by Satyajit Ray
‘Since you mention the word “will”, can you tell us if he made one?’
‘I don’t know the details, but I do know that Mahesh changed his first will.’
‘I think his second son, Biren, was dropped from the second will.’
‘What makes you say that? Did he mention this in his diary?’
‘No. He told me just before he died. Do you remember his gestures? He raised two fingers, then he said “we . . . we . . . ” and then he shook his thumb. He couldn’t quite manage to say “will”. If the two fingers indicated “Deuce”, then the rest of the message could only mean that Deuce had not been left anything in his will.’
‘Brilliant! And you’re quite right. Biren had a share in the first will Mahesh made. But when he stopped writing, Mahesh waited for five years before changing it, cutting him out altogether. He was deeply hurt by Biren’s silence.’
‘If Biren came back, do you think Mahesh Chowdhury would have changed his will a second time?’
‘Undoubtedly. I am sure of it.’
Feluda paused for a second before asking his next question. ‘Did you ever think Biren might have become a sadhu?’
‘Look, it was I who drew up Biren’s horoscope. I knew he would leave home quite early in life. So the possibility of his renouncing the whole world and becoming a sadhu cannot be ruled out.’
‘One last question. That day, in Rajrappa, you said you were going to look for your friend. But you arrived on the scene long after we had found Mr Chowdhury. Did you get lost? It’s not a very large or complex area, is it?’
‘I knew you’d ask me that,’ Akhil Chakravarty smiled. ‘You’re right, of course. It’s not a complex area, but you must have noticed how the main path parts in two directions. I would have found Mahesh easily enough if I had turned left. But I turned right instead. Do you know why? It was only because my childhood memories suddenly came back. Fifty-five years ago, I had visited the same spot and carved my initials and the date on a rock. I remembered that and felt an irresistible urge to go and see if it was still there. And it was, as were the figures I had carved: ABC, 15.5.23. If you don’t believe me, you can go and see it for yourself.’
We reached Kailash to discover that Arun Babu had already left. Old Noor Muhammad told us Pritin Babu was at home, and went off to inform him. He came down to see us in a few moments.
We handed him the packets of diaries and the letters and were about to leave, when someone else entered the drawing room, it was Neelima Devi. I noticed her husband going pale as she came in.
‘There is something you ought to know, Mr Mitter,’ she said. ‘My husband should tell you himself, but he doesn’t want to.’
Pritin Babu looked at her appealingly, but Neelima Devi didn’t even glance at him. ‘When he found my father-in-law that day,’ she went on, ‘my husband dropped his tape recorder. I found it and put it in my bag. I think you’ll find it useful. Here it is.’
Pritin Babu tried once more to stop his wife, but failed.
‘Thank you,’ Feluda said and took the small, flat recorder from Neelima Devi. Then he put it in his pocket.
Pritin Babu looked as if he was about to break down.
I had a feeling Feluda was as interested in watching the capture of the tiger as Lalmohan Babu and myself. The instructions he gave our driver upon leaving Kailash proved that I was right.
Lalmohan Babu’s enthusiasm, however, now seemed to be mixed with a degree of anxiety.
‘Arun Chowdhury has a number of guns. Why didn’t you ask for one, Felu Babu?’ he said after a while. ‘What good will your Colt .32 do if we see the tiger?’
‘Well, if a fly came and sat on the tiger, my revolver would be quite adequate to destroy it, Lalmohan Babu, I assure you.’
Then Feluda lapsed into silence, holding the recorder close to his ear and listening intently. He did not tell us what he heard, and we knew better than to ask him.
Last night’s rain had left the earth wet and muddy in many places. As we got closer to a crossing, it became clear that a car and other vehicles had turned left from here, for there were fresh tyre marks going towards the forest. We made a left turn, too, and followed these marks. A mile later, we saw three different vehicles standing next to a banyan tree: a jeep from the Forest Department, Arun Babu’s Fiat and a huge truck from the circus that had the tiger’s cage in it. Five or six men were sitting under the tree. They told us a team had already gone into the forest to look for the tiger, and pointed us in the right direction. I recognized one of the men, having seen him at the circus before. Feluda asked him if Sultan’s trainer had gone with the others. He said the new trainer, Chandran, was with them, but there was still no sign of Karandikar.
