by Satyajit Ray
We turned right after reaching Kailash. The next cave was number fifteen, the Das Avatar cave. It was at this one that Feluda had thrown a pebble last night.
There was no one around. We walked on. The courtyard before the cave was large. There was a small shrine in the middle of it. We crossed it quickly and climbed a few steps to go through the main entrance that took us into the cave. We had been told to find the first floor. I could dimly see a flight of steps going up. God knew if there was anyone already hiding in the dark. We went up the steps, trying not to make any noise at all.
The stairs led us to a huge hall. Rows of carved pillars stood supporting the roof, as though they were carrying it on their heads. There were scenes from Indian mythology, beautifully carved on the northern and the southern walls.
We found the south-eastern corner. It was too dark inside to see clearly. I had taken off my sandals before climbing the stairs, but now the rocky floor felt so cold that I had to put them on again. As neither of us knew how long we might have to wait, we sat down, leaning against the wall. Who knew what was going to happen next in this cave, built twelve hundred years ago, and filled with amazing specimens of ancient art?
Something happened almost immediately. As soon as we had sat down, my eyes fell on something that made me give an involuntary gasp. Only a few feet away from where we were sitting, barely visible in the dark, was a solid round object lying on the floor. Sticking out from under it was a white square object. Neither was a part of the temple decorations. Someone had placed them there deliberately. What could they be? Who had kept them there, and for whom?
‘P-paper?’ Lalmohan Babu whispered, pointing at the white object.
We rose and went closer. What we saw made us stare in utter disbelief. It was indeed a piece of paper, but what had been used as a paperweight was the yakshi’s head! There could be no mistake. We had seen it only this morning—first in Mr Ghote’s hand, and then in Mr Kulkarni’s, who had locked it away in his safe.
I shone the torch on the piece of paper. It was another message from Feluda, this time addressed to Lalmohan Babu. ‘Keep the head with you,’ it said. ‘If anyone demands it, hand it over to him.’
What could this mean? But there was no time to think. Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Jai Guru!’ and picked up the head. I put Feluda’s message into my pocket, and we returned to our positions.
Our eyes were now getting used to the dark. There appeared to be a faint moonlight outside. We could see a portion of the western sky through the pillars. It had turned a deep purple. Gradually, it changed its hue. Perhaps the moon had risen higher. It didn’t seem as dark inside the cave as before.
‘Eight o’clock!’ Lalmohan Babu muttered, letting go of a long sigh.
Suddenly, a faint noise reached my ears. Someone was coming up the stairs, placing each foot with extreme caution. Then the noise stopped. A second later, the footsteps continued. The man was now walking on flat ground, among the pillars. There, now he was visible through a couple of pillars. He stopped, and looked around. Then, with a click, he lit a lighter. The small flame went out almost as soon as it had appeared, but it was enough to illuminate his face. We recognized him instantly.
Jayant Mallik!
How could he be here? He was supposed to be in police custody. My head began reeling. After this, I thought, if the dead Shubhankar Bose turned up in person, I should not be surprised.
Mr Mallik resumed walking, but did not come toward us. He made his way to the north-eastern corner. That part of the hall was in total darkness. He disappeared from sight.
My throat felt dry. I could hardly think clearly. Only one thing kept going round and round in my head. Where was Feluda Where was Feluda? Where was Feluda? Lalmohan Babu had once declared he would give up writing crime stories because his real-life experiences were so much stranger. What would he say after today?
The moonlight grew stronger as we waited. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Then it was quiet once more.
But not for long. A second man was climbing up the steps. Like Mr Mallik, he stopped for a moment on reaching the flat surface where the stairs ended. Then we could see him walking, but could not tell who he was. He did not stop to use a lighter.
He was coming towards us, getting closer and closer, walking with slow, measured steps. Then, without the slightest warning, our eyes were dazzled by a powerful light. The man was shining a torch directly into our eyes. The footsteps came even closer, and a voice spoke, softly, but with biting sarcasm.
