by Satyajit Ray
Murder in The Mountains
One
‘Good news?’ Feluda asked Lalmohan Babu the minute he came into the room. I didn’t notice anything special, but Feluda went on, ‘I knew from the way you rang the bell twice that you were eager to share some important news with us, though I couldn’t tell whether the news was good or bad. Now it’s obvious it’s good news.’
‘How did you guess?’ Lalmohan Babu asked. ‘I didn’t even smile.’
‘No, but there were a few things that gave you away. Number one, your appearance. You have taken extra care today. That yellow kurta you’re wearing is new, you used a new blade to shave and the whole room is already reeking with your aftershave. Besides, you don’t usually come here before nine. It is now seventeen minutes to nine o’clock.’
Lalmohan Babu laughed. ‘Yes, you’re absolutely right. I couldn’t rest in peace until I came and told you what had happened. Do you remember Pulak Ghoshal?’
‘The film director? The one who made a Hindi film based on your story, The Buccaneer of Bombay?’
‘It wasn’t just a film, Felu Babu, but a super-hit film. He had told me he wanted to make another film from one of my stories. We” he’s going to do it now.’
‘Which story is this?’
‘The one with all the action in Karakoram. But Karakoram has been dropped. The action’s now in Darjeeling.’
‘Darjeeling? How could Darjeeling ever compare with Karakoram?’
‘I know, I know. But something’s better than nothing, isn’t it? Apart from that, they’re going to pay me a lot more than last time. Forty thousand, no less.’
‘What! It takes me two years to earn that much!’
‘Well, their total budget is 5.6 million rupees. Forty thousand for the writer is nothing. Do you know how much their top stars get paid?’
‘Yes, I have some idea.’
‘Then why are you surprised? Rajen Raina will play the hero in this film. He will get more than a million. And the villain’s role has gone to Mahadev Verma. His rates are even higher. He’s done only five films so far, but all five have had silver jubilees.’
‘Really? Well then, if Pulak Ghoshal is a pal of yours, how come he hasn’t invited you up to Darjeeling?’
‘But he has! That’s what I came to tell you. He’s asked not just me, but all three of us. I did say to him there was no need for a formal invitation, we’d go on our own. What do you say, Felu Babu?’
I couldn’t remember when we were last in Darjeeling. All I could remember was that it was there that Feluda began his career as an investigator. I was only a young boy then, and he had to tick me off pretty frequently for my naivete and ignorance. Now he had started to introduce me as his assistant. If he had done that before, people would simply have laughed at him. Over the last few years, I had thought many times of going back to Darjeeling for a holiday, but Feluda had become so busy that there never seemed to be any time. He was also earning much more. Of the five cases he had handled in the last six months, he had solved all except the case of a double murder in Chandannagore. His work had been highly appreciated everywhere, and he had been paid well. Only three months ago, he had bought a colour television, and a large number of old books, in which he seemed greatly interested. I had realized by now that Feluda was not really bothered about saving money. He liked spending what he earned, but not necessarily always on himself. He often bought little gifts for Lalmohan Babu, simply to show him how much he appreciated all the help he gave us, whenever we needed it. The aftershave he was wearing now had been given by Feluda. Lalmohan Babu had declared he would use it only on special occasions. Today was obviously such an occasion for him.
Our Puja holidays were about to start. Feluda had already decided not to accept any more cases for a few months. So I didn’t think he would object to a visit to Darjeeling. He loved the place, anyway. I had often heard him commenting on the variety Bengal could offer. ‘It may only be an accident of geography,’ he told me once, ‘but can you think of any other state that has lush green farmland, dry and arid areas, a forest like the Sunderbans, huge rivers like the Ganga, Padma and Meghna, an ocean at its bottom and the Himalayas at its top?’
‘Well?’ Lalmohan Babu asked a little impatiently, sipping the tea Srinath had just brought in. ‘Do you want to go or not?’
‘Wait, I’d like one more detail before I make up my mind.’
‘Yes?’
‘When would you like us to go?’
