The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II

by Satyajit Ray

  ‘You appear to have left in a hurry,’ Feluda remarked as soon as greetings had been exchanged and Mr Puri had been offered a seat.

  ‘Yes, but how did you guess?’ he asked in amazement.

  ‘All your nails on your left hand are neatly clipped. I can see one nail is still stuck to your jacket. But except for two nails, your right hand . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, yes. I was clipping those just before coming here. I got a trunk call before I could finish, and then it was time to leave, so . . .’ he laughed.

  ‘Anyway, tell me now how I may be able to help you.’

  Mr Puri stopped laughing. He was quiet for a few seconds, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he said, ‘Your name was recommended to me by the Maharaja of Bhagwangarh. He spoke very highly of you. That is why I am here to seek your assistance.’

  ‘I am honoured.’

  ‘The problem is—’ he stopped, then took a deep breath and started again. ‘What I am afraid of is that there may be an unfortunate incident. Can you help me to try and avoid it?’

  ‘I couldn’t make promises, Mr Puri, without a few more details. What exactly do you think might happen?’

  Mr Puri couldn’t make an immediate reply, for Srinath came in at this moment with tea and biscuits. Mr Puri picked up a biscuit and said, ‘Have you heard of Rupnarayangarh? It used to be a princely state.’

  ‘It does seem to ring a bell. Is it somewhere in Uttar Pradesh?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s 90 km to the west of Aligarh. Thirty years ago, its chief was Raja Chandradeo Singh. I was the manager of the estate. Although the country had become independent, small states like ours could still be run privately without too much interference from the government. Chandradeo Singh was then fifty-four, but was strong and very active. He went on shikar, played tennis and polo, and exercised regularly to keep fit. The only thing that bothered him sometimes was an occasional attack of asthma. Who knew one day it would suddenly grow so much worse that the Raja would become totally incapacitated? But that’s what happened. I cannot even begin to describe how horrible his attacks were. In six months, the man who couldn’t sit still became completely confined to bed. No doctor could help him, no medicine worked. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, or talk, or move.

  ‘When we were about to give up hope altogether, we heard about a Bhavani Upadhyaya. He lived in Haridwar, and apparently knew of some ayurvedic medicine that could cure asthma. Dozens of people had already gone to him and were fully recovered.

  ‘Having heard this, I went to Haridwar myself and tracked him down. He was quite well-known in that area. He turned out to be a very simple man, who lived quietly in a small cottage. When I explained why I had gone to find him, he agreed readily to go to Rupnarayangarh with me, and treat the Raja. His medicine would take ten days to take effect, he said. He would spend those ten days in the estate. If there was no improvement in that time, he would return to Haridwar without taking a single paisa.

  ‘You may find it difficult to believe, but the Raja’s health was restored in not ten, but three days. By the fourth day, it seemed as though he had never been ill. It was really a miracle. Upadhyaya said he would go back to Haridwar, and could he please be paid fifty rupees for the medicine? The Raja laughed at the idea. “How can you save my life, bring me back from death’s door, and say all I need to pay you is fifty rupees?” he asked Upadhyaya. But Upadhyaya was a man devoid of greed. He refused to take anything more.

  ‘Raja Chandradeo Singh, however, paid no attention. He was rather different from most men. All his emotions—joy, grief, generosity—were stronger than others. Despite Upadhyaya’s objections, he decided to give him a most valuable pendant. It was made of solid gold, studded with pearls, rubies, emeralds and diamonds. Thirty years ago, its value would have been in the region of seven hundred thousand.’

  ‘What did Upadhyaya do? Did he take this pendant willingly?’

  ‘Oh no, no. He seemed greatly distressed by the offer. He said, “I am a simple man. What would I do with a locket like that? Besides, who is ever going to believe I was given it? Won’t everyone assume I had stolen it from somewhere?”

  ‘The Raja said to him, “No, why should they? We are not going to tell everyone, are we? This is simply between you and me. But if it will make you happier, I will give you a written document, stamped with my royal seal, saying that I have given you this piece of jewellery out of my own free will, as your reward for treating me.”

