by Satyajit Ray
‘The Diwan started unravelling the mystery as soon as the car started.
‘“You see, Mr Banerjee, we are facing an extremely tricky situation here in Mandore. Call it an accident, if you like; but our Maharaja, Gulab Singh, has suddenly gone insane. He’s had to be hospitalized. A well-known doctor from Mysore has arrived to treat him, but I don’t think he is going to recover soon. The problem is that in just three days we are expecting a very important visitor from America—the millionaire, Mr Oscar Horenstein. He collects antiques and other objects of art, and spends thousands of dollars on them.
‘“Our Raja has a number of antiques in his possession. He wanted to sell some of those to Horenstein because our treasury is in urgent need of money. We have been losing money for some time. There are half a dozen palaces, of various sizes, on the land owned by the Raja. One of them is going to be turned into a hotel. It was the Raja’s decision. There is plenty to see in Mandore: a lake, hills, and quite a lot of wildlife in the forests. We have deer, tigers and elephants. Besides, the air here is clean and healthy. So, if there is adequate publicity, there is no reason why a hotel should not turn out to be a profitable business. However, before that business can actually start, we were hoping to get a substantial amount from this Horenstein. That’s why we did not tell him about Raja Gulab Singh’s illness, or ask him to cancel his visit. You do understand, don’t you?”
‘I did indeed. “That means that picture in the advertisement was of the Raja, and now I am to play that role. Is that right?”
‘“Yes, but only during Horenstein’s stay.”
‘“Where did he meet the Raja?”
‘“Minneapolis, in America. The Raja went there in March to visit his son, Mahipal. Mahipal works there as a doctor. There, he met Horenstein at a party, and invited him here. Horenstein, I believe, is also interested in shikar. So we’ll have to make arrangements for that as well. Can you shoot?”
‘“Yes, though I haven’t been out hunting for ten or twelve years.”
‘“You will be on an elephant here. That is relatively safe.”
‘“You mentioned something about the Raja’s collection. What sort of things has he got?”
‘“Mainly weapons. Daggers, swords, shields and pistols—there are plenty of those. You’ll be able to see for yourself how valuable they are. Besides, he has old containers of perfume, hookahs, vases and paintings. I don’t think Horenstein will need much persuasion from you. From what I’ve heard, he is already quite interested in buying some of it. The Raja made a list of prices when he heard Horenstein was going to come. I’ll pass that on to you.”
‘Now I had finally grasped what I was required to do. Instead of just for a day, I was to be a sultan for five days. After that, naturally, I would have to go back to being my insignificant self. But the amount offered was not insignificant at all. Ten thousand rupees in 1964 was five times its value today.
‘When the car swept in through the huge gate of the palace, I could feel my heart beat faster. But, to tell you the truth, I was not actually nervous. I had caught the Diwan glancing curiously at me several times during our journey. “I could not have dreamt,” he finally said, “that we would find a double for the Raja. I had assumed the advertisement would not work, and we would have to ask Horenstein not to come. Now, I am beginning to hope that we will get what we want, without having to reveal the truth.”
‘The American was expected to reach Mandore on Wednesday. I got there the preceding Sunday. I was told to spend the next three days reading the Raja’s diaries, and listening to his voice on a tape recorder. Three of his speeches, delivered in English, were recorded on different tapes. The Diwan handed them to me, together with leather-bound volumes of the Raja’s diaries, maintained over the last ten years. I went through them briefly. The entries had been made in English. The Raja’s language was clear and lucid. Details of his daily activities were described in his diaries. I learnt what time he liked to get up in the morning, what exercises he took, what he liked to eat, what he preferred wearing, and that he was not fond of music.
‘He had lost his wife three years ago. For two weeks after her death, all the pages in his diary were blank, bearing evidence of his shock and grief. For me, it was a useful discovery.
‘On the third day, I told the Diwan that I was ready for the job. Then I added something I had been meaning to say after my first night in the palace. “Diwanji, I am perfectly satisfied with every arrangement, but I cannot continue to sleep in the Raja’s bed. It’s too soft. I cannot sleep on such a soft mattress.”
