by Satyajit Ray
‘That would mean all his assets would go to his son.’
‘Yes, naturally.’
‘May I now see your room?’
‘Sure. Please come with me.’
Rajat Bose’s room was rather sparsely furnished. There was a bed, a small wardrobe, a table and a chair. On the wall was a bracket, from which hung a shirt, a brown pullover and a towel. A suitcase stood in one corner, with ‘R.B.’ written on it. On the table were strewn a few paperbacks and magazines.
‘A Hindi magazine!’ Feluda exclaimed.
‘Yes. I spent my childhood in Kanpur, you see, That’s where I learnt Hindi. My father was a doctor there. I moved with my mother to Calcutta when he died.’
We came out of his room. ‘Did you know Mr Majumdar used to take sleeping pills?’
‘Oh yes. I used to buy them for him sometimes. He liked to get a whole month’s supply.’
‘Hm. All right, thank you very much. I’d like to speak to Samiran Babu now.’
Samiran Babu had had his bath, and was in his room, reading a newspaper. He hadn’t shaved since he was in mourning. Feluda tried talking to him, but he didn’t say very much. However, he admitted to having frequent arguments with his father. ‘Baba wasn’t like this before. He changed a lot after his illness,’ he said.
‘Would it be wrong to say you changed, too, which might have caused him distress?’
‘Some of my speculations went wrong, but that can happen to anyone, in any business.’
‘Did you have an argument the day before your father was murdered, say around half past one in the afternoon?’
‘Why, no!’
‘Did you ever ask your father for financial support?’
‘Yes, why shouldn’t I? He had made a lot of money.’
‘Did you know your father hadn’t made a will?’
‘Yes. He had told me once he wouldn’t leave me a penny if he did decide to make a will.’
‘But now you’re going to inherit everything.’
‘Yes, so it would seem.’
‘Most of your problems are going to be solved now, right?’
‘Right. But I don’t understand what you’re trying to imply. Surely you don’t think I killed my own father?’
‘Suppose I do? You certainly had the motive, as well as the opportunity, didn’t you?’
‘How could I have poisoned his drink? Lokenath got his milk ready, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but don’t forget he left it in the room and went away to call your father. You could have tampered with it then. Besides, you had every opportunity to stab your father. You must have known there was an excellent weapon in the same room.’
Samiran Babu gave a twisted smile. ‘Have you gone totally mad, Mr Mitter? Why aren’t you thinking of the missing statue? Would I bother with a small statue if I knew I was going to get every penny my father owned?’
‘Who knows, Mr Majumdar, you might have been in a hurry to get hold of ready cash? After all, even if you inherited everything, you wouldn’t have got it all in a day, would you? The whole legal process would have taken a while, and you knew it.’
‘Well then, where has Lokenath gone? Why did he run away? Why don’t you try to catch the real culprit instead of wasting your time here?’
‘I have a reason for coming back here, Mr Majumdar. A very good reason.’
‘All right. I don’t even wish to hear what it is. All I can tell you is that it is simply by chance that I’ve got involved in this awful business. I am certainly not your man. You’ll have to look elsewhere to find the killer.’
Ten
We returned to the hotel. Feluda said after lunch that he wanted to take the framed photograph to a studio on the Mall. ‘Then I must go and see Inspector Saha at the police station,’ he added. ‘I need some information urgently, which I think the police could get far more easily. If you two want to go anywhere, do so. I am not going to go out when I return. All I want to do then is think. This case hasn’t yet formed a definite shape. A few things are still unclear . . . still hazy.’
Feluda left. Lalmohan Babu and I decided to go for another walk. A cool breeze was blowing outside, which made walking very pleasant.
‘There’s something you haven’t yet seen,’ I said to Jatayu. ‘It’s the pine wood behind Mr Majumdar’s house. I went there for only a couple of minutes, but I thought it was a beautiful place. Would you like to go there?’
‘Do we have to go through his house to get there?’
‘Oh no. The main road forks to the left, which goes straight to the wood. Haven’t you noticed it?’
‘No, can’t say I have. But if that is the case, let’s go.’
