The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I

by Satyajit Ray

  ‘Isn’t there anything else in the diary that might help?’

  ‘No, but there’s another message ten days after he wrote 2+5=X. Look!’ I read the message Feluda pointed out: ‘Old friend—herbal hair oil. Calms two.’

  ‘A hair oil that might help him control his temper? This one’s easy, Felu Babu. Only, I can’t make out why he calls it an old friend. Maybe he’d been using it for a long time?’

  ‘No. You didn’t pay attention to the “dash” after the word “friend”. It can only mean an old friend is in some way related to the oil.’

  ‘Akhil Chakravarty! He knows about ayurvedic herbs, doesn’t he? He must have given the oil to his friend!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Very good, Topshe. Now read these other messages.’

  There were two. The first said, ‘Getting rid of five from today.’ That meant he gave up drinking. But, only a month later, he wrote: ‘Bholanath goes back to five. Five helps forget.’

  ‘The question is, what did he want to forget so desperately?’ Feluda muttered. Lalmohan Babu looked at me, I scratched my head. Now it was obvious why Mr Chowdhury had said his life was full of mysteries. Feluda opened another diary and showed us one more message. ‘I am as feather today. I took charge of SM. SM will be my salvation.’

  ‘SM is Shankarlal Misra, surely?’ I said. ‘But why is he as a feather?’

  ‘I think that simply means “light as a feather”,’ Feluda replied. ‘He was happy and possibly relieved by something. Maybe a load had been lifted from his mind. Taking charge of young Shankarlal clearly had a lot to do with it.’

  Feluda rose and began pacing. I sat staring at the diaries. If Mahesh Chowdhury had lived a little longer, he and Feluda would have got on very well. Feluda was just as interested in word games and riddles. Lalmohan Babu was sitting quietly, frowning thoughtfully. After a while, he said, ‘Why don’t you have a chat with Akhil Chakravarty? He knew him pretty closely, didn’t he? He made his horoscope, gave him ayurvedic medicines . . . surely he’ll be able to tell you a lot more about the man than his diaries?

  Feluda stopped pacing and lit a Charminar. ‘I was trying to get to know the man myself, through his thoughts. Those few messages written with a pencil have kept him alive.’

  ‘Did you find anything about his sons? Did he mention any of them?’

  ‘There isn’t much in the first fifteen years. But later—’ Feluda broke off. A car had arrived outside. It stopped and tooted at the gate.

  We came out on the veranda to find Arun Babu getting out of his Fiat. In his hand was a small packet.

  ‘I was on my way to see Mr Singh—he’s our Forest Officer,’ he explained. ‘Since your house was on the way, I thought I’d stop by and give you Biren’s letters. They can hardly be called letters, mind you, but you wanted to see them, so . . .’ he shrugged.

  ‘I’m very sorry if I have caused you any trouble. You must have a lot on your plate,’ Feluda said.

  ‘No, no, it’s no trouble at all. Frankly, I cannot imagine what Baba might have tried to say. See if you can figure out his meaning. I hardly knew my father, you see. My visits to Hazaribagh have always been short. I used to come here frequently in the past to go on shikar, but now big game has been banned. However, I may get a chance tomorrow. Let’s see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s the reason why I am going to see Mr Singh. I believe the tiger has been spotted near Ramgarh. One of its trainers is lying in hospital, and the other has disappeared. I’ve already spoken to Mr Singh. “If you must have the tiger killed,” I said, “let me do the job.” It’s already been shot at. If it was injured, it’s now a most dangerous beast.’

  I opened my mouth to say the tiger hadn’t appeared to be injured, but shut it at a glance from Feluda.

  ‘I am taking my .315 with me,’ Arun Babu continued. ‘There’s panic everywhere. I believe it attacked a herd of goats in a village. I don’t think being killed in a forest is in any way worse than growing old in a cage in a circus. Anyway, you can come tomorrow, if you’re interested. We’ll leave early in the morning.’

  ‘OK. Let’s see how far I can get with this other job I am trying to tackle. My going with you would have to depend on that. Oh, by the way . . .

  Arun Babu had turned to go. At Feluda’s words, he turned back again.