‘“Well then, where are you going to sleep?” he asked. ‘“Why, you have so many smaller palaces here. Lal kothi, peeli kothi, safed kothi. Couldn’t I stay in one of those?”
‘“Yes, you could,” replied the Diwan, looking faintly concerned. “Lal kothi would be most suitable for you, I think. It has quite a comfortable bedroom. Gulab Singh’s father used to stay there sometimes. Shatrughna Singh did not like staying in the same building for long. So various small houses had had to be built for him.”
‘“Very well. I will stay in lal kothi.” ‘“Yes, but . . .”
‘“Why, is there a problem?” ‘“There is just one thing . . .”
‘“What is it?”
‘“Well, you see, at the age of fifty, Shatrughna Singh lost his mind. He killed himself—put a gun to his head—in that bedroom in lal kothi.”
‘“So you think that room is haunted?”
‘“I don’t know. No one has ever slept in it since Shatrughna Singh’s death.”
‘“Never mind. That’s where I’ll stay. I don’t want to miss such an experience. I have stayed in haunted houses before, even seen some ghosts. So I’m not afraid of them. But please make sure that my bed is not so soft.”
‘The Diwan agreed to make the necessary arrangements. From the look on his face, he seemed surprised at my words. Perhaps he had not expected a Bengali to show such courage.
‘The American arrived that afternoon. About fifty years of age, he was taller than me by about three inches; his face looked as if all the flesh that should have been evenly spread over it was concentrated only on his chin; his blue eyes stared out of glasses with a golden frame. His salt-and-pepper hair was brushed back.
‘“Let him go to safed kothi and rest for a while in his room. There’s no need to bring him to see you right away,” the Diwan said to me. “We don’t wish to appear too eager, there’s our prestige to consider. But I must warn you that he appears somewhat short-tempered. The car got a puncture on the way from the station. That seemed to annoy him a lot.”
‘“I decided to remain calm, even if Mr Horenstein appeared cross. When I finally met him, he said, half jokingly and half reprovingly: “Well, Maharaj, what kind of a welcome is this? I was made to stand in the hot sun for fifteen minutes on my way here!”
‘I apologized as much as I could, giving him my word that such a thing would not happen again during his stay. The man took a chair, and picked up a glass of sherbet. The cool drink seemed to calm him down a little.
‘“Do tell me what you’d like to do here,” I said after a while. “I have a pretty good idea, and I’ve had all the arrangements made. But even so, I would like to hear it from you.”
‘“Well, I like hunting. I want to look for a tiger . . . have you arranged for that?”
‘I nodded. He went on, “And I want to buy a few things from your collection. My silver wedding anniversary is coming up. I’d like to buy something nice for my wife. I hope you’ve got some pretty things?”
‘“You can see for yourself what I’ve got. There’s some very good stuff in our collection, some of it a hundred and fifty years old.”
‘We took him to the museum after lunch. This was my first visit, too. What I saw was a treat for the eyes. But my heart felt heavy at the thought of losing some of those beautiful things. Horenstein turned out to be quite a good connoisseur of antiques. Quickly, he began to separate those that he
wished to buy. Soon, he had made a pile worth about a million rupees. Even so, there was a frown on his face. What was wrong? “All this is fine,” he said eventually, “but I still haven’t found anything suitable for Cathleen. Don’t you have a diamond brooch or something? My wife is crazy about stones. If only I could get a nice stone for her here!”
‘I shook my head. “I’m very sorry, Mr Horenstein. If I had a stone worth selling, most certainly I’d have shown it to you.”
‘The rest of the day was spent in taking the American around in the Raja’s Lagonda, to show him all the sights of Mandore. In the evening, we had a game of chess. I could see that Horenstein was still upset about not getting anything for his wife. Perhaps that was the reason why he kept making mistakes. Bearing in mind that he had a quick temper, I deliberately played badly and let him win.
