The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II

by Satyajit Ray

  Feluda stopped. Every eye was fixed on him. The noise from the river was the only sound that could be heard.

  ‘There is someone in this room I’ve already spoken to. But I’d like to ask him some more questions,’ Feluda went on. ‘Mr Sarkar!’

  Mr Sarkar moved in his chair.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘When did you arrive in Srinagar?’

  ‘I arrived with you, by the same flight.’

  ‘There is an “S” engraved on your ring. What does it stand for?’

  ‘My surname, of course—Sarkar.’

  ‘But Mr Sarkar, I have checked with Indian Airlines. On that flight from Delhi, there was no Sarkar on the list of passengers. There was a Sen, two Senguptas, one Singh and one Sapru.’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’

  ‘But what, Mr Sarkar? Why did you feel you had to change your name? Do tell us.’ Mr Sarkar remained silent.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I think?’ Feluda asked. ‘I think you are Manohar Sapru’s son. The same Sapru who had been sentenced to death by Mr Mallik. You look very much like a Kashmiri. Meeting Mr Mallik was an accident, but the minute you recognized him, you decided to change your name and befriended Mr Mallik’s son. This gave you the chance to move together with his group, and look for a suitable opportunity to strike. That opportunity came in Pahalgam.’

  ‘But how can you say that? This crime was committed by a left-handed man!’

  ‘Mr Sapru, don’t forget I have seen you deal cards. It may have escaped everyone’s attention, but I saw you use your left hand.’

  Mr Sarkar—I mean Sapru—suddenly lost his temper.

  ‘All right, I stabbed him!’ he cried. ‘I don’t regret that for a minute. He was responsible for my father’s death. My father wasn’t guilty, but he was hanged because Mallik said so. I was only fifteen at the time. But. . . wait a minute!’ Sapru seemed to remember something. ‘I did not steal his ring. I only killed him!’ he added.

  ‘That’s right,’ Feluda replied. ‘You did not remove the ring. Someone else did that.’

  There was complete silence in the room once more. Feluda’s eyes moved away from Sapru. ‘Vijay Mallik! You have been losing heavily at cards, haven’t you? I have made enquiries in Calcutta. I’ve got various sources of information, I even have friends in the police. You are up to your neck in debt, aren’t you?’

  Vijay did not answer.

  ‘You were probably uncertain as to whether your father had left you anything in his will. So you hit him in order to snatch the ring from his finger.’

  ‘Hit him? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that your father was attacked by two different people. One was Sapru, the other was you. He died from his stab wounds—there is medical evidence to prove that. So Sapru is his real killer. But you were taking no chances, so you crushed his head with a heavy object. It is for the court to decide whether you should be tried for theft or murder, but certainly you are both going to be arrested.’

  There was nothing more to be said. Inspector Singh and his men took the culprits away, and we returned to our tent.

  ‘One thing still bothers me, Felu Babu,’ said Lalmohan Babu on our return, ‘and you didn’t shed any light on this matter. Who attacked you, not once but twice?’

  ‘I didn’t shed any light, Mr Ganguli, because I was not sure about the answer. It was undoubtedly one of the three culprits—most probably it was Prayag. He had the opportunity each time. He could slip out unseen. It doesn’t seem likely that either Vijay Mallik or Sapru would have left their group to follow me. Anyway, that is now irrelevant. It did not affect the main investigation. Take it as a failure on my part.’

  ‘Oh? But that’s good news, Felu Babu. It is very reassuring to know that even a super sleuth like you can fail or make mistakes sometimes.’

  ‘Are you trying to be modest, Lalmohan Babu? There’s no need. A super sleuth I might be, but I could never write like you, not in a million years.’

  ‘Thanks for the jibe!’

  Shakuntala’s Necklace

  One

  ‘Look,’ said Lalmohan Babu, ‘I have been with you since your visit to Jaisalmer and the golden fortress there, but before that you had been to Lucknow and Gangtok, hadn’t you? I didn’t know you then, so I have not had the chance to see these two places. I am particularly interested in Lucknow. It’s got so much history. Why don’t we go back there in the Puja holidays this year?’

