The Cursed Inheritance

by Sutapa Basu

  ‘And then?’ I whispered, carried away by the pictures she was evoking. Why did Dad not return? Did his job at the international magazine keep him too busy? Was it his marriage to Mum or…was there some other reason?

  Her tone wistful, she went on. ‘Karta Babu went to pieces…for a while he was not himself…lost his sanity, I think. Days and nights, he would be locked in his room, drinking, drinking. Later, when I was allowed inside his room, stinky bottles would be rolling on the floor. It was Biren Babu who cared for him. Slowly, he brought Karta Babu out of the dark pit. For a time, things were peaceful because Karta Babu returned to his office tours. Biren Babu would attend court and handle things here with Kedarnath Babu. And Kona, she…. O Ma!’ She clapped her hand on her mouth.

  Kona! Mr Raha’s sister…the widow in his home…and…I had heard the name again…but where…when?

  ‘Lokkhi mashi, don’t stop. Please,’ I pleaded. ‘Tell me about Kona.’

  ‘No, Didi, no. It is not my place to speak of such things.’ Her eyes darted fearfully to the patio, awash in moonlight, as if somebody was listening to us.

  ‘Please, Lokkhi mashi,’ I repeated.

  ‘No, Didi. Don’t go into the past,’ she advised. ‘Forgive me for speaking ill of your Dadu…of Karta Babu…of the dead…’ Her last words were a whisper, as though she was speaking not to me but to…herself or somebody else?

  She rose from the floor, picking up the lamp. ‘Come, Didi. I will show you to the stairs. Go to your room and I will bring you your lamp.’

  12.

  Sorting out the verbal and visceral inputs, I went back to my room. Flooded with mellow beams of a full moon, I easily found my way to the armchair. Leaning back on the cushions, I felicitated myself on my perception…Lokkhi mashi was the right link to bind the past to present. Burgeoning inside me was a reassuring certainty…once Sarkar Bari’s past story was laid bare, it would give me the key to the mystery.

  Lokkhi mashi’s words had cleared up some of the clutter in my mind. However, more questions cropped up. Why did Dad never return home? Now that I know how much he loved Sarkar Bari, something serious must have kept him away.

  The other puzzle was my grandfather. What was his reality? I had never met him. Everything I knew about him came from Dad’s narratives and photos in the album. But Lokkhi mashi’s words revealed a complex personality…though still fuzzy. I had an inkling there was more under the water than above, like the archetypal iceberg.

  Well, I reminded myself, you have to find ways to make the woman talk.

  I locked the door and got into bed. Behind closed eyelids sprang up the sickroom…rasping words…I picked up my phone that was charging on the power bank and clicked on the recording. Heavy sounds of breathing filled the bedroom. I screwed in a pair of earphones and clicked a noise reducer. Gradually, words began to filter through the hissing and wheezing. Listening carefully, I went back and forth but nothing new emerged other than what I had already heard. I played the last bit repeatedly to ascertain that he had mentioned the name Kona. This is where I had heard the name after meeting the widow in Raha’s home. In the light of Lokkhi mashi’s narrative, I now knew that Birendadu and Kona were in Sarkar Bari around the same time. But what was their connection? Why was he apologising to her?

  Thoughts chased through my mind, going round and round like strings. Every string would end with the beginning of another circle of deduction. I was so absorbed in my introspection that the mansion’s usual nightly creaks failed to break in. Finally, tired of picking my brain, I let the jet lag take over.

  When I woke, my mind was still spinning trying to catch the tail of my inferences. Outside, the yellow moon was waning, and the eastern sky was fading to grey. Sleep refused to be courted so I took out the sheet with the riddle and read it again. Though it was more comprehensible than before, I still could not deduce its indication. Then I heard the boy’s words. ‘Go back to the room. Your answers are there.’

  I swung my legs down, decisively. Stuffing the paper with my phone inside the pyjama pocket, I picked up the oil lamp and keys.