‘At nine o’clock that evening, we finished a large and sumptuous meal, which was followed by coffee and brandy. Horenstein lingered over the latter, but eventually retired for the night in safed kothi. Raja Gulab Singh did not drink, and nor did I—so there was something else we had in common. I had a cup of coffee and a Havana cigar, and then rose to go to lal kothi. The Diwan himself decided to accompany me.
‘“How is Gulab Singh today?” I asked him.
‘He shook his head and clicked his tongue regretfully. “He’s still the same. Raving and ranting, and driving the nurses up the wall. Even the doctors are having a difficult time.”
‘The bed in the new palace proved to be quite satisfactory. The Diwan said before leaving me, “You are indeed a brave man, Mr Banerjee. This is the first time anyone has offered to sleep in this room since Shatrughna Singh’s death.”
‘“Please don’t worry about me, sir. I can look after myself under any circumstance.”
‘There was a bedside lamp. I switched it on and began reading a book on the history of Mandore. Then, at around half past eleven, I switched the light off. There was a large window on the western side, through which came moonlight and a soft breeze. It did not take me long to fall asleep.
‘When I woke, the moon had moved further and the room was filled with a hazy light. The minute I opened my eyes, I realized I was not alone in the room. The door was still bolted from inside, but a man was standing near the window, looking straight at me. He was tall like me, and his general appearance was similar to mine, except that his moustache was thicker. The light was not good enough to see clearly, but I realized that the man was dressed in a dark suit.
‘I propped myself up on an elbow and sat up. There was a slight tremor in my heart, but I refuse to call it fear. I did not have to be told that the intruder was not alive. It was the ghost of Gulab Singh’s father, Shatrughna Singh, who had committed suicide in the same room. There could be no doubt about that.
‘“I have come to tell you something,” said the figure, in a deep voice.
‘“What have you got to say?”
‘“Thirty years ago, I bought an extremely valuable stone in Vienna. It was an emerald. It was called the Dorian Emerald. You don’t often get to see a stone like that.”
‘“What happened to it?”
‘“It’s still there, in a drawer in my son’s wardrobe. It’s kept in a red velvet box. Sell it, if you can. Since you’ve found a buyer, don’t miss this chance.”
‘“Why are you saying this?”
‘“That stone is cursed. I did not know that when I bought it. Its first owner was Count Dorian of Luxemburg. He committed suicide by jumping off the roof of his castle. Every single bone in his body was broken. After this, that emerald changed hands nineteen times. Each of its owners killed himself. I eventually came to know this fact, but still could not believe that such tragedy could be linked with a beautiful object like that. But now I know beyond any doubt that it was the emerald that was responsible for my death. If my son has lost his sanity today, it is because of that stone. Only, nothing has happened to my grandson. At least, not yet. But what if in the future . . .?” the ghost stopped.
‘“You need not worry any more,” I reassured him. “I am absolutely sure that I can get rid of that stone.”
‘“In that case, I had better go. Goodbye.”
‘The figure dissolved into the faint moonlight. I remained awake for the rest of the night.
‘The next morning, I told the Diwan about my encounter with Shatrughna Singh. He stared at me, totally amazed. “But I have never even heard of such a stone!” he exclaimed.
‘“Maybe not. Nevertheless, we must open the Raja’s wardrobe and look in all the drawers.”
‘Finding the small red velvet box proved quite easy. The emerald in it left me bereft of speech. I had never seen a stone like that in my life.
‘I sent word to Horenstein. “Look,” I said to him when he arrived, “you wanted a stone, didn’t you? There is a stone in my private collection. I did not mention it to you before because my father had bought it, and I wanted to treasure his memory. However, I’ve now thought things over, and seeing that you are our distinguished guest, and you have travelled thousands of miles to visit us, I don’t think you should go back empty-handed. See if you like this emerald.”
‘The American’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw the stone. “It’s a beauty . . . a beauty!” I heard him mutter under his breath. Then he added, “I don’t want to take anything else.”
‘The emerald was handed over to Horenstein. In return, he wrote a cheque and passed it to us.
‘Surprisingly enough, the hospital informed us that evening that the Raja was feeling a lot better.