  ‘It was only after this that Upadhyaya agreed to accept the Raja’s offer, with happiness and gratitude.’

  ‘How many people knew about this? I mean, apart from the Raja, Upadhyaya and yourself?’

  ‘The Maharani knew about it, as well as her two sons—Suraj and Pavan. Suraj was then in his early twenties, a very good and kind young man, which is something of a rarity in royal families. Pavan was only fifteen. In my own family, my wife and my son, Devishankar, learnt about the Raja’s generosity. Devi was five or six years old at the time. The Raja may have mentioned it to someone else in his later years, I don’t know. I certainly did not tell anyone. In the last thirty years, the press did not pick up this story even once. You know very well what reporters and journalists are like. If word had leaked out, do you think they’d have let it remain a secret?’

  ‘That is true. People who knew certainly seemed to have kept their lips sealed.’

  Mr Puri continued, ‘Chandradeo Singh lived for another twelve years. He was succeeded by Surajdeo, although, of course, by then, no one would call him a Raja. However, he was the principal owner of the estate and all other property of his father.’

  ‘Did you continue to be the manager?’ Feluda asked.

  ‘Yes. I tried very hard to keep the estate going by developing new projects, going into business, and making sure its future was secure; but unfortunately, Suraj was not really interested in these things. His only passion in life was books. He used to spend nearly sixteen hours in his library every day, refusing to discuss business matters with me. How much could I achieve all on my own? Soon, the financial status of the estate started to deteriorate.’

  ‘Your own son must have grown up by now.’

  ‘Oh yes. I sent him to a school in Aligarh. From there he went to college in Delhi, and then started his own business there. He did not return to Rupnarayangarh.’

  ‘Is he your only son?’

  ‘Yes. Anyway, I was struggling to keep the affairs of the estate in order. Sometimes I thought of giving it all up and going away to Moradabad, which is where I come from. But I had grown very attached to Rupnarayangarh, I couldn’t leave it just like that.’

  Mr Puri stopped briefly to light a cigar. Then he said, ‘I am now coming to the most important part of my story, which will explain why I am here. Please bear with me. What happened was this: about a week ago, Chandradeo’s younger son, Pavan, came to me rather unexpectedly. The first thing he said was, “Give me the name and address of the man who cured my father.” Naturally, I asked him why he wanted it, was anyone ill? To that he said no, no one was ill. He needed to contact Upadhyaya simply in connection with a television film he was making.

  ‘I knew Pavan was interested in photography, but had no idea he was now into making films. I said to him, “You mean you’re going to show this man in your film?” He said, “Of course. I am also going to tell everyone about the pendant he was given. I doubt if anyone has ever been given such a big reward for curing an ailment.” At this, I was obliged to tell him that Upadhyaya himself had certainly not wanted any publicity. But he gave me a lecture on how it was the duty of those working for our television to inform the public about all important events, no matter when they had occurred. Besides, Upadhyaya might well change his mind about not wanting any publicity once Pavan had spoken to him. So would I just give him his address?

  ‘After this, there was nothing I could do, but tell Pavan where Upadhyaya lived. He thanked me and left.’

  ‘H
ow old would Upadhaya be now?’

  ‘He’d be in his seventies. When he came to Rupnarayangarh, he was not a young man.’

  Feluda said nothing for a few moments, but looked steadily at Mr Puri. Then he asked, ‘Did you come here simply to ensure that nobody found out about Upadhyaya’s secret?’

  Mr Puri shook his head. ‘No, Mr Mitter. It is not just that. I am deeply concerned about Chandradeo’s pendant. If Pavan is making a film, he needs a great deal of money. Perhaps he has made arrangements, I don’t know. What I do know is that a locket like that would be enough to remove all his financial worries.’

  ‘But that would mean adopting unfair means, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’

  ‘What kind of a man is Pavandeo?’

  ‘He has inherited both the strengths and weaknesses of his father. He’s a good sportsman, and a very good photographer. But he gambles a lot. He’s lost quite a lot of money in poker. He can be totally reckless at times, but I have known him to be surprisingly thoughtful and generous. Like his father, he has a complex character, and it is not easy to get to know him well.’