‘Dreaming of the moon, weren’t you, you puny little dwarf? Who taught you to write threatening letters? “Come to the Das Avatar cave at 8 p.m. . . . then you’ll get back what you’ve lost, or else . . .” where did you learn all this, Professor? A professor of history, didn’t you say? Can you hear me now? Or are you still pretending to be deaf? How did you get involved in this, anyway? You had noted everything down in your notebook, hadn’t you? I saw it myself—“a Fokker Friendship crashes”, “a yakshi from Bhubaneshwar gets stolen”, “the Kailash temple in Ellora”, even plane timings . . . ! Why have you got a child with you? Is he your bodyguard? Can you see what I’ve got in my right hand?’
I had recognized the voice as soon as it had started to speak. It was Mr Raxit. In his left hand was a torch. In his right was a pistol.
‘I . . . I . . .’ Lalmohan Babu stammered.
‘Stop whimpering!’ Mr Raxit’s voice boomed out. ‘Where’s the real thing?’
‘Here it is. I kept it for you,’ Lalmohan Babu offered him the yakshi’s head.
Mr Raxit took it with his left hand, making sure his right hand did not waver. ‘Not everyone can play this game, do you understand?’ he went on, still sounding furious. ‘It’s not for the likes of you, you stupid little—’ he broke off.
A strange thing had started to happen. Great clouds of smoke were coming into the cave, spiralling up and slowly enveloping everything—the pillars, the carvings, the statues. As we stood gaping in absolute amazement at this thick sheet of haze, another voice rang out, almost like a bullet. It was Feluda.
‘Mr Raxit!’ he called, his voice as cold and hard as the stony floor we were standing on. ‘Not one, but two revolvers are pointing at you at this very moment. Put your gun down. Go on, throw it down.’
‘What . . . what’s the meaning of this?’ Mr Raxit cried, his voice suddenly uncertain.
‘Let me explain,’ Feluda replied. ‘We are here to punish you for your crime, and it isn’t just one crime, either. First, you destroyed and damaged a part of India’s history. Second, you sold bits of your—and our—own heritage to foreigners. Third, you killed Shubhankar Bose.’
‘No! Lies, these are all lies!’ Mr Raxit shrieked. ‘Bose slipped and fell into the gorge. It was an accident.’
‘If anyone is lying, it is you. The crowbar you had used has been found behind a cactus bush fifty yards from where Bose’s body was found. It is heavily stained with blood. Had Mr Bose slipped and fallen by accident, he would certainly have screamed for help. None of the guards here heard a scream. Besides, you had hidden a blue shirt among the plants behind the bungalow where we were all staying. A portion of this shirt is torn. I found it. The piece of blue fabric Bose was found clutching is the same—’
Mr Raxit did not stop to hear any more. He leapt up and tried to dash out of the smoky curtain, only to find himself being embraced by three different men. To our right, Jayant Mallik lit his torch. Now I could see Feluda, who had taken off his make-up. Next to him was Mr Ghote and a constable. At a nod from him, the constable put handcuffs on Mr Raxit.
Feluda turned to Mr Mallik. ‘I must ask you to do something for me,’ he said. ‘See that other cave over there? You’ll find Mr Raxit’s raincoat in it, tucked away in the left-hand corner. Could you get it for me, please? Well, we mustn’t stay in this smoke any longer. Come along, Topshe. Are you all right, Lalmohan Babu? This way, please.’
Feluda explained everything to us over dinner that night
. We had dinner at the guest house. With us were Mr Kulkarni, Mr Ghote and Mr Mallik.
‘The first thing I should tell you,’ Feluda began, ‘is that Raxit isn’t his real name. His real name is Chattoraj. He is a member of a gang of criminals, who operate from Delhi. Their main aim is to steal valuable statues, or even parts of statues, from old temples, and sell them to foreign buyers, thereby filling their own pockets with tidy little sums. There must be many other gangs like this one, but at least we have managed to get hold of one. Chattoraj was made to come clean, and he gave us all the details we needed. It was he who had stolen that head, brought it to Calcutta and sold it to Silverstein. Then, when he heard of the plane crash, he rushed to the spot, bought it back from that boy called Panu for just ten rupees, and then chased Lewison all the way to Ellora. He wanted to kill two birds with one stone. The yakshi’s head could be sold to Lewison, and Chattoraj could steal another statue from Kailash. Sadly for him, he didn’t manage to do either of these things. Lewison agreed to buy the stolen statue, but Chattoraj lost it before he could pass it on to Lewison. As a result, Lewison got very cross with him and left. He might have succeeded in removing a statue from Kailash, but two things stopped him. One was the sudden appearance of Shubhankar Bose. The other was a small pebble, thrown on the courtyard before cave number fifteen.’