‘A part of the film unit has already reached Darjeeling. But they’re not going to start shooting before next Friday. Today is Sunday.’
‘I am not really interested in watching the actual shooting. Are they going to work outdoors, or have they—?’
‘Have you heard of Birupaksha Majumdar?’
‘The managing director of the Bengal Bank?’
‘He was the MD, but is now retired. A mild cerebral stroke made him retire at the age of fifty-two.’
‘I see. But isn’t he a rather talented man? He used to be a sportsman, I think?’
‘Yes. He was once the national billiards champion. And I think he was a shikari, too.’
‘Yes, I have read one of his articles on shikar and hunting.’
‘He comes from a very well-known family. His ancestors used to be the zamindars in a place called Nayanpur in East Bengal. They have a huge house in Darjeeling. It’s built like a bungalow, and has sixteen rooms. That is where Mr Majumdar stays. Pulak has got his permission to use a couple of rooms to take a few shots in. The rest of the shooting will take place all over Darjeeling. The film unit will stay at Mount Everest Hotel. We could book ourselves somewhere else.’
‘Yes, that will be better. I don’t like the idea of seeing too much of the film unit. We could stay in one of the new hotels Darjeeling’s now got.’
‘I saw an advertisement for Hotel Kanchenjunga,’ I put in.
‘Yes, so did I.’
‘Very well, Felu Babu. I’ll make the arrangements.’
It took us three days to complete all the arrangements.
We reached the airport on Thursday, 30 September to find that Pulak Ghoshal was on the same flight. With him were the hero, heroine and villain of the film. Lalmohan Babu’s story didn’t have a heroine at all, but clearly the director had found it necessary to introduce her in the film version. Pulak Babu grinned on seeing Feluda. ‘I’m so glad I chose one of Laluda’s stories. I wouldn’t have met you again otherwise, would I? But I do hope you won’t have to get involved in an investigation this time!’
Then he introduced us to his hero, Rajen Raina, heroine, Suchandra, and villain, Mahadev Verma. Suchandra was pretty, but was wearing rather a lot of make-up. Rajen Raina—who I could recognize easily enough—looked cheerful and smart. He had a short, carefully trimmed beard. He was as tall as Feluda and looked quite fit. Although he was newcomer, he looked at least forty to me. But perhaps his age was something skilful make-up could hide. I didn’t think there was any man in the whole country who might fit the description of Lalmohan Babu’s hero in his book. Prakhar Rudra’s height was six-and-a-half feet, his chest measured fifty inches, his nose was sharp as a sword and his eyes glowed like burning coal at all times.
Mahadev Verma struck me as the most interesting. His eyes drooped, a slight smile lurked around his lips, under his nose was a thin moustache that curled upwards, and he looked as though he wouldn’t think twice before killing another human being. Both he and Raina were wearing cologne. Feluda told me afterwards that the one Verma was wearing was called Denim, and Raina’s was called Yardley Lavendar.
We were told at the airport that our flight to Bagdogra had got delayed by an hour. So we all went to the airport restaurant for a cup of coffee. It was actually Pulak Babu’s idea, the three of us went as his guests.
Mahadev Verma and Feluda got talking in the restaurant. Since I was sitting next to Feluda, I heard the whole conversation.
‘You’ve been working in films for a few
years, haven’t you?’ Feluda began.
‘Yes, three years. Before I joined films I used to travel a lot. I’ve seen most parts of the country, including Leh and Ladakh. When I was in Kashmir, I happened to meet the director of a film that was being shot in Srinagar. It was he who gave me my first break. Now, of course, I couldn’t even think of leaving films.’
Lalmohan Babu had been fidgeting in his seat. Now he promptly asked the question that was clearly trembling on his lips.
‘How do you like the character you’re going to play in this film?’
‘It’s a very powerful character. Oh, I like it. That scene, especially, where I hold the heroine in front of me and call the hero loads of cruel names, and the hero is helpless to do anything although he has a revolver in his hand—ah, that scene is truly dramatic!’