  Inside the room, nothing had changed. Evidently, the key I held was the only one to the lock. Whoever had turned the room upside down had not got a second chance for a go at it. I took out the blotting paper sheet and studied the riddle. Now who is the clawed creature that has ‘knit’ my destiny and can never be destroyed?

  Your destiny my claws have knit

  No Man can ever destroy me

  Forever on Pharaoh’s chest I sit

  Visible to only minds that see.

  Forever on Pharaoh’s chest I sit. What sits for all times on a pharaoh’s chest?

  I went over to the glass cabinet and squinted at the artifacts resting among the books. There were busts of Nefertiti, Tutankhamen, and other Egyptian rulers. Does anything sit on their chests?

  Opening the cabinet, I took out a bust bringing it close to the lamp on the table. I examined the chest of the figure…layers of usual ornaments. Nothing else…no creature…with claws….

  I returned it carefully to its place and looked at more objects on the lower shelves. A miniature sarcophagus caught my eye. I brought it to the lamp and slowly scanned it. I picked out the ornate adornments on the head and neck, hands holding royal symbols folded on the chest, hieroglyphics etched across the figure…wait! What’s this?

  I went back to the crossed hands and just above them was an engraving…a scarab beetle! Forever on Pharaoh’s chest I sit… Exactly! Vaguely, I recalled reading that these insects lived for millions of years… No Man can ever destroy me… Yes, this is it.

  Excitement sizzled through me. The creature in the riddle is…the scarab!

  Gently, I put the curio back on the shelf. My back against the desk, I took a deep breath. Something was solved, however…the mystery was still not out. Are there more clues leading to it? Maybe they are right here, in this room, like the boy said.

  Once more, I began to scrutinise everything in the room…slowly and methodically. After nearly an hour of scrabbling through drawers, sifting through books and objects in the armoire, on the floor, upended from shelves I was no closer to unshrouding the mystery.

  Disheartened, I returned to the desk poring over the few things on it. I overturned the jade jar of its pens, pencils, paper cutters and shook it…nothing. As I put it back, it toppled over. I caught it before it rolled off the desk.. At the same time, I balanced myself with my other hand by griping the desk surface. Once the jar was safe and upright, I became conscious of a pricking in my left palm. Looking down, I saw it was curled around the black onyx scarab that sat on the desk. The riddle shimmied before my eyes…the scarab!

  I lifted the heavy stone scarab mounted on the dark mahogany plinth. When I turned it over in my hands, an indistinct etching on the wooden bottom stood out. Bringing it closer to the light, I saw the shape of a sarcophagus carved on a kind of panel. Delicately, my forefinger touched the etching. A soft click and whirr! I jumped as the panel smoothly slid open. Squinting into the enclosure, I saw a white cylinder. Gingerly, between two fingers, I pried out a crisp paper roll. Pushing the panel back in place, I placed the scarab on the desktop. I tried opening the paper cylinder, but it kept rolling back. Getting glimpses of inky squiggles on it, I knew instantly this was a vital find!

  Not wanting to crush the precious roll in my pocket, I gently slid it into the V of my shirt. Taking the lamp, I exited the room, locking it behind me. In my room, I bolted the doors before unrolling the paper. I placed my phone and the keys at two ends to hold it down. Bringing the lamp close to it, I adjusted the light to fall on the squiggles covering the sheet.

  13.

  Dear Ashish,

  Another letter…to Dad….

  If you are reading this, I am no longer on this earth. Whether I will go to heaven or hell I do not know. Maybe, you will determine where I deserve to be once you finish reading this.

  Hmmm….

  I am your Baba and a s
cion of the Sarkar family, but I have not always upheld the dignity of our illustrious name. My past has many transgressions, delinquencies, and injustices. To you they were sins and so you left us and your home. Possibly, you still consider me wicked. First, let me beg your forgiveness. I agree that I deserved the punishment you doled out, but did you not consider your mother? I broke your heart, but you broke hers, my child.