  The idea appealed to both of us. Feluda loved Lucknow. I was quite young the last time we had been there, when Feluda had solved the mystery of the stolen diamond ring that had once belonged to Aurangzeb. If we went back to Lucknow, I knew I’d enjoy seeing it more than I had done the last time.

  It didn’t take Feluda long to make up his mind. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I must admit any mention of Lucknow makes me feel quite excited. It’s a beautiful place. How many cities in the country have a river flowing through it, tell me? Besides, it still hasn’t lost the old Mughal atmosphere. You can find signs of life from the time of the nawabs, and of course the mutiny of 1857. You’re right, Lalmohan Babu. I had been wondering where we might go this year. Let’s go back to Lucknow.’

  Feluda was earning pretty well these days. He was easily the best known among all the private investigators in Calcutta. He usually got seven or eight cases every month, and he charged two thousand for each. Even so, it wasn’t possible to get anywhere near Lalmohan Babu. He had once told us that his annual income was in excess of three hundred thousand. He published two new books every year, and each ran into several editions.

  We completed all the arrangements without further ado. Feluda bought three first-class tickets on the Doon Express. It would leave Howrah at 9 p.m., reaching Lucknow at half past six in the morning. He also made our hotel bookings at the Clarks Avadh.

  ‘We couldn’t really enjoy ourselves if we didn’t stay somewhere comfortable,’ he said.

  ‘What’s Avadh?’ Lalmohan Babu wanted to know.

  ‘Avadh is the Urdu name for Ayodhya.’

  ‘You mean Lucknow is in Ayodhya?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Didn’t you know that? The name “Lucknow” has come from “Laxman”.’

  ‘Laxman? You mean, as in the Ramayana?’

  ‘Right. Clarks Avadh is the best hotel in Lucknow. The river Gomti flows by it.’

  ‘Lovely. Avadh-on-the-Gomti, one might call it. Is it going to be cold?’

  ‘Take a woollen pullover. The evenings may well be cool. Or a warm waistcoat will do, depending on whether you wish to wear western clothes, or dress as a traditional Indian.’

  ‘I think I’ll take both.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘A lot of Bengalis live in Lucknow, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes. Some families have been there for several generations. There’s a Bengali Club where they have Durga Puja every year. Who knows, you may even find people who have read your books!’

  ‘You think so? Should I take a few copies of my latest, Shaken in Shanghai?’

  ‘Take a dozen. Why stop at only a few?’

  We left on the fifth of October, which was a Saturday. The station was absolutely packed. We were shown into our compartment by a railway official who happened to recognize Feluda. We had been given a lower and two upper berths in a four-berth section. We thanked the official and took our places. The fourth berth was already occupied by a middle-aged man, sporting a thin moustache. He moved aside to make room for us. We didn’t have much luggage. Feluda and I had packed our clothes in one suitcase, and Lalmohan Babu had brought his famous red leather case. A friend of his had brought it specially for him, all the way from Japan.

  ‘How far are you going?’ asked our fellow traveller when we were all seated.

  ‘Lucknow,’ Lalmohan Babu replied. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I am also going to Lucknow. That’s where I live. My family has been settled in Lucknow for years—we go back three generations. Are you on holiday?’

&
nbsp; ‘Yes.’

  Feluda spoke this time: ‘I can see three letters on your suitcase: H J B. These are rather unusual initials. Would you mind if I asked your name?’

  ‘Not at all. My name is Jayant Biswas. The “H” stands for Hector. I am a Christian. Everyone in my family has a Christian name.’

  ‘Thank you. Please allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Pradosh Mitter, this is my cousin Tapesh and that’s my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you. You may have heard of my mother-in-law. She used to be an actress in silent films, and was quite well known.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Shakuntala Devi.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed. ‘She was a major star in her time. One of my neighbours has old issues of the Bioscope magazine. He used to be a regular film buff in his youth. I’ve seen Shakuntala Devi’s pictures in those old magazines, and read articles on her. She wasn’t a Bengali, was she?’

  ‘No, she was an Anglo-Indian. Her real name was Virginia Reynolds. Her father, Thomas Reynolds, was in the army. He could speak fluent Urdu. He married a Muslim singer. Virginia was their daughter.’