Nowhere in Lalmohan Babu’s book did a scene like this appear. The eager smile with which he had asked his question faded quickly at Mr Verma’s reply. But Mr Verma hadn’t finished. He turned to Feluda again.
‘Mr Ghoshal said you were a detective. I believe detectives can tell a lot of things about a person within minutes of having met him. Can you tell us anything about me?’
Feluda laughed. ‘A detective isn’t a magician. What he can see is usually based on his powers of observation, and his knowledge of human psychology. To me, you appear somewhat disappointed.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You keep looking around as you speak, and I think you’ve realized that no one in this restaurant has recognized you. I saw you glance around, and heave a deep sigh. But Rajen Raina has been recognized, and a lot of people have already come up for his autograph. You even took off your dark glasses in the hope that that might help people recognize you. But when it didn’t work, you put them back on again.’
Mahadev Verma sighed again. ‘You are absolutely right, one hundred per cent. If I am seen in Bombay in a public place, I am instantly surrounded by a crowd. But here . . . Perhaps Bengalis don’t often watch Hindi movies?’
‘Oh yes, they do,’ Lalmohan Babu assured him. ‘The only thing is that three of your films haven’t yet been released here. I don’t normally keep a track of what’s happening to Hindi film actors, but I did make a few enquiries about the man who was going to play the villain in my film.’
‘I see,’ Mr Verma sounded relieved. ‘Anyway, Mr Mitter’s powers of observation are terrific, there’s no doubt about that.’
Our flight was announced soon after this, so we all left hurriedly for the security check. Feluda had transferred his Colt revolver to his suitcase, which had already been taken to the plane. In the past, we had got involved in criminal cases so many times even when we were on holiday, that these days Feluda refused to take any risks. He never stirred without his revolver.
We went through security and reached the departure lounge. Within ten minutes it was announced that our flight was ready for departure. The three of us and all members of the film unit got into the plane. My heart danced with excitement at the thought of seeing Darjeeling again, and being at a height of 6,000 feet. It was going to be quite cold there since it was nearly October. Even that gave me an odd thrill. Somehow, I felt another adventure awaited us. But when I mentioned this to Feluda, he snapped, ‘Where on earth did you get that idea? Has a single thing happened yet to indicate an adventure? If you get your hopes up without any reason whatsoever, they’re only going to be dashed. Just remember that.’
After this, I didn’t dare make any comment about the future.
Two
Hotel Kanchenjunga turned out to be quite neat and clean. Each room had a telephone and a heater, the bathroom had running hot water, the linen was crisp and spotless—in short, it was a place that cheered one up instantly. We were going to be in Darjeeling for ten days. If the place we were going to stay in wasn’t reasonably satisfactory, it could become a serious irritant.
Our journey had been eventless. Lalmohan Babu had taken out his Rajasthani leather-and-wool cap on reaching Sonada and put it on. ‘To protect my head and ears,’ he explained. Then he began to concentrate on the scenery, and said ‘Beautiful!’ at least a million times. Finally, over a cup of tea in the Kerseong railway restaurant, he made an honest confession. This was his first visit to Darjeeling, he told us.
‘What!’ Feluda raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean you have never seen Kanchenjunga?’
‘No, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu admitted, sticking his tongue out in embarrassment.
‘Oh God, how I envy you!’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve no idea what a treat is in store for you. Only you among the three of us will get to experience the tremendous impact of seeing Kanchenjunga for the first time. You are very lucky, Mr Ganguli.’
It was possible to see Kanchenjunga even from Kerseong, if the sky was clear. But it had been quite cloudy today. By the time we reached Ghoom, daylight had started to fade and the clouds hadn’t gone. Lalmohan Babu had, therefore, not yet had his treat. This was, of course, a special feature of visiting Darjeeling. Even at the end of one’s holiday, Kanchenjunga could well remain unseen. If that happened, I would certainly be extremely disappointed. I had seen it before, but was very anxious to see it again. This was an experience that one could never get tired of.