We got out of the car and began walking. I had no idea what lay in store, but knew that Arun Babu had a gun, and the shikari from the Forest Department was undoubtedly similarly armed. There was therefore little fear of the tiger being allowed to attack anyone. Lalmohan Babu looked a little disappointed, presumably because Chandran was there instead of Karandikar.
Faint footprints on the damp ground guided us. There were not many trees in this part of the forest, so movement was fairly easy. A peacock cried out a couple of times, which could well be a warning to other animals that a tiger was in the vicinity.
Ten minutes later, we heard a different noise. It was decidedly the tiger, but it wasn’t actually roaring. It sounded more like a growl, as though the tiger was irritated by something.
We walked on and, only a few minutes later, through the gap between two trees, our eyes fell on a strange sight. I call it strange because I never thought I’d see something like this outside the arena of a circus.
Three men stood in a row a few feet away from where we had stopped. Two of them had guns. The one in Arun Chowdhury’s hands was raised and pointed at some object in front of him.
What they were facing was an open area, a bit like a circus ring. A man was standing in the middle of this ring, a long whip in his right hand and a torn branch in his left. Judging by the dressed wound on his left shoulder, he was the new trainer, Chandran.
Chandran had his back to us. He was moving forward slowly and with extreme caution, cracking his whip every now and then. The animal he was approaching was one we had met already. It was Sultan, last seen on the road to Ramgarh.
Four other men were standing at a little distance. Two of them were holding a heavy chain, which would no doubt be put around Sultan’s neck, if he allowed himself to be captured. What was most amazing was Sultan’s behaviour. He clearly did not wish to be caught, but—at the same time—was making no attempts to run away. His eyes seemed to convey not anger or ferocity, but annoyance and a great deal of contempt. The low growl he kept up indicated the same thing.
Chandran was getting closer every minute, but he did not seem too sure of himself. Perhaps he could not forget that the same animal had attacked him already. I cast a quick look at Arun Babu. From the way he was holding his gun, I had no doubt that he would fire at once if Sultan showed the slightest sign of aggression. Feluda was standing before me, a little to the left; and Lalmohan Babu was by my side. His mouth was hanging so wide open that he didn’t look as if he’d ever be able to close it. He told me afterwards that the memory of everything he had seen in circuses before had been totally wiped out by the show we witnessed in the forest.
When Chandran came within five yards, Sultan suddenly stiffened and began to crouch. At the same instant, Feluda leapt and reached Arun Babu, stretching a hand to change the position of his gun. Its point now faced the ground.
‘Sultan!’
A deep voice boomed out. We had been joined by another man. Feluda had obviously seen him arrive and decided to act before it was too late.
‘Sultan! Sultan!’
The voice became softer, and the tone much more gentle. The man stepped forward and entered the stage. It was Karandikar. In his hand was another whip, but he was not cracking it. He moved closer, calling Sulta
n softly in a low voice, as if he was a pet dog or a cat.
Chandran looked absolutely amazed, and stepped back. Arun Babu lowered his hands. The officer from the Forest Department gaped, very much like Lalmohan Babu. There were eleven men present in the forest to witness what followed in the next few minutes. With incredible tenderness and dexterity, Sultan’s old trainer calmed him down, put the chain around his neck and then walked him over to where the truck stood with his cage. The men waiting outside quickly opened its door and placed a high stool before it. Mr Karandikar cracked his whip just once and said, ‘Up!’ Without further ado, Sultan ran, jumped on the stool and into the cage. The men locked the door instantly.
We had followed Mr Karandikar and were standing at a distance. He turned to face us as soon as the tiger was safely back in his cage. Then he gave us a salute, and made his way to a taxi waiting near the other cars. Without a word or a glance at anyone else, he got into it and drove off.
‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Arun Chowdhury. Turning to Feluda, he added, ‘Thanks.’
Eleven
All of us returned to Kailash. With Arun Babu’s permission, Feluda rang someone, though I couldn’t tell who it was. Then he joined us in the drawing room. Neelima Devi sent us tea. Pritin Babu was taking her and Bibi back to Calcutta the very next day, we were told. On hearing about Sultan’s capture, Akhil Chakravarty said, ‘Oh, I wish I had gone with you!’
‘I think tomorrow I’ll go back, too,’ said Arun Babu, ‘unless you need me here for your investigation.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve finished my investigation and even arranged to fulfil your father’s last wish.’
Arun Babu gave Feluda a startled look over the rim of his cup. ‘You mean you know where Biren is?’ he asked, very surprised. ‘Yes. Your father was right.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Biren is here.’
‘In Hazaribagh?’
‘In Hazaribagh.’
‘I find that . . . amazing!’ Arun Babu said, his tone implying that he also found it impossible to believe.
‘Yes, that’s understandable,’ Feluda said. ‘But isn’t that something you yourself had started to believe?’
Arun Babu put his cup down on the table and stared directly at Feluda.
‘Not only that,’ Feluda went on calmly, ‘you were afraid that your father might make a new will and leave you out of it, giving your share to Biren.’
No one spoke for a few seconds. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became charged. Lalmohan Babu, who was sitting next to me, grabbed a cushion and clutched it tightly. Pritin Babu sat in a chair, supporting his head with one hand. Arun Chowdhury slowly rose to his feet. His eyes had turned red and a vein throbbed at his temple.
‘Listen, Mr Mitter,’ he roared, ‘you may be a famous detective, but I am not going to let you sit there and throw totally baseless accusations at me. Jagat Singh!
His bearer slipped into the room through an open door.
‘Stop! If you take another step, I will shoot you,’ Feluda threatened coldly, holding his revolver. ‘Jagat Singh, it was you who stole into our room, wasn’t it? I managed to take off a fair amount of your hair. And I know who sent you there, with what purpose.’
Jagat Singh froze. Arun Babu sat down again, his whole body shaking with rage.
‘Wh-what are you trying to say?’ he demanded.
‘Listen very carefully. You knew your father was thinking of changing his will. You didn’t want him to find and destroy the old one. So you hid his key. Bibi saw him looking for it, and he even told her what he was looking for: “a pier . . . that which opens and that which shuts”. By a “pier” he meant a “quay”. Bearing in mind that he liked to play with the sound of words, I realized that the “quay” was really a “key”, something which could be used to open and shut an object. Presumably, the will was kept in a locked drawer. But even after stealing the key, you weren’t satisfied, were you? So, that day in Rajrappa, you seized your chance and played your trump card. You knew it would come as an enormous shock to your father, which might well be enough to kill him. If that happened, you would no longer have anything to worry about.’
‘You are mad. You’re just raving. You don’t know what you’re saying, Mr Mitter.’
‘I do, I can assure you; and I can produce witnesses. There are three of them, although none of them might wish to admit what they have seen and heard. Your own brother, Akhil Chakravarty and Shankarlal . . . they all know.’
‘Well then, Mr Mitter, if your witnesses won’t talk, I think you are wasting your time, don’t you? How are you going to prove your case?’
‘Very simply. There is a fourth witness who will not hesitate at all in revealing the truth.’
Suddenly, the room was filled with strange noises. Where were they coming from? There were birds calling from somewhere, and a waterfall gushed in the background.
Feluda quietly placed a small black object on a table. It was Pritin Chowdhury’s tape recorder.
‘What your brother accidentally saw and heard that day made him drop his recorder near a bush. His wife saw it and picked it up. There is much more on that tape besides the chirping of birds.’
Arun Babu swallowed. His heightened colour had started to recede. In just a few minutes, he turned quite pale. Feluda kept his revolver raised and pointed at him. The tape recorder continued to run. Now there were voices, rising over the sound of the water.
‘Baba, what makes you think Biren has come back?’ asked Arun Babu’s voice.
