by Satyajit Ray
Feluda took another step, pointing his revolver at Dr Hajra. Suddenly, we heard a flutter above our heads.
A peacock swooped down from the compound wall. It sped towards Dr Hajra the instant it landed, and attacked him, pecking hard just under his left ear. Dr Hajra, who was still crouching over the stones, could only scream in agony and press his hand over that spot. At once, the white cuff of his shirt turned red.
But the peacock hadn’t finished. It continued to attack him, pecking wherever it could. Dr Hajra turned, took a step towards the door in an attempt to escape, and saw us. He started as if he’d seen a pair of ghosts. We stepped aside. The peacock chased him out through the door.
‘You did not imagine, did you, that a peacock would have built its nest—and that nest would contain its eggs—in the same spot where the treasure was buried?’
Feluda’s voice sounded as cold as steel. His revolver was pointed at Dr Hajra. It was clear to me now that the real culprit in this whole affair was Dr Hajra—and he had been suitably punished already—but there were so many other things that still seemed hazy that my head started reeling.
Then we heard a car.
Dr Hajra fell to the ground. He was lying on his stomach. He lifted his head and turned it slowly towards Feluda. His left hand, clutching a bloodstained handkerchief, was still pressed against his wound.
‘There is absolutely no hope left for you. I hope you realize that? Every route of escape is closed, and . . .’
Before Feluda could finish speaking, Dr Hajra sprang to his feet and began running blindly in the opposite direction, away from the derelict house. Feluda lowered his gun because there really was no way that Dr Hajra could now escape. Two men, whom I recognized, were walking towards us. The one who was not hampered by a stick caught Dr Hajra neatly in his arms, as if he were a cricket ball.
The other man clutching the stick approached Feluda. I saw Feluda transfer his revolver to his left hand and offer the man his right hand. ‘Hello, Dr Hajra!’ he said.
What! That man was Dr Hajra?
He shook hands with Feluda. ‘And you are Pradosh Mitter?’
‘Yes. Those new naagras caused blisters on your feet, didn’t they? Are they still bothering you?’
The real Dr Hajra smiled. ‘I rang Mr Dhar the day before yesterday. He told me you were here. I had no problem in recognizing you from his description. Allow me to introduce you—this is Inspector Rathor.’
‘And what about him?’ Feluda pointed at the other man, whom until now we had known as Dr Hajra. He was now handcuffed and hanging his head, ‘Is that Bhavananda?’
‘Yes,’ Dr Hajra replied, ‘alias Amiyanath Burmun, alias the Great Bar-man—Wizard of the East!’
Twelve
Bhavananda was handed over to the local police. The charges against him were many. They included an attempt to murder Hemanga Hajra, disappearing with his belongings, and trying to pass himself off as Dr Hajra.
We were back in the dak bungalow, having coffee (made with camel’s milk) on the veranda. Mukul was romping happily on the lawn in front of us. He knew he would leave for Calcutta the same night. Having seen the golden fortress, he had no wish to remain in Rajasthan any longer.
Feluda turned to the real Dr Hajra and said, ‘Bhavananda was truly a fraud, wasn’t he? I mean, what he did in Chicago, and all that I read in the press reports . . . was all of it true?’
‘Yes. One hundred per cent. Bhavananda and his accomplice cheated and swindled others in various countries, not just one. Besides, back in Chicago, they were doing something else. Not only were they out to deceive everyone, but they were also spreading evil tales and rumours about me, which was affecting my work. So, in the end, I was forced to take certain steps. But all that happened four years ago. I do not know when they returned to India. I came back only three months ago. One day, I happened to be in Mr Dhar’s shop, when I heard about his son. So I went to meet him. You know the rest. When I decided to travel to Rajasthan with Mukul, I had no idea I’d be followed!’
‘Who wouldn’t want to kill two birds with one stone?’ Feluda asked. ‘There was the chance to grab that hidden treasure, plus settle scores with you . . . But didn’t you see them anywhere in Calcutta?’
‘No, not once. The first time I met them was in the refreshment room in the station at Bandikui. The two men came up to me and began chatting.’