  What did Dad punish him for? My grandfather was becoming weirder day by day!

  Today when I can see that the end is close, I am a penitent father. No, not only a father but also a repentant husband and head of the Sarkar family. I am ashamed of my deeds that have brought ill repute to our family name.

  What are these deeds?

  However, this letter is not about me. It is about you and your inheritance.

  Sarkar Bari is not just the home of our ancestors; it is your legacy. Inheritance does not consist only of brick and mortar or the family reputation. It goes beyond that. Sarkar Bari holds a secret that only I know of. With this letter, I bequeath it to you.

  There is a secret! I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!

  But first, the story that leads to that secret.

  Do you remember my stint as the foreign attaché in Cairo? My colleagues regarded Egypt to be an insignificant posting. However, to me it was a wonderful opportunity to indulge my preoccupation with its ancient heritage .

  The duration of my stay also acquainted me with the people of modern Egypt. I must say that the lesser said about them the better. I have hardly come across a community more lawless and immoral. The first few days everyone seemed friendly and co-operative. It was only later that I discovered the price tagged to every benefit.

  Certain local officials helped our administrative system. One of them was a suave gentleman called Abu Altaf. He supervised the contractual jobs at our embassy. He also happened to have connections with the Egyptian Cultural Office that organised archaeological excavations. Obviously, I was very interested in visiting their digs, but they were closed to the general public. However, the resourceful Abu managed to get passes for me.

  After I had enjoyed scrimmaging through a few digs, he came up with the idea that he could acquire relics from the digs…illegally, of course… if I was interested. I gave in to temptation and thus sowed seeds for my iniquity. All through the tenure, he would get me invaluable artifacts for a price. When I had collected a few, I would mail these rare antiques through our diplomatic bag to our Kolkata office. My deputies got the parcels delivered to Sarkar Bari and nobody was the wiser.

  Oh my God! Those curios in his room are stolen and pirated!

  It was towards the end of my tenure that the squeeze came. My personal things were packed and ready to be shipped to India. Abu Altaf wanted to add his own package to my luggage that would go through our diplomatic courier directly to Sarkar Bari. Obviously, his aim was to avoid customs scrutiny on his baggage.

  I had no idea what his package contained and by agreeing, I would be committing a serious crime. But I was too far gone in my own illicit activities to refuse. Knowing of his notoriety in Cairo, I knew that he could expose me. So, I agreed.

  What stupidity!

  When the package arrived, I was stunned to see it was a large wooden crate. My name and home address were printed boldly on it. Abu Altaf assured me that his man would come to pick it up once I was back in India. Through the diplomatic channel, it was delivered with my luggage to Sarkar Bari.

  The days following this incident were very busy. I had to organise the handing over of my post to the next officer. In the usual frenzy with farewell dinners every night, I completely forgot Abu Altaf and his package. A few days before my flight, I remembered. I wanted to see Altaf to know about the identity of the man who would pick up his package from Sarkar Bari. I asked my staff to get hold of him. It was then that I received a shock. Apparently, Abu Altaf had been killed in a terrorist bombing at Giza few weeks ago.

  Did you confess your guilt then, Dadu?

  When I reached Sarkar Bari, Abu Altaf’s crate was sitting in a storeroom downstairs. I let it remain there assuming his man would be around to collect it. However, weeks went by and nobody came. I made a few discreet enquires but hit a wall. I could not tell anybody about the crate after conniving to get it here unlawfully.

  Eventually, I decided to open the crate. I did not know what it contained. I told nobody, not even Biren about it.

  That was not very astute of you.