  ‘It was you who fired the shot that day at the picnic, wasn’t it?’ Feluda asked.

  Arun Babu laughed. ‘I see what you mean. You must be wondering what happened. I fired a shot, but didn’t produce a dead bird. Your detective’s mind finds that suspicious, doesn’t it? The truth is, Mr Mitter, I missed it. It was a partridge. Sometimes even the best of shikaris miss their targets.’

  Nine

  The letters sent by Biren Chowdhury told us nothing. They were all postcards, most of which had nothing but Mahesh Chowdhury’s name and address on them. The few that had hastily scribbled messages had been signed ‘Deuce’.

  Bulakiprasad served dinner at nine o’clock. Feluda came to the dining table with some of the diaries and his notebook. There were a few more coded messages that he hadn’t yet been able to solve, he told us. I saw Feluda write these down in his notebook, using his left hand as easily as he used his right. Halfway through the meal, Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Look, Felu Babu, do stop writing; or you won’t be able to do any justice to this terrific lamb curry.’

  ‘I am busy with monkeys, Lalmohan Babu, so please don’t disturb me by talking of lambs.’

  Feluda was frowning deeply, but a smile played around his lips. I had to ask him to explain. He read out a line from a diary:

  ‘Great generosity by the worshipper of fire. The nine jewels, according to the monkeys, value two thousand Shylock’s demands.’

  Lalmohan Babu swallowed quickly. ‘There’s a loony bin in Ranchi, isn’t there?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard the people of Ranchi are all a bit . . . you know, not quite normal!’

  Feluda ignored this remark. ‘Parsees worship fire,’ he commented, ‘but the rest of the message doesn’t make any sense at all.’

  ‘Shylock . . . isn’t that from The Merchant of Venice?’ I asked. ‘Yes. That’s what makes me wonder. What did Shylock demand, Topshe?’

  ‘A pound of flesh?’

  ‘Correct. But that doesn’t help, does it?’

  ‘Felu Babu, please give it a rest,’ Lalmohan Babu pleaded, ‘at least while you’re eating!’

  Perhaps Feluda was really tired. So he put away the diaries and his notebook, and said he’d like to go for a walk after dinner with both of us.

  The moon had just risen when we set out. It still had a yellow glow. But there were patches of clouds as well, which made Lalmohan Babu say, ‘I think the moonlight’s going to be shortlived.’ Gusts of wind came from the west, bringing with them the faint sounds of a circus band.

  A right turn soon brought Kailash into view. We could see the house through a row of eucalyptus trees. A window on the first floor was open, and the light was on. Someone was moving restlessly in the room. Feluda stopped. So did we. Whose room could it be? The moving figure came and stood at the window. It was Neelima Devi. Then she moved away again and began pacing once more. Why was she so agitated?

  We began walking once more. Kailash disappeared from sight. Each house we passed had a large compound. A radio was on somewhere. We could hear snatches of the local news. Lalmohan Babu cleared his throat and had begun humming another unsuitable Tagore song (‘In the rice fields today, do the sun and shadows play hide-and-seek’), when my eyes fell on the figure of a man coming from the opposite direction. He was wearing a blue pullover.

  I recognized him as he got closer. ‘Namaskar,’ said Shankarlal Misra. ‘I was going to call at your house.’ He seemed to have recovered somewhat, but had not yet regained his normal cheerful looks.

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ Feluda asked politely.

  ‘I . . . I would like to make a request.’

  ‘A request?’

&nbs
p; ‘Yes. Please, Mr Mitter, stop making enquiries. Drop your investigation.’

  I was quite taken aback by such a request, but Feluda spoke calmly.

  ‘Why would you like me to do that, Mr Misra?’

  ‘It won’t do anyone any good.’

  After a short pause, Feluda smiled lightly. ‘Suppose I told you it would do me some good? I cannot rest in peace if there are doubts in my mind. I have to settle them, Mr Misra. Besides, someone spoke to me from his deathbed and asked me to do something for him. How can I leave that task undone? I am sorry, Mr Misra, but I have to continue with my investigation. As a matter of fact, I need your help. Different people may say different things about Mahesh Chowdhury, but you had very deep respect for him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mr Misra’s reply came a few seconds later, possibly because he couldn’t immediately accept what Feluda had said to him. Then he added more firmly, ‘I certainly did. But . . .’ his voice changed, ‘should one allow that respect, all those feelings, to be destroyed by one single blow? All that had built up over a number of years . . . should one let it go, just like that?’