  ‘Highly interesting,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked, ‘but she didn’t work in a single talkie, did she?’

  ‘No. She married a Bengali Christian before talkies began to be made in India. Then, when she was expecting her first child, she retired from films. Her first two children were girls, the third was a boy. I married her second daughter in 1960. My wife’s sister married a Goan. Their brother has remained a bachelor.’

  Feluda spoke again: ‘Didn’t a maharaja give Shakuntala Devi a valuable necklace at one time?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It was the Maharaja of Mysore. He was so moved by Shakuntala’s acting that he gave her that necklace. Even in those days, it was worth a hundred thousand rupees. But how did you learn about it? Shakuntala stopped acting before you were born.’

  ‘True. But I read a report about it fifteen years ago. This necklace was stolen and then recovered by the police, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Right. Shakuntala was alive at the time. She died only three years ago, at the age of seventy-eight. There were stories about the necklace even after her death. But how did you manage to remember something you had read fifteen years ago? You must have a very sharp memory.’

  ‘I have always been interested in news on crime. And yes, I can usually recall things I’ve read. Perhaps I should tell you the whole truth. You see, my profession is related to crime and criminals.’

  Feluda took out one of his cards and offered it to Jayant Biswas. He took it, raising his eyebrows. ‘A private investigator! Oh, I see. That’s why your name sounded familiar. You have a pet name, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I am called Felu.’

  ‘That’s right. Feluda. My daughter’s an ardent admirer of yours. She has read all your stories. I am very glad to have met you.’

  Feluda now turned to Lalmohan Babu. ‘I don’t know if his name has reached Lucknow,’ he said, ‘but he is a very well-known writer in Bengal. He writes under the pseudonym of Jatayu.’

  ‘Really? Who knew I’d get to meet two famous personalities tonight in the same compartment? Where will you be staying in Lucknow?’

  ‘The Clarks Avadh.’

  ‘I see. I live on the other side of the river, in Badshah Bagh. I will contact you in Lucknow. All of you must come and have a meal with us. My wife is a great cook, and Mughlai food is her speciality. And of course my daughter’s going to be thrilled to meet her hero.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Feluda. ‘We’d be very glad to come. Perhaps we can see that famous necklace?’

  ‘Oh sure. That’s not a problem at all, since it’s with me. I mean, my wife has got it.’

  ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Surely it should have been given to Shakuntala’s elder daughter? Didn’t you say you had married the younger one?’

  ‘Yes. The reason is quite simple. Virginia—I mean Shakuntala—was deeply fond of my wife, Suneela. Suneela is extremely talented. A gifted actress, she might have gone into films and become a famous star like her mother. But she chose to be a simple housewife instead.’

  ‘Suneela? Doesn’t she have a Christian name?’

  ‘Yes. Her full name is Pamela Suneela.’

  Two

  I went to sleep at ten o’clock and woke at half past six. Breakfast was served when we reached Buxar. We were supposed to reach Mughalsarai at a quarter to nine. Lunch would be served at twelve-thirty, our bearer told us. By that time we should have reached Pratapgarh.

  Mr Biswas turned out to be an early riser. After breakfast, he said, ‘Someone I know is travelling in the next compartment. Let me go and say hello to him.’

  Lalmohan Babu, I noticed, had had a shave and was looking quite fresh. He was currently using imported razors. A friend had brought him twenty from Kathmandu. Each lasted three or four shaves, then had to be discarded.

  ‘What will you do when you run out of these?’ Feluda asked him. ‘Go back to ordinary Indian blades?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu grinned. ‘I rather like to indulge myself when if comes to shaving. I buy Wilkinson blades from New Market.’

  ‘But that’s really expensive.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t have any other expenses to handle, do I? I live alone, so I like to spend my money on myself.’

  ‘We contribute quite a lot to your expenses, Lalmohan Babu. Just think how often we use your car?’

  ‘Heh, that’s hardly a problem. We are the Three Musketeers, remember? How can one of them travel in his own car, leaving the others to look for taxis? I never heard anything so ridiculous.’

