The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II

by Satyajit Ray

  I found a nice cap for myself, and had just started bargaining over its price, when Lalmohan Babu nudged me. ‘Tapesh!’ he whispered. I turned around and found him staring at something, transfixed.

  A few yards away stood one of the two Batras. He was in the process of lighting a cigarette. Then he walked away, without looking at us.

  ‘Have you ever seen your cousin use a lighter with his left hand?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This man did.’

  ‘Yes, I saw him. Then he put it in his left pocket.’

  ‘Should we follow him?’

  ‘Do you think he saw you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK, let’s go.’

  We didn’t have to meet Feluda for another twenty minutes. The two of us leapt forward.

  There was a temple in front of us. The man seemed to have disappeared in the crowd. But we saw him again once we had left the temple behind us. He was going into a lane. We followed, keeping a distance of about twenty yards between us.

  There were small shops and restaurants on both sides of the lane. Many had ‘Pie Shop’ written on their signboards. I could smell food everywhere. A group of hippies came strolling by. As they walked past us, the smell of food was momentarily drowned by that of ganja, sweat and unwashed clothes.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Lalmohan Babu. The man had gone into a shop to our right.

  What should we do now? Should we wait for him to come out? What if he took a long time? We had only fifteen minutes to spare.

  ‘Let’s go into the shop,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t know us. We’re quite safe.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  We stepped in. It was a shop selling Tibetan handicrafts. There was a counter facing the front door. Behind it was another open door, leading to a dark room. The second Mr Batra must have slipped into this room, for he has nowhere to be seen. ‘Yes?’ said a voice. I now noticed a Tibetan lady standing behind the counter, smiling politely. By her side sat an old man with a withered and wrinkled face. He appeared to be dozing.

  Obviously, we had to pretend we had come in to buy something. There were certainly plenty of things to choose from—masks, tankhas, prayer wheels, brassware, statues.

  ‘I like mo-mo,’ Lalmohan Babu declared, for no apparent reason. ‘I am sorry, sir, but that’s something you’ll get in a restaurant, not here,’ the lady replied.

  ‘No, no, no,’ Lalmohan Babu shook his head vigorously. ‘I don’t want to eat it.’

  The lady raised her light eyebrows. ‘I thought you just said you liked it!’

  ‘No. Yes, I mean—not now. What I want now—I mean—’

  I raised a hand to stop him. ‘Do you have a Tibetan cookbook?’ I asked, knowing very well they didn’t.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the lady.

  We said ‘Thank you’ quickly and came out. There was nothing to do now but go tamely back the way we had come, and find the statue of Kaal Bhairav. We stopped on the way briefly to buy a couple of Nepali caps.

  What a horrifying statue it was! It gave me the creeps in broad daylight. Heaven knew how people felt if they saw it at night.

  Feluda arrived five minutes later. The main entrance to the police station was right opposite the statue. We were both dying to tell him about our little adventure, but I was curious to learn why he had gone to the police station in the first place. ‘I just met the OC, Mr Rajgurung. He said they’d cooperate in every way if the Nepal government officially agreed to help. He seemed a very nice man.’

  ‘That man is here, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu blurted out. I explained fully.

  ‘Are you sure you saw him light his cigarette with his left hand?’

  ‘Yes. We both saw him!’

  ‘Very good,’ said Feluda. ‘We must inform Mr Batra tomorrow. Look, why don’t you carry on? I must go back to the hotel right now to make a few phone calls.’

  Something told me Feluda was not going to do much sightseeing in Kathmandu.

  Six

  A right turn from the main crossing outside our hotel led to Shukra Path, which ran straight on to join a shopping complex. A large covered area stood packed with rows of small departmental stores. Each one of them sold imported stuff, ranging from clothes, watches, tape recorders, radios and calculators, to writing material, sweets and chocolates.

  ‘I feel like howling!’ Lalmohan Babu proclaimed, standing outside one of these shops.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All these shops, dear boy, just look at all those goodies! They are not meant for people like us, are they? I’m sure all these shops are patronized by people like . . . like . . . John D. Rockefeller, or superstars from Bombay, perhaps?’