  ‘Is that what you were doing?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I nearly allowed that to happen. But then I realized my mistake. I will not let anything destroy my beliefs. I have decided that, and now I have found peace.’

  ‘May I then expect you to help me?’

  ‘Certainly. How may I help you?’ Mr Misra sounded almost like his old self. He met Feluda’s eyes directly.

  ‘I would like to know how Mahesh Chowdhury felt about his other two sons. No one but you can give me an impartial assessment.’

  ‘I can only tell you what I felt. I don’t think Mr Chowdhury had any affection left for anyone except Biren. Arun and Pritin had both disappointed him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know the precise details, for I’ve never been very close to either of them. But Arun had started to gamble. Mr Chowdhury himself told me one day; not directly, but in his own peculiar style. He said, “I would have been pleased if Arun was good. But I worry because he’s better. I believe he visits the equine communities quite often.” It took me a while, but eventually I figured out that “better” meant one who lays bets and the “equine communities” simply meant horse races.’

  ‘I see. But why should Pritin have disappointed him? Surely he’s doing quite well in electronics?’

  ‘Electronics?’ Mr Misra sounded perfectly amazed. ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘Why? Doesn’t he have anything to do with Indovision?’

  Mr Misra burst out laughing. ‘Good God, no! Pritin has a very ordinary job in a small private firm, which he managed to get only because his father-in-law knew the right people. Pritin is a good man, basically, but is extremely impractical and impulsive. Luckily for him, his wife is the only daughter of a wealthy father. That car you saw him using belongs to his father-in-law. He came here later than his wife and daughter because he had problems getting leave.’

  It was our turn to be astounded.

  ‘But,’ Mr Misra added, ‘his passion for birds and bird calls is absolutely genuine.’

  ‘I have one more question.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You were seen talking to a man dressed as a sadhu when we went to Rajrappa. Was that Biren?’

  Mr Misra was naturally taken aback by such a question, but he recovered quickly. The reply he made sounded rather cryptic. ‘You are so clever, Mr Mitter, I’m sure you’ll soon unravel every mystery.’

  ‘There is a special reason for asking this question. If indeed that man is Biren, I have got something that his father wanted him to have. I must hand it over to him. Can you arrange a meeting?’

  ‘I will try my best to make sure Mr Chowdhury’s last wish is fulfilled, I promise to try . . . but I cannot tell you anything more.’

  Mr Misra turned abruptly, and went back in the same direction from which he had come.

  I hadn’t realized how far we’d walked. Feluda looked at his watch and said, ‘Ten-thirty.’ We decided to go back. When we reached Kailash, the whole house was in darkness. The sky was now overcast, the moon had disappeared and the distant band was silent. Purely out of the blue, Feluda broke the silence by shouting one word: ‘Monkeys!’ Lalmohan Babu automatically turned his head and asked, ‘Where?’

  ‘In that diary,’ Feluda explained quickly. ‘Sorry if I startled you, but I’ve just realized what he meant by it. What a brilliant mind that man had! I’d totally forgotten about those monkeys that produce catalogues.’

  ‘Felu Babu, why are you doing this to me? Monkeys was bad enough, but now you want monkeys that produce catalogues? What catalogues?’

  ‘Gibbons! Gibbons! Gibbons!’ Feluda shouted impatiently.

  Of course! Gibbons was a species of monkey. I knew that, but could never have made the connection.

  ‘He would have made a lot of money,’ Feluda said. ‘Who?’

  ‘The thief who stole the stamp album.’

  Lalmohan Babu remained in our room until midnight to watch Feluda solve more puzzles. He had to call Arun Babu at eleven o’clock to get the answer to one of them. On 18 October 1951, Mr Chowdhury had written, ‘He passes away.’ Arun Babu told Feluda that was the day his mother had died, and she was called Heronmoyee. That explained who ‘He’ was.