  Feluda lit a Charminar and went into the corridor for a walk. He returned in five minutes and said, ‘I found Mr Biswas and another man deep in conversation in coupe number one. He appeared to be an Anglo-Indian, although his complexion wasn’t all that fair.’

  ‘Did you hear what they were saying?’ Lalmohan Babu asked curiously.

  ‘I only heard what this other man was saying. He said, “I can give you just three days.” That was all.’

  ‘Did it sound like a threat?’

  ‘Difficult to say. One has to raise one’s voice so often in a moving train. Perfectly harmless words may sound like a threat.’

  A little later, Mr Biswas came back with the man he had been speaking to. ‘I thought you might like to meet Mr Sukius,’ he said to Feluda. ‘He’s a well-known businessman of Lucknow; and a connoisseur of art.’

  ‘I hope we will meet again in Lucknow. Mr Biswas and I are old friends,’ Mr Sukius said, shaking hands with Feluda. He left soon after we had been introduced to him.

  Feluda turned to Mr Biswas as he returned to his seat. ‘You told us your mother-in-law’s real name was Virginia Reynolds,’ he said. ‘Do you know anything about the history of their family? How long have they been in India?’

  ‘Virginia’s grandfather, John Reynolds, came to India in 1827. He was nineteen at the time. He joined the Bengal regiment. During the mutiny of 1857, he was posted in Lucknow. He fought bravely for a long time, but was eventually killed. His son Thomas was also in the Bengal regiment and, like his father, was posted to Lucknow after a while. He decided to settle there. He learnt to speak Urdu, began to smoke a hookah, take paan and use attar. Since he was fond of music and dancing, he got professional singers and dancers to perform regularly in his house. Sometimes he even dressed in Indian clothes. In other words, his lifestyle was no different from that of a nawab in Lucknow. People called him “Thomas Bahadur”. In the end, he fell in love with a kathak dancer called Farida Begum and married her. They had two sons, Edward and Charles. Neither went into the army. Edward became a lawyer and Charles went to manage a tea estate in Assam. He never returned to Lucknow. Thomas and Farida’s third child was Virginia. She was born with her father’s pale skin, but her mother’s dark hair and eyes. When she began acting in films, she looked beautiful, and not unsuitable
in the role of an Indian woman. She spoke both Urdu and English.

  ‘As I told you before, she married a Bengali Christian. He was called Percival Motilal Banerjee. He was, in fact, the producer of Shakuntala’s films. It was he who got Virginia to join films and change her name to Shakuntala. He made a lot of money from films. Virginia’s father, Thomas Reynolds, had virtually no savings. He might have died a pauper, but Virginia stepped in and took care of her old father.

  ‘Percival and Virginia had two daughters and a son. The eldest is called Margaret Susheela. She is married, as I told you, to a Goan called Saldanha. He owns a shop selling musical instruments.

  ‘I married their second daughter, Pamela Suneela, in 1960. I am in the business of imports and exports. I’ve told you about my daughter. I have also got a son. Victor Prasenjit. My daughter’s called Mary Sheela. I tried to get my son to join me, but he wasn’t interested in running a business. He usually does what he likes. Sheela finished college two years ago. She is quite a gifted actress, but her main interest is in journalism. She’s started writing for various publications. I’ve read her articles. They’re really good.’

  Mr Biswas stopped and lit a cigarette, having offered one to Feluda.

  ‘Interesting,’ Feluda said briefly.

  ‘Highly romantic!’ Lalmohan Babu declared. ‘Tell me, has your wife ever worn that necklace?’

  ‘Yes, she’s worn it to a few parties. But usually it stays locked in a chest. You’ll see how valuable it is when I show it to you.’

  ‘I can’t wait!’ Lalmohan Babu cried.

  ‘You’ll have to be patient, Mr Ganguli, for just another four days,’ Mr Biswas told him.

  Three

  We had been in Lucknow for the last three days. My mind kept going back to our first visit—Emperor Aurangzeb’s diamond ring, Dr Srivastava, Bonobihari Babu’s amazing zoo, Haridwar and, finally, our spine-chilling adventure on the way to Laxmanjhoola.