We left. Feluda’s words kept ringing in my mind. He had definitely found a powerful clue, but of course he wasn’t going to talk about it unless he had thought it all out. We would have to put up with long periods of silence when he got back.
‘Tapesh,’ Lalmohan Babu said on the way to the wood, ‘tell me something. Where is the mystery in this case? Lokenath killed his employer and vanished with the statue. Surely that’s all there is to it? Why doesn’t your cousin simply leave it to the police? They’ll find Lokenath and deal with him. End of story.’
‘How can you say that? You’ve known Feluda for years. Have you ever seen him get worked up about anything unless there was a good reason? You saw for yourself how he was attacked. Surely Lokenath wasn’t responsible for that? Besides, Mr Majumdar himself had killed someone, even if it was an accident. Then there was that case of someone in his bank stealing a lot of money. He was never caught. Above all, you yourself told us you heard Mr Majumdar shouting at somebody. We don’t know who he was shouting at. So many questions need to be answered. How can you say it’s a simple case?’
By this time we had reached the wood. It wasn’t just beautiful, but also remarkable in other ways. I realized there were many other trees and plants in addition to pine. I could recognize juniper, fir and rhododendron, all of which were in abundance; I did not know the names of the other plants. Some of the bushes had red, blue and yellow flowers. Since the sky was overcast, the whole place seemed darker today. We walked on, feeling as though we were passing through a huge church with endless tall pillars. Nayanpur Villa occasionally came into view through gaps in the trees, but the deeper we went into the wood, the farther the house seemed to recede. It felt just a little creepy to make our way through the dark shadows in the wood. There was no noise, not even the chirping of birds, and certainly there was no question of running into other people. Perhaps that was why Lalmohan Babu was prompted to remark, ‘If anyone was murdered here, it would probably take a month to find his body.’
We walked on. The house had disappeared altogether. Suddenly, a bird called; but I couldn’t tell what bird it was. My eyes fell on another gap between the trees, and I realized the clouds had dispersed for the moment, so I could see a portion of Kanchenjunga. I turned towards Lalmohan Babu to tell him to have a quick look before it vanished again. To my surprise, I found him standing still, gaping at something with his mouth hanging open.
What had he seen?
I followed his gaze and realized with a shock what it was. Close to the fallen trunk of a tree was a large bush. Protruding from behind it were two feet. No, two shoes. That was really all we could see.
‘Should we take a closer look?’ Lalmohan Babu whispered. Without making a reply, I went forward to peer behind the bush. I had seen those shoes before. Where had I seen them?
It all became clear a second later.
A dead body was lying on the ground.
We recognized him instantly. It was Mr Majumdar’s missing bearer, Lokenath.
He, too, had been stabbed, but the weapon was nowhere in sight. Not far from the body, scattered on a rock were the broken remains of a glass bottle, and a lot of small white pills. At least, they must have been white once. Lying on the damp ground had made them turn brown.
We didn’t waste another moment. We ran back t
o the hotel, to find that Feluda had just returned. ‘Felu Babu, what sensational—’ began Lalmohan Babu, but I stopped him before he could begin to get melodramatic. I told Feluda in a few words what we had seen.
Feluda rang the police station immediately. Within five minutes, two police jeeps arrived at our hotel. Inspector Saha got out of one. The other had four constables in it. We returned to the pine wood.
‘Stabbed!’ the Inspector exclaimed. ‘We were looking for him in local villages. Of course we had assumed he was still alive. Your friend and your cousin get full credit for this discovery, Mr Mitter. We are very grateful to you both.’
The police took the body away. We came back to the hotel once more.
‘Now the whole thing’s taken a completely unexpected turn, hasn’t it?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, flopping down on a chair.
‘Yes, you’re right. But it’s turned not towards darkness, Lalmohan Babu, but towards light. All I need is a few pieces of information. Then everything’s going to fall into place.’
Inspector Saha rang Feluda later in the evening. From the way Feluda gave his lopsided smile and said, ‘I see’ and ‘Very good’, I could tell he had got the information he was waiting for.