Feluda stopped for breath. I started feeling most confused. ‘What about Mr Mallik?’ I blurted out.
Feluda smiled. ‘The presence of Jayant Mallik can be very easily explained. In fact, it was so simple that even I could not figure it out at first. Mr Mallik was simply following Chattoraj.
‘Why?’
‘For the same reason that I was chasing him! He wanted to retrieve the statue, like me. But that isn’t all. He and I do the same job. Yes, he’s a private detective, just like me.’
I cast a startled glance at Mr Mallik. He said nothing, but I saw that he was grinning, looking at Feluda and waiting for him to explain further.
‘When I made enquiries about him,’ Feluda went on, ‘I discovered that he worked for an agency in Bombay. They sent him to Calcutta recently, in connection with a case. He stayed in a friend’s flat in Queen’s Mansion, and used his car while the friend was away on holiday. Normally, the kind of cases these agencies handle are all ordinary and pretty insignificant. Mr Mallik was getting bored with his job. He wanted to do something exciting, much more worthwhile and become famous. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Mallik admitted. ‘I got the chance to work on such a case, most unexpectedly. My old job took me to the Grand Hotel last Thursday, and I happened to be in Nagarmal’s shop when an American visitor showed that yakshi’s head to him. At that time, I paid no attention. All that I grasped was that the man was immensely wealthy, and his name was Silverstein. But, when I heard about the plane crash the next morning and they said he had been on that flight, it suddenly struck me that it might be possible to retrieve that statue. I have a little knowledge of ancient art, and I knew that what I had seen Silverstein carrying was extremely valuable. So I thought if I could get it back, it might be reported in the press, which would be a good thing for the agency as well. So I rang my boss in Bombay and told him what I wanted to do. He agreed, and asked me to keep him posted. I left for Sidikpur immediately, but it was too late. I missed Chattoraj by just five minutes. He got there first and bought the head back. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do, but—’
‘Do you remember the colour of his car?’ Feluda interrupted him. ‘Oh yes. It was a blue Fiat. I decided to follow Chattoraj. But I ran into some more problems. A burst tyre meant an unnecessary delay . . . so I lost him for the moment. However, by then I was absolutely determined not to give up. I knew he’d want to sell the statue again. So I went back to the Grand Hotel. It meant waiting for a while, but eventually I found him and followed him to the Railway Booking Office. He bought a ticket to Aurangabad. So did I. He was still carrying a heavy bag, so it was clear that he had not been able to get rid of the statue. I came back to my flat, rang my office in Bombay and told them what had happened.’
‘Yes, we know about that. You had said, “The daughter has returned to her father”. What we did not know was that by “father” you meant Chattoraj, not yourself.’
Mr Mallik smiled, then continued, ‘I kept waiting for a suitable opportunity to remove the stolen object. I knew if I could catch the thief at the same time, it would be even better. But that proved much too difficult. Anyway, last night I went and hid near Kailash. When I saw that everyone from the bungalow had gone out in the direction of the caves, I returned quickly, slipped into the bungalow through the side door that only the cleaners use, and removed the statue from Chattoraj’s room.’
‘I see. Did you have any idea you were being watched by a detective?’
‘Oh no. That’s why I couldn’t speak a word when you arrested me! I must have looked very foolish.’
Mr Ghote burst out laughing. Feluda took up the tale, ‘When I saw that you had travelled with Lewison in the same car for many miles, but had done nothing to sell him the statue, I realized you were innocent. Until then, although I’d come to know you were a detective, I could not drop you from my list of suspects.’