  ‘So what would you like me to do?’

  ‘I would simply like you to make sure no one gets the chance to adopt unfair means.’

  ‘Is Pavandeo going to Haridwar?’

  ‘Yes, but not immediately. He’ll take at least a week to set out, for he’s busy taking shots of the palace right now.’

  ‘If I agreed to take this case, I couldn’t leave immediately either. It would take me a while to reserve seats on a train. But assuming that I did agree, how would I recognize Pavandeo?’

  ‘I thought about that. Here’s his photo. This was published in a magazine last month, after he won a billiard championship. You may keep it. And . . . er . . . would you like me to pay you an advance?’

  ‘Not now. If I decide to take a case, I expect an advance payment of a thousand rupees. This is non-refundable. If the case turns out to be successful, I take another thousand.’

  ‘Very well. Please think it over, Mr Mitter. I am staying at the Park Hotel. Let me know what you decide by four o’clock this afternoon. If your answer is yes, I will come back with your advance payment.’

  Two

  I knew Feluda would agree to take the case. He had recently started to record conversations with his clients on a microcassette recorder, which he had bought in Hong Kong. With Mr Puri’s permission, his conversation with Feluda had been recorded as well. In the afternoon, Feluda played the whole thing back and listened to every word carefully. Then he switched the machine off and said, ‘This case is quite different from what I usually get. That is reason number one why I think I ought to take it. Reason number two is the chance to visit Haridwar and Hrishikesh again. After all, isn’t that where I spent some of my early days as a detective?’

  Yes, indeed. How could I ever forget it was in Haridwar that the case of the stolen Emperor’s ring took a new turn?

  He rang Mr Puri and told him of his decision. Mr Puri returned in just half an hour and paid him his advance. When he had gone, Feluda spoke to our travel agent and told him to book three seats on the Doon Express, as soon as possible.

  Two days later, something totally unexpected happened. Mr Puri sent us a telegram from Rupnarayangarh. It said: REQUEST DROP

  CASE. LETTER FOLLOWS.

  Drop case? Why? No client had ever done this to us before. A couple of days later, Mr Puri’s letter arrived. What it said briefly was that Pavandeo Singh had changed his mind. He would still find and interview Bhavani Upadhyaya, but would only show how he spent his time treating the sick. He would mention that Upadhyaya had once treated and cured the Raja of Rupnarayangarh, but would say nothing about the pendant. There was therefore no need for Feluda to travel all the way to Haridwar.

  Feluda replied to Mr Puri by sending another telegram: DROPPING

  CASE, BUT GOING AS PILGRIMS. His curiosity had been aroused. He would go simply as a tourist all right, but would certainly keep his eyes and ears open. To be honest, I was very pleased by this, for I wanted to meet both Bhavani Upadhyaya and Pavandeo.

  All this had happened a few days ago. We were, at this moment, sitting in a four-berth compartment of the Doon Express. The train had stopped at Faizabad, and we were sipping hot tea from clay pots.

  ‘You said you had once visited Haridwar,’ Feluda said to Lalmohan Babu. ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, when I was only a child, just about two years old. I have no memory of the place at all.’

  ‘Are you going only to Haridwar, or do you intend to see other places as well?’

  This question came from our fellow passenger, an elderly gentleman who was sitting next to Lalmohan Babu. His thin hair was mostly white, but his skin wasn’t wrinkled, and his strong white teeth appeared to be his own. There were a few laughter lines around his eyes, and from the way his eyes twinkled, it seemed he was ready for laughter any time.

  ‘We have some work in Haridwar,’ Feluda answered. ‘When that gets done, we might try and see other places. We haven’t really thought about it yet.’

  The gentleman raised his eyebrows. ‘What! You don’t mean to say you haven’t thought about going to Kedar and Badrinath? You must never miss those places, if you are travelling all that distance, anyway. You can go to Badrinath by bus. Buses don’t go right up to Kedar, and you have to walk the last few miles, but at your age that shouldn’t be a problem. And for your friend, there would be dandis and ponies. Have you ever ridden a pony?’ he asked, looking at Lalmohan Babu.

