quite some time after this. We reached Kailash, but Feluda did not go in through the main entrance. He turned left instead. A little later, he left the path and began climbing up the hill. I was familiar enough with his techniques to realize that he was trying to see if there was another way to get into the temple, without using the main passage. There were bushes and loose stones everywhere, but the moonlight—fleeting though it was—helped us find our way.
Feluda turned right. We were now going back the way we came, but were walking several feet above the path that visitors normally used. A few minutes later, Feluda suddenly stopped. He was looking at something on his right. I followed his gaze.
In the distance, it seemed as if a long silk ribbon was spread on the ground. It was the road that led to the main town. A man was quickly walking down this road, either to the guest house or to the bungalow.
‘Not Raxit,’ Lalmohan Babu whispered.
‘How do you know?’
‘Raxit was wearing a raincoat.’ He was right.
The man turned a corner and vanished from sight. We resumed walking. Only a few moments later, however, we had to stop again. There was a strange noise—something like a cross between a scrape and a rustle. Where was it coming from?
Feluda sat down. So did we. A large cactus bush hid us from view. The noise continued for sometime, then stopped abruptly.
We emerged cautiously. Huge, dark clouds had now spread all over the sky. We could hardly see our way. Nevertheless, Feluda kept going. Soon, we could vaguely see the temple again. Its spire was before us. Several feet below the spire, on the roof, stood four lions, facing east, west, north, and south. Far below them were the two elephants that stood at the entrance.
We kept walking. The noise had come from this direction, but I couldn't see anything suspicious. Feluda had a torch, but I knew he wouldn't switch it on, in case it was seen by whoever happened to be in the vicinity.
We passed the temple and came to a cave
. It was cave number fifteen. We moved on to the next. Feluda stopped again. I could see that his whole body was tense. ‘Torch,’ he whispered. ‘Someone in number fifteen has switched on a torch. Look at the courtyard in front of it. Doesn't it seem brighter than the others?’
It was true. Neither Lalmohan Babu nor I had noticed it. Only Feluda's sharp eyes had picked it up. We stood holding our breath for a couple of minutes. Then Feluda did something entirely unexpected. He picked up a small pebble and threw it in the direction of the courtyard. I heard it fall with a soft thud. A second later, the faint light coming from the cave went out. The torch was switched off. Then a man came out and slipped away, moving stealthily like a thief. ‘Could that be Raxit?’ Lalmohan Babu said softly. I couldn't recognize the man, but could see that he was not wearing a raincoat.
What followed next took my breath away. Without a word of warning, Feluda began climbing down. He leapt, crawled, scraped himself on the ground, then swinging from a branch like a monkey, disappeared from sight. I stared speechlessly. Lalmohan Babu said, after a moment's silence, ‘He'll do very well in a circus!’
Cave number fifteen was at a lower level. That was where Feluda had gone. Three minutes later (it felt like three hours), he climbed up again, more or less in a similar fashion. How he could do it with a torch in one hand, a bag hanging from his shoulder, and a revolver tucked into his waist, I do not know.