‘We went to find a tiger the next day, but things did not go very well for Horenstein. The beaters managed to make a tiger run out of the forest and emerge quite close to the elephant Horenstein was riding. Despite that, he missed it when he fired. In the end, it was a bullet from my gun that killed it.
‘Horenstein left for Delhi the following day.
‘Two days later, I read in the papers that a Pan Am flight had run into problems just as it had taken off. Apparently, somehow a vulture got into its engine at the moment of take-off. The engine packed up, and the plane crashed. Luckily, no one was hurt, but about twenty-five passengers had to be taken to a hospital for treatment of nervous shock. Among them was the American millionaire, Oscar M. Horenstein.’
Translated by Gopa Majumdar
First published in Bengali in 1986
Anukul
‘He’s got a name, hasn’t he?’ Nikunja Babu asked.
‘Oh yes, he has.’
‘What is it?’
‘Anukul.’
A robot supplying agency had opened in Chowringhee about six months ago. Nikunja Babu had always wanted a mechanical servant. His business had lately been doing rather well, so he could now afford to fulfil his little desire.
Nikunja Babu looked at the robot. It was an android, which meant that it looked exactly like an ordinary human being although it was really a machine. It had a pleasant appearance, its age was around twenty-two.
‘What kind of work will this robot do?’ Nikunja Babu asked.
The man behind the counter lit a cigarette and replied, ‘He’ll do more or less everything an ordinary servant does. The only thing he doesn’t know is how to cook. Apart from that, he can do the washing and cleaning, make the beds, make tea, open doors and windows—just about everything. But don’t send him out. He can manage everything in the house, but he couldn’t go and do your shopping. And . . . er . . . you must talk to him politely. He expects one to say “please” and “thank you”.’
‘He’s not ill tempered, I hope?’
‘No, no. You’ll find him troublesome only if you raise your hand. Our robots cannot stand physical assault.’
‘There is no likelihood of that. But suppose someone gives him a slap. What will he do?’
‘He will take revenge.’
‘How?’
‘He might use the middle finger of his right hand. He can give a high
voltage electric shock with that finger.’
‘Can that result in death?’
‘Certainly. And the law cannot do anything about this for a robot cannot be punished like a normal human being. But I must say there has never been a case like this so far.’
‘Does he sleep at night?’
‘No. Robots don’t sleep.’
‘What does he do then all night?’
‘He just sits quietly in the corner. Robots don’t lack patience.’
‘Does he have a mind?’
‘Robots can, at times, feel and understand things that a human being can’t. But then, not all robots are so sensitive. It’s a matter of luck, really. Only time can tell how gifted a robot is.’
Nikunja Babu turned towards the robot and said, ‘Anukul, you have no objection to working for me, have you?’
‘Why should I object?’ said Anukul in a perfectly normal voice. He was wearing a blue striped shirt and black shorts. His neatly brushed hair had a side parting, his complexion was fair, his teeth bright and clean and his mouth parted in a half smile. His whole appearance inspired confidence.
‘Come along then.’
Nikunja Babu’s Maruti van was waiting outside. He paid for Anukul by cheque and came out with him. Anukul’s movements were no different from those of an ordinary man.
Nikunja Babu lived in Salt Lake. He was not married. A few of his friends dropped in to play cards in the evening. They had already been told about the arrival of a mechanical servant. Nikunja Babu had, in fact, done some research before acquiring Anukul. Quite a number of people amongst the upper classes of Calcutta had already got robots to work for them. Mr Mansukhani, Girija Bose, Pankaj Datta Roy, Mr Chhabria—everyone said they were very satisfied and that their servant gave them no trouble at all.
‘Our Jeevanlal does everything immediately, just as he’s told,’ said Mr Mansukhani. ‘I’m convinced he’s not just a machine—he must have a real brain and a heart!’
Nikunja Babu formed a similar opinion within seven days. Anukul’s way of working was just perfect. He seemed to have grasped fully the logical link between one task and another. If asked whether the water for his bath was ready, he would not only bring the water immediately but would also provide a soap and a towel for his master. He would then get his master’s clothes and shoes and everything else that might be needed. And he did everything so willingly that there was no question of being impolite to him.