‘You didn’t recognize them?’
‘No, bow could I? I had only seen them in Chicago, where they had long hair, flowing beards and fat moustaches!’
‘What happened next?’
‘They sat at the same table and had a meal with us. They told Mukul they knew magic and even pulled some tricks. Then they got into the same compartment with us. I got off at Kisangarh to show Mukul the fort there, but didn’t realize that those two characters had followed me. They reached the fort soon after us, and hid somewhere until the coast was clear. It was a deserted place, in any case. There was no one in sight. When they found an opportunity, they pushed me down a slope. I rolled down, perhaps a hundred feet. Luckily, my fall was broken by a clump of bushes. If I take my shirt off, you’ll see that my body is still covered with bruises. Anyway, I remained by the side of that bush for a whole hour. I wanted them to think that they had managed to get rid of me, and leave with Mukul. At least, Mukul would then be safe. By the time I got up and walked to the station, the eight o’clock train to Marwar had gone. Those two criminals had left by the same train, with Mukul and my luggage. All my papers were in my suitcase, so there was no way I could prove to anyone who I really was.’
‘Didn’t Mukul mind going with them?’
Dr Hajra smiled. ‘Mukul was in a totally distracted state of mind. Didn’t you realize that? He had no problem leaving his own parents and setting off with me. So why should he make a distinction between one strange man and another? Bhavananda told him he would take him to the golden fortress. That was enough to entice Mukul. Anyway, I didn’t give up. If anything, I was more determined now to get to the bottom of this business. Fortunately, I still had my wallet with me. So I could buy new clothes—local Rajasthani ones. I packed my old torn ones into a bundle. I wasn’t used to wearing naagras, you see, so I got blisters on my feet.
‘The next day, I boarded the train at Kisangarh and got into your compartment. Then I took the same train as you from Marwar to Jodhpur. I went to stay in a place called Raghunath Sarai. I knew someone in Jodhpur—one Professor Trivedi. But, at first, I told him nothing. If the matter came to be known, the two men might have tried to run away, or Mukul himself might have felt scared and refused to cooperate. By then I had guessed that the fort in Jaisalmer was where Mukul should be taken. All I had to do was wait until Bhavananda had the same idea and left with Mukul. Until then, my
job was to keep an eye on the pair.’
‘We saw someone hanging around the Circuit House on the very first day. It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, and that caused another problem. Mukul saw me, and seemed to recognize me! At least, that’s how it appeared from the way he came out of the gate and began walking straight towards me.’
‘So, later, you followed Bhavananda and got into the same train that was going to Pokhran?’
‘Yes. The strangest thing was that I saw you from the train, trying to stop it!’
‘Bhavananda must have seen me, too. He would then have realized we would try to catch the early morning train from Ramdeora.’
Dr Hajra continued with his story. ‘Before I caught that train, I told Trivedi to inform the police in Jaisalmer. Before that, I had spoken to Mr Dhar from Trivedi’s house; and then I borrowed one of his suits to dress normally.’
‘And when you got to Pokhran, you saw that Bhavananda’s assistant was already there with a taxi, is that right?’ Feluda wanted to know.
‘That’s where things went wrong. I lost them. Then I had to wait another ten hours and catch that early morning train. I had no idea that you were on the same tr
ain. I saw you here in the dak bungalow. Now, what I would like to know is, when did you first start suspecting Bhavananda?’
Feluda smiled. ‘It would be wrong to say that I suspected Bhavananda. It was the character of Dr Hajra that made me suspicious. Not in Jodhpur, but in Bikaner. When we went to Devikund, we found him with his hands tied, his mouth gagged. Just before that, I’d found a matchbox with an ace printed on it. I knew that particular brand isn’t sold in Rajasthan. Then, when we saw Dr Hajra lying on the ground so helplessly, at first I thought that matchbox was dropped by whoever had attacked him. But then I noticed that there was something wrong with the way he was tied up. I mean, if a man’s hands and legs are tied, that may make him perfectly immobile; but if only his hands are tied behind his back, any intelligent man will fold his legs, slip his hands below them and loosen his ties. Then he can set himself free. It became clear to me that Dr Hajra had tied himself up. But even so, it did not occur to me at the time that that man was not the real Dr Hajra. The scales fell from my eyes this morning, in the train to Jaisalmer, when I happened to be staring at a note Bhavananda had written to me. He had used a sheet of your letterhead.’