  One night, armed with tools, I went down to the storeroom. Removing the nailed-down lid of the crate, I found an old wooden chest inside it. I took it out though it was quite heavy. I could see that it was not locked. Tentatively, I lifted the lid. One glimpse inside alarmed me so much that the lid slipped from my fingers and fell down with a bang. I sat back heavily on the bare floor. For a few long minutes, I tried to calm my shaking heart. Unbelievable! After a while I took another look…a longer one and feasted my eyes on a cache of treasure beyond my wildest dreams.

  Treasure!

  Totally confounded, I put the chest back in the crate and nailed it up. The next few days, I was too bewildered to think logically. I could hardly eat or sleep. There was this constant worry that somebody…a servant or relative, would accidently stumble on it.

  You should be…this was highly illicit stuff!

  What I knew for sure was this treasure that Abu Altaf had left with me would put the handcuffs on me. Whether I lied or told the truth about its source and my possession of it, I would certainly be arrested. Our family would be ruined, and my diplomatic career would smash to smithereens. Escaping ignominy was impossible if this information became public.

  There was only one sensible route left to me…to hide the treasure where nobody would ever find it. I resigned from the service. After your mother’s death, Biren would travel to district courts and was hardly at home. I packed off those innumerable relatives cossetted by your mother, who were living off me . My pension was sufficient for my upkeep and when Sarkar Bari needed repairs, I dipped into the hidden wealth. I took out only small amounts so that a trail did not lead back to me.

  How could you do such a vile thing! Keeping property that did not belong to you…that was illegally pirated out of one country to another? How deep can you sink, Dadu?

  I know you will consider my actions unethical and criminal…

  …most certainly…Dad would castigate you. He was the most honest soul that I have ever known…

  …but I could not give up the treasure. Foremost was safety…mine and our family’s reputation. I was afraid that my deed would be found out or the law would come after me. But as time went on and nothing like that occurred, I began to relax.

  After a while, I began to believe I was destined to have the treasure. Why else would it come into my possession in this way? It was supposed to belong to me. It was mine…my inheritance. Why should I give it away?

  So it remained hidden…a secret locked in my heart for years. But now that I am going, this knowledge has to pass on. After me, you are the next head of the Sarkars. Naturally, it goes to you…just like all that is mine becomes your inheritance.

  Dad’s inheritance…a pirated treasure…he would not touch it with a barge pole!

  However, you must be careful of certain unscrupulous people. They have guessed that I have a secret source of wealth. They harbour suspicions about a cache, but nobody really knows about it and certainly not its whereabouts.

  Along with this letter are directions to the treasure’s hideout but the instructions are masked. I am confident that you would be able to decipher my codes. Anybody else who may inadvertently get hold of the ciphers will never understand them. To them, they would be nonsense.

  People without scruples or morality… Yes, Dadu, you would certainly recognise your kindred. Still, you are right…there are people after your secret.

  I shall not advise you what to do with the treasure once you find it. That is your decision.

  Sur
e. Dad would simply hand it back to its rightful owner whatever the price he or his family would pay for your crime.

  I know you will never live at Sarkar Bari. I do not ask for it. Only grant me one last request. Return once to your motherland to perform my last rites.

  He could not do that…being on the same journey, himself….

  My last hope is that you will never sell Sarkar Bari. Ashish, our ancestors have lived and died in this mansion. This is the place where generations of Sarkar women have invoked the Mahishashur Mardini and performed her puja. In many other ways, this is consecrated land, my son. And it belongs to you, now.

  With all my blessings to you and your children.

  Baba

  Did you give us a blessing or a curse, Dadu? An inheritance of lies, cheating and crime?

  Shocked and aghast, I stared down at the letter. Thank God, Dad never got to read it. He would have been so ashamed of a father who had deceived his employers, concealed his crimes, helped to pirate stolen goods and even appropriated them as his own. What a man! What a criminal! Is this what Birendadu was referring to? No, no…he didn’t know about this. Nor did Dad. Nonetheless, my father did not return home…because of some other misdeed by Dadu. What was it?

  What kind of man was my grandfather? The more I dig, the more the dirt I find….