  In the end, however, he succumbed to temptation and bought two metres of light orange Japanese terrywool. ‘I need new trousers,’ he told me. The shop offered to have them tailored by 4 p.m. the next evening.

  ‘That colour would be most apt for the Land of the Lamas, wouldn’t you say?’ he asked, emerging from the shop, looking immensely pleased. I didn’t want to cast a damper, but felt obliged to point out that Nepal could hardly be called the Land of the Lamas, since eighty per cent of the population was Hindu.

  We came back to the hotel to find Feluda scribbling in his notebook. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ve called a doctor.’

  Doctor? Was he unwell?

  We promptly sat on the sofa, fixing anxious eyes on him. Feluda took a couple of minutes to finish writing. Then he pushed aside the notebook and explained, ‘I’ve called Dr Divakar, the same doctor who had given the tetanus injection to Himadri Chakravarty. He normally sees patients at the Star Dispensary on Dharma Path. I will, of course, have to pay him his fee, but that cannot be helped. I’d much rather talk to him here.’

  ‘Drugs and medicines seem to play an important role in this investigation,’ Lalmohan Babu observed.

  ‘Not just important, Lalmohan Babu,’ Feluda said. ‘I believe in this whole sad business, they play a crucial role.’

  ‘What about that surgical acid Mr Som’s notebook mentioned? Is it—’

  ‘Lysergic Acid, not surgical. But then—’

  Feluda picked up his notebook again, frowning. ‘The term LSD can mean something else. It occurred to me only a few minutes ago. You see, LSD could also stand for Life Saving Drugs, such as anti-tetanus serum, or things like penicillin, teramycin, streptomycin, drugs to fight TB and heart problems. I think,’ Feluda glanced at his notebook, ‘where it says “find out about AB”, it’s referring to these drugs. AB could mean antibiotics. Mr Som was clearly trying to find out more about these. “Ring up PCM, DDC”— well, PCM is Pradosh Chandra Mitter, and DDC is probably the Directorate of Drug Control. It’s likely that Mr Som had a sample of a drug that he wanted people at Drug Control to test. It’s amazing how methodically he was working. With a brain like that, he could have been a sleuth himself!’

  ‘Didn’t the letters “CP” feature somewhere?’

  ‘That’s easy. It stands for Calcutta Police. Here, it says “Ask CP about methods and past cases.”’

  ‘That would mean you’ve decoded everything—’

  The door bell rang. I opened the door.

  The man who walked in startled me somewhat, for I had never seen a doctor so impeccably dressed. His suit must have been made by the best tailor in Kathmandu. He wore glasses with gold frames. The watch on his wrist was obviously imported, and expensive. A gift from a grateful patient, perhaps?

  Since Feluda was sitting on the bed, the doctor assumed he was the patient. He walked over to him and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’ I offered him a chair. Feluda had risen, but at the doctor’s question, sat down again. Then he took out an envelope from under his pillow and held it out. ‘Here you are,’ he said. Dr Divakar looked quite taken aback.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘This contains your fee. And this is my visiting card.’

  Dr Divakar sat down, looking curiously at Feluda’s card.

  ‘I realize I have s
ome explaining to do,’ Feluda went on, ‘and I apologize for dragging you out like this. Allow me to tell you first of all that I am here to investigate a murder. It happened in Calcutta, but I have reason to believe the killer is in Kathmandu. I am trying to gather as much information as I can. I believe you can help me.’

  Dr Divakar’s brows were knitted in a frown. ‘Who was murdered?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m coming to that. Please let me verify something first. Was it you who gave an anti-tetanus shot to Harinath Chakravarty’s son, Himadri?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Did the injection come from your own stock?’

  ‘Yes, from my dispensary.’

  ‘But it did not work, did it?’