‘So? How was that significant?’
‘The printed name showed “Hajra” with a “j”. But Bhavananda, pretending to be you, had signed his name “Hazra”, with a “z”. That told me that the man I had met in Jodhpur and who had written that note was not the real Dr Hajra. But in that case, who was he? He had to be one of those men who had kidnapped Neelu. And the other man was Mandar Bose, who had one long nail on his right hand, who smoked cigars—Neelu had recognized the smell, and so had we. The question now was, who was the real Dr Hajra, and where was he? There could be only one answer to that—Hajra had to be that same man who had got into our compartment at Kisangarh, who had new naagras and blisters on his feet, who was seen loitering outside the Circuit House and the Bikaner fort, and who we saw this morning in the dak bungalow in Jaisalmer, limping with a stick in his hand!’
Dr Hajra nodded. ‘Mr Dhar did a most intelligent thing by asking you to come here. I don’t think I could have managed entirely on my own. It was you who tackled Bhavananda’s assistant. If he is arrested as well, we can then say that it all ended happily.’
Feluda pointed at Lalmohan Babu and said, ‘He made a significant contribution towards raising the alarm against Mandar Bose.’
Lalmohan Babu was struggling all this while to get in a word. Now he blurted out, ‘I say, what’s going to happen to that hidden treasure?’
‘Why don’t you leave it to the peacock?’ said Dr Hajra. ‘It’s guarding it quite admirably, isn’t it? You saw what happens when you meddle with a peacock!’
‘For the moment,’ suggested Feluda, ‘kindly return the treasure you have got hidden. Mind you, from the way your jacket is bulging near your waist, one can hardly call it “hidden”!’
Lalmohan Babu looked positively sad as he pulled out Mandar Bose’s revolver and returned it to Feluda.
‘Thank you,’ said Feluda as he took it. Then his face suddenly grew grave. I saw him examine the revolver closely.
‘I must hand it to you, Mr Trotter!’ he muttered. ‘Who knew you’d hoodwink Pradosh Mitter like this?’
‘Why, what’s happened?’ we cried.
‘This revolver’s a fake! Made in Japan. Magicians use such guns on the stage!’
Just before everyone burst into laughter, Lalmohan Babu took the revolver back from Feluda, grinned and said, ‘For my collection— and as a souvenir of our powerful adventure in Rajasthan. Thank you, sir!’
Incident on the Kalka Mail
One
I had only just finished reading a hair-raising account of an expedition by Captain Scott. Who knew I would have to travel to the land of mist and snow so soon after this? Well no, I don’t mean the North or the South Pole. I don’t think Feluda would ever be required to help solve mysteries in such remote corners. The place I am talking about is in our own country. Here I saw snowflakes floating down from the sky like cotton fluff. It spread on the ground like a carpet, dazzling my eyes as the sun fell on it; yet it stayed soft enough to be scooped and gathered into a ball.
This particular adventure started last March, on a Thursday morning. By this time, Feluda had become fairly well known as a detective, so his number of clients had grown. But he didn’t accept a case unless it was one that gave him the chance to sharpen his remarkable brain. When I first heard about this case, it did not strike me as anything extraordinary. But Feluda must have sensed a great challenge, which was why he agreed so readily. The only other factor that might have influenced his decision was that the client seemed to be pretty well off, so perhaps he was expecting a fat fee. However, when I mentioned this to Feluda, he gave me such a glare that I had to shut up immediately.
The client was called Dinanath Lahiri. He rang us in the evening on Wednesday and made an appointment for eight o’ clock the following morning. On the dot of eight on Thursday, we heard a car stop and blow its horn outside our house in Tara Road. The horn sounded strangely different from other cars. I sprang to my feet and moved towards the door, but Feluda stopped me with a gesture.