  Lalmohan Babu finished his tea, threw the pot out of the window and said gravely, ‘No, but I have ridden a camel in the Thar desert. Have you had that experience?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ the gentleman shook his head, smiling, ‘I have never been anywhere near a desert. My field for roaming is restricted to the mountains. I have been to Kedar and Badri twenty-three times. It’s got nothing to do with religious devotion. I go back just to look at their natural beauty. That itself is a spiritual experience, I can tell you. If I didn’t have a family, I’d quite happily live there. I have also been to Jamunotri, Gangotri, Gomukh, Panchakedar and Vasukital. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Makhanlal Majumdar.’

  Feluda said ‘namaskar’ and introduced us.

  ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Mr Majumdar. ‘A lot of people are going to all these place now, thanks to road transport. They are not pilgrims, they are picnickers. But, of course, buses and taxis can do nothing to spoil the glory of the Himalayas. The scenic beauty is absolutely incredible.’

  We reached Haridwar at 6 a.m.

  This time, there didn’t seem to be as many pandas as last time. We stopped at the railway restaurant for a cup of tea and snacks. Feluda asked its manager about Upadhyaya. What he told us came as a shock.

  Bhavani Upadhyaya had left Haridwar more than three months ago, and gone to Rudraprayag.

  ‘Who can talk to us about him? Is there anyone here who knew him well?’

  ‘You can try talking to Kantibhai Pandit. He used to be Upadhyaya’s landlord.’

  ‘Does he live in Laxman Mohalla?’

  ‘Yes, yes. He and Upadhyaya were next-door neighbours. Go there, and ask anyone. They’ll take you to Kantibhai’s house.’

  Feluda thanked him and paid the bill. We decided to go to Laxman Mohalla immediately.

  Kantibhai Pandit turned out to be a man in his mid-sixties, with a clear complexion and sharp features. He had heavy stubble on his face, and he peered at us through bifocal lenses. He seemed quite surprised on being told we wanted to ask him about Upadhyaya.

  ‘What is going on?’ he asked. ‘Why this sudden interest in Upadhyaya, I wonder? Someone else came to ask about him only about three days ago.’

  ‘Do you remember what he looked like?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’

  ‘See if it was this man.’ Feluda took out Pavandeo Singh’s photograph and showed it to Mr Pandit.

  �
�Yes, yes, this is the man who came to see me. I gave him Upadhyaya’s address in Rudraprayag.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful if you could give it to me, too.’ Feluda offered him one of his cards. One look at it brought about a marked change in Mr Pandit’s behaviour.

  ‘Oh, do please sit down,’ he said busily. ‘I’m sorry I made you stand all this while.’ When we were all seated, he added, ‘Is anything wrong, Mr Mitter? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing has happened yet,’ Feluda smiled, ‘but there is a chance that something might. I am going to ask you a straight question, Mr Pandit. I’d appreciate a straight answer.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did Mr Upadhyaya have something of great value among his personal possessions?’ Mr Pandit smiled back at Feluda. ‘I have already had to answer this question. I will tell you the same thing that I told Mr Singh. Mr Upadhyaya had given me a small bag and asked me to keep it in my safe. I locket it away, but I have no idea what it contained. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.’

  ‘Did he take it with him to Rudraprayag?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But there is something else that I think you should know. About six months ago, before Upadhyaya left, two men came to see him one day. One of them was probably a Marwari, he looked like a rich man. They spent nearly an hour with him, talking and arguing. I don’t know what exactly was said, but after they had gone, Upadhyaya came to me. He said, “Panditji, today I have conquered one of the deadly sins. Mr Singhania tried to tempt me—oh, he tried very hard—but I didn’t give in.” Those were his words.’

  ‘Did you ever tell anyone else about Upadhyaya’s possession?’

  ‘Look, Mr Mitter, a lot of people knew that he had something to hide. Some even used to make fun of him behind his back, about this great secret. I . . . I sometimes sit with my friends and have a drink in the evening, so something may have slipped out when I wasn’t completely sober—I really don’t know. But most people here respected Upadhyaya so much that no one would have tried to find out what he had hidden in a safe.’