‘But Chattoraj was also on this list, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. Mind you, initially it was no more then a slight doubt. When I saw that this his name had been freshly painted on an old suitcase, I began to wonder if the name wasn’t fake. Then, Lalmohan Babu told us yesterday that he had gone out wearing a raincoat. When we were passing cave number fifteen, I noticed someone was in it, and threw a pebble in the courtyard. That made the man run away. I then went into the cave and began searching the surrounding area. In a smaller cave behind the big one, I found the raincoat. It had a specially large pocket, in which was a hammer, a chisel and a nylon rope. I left everything there. It became obvious that Raxit—or Chattoraj—was the real culprit. As we returned to the bungalow, we saw him desperately searching for something in his room. In fact, he seemed to have gone mad, which is understandable since he had come back to his room to find that his precious statue had gone. This morning, Mr Kulkarni told me you had called Bombay and said, “The daughter is fine”. That meant you had the stolen statue with you. So you had to be arrested.’
Feluda stopped. No one said anything. After a short pause, he went on, ‘While we were worrying about statues and thieves, Shubhankar Bose got killed. On examining his dead body, we found a piece of blue cloth in one of his hands. You were wearing a blue-shirt yesterday. But I didn’t think of you, since my suspicions had already fallen on Chattoraj. What really happened was that he reached Bose’s body before me and, pretending that he was trying to feel his pulse, pushed in that torn piece into the dead man’s hand. It had become essential for Chattoraj to throw suspicion on someone else for Bose’s death. The torn piece had, of course, come from Chattoraj’s own shirt. He had cut out a piece and hidden the shirt amongst the plants and bushes behind the bungalow. I found it myself.
‘However, although I had gathered some evidence against Chattoraj, it was not enough to actually accuse him of murder and theft. As I was wondering what to do, Tapesh and Lalmohan Babu told me that someone had been through their belongings. This had to be Chattoraj, for he had lost something valuable and was naturally looking for it everywhere. In Lalmohan Babu’s suitcase was his notebook, which mentioned the theft of the statue from Bhubaneshwar, Silverstein and the plane crash. I knew at once that Chattoraj had read every detail and was feeling threatened, thinking it was Lalmohan Babu who had stumbled on the truth. So I sent him a little note, pretending it had been written by Lalmohan Babu, asking Chattoraj to meet him in the Das Avatar cave at 8 p.m. Before that, however, I told Chattoraj that whoever had tried to steal a statue from Kailash the night before had been arrested. I knew this would set his mind at rest, and he would stop being on his guard.’
‘That man with the goatee!’ Lalmohan Babu and I cried together, ‘Was that you?�
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‘Yes,’ Feluda laughed. ‘That was my disguise number two. I felt I had to stay close to you, since we were dealing with a dangerous man. Anyway, he swallowed my bait at once. He thought a few sharp words from him would really make Lalmohan Babu return the head to him, and he could get away with it once again. Well, we all know what happened next.
‘There is only one thing left for me to say: Mr Mallik and his agency will get full credit for their share in catching this gang. And I will pray for a promotion for Mr Ghote. I must also thank Mr Kulkarni for the important role he played, but if a medal for courage and bravery could be given to anyone, it should go jointly to Tapeshranjan Mitter and Lalmohan Ganguli.’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Mr Mallik, and the others clapped enthusiastically.
When the applause died down, Lalmohan Babu turned to Feluda and said a little hesitantly, ‘Does that mean . . . this time my weapon didn’t come into any use at all?’
Feluda looked perfectly amazed. ‘Not come into use? What are you talking about? Where do you think all that smoke came from? It was no ordinary bomb, sir. Do you know what it was? A three hundred and fifty-six megaton special military smoke bomb!’
The Key
One
‘Do you know why the sight of trees and plants have such a refreshing effect on our eyes?’ asked Feluda. ‘The reason is that people, since primitive times, have lived with greenery all around them, so that their eyes have developed a healthy relationship with their environment. Of course, trees in big cities these days have become rather difficult to find. As a result, every time you get away from town, your eyes begin to relax, and so does your mind. It is mostly in cities that you’ll notice people with eye disorders. Go to a village or a hill-station, and you’ll hardly find anyone wearing glasses.’