‘You must learn,’ he said, ‘to play it cool. At least wait till the bell rings.’
It rang in a few seconds. When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a huge car. Never before had I seen such a big car, except for a Rolls-Royce. The gentleman who emerged from it was equally impressive, though that had nothing to do with his size. A man in his mid-fifties, he had a remarkably fair complexion and was wearing a fine dhoti and kurta. On his feet were white nagras with an upturned front. In his left hand was a walking-stick with an ivory handle; and in his right hand he held a blue square attaché case, of a type which I had seen many times before. There were two in our own house—one was Baba’s, the other belonged to Feluda. They were handed out by Air-India as free gifts to their passengers.
Feluda offered the gentleman the most comfortable armchair in the living-room and took an ordinary chair himself to sit opposite him.
‘I rang last night,’ said our visitor. ‘My name is Dinanath Lahiri.’ Feluda cleared his throat and said, ‘Before you say anything further, may I ask you a couple of questions?’
‘Of course.’
‘First of all, would you mind having a cup of tea?’
Mr Lahiri folded his hands, bent his head politely and replied, ‘You must forgive me, Mr Mitter, I am not used to having anything except at certain hours. But please don’t let me stop you from having a cup of tea, if you so wish.’
‘All right. My second question is—is your car a Hispano Suiza?’
‘Yes, that’s right. There aren’t too many of those in this country. My father bought it in 1934. Are you interested in cars?’
Feluda smiled, ‘Yes, among other things. But my interests are chiefly related to my profession.’
‘I see. Allow me now to tell you why I’m here. You may find the whole thing totally insignificant. I am aware of your reputation, so there’s no way I can insist that you take the case. I can only make a request.’
There was a certain polish and sophistication in his voice and the way he spoke, but not even the slightest trace of arrogance. On the contrary, Mr Lahiri spoke gently and quietly.
‘Let’s hear the details of your case,’ said Feluda.
‘You may call it my case,’ said Mr Lahiri with a smile, pointing at the blue object in his hand, ‘or the tale of my attaché case . . . ha ha. You see, my story revolves round this attaché case.’
Feluda glanced at the case and said, ‘It seems to have gone abroad few times. The tags are torn but I can see the elastic bands on the handle—one, two, three, four . . .’
‘Yes, the handle of my own case also has elastic bands hanging from it.’
‘Your own case? You mean this one isn’t yours?’
‘No. This belongs to someone else. It got exchanged with mine.’
‘I see. Whe
re did this happen? In a plane, or was it a train?’
‘It was a train. Kalka Mail. I was coming back from Delhi. There were four passengers in a first class compartment, including myself. My attaché case must have got mixed up with one of the other three.’
‘I assume you do not know whose it was . . . ?’
‘No. If I did, I don’t suppose I’d need your help.’
‘And you don’t know the names of the others?’
‘There was another Bengali. His name was Pakrashi. He travelled from Delhi, like me.’
‘How did you get to know his name?’
‘One of the other passengers happened to recognize him. I heard this other man say, “Hello, Mr Pakrashi!” and then they got talking. I think both were businessmen. I kept hearing words like contract and tender.’
‘You didn’t learn the name of this other man?’
‘No. He was not a Bengali, though he was speaking the language quite well. I gathered he came from Simla.’
‘And the fourth passenger?’
‘He stayed on one of the upper berths most of the time. I saw him climb down only during lunch and dinner. He was not a Bengali, either. He offered me an apple soon after we left Delhi and said it was from his own orchard. So perhaps he was from Simla, too.’
‘Did you eat that apple?’
‘Yes, certainly. It was a good, tasty apple.’
‘So you don’t mind eating things outside your regular hours when you’re in a train?’
Mr Lahiri burst out laughing.
‘My God! I’d never have thought you’d pick that up! But you’re right. In a moving train I am tempted to break my own rules.’
‘OK,’ said Feluda, ‘I now need to know exactly where who was sitting.’