  A few entries made in 1958 said, ‘Be foolish’, ‘Be stubborn’, ‘Be determined’. These sounded like mottoes, but ‘Be’ in this case could only mean ‘B’, i.e. Biren.

  One page in 1975 said, ‘A is ruled by three.’ He was obviously referring to the six deadly sins, and ‘A’ meant Arun. His father thought he was greedy.

  The last entry had been made the day before he died. All it said was, ‘Come back. Hope, return.’ The following pages were all blank.

  By the time we finished with the diaries, it was one o’clock. I went to bed, but Feluda began reading the book on the circus in Bengal that Lalmohan Babu had lent him. It had been agreed long ago that Feluda would read it after Lalmohan Babu, and would pass it to me when he had finished.

  I heard him speaking just as my eyes began to feel heavy.

  ‘When there’s a murder, the police place a mark over the spot where the body is found. Do you know what it is?’

  ‘X marks the spot?’ I said sleepily.

  ‘Exactly. X marks the spot.’

  I fell asleep almost immediately, and had a rather awful dream. A huge figure of Kali was standing before me, her arms and legs spread like the letter ‘X’. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at Arun Babu, and saying, ‘Three rules you, three rules you, three rules you!’

  Then, suddenly her face dissolved and it became Lalmohan Babu’s face. He was grinning from ear to ear and saying, ‘Three thousand copies sold in one month . . . Kalmohan Bengali, that’s my name!’

  Then I woke with a start. A noise at the door had woken me. This was followed by the sound of two men struggling with each other. It was raining outside.

  I reached out automatically and pressed the switch of the bedside lamp. Nothing happened. I had forgotten Bihar, like Calcutta, had frequent power cuts.

  Something fell on the floor with a thud. ‘Get your torch, Topshe,’ said Feluda’s voice, ‘I dropped mine.’

  I groped in the dark and eventually found my torch, but not before I had knocked over a glass of water and broken it.

  Feluda was standing near the door, his face flushed with helpless rage.

  ‘Who was it, Feluda? He got away, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t see his face, but he was large and hefty. I think I know why he had been sent here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To steal.’

  ‘Did he take anything?’

  ‘No, but he would have taken something very valuable, if I wasn’t a light sleeper.’

  ‘Something valuable? But we haven’t got anything valuable, have we?’

  Feluda did not answer me. ‘One thing is now
quite clear, Topshe,’ he said slowly. ‘I am not the only one who was been able to work out the meaning of Mahesh Chowdhury’s riddles. But for this other man, it is a bit too late.’

  Ten

  When Lalmohan Babu heard about the thief the next day, he said, ‘I told you to keep your door locked, didn’t I? There have always been petty thieves in these areas!’

  ‘You keep your door locked for fear of the tiger, Lalmohan Babu, not because of possible theft. Come on, admit it.’

  ‘All right, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it? A locked door would protect you from both a thief and a ferocious animal . . . Bulakiprasad, where’s our breakfast?’

  ‘Why are you in such a hurry this morning?’

  ‘Why, aren’t we going to watch the capture of Sultan?’

  ‘Who’s going to catch him? Karandikar has vanished, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s still bound to be around somewhere, and I bet he’s heard of plans to kill his tiger. He won’t be able to stay away, Felu Babu, mark my words. Just think what a thrilling event we might get to watch! Oh, we mustn’t miss this chance. I don’t understand how you can take this so calmly.’

  We finished breakfast by eight o’clock and got ready to go to Kailash to return the diaries and the letters. Akhil Chakravarty turned up unexpectedly.

  ‘One of your neighbours is a homoeopath, and a friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘I was going to see him, but I thought I’d just drop in to say hello, since your house was on the way.’

  ‘Good. Please have a seat. Tell me,’ Feluda said, ‘did the herbal oil help in controlling your friend’s temper?’

  ‘Good heavens, did Mahesh mention that in his diary?’

  ‘Yes, amongst other things.’

  ‘I see. To tell you the truth, what really helped Mahesh was his own will power. I saw how difficult it was for him to give up drinking, but he did it. It wasn’t simply because of a herbal oil or anything like that.’