‘If that’s the case, I think you should ask everyone to gather in Mr Majumdar’s drawing room tomorrow morning at ten,’ Feluda said to Mr Saha. ‘We must have everyone from Nayanpur Villa, and a few people from the film unit—Pulak Ghoshal, Rajen Raina, Mahadev Verma and Sudev Ghosh. Your own presence, need I tell you, is absolutely essential.’
Eleven
The telephone in our room began ringing at seven the following day. We were already up, sipping our bed tea. Feluda stretched out an arm and picked it up. I heard him say only two things before he put it down. ‘What!’ he said, and ‘I’ll be ready in five minutes.’ Then he turned to me and added, ‘Go and tell Lalmohan Babu to get ready. We have to go out at once.’
I did as I was told without asking questions. Where were we going? No one told me, until a couple of police jeeps arrived again, and we were told to get into the first one with Inspector Saha. It turned out that the constable who had gone to Nayanpur Villa early this morning to tell them about the meeting had learnt that Samiran Majumdar had received a phone call only fifteen minutes before the constable’s arrival. He had left for Siliguri, apparently on some urgent work. Since Feluda felt there would be no point in having the meeting without him, we were on our way to see if our jeep might catch up with his vehicle.
I had never been driven at such speed on a winding, hilly road. Luckily, the driver seemed to be extremely skilful, and there was no mist today. We passed Ghoom, Sonada and Tung in half an hour. Normally, it would have taken us at least forty-five minutes. Inspector Saha had sent word to Kerseong and Siliguri, but it had not been possible to give the number of the taxi in which Samiran Babu was travelling. Trying to find its number would have taken up a lot of time, Inspector Saha said.
We reached Kerseong fairly soon, but there was no sign of Samiran Majumdar’s taxi. ‘Take the short cut through Pankhabari,’ Inspector Saha said to the driver. Our jeep left the main road. The other one went ahead, following the regular route.
It is impossible to describe just how winding the road to Pankhabari was. Lalmohan Babu shut his eyes, and said, ‘Let me know if you see the taxi. I’m not going to open my eyes if I can help it. I’d feel sick if I did.’
Fifteen minutes later, after going up a road that coiled itself like a snake round the hill, we came round a hairpin bend. Our driver pressed his foot hard on the brake, for there was a taxi standing almost in the middle of the road. Its driver was trying to change a punctured tyre, and Samiran Majumdar was standing some distance away, smoking impatiently. He seemed both startled and apprehensive at the sudden appearance of our jeep.
All of us got out. Feluda and Inspector Saha strode ahead. ‘What . . . what is it?’ Samiran Babu asked, turning visibly pale. ‘Nothing,’ Feluda replied, ‘it’s just that there’s going to be a meeting in your own house at ten this morning. We feel you must be present there, and really it’s far more important than the one you set off to attend. So could you please pay your taxi driver, and join us? Don’t forget your suitcase.’
In three minutes, we were on our way back to Darjeeling. No one spoke on the way.
By the time we reached Nayanpur Villa, it was a quarter to ten. ‘Since Lokenath is still missing, could you please ask your other servant, Bahadur, to make coffee, for at least a dozen people?’ Feluda asked.
We went to the drawing room. More chairs had been brought from the next room.
The team from the Mount Everest Hotel arrived almost as soon as Bahadur came in with the coffee. Pulak Ghoshal looked openly surprised. ‘What on earth’s the matter, Laluda?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t got a clue. Your guess is as good as mine. But the purpose of this meeting is to throw light on everything that’s been baffling us since the murder. Mr Pradosh Mitter is in charge of the lighting.’
‘Good. Can we start shooting again?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. Just be patient, all will be revealed soon.’
‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I’ve been directing films for twelve years, and finished making seventeen films in that time; but never before have I got involved in something so messy.’
I felt sorry for Pulak Babu. The total budget for his film had originally been 5.6 million rupees. God knows how much they’d finally end up spending if the shooting kept getting delayed.
Everyone found chairs and sat down, looking distinctly uneasy. I glanced briefly at the whole group. Feluda was sitting on my left, and Lalmohan Babu on my right. The others, including Mr Saha and Samiran Majumdar, were scattered all over the room. Bahadur and the cook, Jagadish, were also present. Four constables stood near the door.