  ‘No, but surely you don’t think I am responsi—’

  ‘No, no, Dr Divakar, nobody’s blaming you, or trying to establish who was responsible. After all, a case like this is, by no means, unique. Most people accept it quietly. Harinath Babu did the same. What I want to know is whether you, as a doctor, have any ideas or theories about the reason behind Himadri’s death.’

  ‘There may well be more than one reason,’ Dr Divakar replied. ‘Firstly, Himadri couldn’t tell me for sure when he had cut his hand. His friend thought it was about sixteen hours before they came to me. Now, if his friend was wrong and it was twenty-six hours instead of sixteen, then by the time that shot was given it was too late. Secondly, no one knew whether he had ever taken a preventive. If he had, the injection might have worked. His father seemed to think he had, but Himadri wasn’t sure. Harinath Babu might have been mistaken. After the death of his wife and the other son, his memory, I have noticed, fails him at times.’

  ‘All right. But did Himadri’s friend take an ampoule from your dispensary after he died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anti-tetanus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know that? Did he speak to you?’

  ‘No, he didn’t just speak to me. He threatened me, Mr Mitter. He said it was my fault that Himadri died.’

  ‘It is this friend of Himadri’s who has been killed.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes. His name was Anikendra Som.’

  Dr Divakar stared. Feluda went on, ‘He took that ampoule to Calcutta to have it analysed. He must’ve been convinced that its contents were not genuine. But I don’t think he got the chance to contact a laboratory. He wanted me to help him get to the bottom of this business.’

  ‘No drug that came from my dispensary could be spurious,’ said Dr Divakar firmly.

  ‘How can you be so sure? Do you examine every ampoule before you give an injection?’

  The doctor’s face turned red. ‘How is that possible, Mr Mitter? When a patient needs immediate attention in an emergency case, how can I waste time getting all my drugs tested?’

  ‘Where do you get your medicines from?’

  ‘From wholesalers. Each batch has a number, a date of expiry—’

  ‘Don’t you know these can be faked? Those involved in this racket have secret dealings with printers who print those labels. Numbers, dates, even names of well-known foreign pharmaceutical firms can be locally printed. Surely, you’re not unaware of this?’

  Dr Divakar looked as though he couldn’t find a suitable reply. ‘Listen, doctor,’ Feluda said, his tone milder now, ‘I give you my word no one will come to know of this. But I would like you to have an ampoule of your anti-tetanus injection tested. Then let me know what the lab says in its report. We haven’t much time, as you know.’

  Dr Divakar rose slowly and began walking towards the door. ‘Tomorrow I have an urgent case to attend to. I shall contact you the day after,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you very much. Your help will be much appreciated.’

  There was no doubt that we had got involved in a most complex affair. The more I saw, the more I began to respect Mr Som. Feluda would not allow his killer to escape, no matter who he was.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ said Feluda after dinner. I began to feel vaguely suspicious about his intent as he started walking in the direction of Darbar Square. My suspicions were confirmed when he stopped before the old royal palace and said, ‘All right, then. Which lane was it?’

  Darbar Square looked quite different at night. Bells pealed in temples, from somewhere came the strains of a Hindi song, and tourists and cycle rickshaws made walking difficult. We had to push our way through to find the right lane.

  ‘The hippies would call it a pig alley,’ remarked Feluda. We walked past the pie shops and finally found the shop selling handicrafts.

  It was still open. A couple of customers were standing before the counter. The same lady stood behind it. The old man had gone.

  Feluda ran his eyes over the building from outside. It had two floors. The shop was on the ground floor. There were two windows on the first floor facing the lane. Both were closed, but through a crack we could see a faint light.

  Another narrow lane ran on the other side of the shop. A few yards down this lane stood a building with three storeys, with ‘Heaven’s Gate Lodge’ written on its front door. Its appearance evoked no heavenly images, but it was clearly a hotel, situated rather conveniently near the Tibetan shop. We pushed open the door and went in.

  ‘How much do you charge for rooms here?’ Feluda asked.

  ‘Ten for a single. Fifteen for a double,’ replied the man sitting behind the reception desk. He was busy tapping at a calculator.