‘If an old man likes to believe his missing son has returned, why should that bother you?’ Mahesh Chowdhury asked.
‘You must forget Biren. He will never come back. I know that. It simply isn’t possible.’
‘How can you say that? Who are you to tell me what to believe? You have no right—’
‘I have every right. I don’t want you to do something wrong and unfair, just because of your stupid belief.’
‘What is wrong and unfair?’
‘I will not let you deprive me of what is rightfully mine!’
‘What are you taking about?’
‘You know very well. You changed your will once, thinking Biren was not going to come back. Now you’re planning to . . .’
‘What I am planning is my business. I was going to change my will, in any case,’ Mahesh Chowdhury had raised his voice, sounding angry, as though his old violent temper was about to burst through. ‘How can you expect to be mentioned in my will at all?’ he went on. ‘You are dishonest, you are a gambler, you are a thief! You took Dorabjee’s stamp album from my safe—’
Arun Babu’s voice cut him short, ‘And what about you? If I am a thief, what are you? You think I don’t know about Deendayal? Your screaming and shouting woke me that night. I saw everything through a chink in the curtain. I’ve kept my mouth shut for thirty-five years, but I know exactly what happened. You hit Deendayal on the head with a heavy brass statue of Buddha. Can you deny that? Deendayal died. Then you got Noor Muhammad and your driver to take his body . . .’
He broke off. Something heavy fell with a thud, and then there was nothing except the birds and the waterfall. Feluda switched the recorder off and returned it to Pritin Babu.
There was absolute silence in the room. Everyone was looking tense, with the only exception of Feluda. He put his revolver back in his pocket. ‘What your father did was utterly wrong,’ he said. ‘There can be no doubt about that. But he realized it, and for thirty-five years he suffered in silence, trying to make amends in whatever way he could. Still he didn’t find any peace. From the day Deendayal died, Mahesh Chowdhury began to think he was cursed and one day he would be punished for his sins. What he did not know was that the final blow would come from his own son.’
Arun Babu sat very still staring at the floor. When he spoke his voice sounded faint, as though he was speaking from a long way away.
‘There was a dog,’ he said slowly. ‘An Irish setter. Baba was ve
ry fond of it. For some reason, the dog did not like Deendayal. One day, it tried to bite him, so Deendayal got very cross and hit it with a heavy stick. The dog was injured. That night, Baba returned quite late from a party and found that his dog was not waiting for him in his room, as it did every day. Noor Mohammad had to tell him what had happened. Baba called Deendayal, and in a fit of rage . . . when he lost his temper, you see, Baba used to become a different man altogether.’
We rose with Feluda to take our leave. Akhil Chakravarty also got to his feet.
‘Could you come with us for a minute?’ Feluda asked him. ‘There’s something I’d like you to do. It won’t take long.’
‘Very well,’ Akhil Chakravarty replied. ‘With Mahesh gone, there’s nothing left for me to do here, anyway. I have all the time in the world.’
Twelve
Akhil Chakravarty began talking to us in the car. ‘I did go off in a different direction,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t go far. In fact, I could hear every word from where I stood near the rock with my initials on it. I used to ask Mahesh why he grew preoccupied at times and sank into silence. He used to laugh and tell me to look at his horoscope to find out. It is amazing, isn’t it, that such an important event in his life remained a secret, even from me? Perhaps it’s my own fault, I failed to study his stars properly.’
As our car drew up outside our gate, I realized who Feluda had called from Kailash. Shankarlal Misra was waiting for us.
‘Mission successful?’ Feluda asked him, getting out of the car. ‘Yes,’ Mr Misra replied. ‘Biren has come to meet you.’
We walked into the living room to find the same sadhu from Rajrappa sitting on a sofa. He rose as he saw us and said, ‘Namaskar.’ Clad in long saffron robes, he was tall and well built, his thick matted hair almost reaching his waist. An equally thick beard covered most of his face.
‘He agreed to come only when I told him about his father’s last wish,’ Mr Misra said. ‘He has got nothing against his father.’