We finished our coffee. A rather attractive clock on a shelf chimed ten times. Feluda stood up as soon as the last note faded away. He was the only one in the room who appeared perfectly calm. Even Inspector Saha was cracking his knuckles occasionally.
Feluda cleared his throat and began speaking.
‘In the last few days, a few mishaps have occurred in this house. Perhaps they would not have happened if the usual routine of the house hadn’t been upset totally by the arrival of the film unit. Most people had their attention taken up by the shooting, so it became easier for the culprit to do what he wanted.
‘The first among the tragedies was the death of Mr Birupaksha Majumdar, the owner of this house. His death struck me as very mysterious. It seemed obvious to everyone that his bearer, Lokenath, had killed him to steal a valuable statue, and disappeared the same afternoon. But I could not accept this. I am going to explain the reason in a few minutes. Before I do so, I’d like to tell you two things involving the deceased.
‘The first is related to embezzlement of funds. While Mr Majumdar was working as the managing director of the Bengal Bank in Calcutta, a young employee called V. Balaporia vanished with 150,000 rupees. He has not yet been traced.
‘The second incident took place in Neelkanthapur, Madhya Pradesh. The local Raja, Prithvi Singh, invited Mr Majumdar to go on shikar. They wanted to kill a tiger. Mr Majumdar went to the forest with the Raja, and saw something moving behind a bush.
‘Mistaking it for a tiger, he fired his gun and realized that he had actually hit a man, not a tiger. The man was called Sudheer Brahma. He was a professor of history, but his interest in ayurveda had brought him to the forest to look for herbs. He died on the spot. Raja Prithvi Singh went to a lot of trouble to keep this quiet, to save his friend’s reputation.
‘Sudheer Brahma had a sixteen-year-old son called Ramesh. Deeply distressed by his father’s death and the way in which his killer was allowed to get away with it, Ramesh vowed to take revenge. Somehow, when he grew up, he would find the killer and pay him back. I heard this from Mr Majumdar’s neighbour, Harinarayan Mukherjee, who was present in Neelkanthapur at the time and knew the Brahma
s. There is no way to prove this story; but Mr Majumdar himself had hinted to me that there was a scandal in his past that had somehow been kept from the press. It was for this reason that I believed what Mr Mukherjee told me.
‘Allow me now to return to the death of Birupaksha Majumdar. The person who had the best motive and opportunity to kill him was his own son, Samiran. He had lost heavily in the stock market and was in debt. Do you deny this, Mr Majumdar?’
Samiran Majumdar shook his head mutely, staring at the floor. ‘Do you also deny that you stood to gain all your father’s assets if he died?’
Again, Samiran Babu shook his head without looking up.
‘Very well. Let me now examine the way in which he was murdered. Mr Majumdar used to take a sleeping pill with a glass of milk every day after lunch. His bearer Lokenath used to prepare the drink. Two days before his death, he had bought a whole month’s supply. When he died, there should have been twenty-eight pills left. But the bottle containing the pills could not be found. So naturally we all assumed he had been poisoned. Besides, we found a piece of paper with the word “vish” written on it, which removed any lingering doubt. But that wasn’t all. He had also been stabbed. It seemed therefore that his killer had returned a few minutes after Mr Majumdar had drunk his milk, and finished his job with a knife, in case the pills didn’t work.
‘The question that now arose was, what might have been the motive for this gruesome murder? The answer was simple: the statue of Krishna made of ashtadhatu was missing. The killer had clearly run off with it.
‘I had my doubts about this theory, as I’ve said before. Nevertheless, the police were convinced Lokenath was the murderer as well as the thief. Yesterday, we realized how utterly wrong it was to blame Lokenath. My friend and my cousin discovered, purely by accident, Lokenath’s dead body in the pine wood behind this house. He, too, had been stabbed to death. Beside his body lay a broken bottle, and scattered around were the remaining pills. This could only mean that not only was Lokenath innocent, but he had actually tried to save his employer from being poisoned by running away with the whole bottle of pills. Someone killed him on the way. This could only mean one thing: Mr Majumdar’s death was caused by his stab wounds, not by poison.