  ‘Are any rooms available?’

  ‘How many do you need?’

  ‘A single and a double, please, preferably on the first floor. But we’d like to have a look first, if you don’t mind.’

  The receptionist rang a bell without a word. A Nepali bearer appeared. The gentleman handed him a key and motioned us on. He was obviously a man of few words.

  We followed the bearer up a flight of stairs and down a long passage. He stopped before the last door on the right and unlocked it. We stepped into the room. One look at the window told me that our mission was successful. Through it we could see a portion of a room above the Tibetan store.

  By the time Lalmohan Babu had inspected the room, tested the light switches, checked on the number of blankets and done everything possible to convince the bearer that we had indeed come to book the room, Feluda and I had seen what there was to see.

  The old man from the shop was sitting in the dimly lit room. We could see only his head and shoulders. There was a pile of cardboard boxes behind him. His hands were busy either taking something out of the boxes, or packing something in them.

  There was another man in the room, though all we got to see was his shadow. He was leaning over the old Tibetan, watching him work.

  Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat.

  The shadow took out a packet of cigarettes from its pocket, and placed a cigarette between its lips. Then it took out another object.

  It was a lighter.

  The shadow now lit the lighter.

  With its left hand.

  Seven

  ‘You two can do some more sightseeing today,’ said Feluda, the next morning after breakfast. ‘Try and see Swayambhu, Pashupatinath and Patan. That should be enough for a day. Let’s go to Sun Travels. They should be able to arrange a car.’

  We bumped into Mr Batra the minute we stepped out of the hotel. This must be telepathy, I thought. He smiled as he greeted us. But his face grew grave almost instantly.

  ‘That man is back here,’ he told us. ‘A colleague of mine saw him yesterday, coming out of a jeweller’s shop on New Road.’

  ‘Did your colleague think you had returned unexpectedly from Pokhara?’

  Mr Batra smiled again. ‘No, and I’ll tell you why. You see, my “twin” appears to be rather partial to bright colours. Yesterday he was wearing a shocking pink pullover and green shirt. People who know me well would never mistake him for me. But anyway, I went to the police and told them about it. I happen to know a sub-inspector.’<
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  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I feel much reassured by what he said. Apparently, the police already know about this man. They think he’s involved in smuggling, but is being protected by someone rich and influential. So the police can’t actually do anything until he makes a false move.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell him about the inconvenience he has caused you? He did buy that kukri in your name, you know.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I asked the sub-inspector if this man could commit a crime, and then get me framed. Do you know what the sub-inspector did? He burst out laughing. He said, “Please Mr Batra, don’t think the Nepal Police are so stupid!”’

  ‘Well, that’s that, then. Surely now you’re feeling a lot better?’

  ‘Well, yes”. I am much relieved, I must admit. And I think you should also relax a little. Why should you spend your entire stay in Kathmandu simply chasing a criminal? Tell you what, why don’t you spend a day at the new forest bungalow our company has just built in the Rapti valley, in the Terai? It’s a really wonderful spot. I need only a few hours’ notice to get a car to pick you up. In fact, if I happen to be free, I can join you myself. What do you say?’

  The very mention of the Terai made my heart jump for joy. Lalmohan Babu’s eyes were shining, too. ‘Let’s see how it goes,’ said Feluda noncommittally. Thank goodness he didn’t reject the idea outright. Mr Batra said ‘Goodbye’ and left.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him about what we saw in that pig alley?’ Lalmohan Babu asked curiously.

  ‘Because,’ Feluda replied, ‘it is not my wont to divulge every detail of my investigation to all and sundry. And certainly not to someone I have met only briefly.’

  ‘I see. I understand. Felu Babu, I have learnt,’ said Jatayu, chastened.

  On the way back to our room, we ran into Mr Bhowmik on the stairs. ‘Can you recognize this?’ he asked, holding up a medicine bottle. ‘Benadryl Expectorant’ said its label. It was a familiar enough sight—I was given the same red syrup at home every time I had a cough.