We left our luggage in the hotel and went out for a walk. We had to walk uphill for about five minutes before we reached the Mall. It was dark by this time, and the streetlights had been switched on. The shops in the Mall were also lit up. ‘Felu Babu, why aren’t there any cars anywhere?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, puzzled.
‘Cars and other vehicles aren’t allowed to run in many parts of Darjeeling. The Mall is one such place. You can walk here, or ride a horse. Have you ever ridden before?’
‘N-no. But then, I have taken a ride on a camel, haven’t I? A horse would be child’s play in comparison, surely?’
A little later, we ran into Mr Birupaksha Majumdar. The film crew were out for a walk, like ourselves. Pulak Ghoshal strode forward to meet us. He was accompanied by a gentleman wearing a suit and a felt hat. This is Mr Majumdar,’ he said, ‘we’re going to shoot a part of the film in his house. He’s very kindly given us his permission. And these are—’ Pulak Babu finished making the introductions.
‘What have you to do with the shooting?’ Mr Majumdar asked, looking at Feluda.
‘To be honest, nothing at all. But this friend of mine writes crime thrillers. The story the film is based on was written by him.’
‘Very good. He writes crime stories, and you are an investigator. That’s a wonderful combination. I seem to have heard your name before. Has it come out in the papers a few times?’
‘Er . . . yes. I helped solve a case in Bosepukur last year. This was reported in the press.’
‘That’s right. That’s why your name sounded so familiar. You see, I collect press cuttings; not routine ordinary stuff, but if the news has a touch of drama about it, it goes into my collection.
‘This has been my hobby since I was seventeen. I have thirty-one scrapbooks. Now that I’m retired, I spend some of my time turning the pages of these scrapbooks, just as some people read old books. But now I’ve got a helper. Rajat—my secretary— cuts out the pieces I want and pastes them for me. That’s how I’ve got the cuttings that I mentioned to you.’
By this time, we had passed the fountain that stood in one end of the Mail, and had started to walk towards the main road. ‘I have run out of my medicine,’ Mr Majumdar said. ‘Why don’t you come with me to the chemist?’ We accompanied him to the shop just across the road. What he bought turned out to be pills called Trofnil. The chemist handed him thirty-one of these, sealed in aluminium foil. ‘It is an anti-depressant,’ Mr Majumdar told us. ‘I cannot sleep unless I take one of these. What I’ve got here will last me a month.’
We came out of the shop. ‘I’d like to visit you one day and look at some of your scrapbooks,’ Feluda said.
‘Oh, sure. You are mo
st welcome. I can even show you reports on cases that haven’t yet been solved. These go back twenty years.’
‘How interesting!’
‘But then, my life is no less interesting. Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing an autobiography, but then I tell myself it wouldn’t be of any use, since I couldn’t obviously tell all my stories exactly the way they happened. An autobiography should be totally honest, devoid of secrets and lies. At least, that’s my belief. Anyway you must come and visit me one day.’
‘We’d love to. When is the best time for you?’
‘In the morning. I normally go for a walk in the evening. If you go beyond Mount Everest Hotel, you’ll find a road that goes up the hill. You have to take this road. I think you’ll find my house easily enough—it’s a bungalow called Nayanpur Villa. There’s a large garden around it.’
Mr Majumdar raised his hand In farewell and left. We saw him get on a horse. There was a man to help him.
‘Perhaps his doctors don’t allow him to walk up a hill, which would explain the horse,’ Feluda observed. ‘A very nice gentleman, I must say.’
Members of the film unit were all busy looking at the shops. Pulak Babu came forward and asked, ‘How did you like Mr Majumdar?’
‘It was a pleasure to meet him. He may be getting on, but he’s still young at heart.’
‘True, and he takes a lively interest in everything. He was asking me a lot of things about the shooting.’
‘Who else is there in his house?’
‘He has a secretary called Rajat Bose. Apart from him there are three servants, a mali and a man to look after his horse. Mr Majumdar is a widower. He has a son and two daughters. His son lives in Calcutta. He’s supposed to be coming here soon. The daughters are both married. I don’t know where they live.’
‘Mr Majumdar seems to have a fascinating hobby.’
