Once the vehicle had left the main gates behind and travelled some distance, the doctor said, ‘Byomkeshbabu, I have answered all your questions, but you left my first query unanswered.’
Byomkesh said, ‘Which was …?’
‘Whether the motor-parts mystery is close to being solved.’
Byomkesh said, ‘I’m afraid not. Nothing seems to be within my grasp yet. Have you any opinions about this matter?’
‘I do have an opinion, but I don’t have the courage to voice it. If my assumption is wrong, I will be accused of slander.’
‘Why don’t you tell us about it?’
‘I believe that old fogey, Nepal, is behind this. He is trying to scare Nishanathbabu. That man is as twisted within as he is arrogant on the outside.’
‘But what would he stand to gain by intimidating Nishanathbabu?’
‘Let me explain. Nepalbabu nurtures great hopes of becoming the master of Golap Colony. But why would Nishanathbabu allow that? That is why he has begun a war with Nishanathbabu, what we describe as a “war of nerves”. Nishanathbabu already suffers from high blood pressure. If a nervous disorder brought on a health crisis and eventually paralysis, Nepalbabu could take over.’
‘But Nishanathbabu has a wife and a nephew. How could Nepalbabu take over while they are there?’
‘It seems improbable, but isn’t actually so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mrs Sen is very devoted to Nepalbabu.’
The taunting manner in which the doctor volunteered this bit of information drew a swift response from Byomkesh: ‘Is that so? And is there any special reason for such devotion?’
Bhujangadharbabu smiled his lopsided smile and answered, ‘Byomkeshbabu, you are an intelligent man, and I am not stupid either. So why go in for details? Perhaps my assumption is fundamentally flawed. But since you wanted my opinion, I told you what I felt. It wouldn’t be very prudent of me to say more than I have—well, I’ll make my way back now. Hey, Mushkil, just halt your spacecraft for a moment.’
Byomkesh said, ‘One more question: Is Mukul also part of her father’s conspiracy?’
Dr Bhujangadhar hesitated a bit before replying, ‘I don’t quite know. But Mukul has a stake in it too.’
The van had come to a standstill and the doctor got down. With a tiny smile, he said, ‘Okay then, namaskar. I’m sure we’ll meet again.’
Our van resumed its journey. Byomkesh remained silent.
Dr Bhujangadhar’s behaviour was quite suspicious. He had volunteered a lot of incriminating information about Nepalbabu, but why had he evaded all questions about Mukul and Damayanti Devi? What was his motive in accompanying us this far? Was there any credence to his theory? Nepalbabu was supposedly leaving those motor parts around. Sunayana didn’t seem to be on the farm … Or perhaps she was, and Ramenbabu had failed to recognize her … Was there a connection between the arrival of motor parts on the premises and Sunayana’s flight?
When we reached the station and went in to buy the tickets, we were told that the train had been held up at the previous station. There was no certainty as to when it would arrive. Byomkesh came back and squatted on the footrest of the van, lit a cigarette for himself, handed one to Mushkil Mian and began to chat with him.
‘How long have you been married, Mian?’
Mushkil held the cigarette like a reefer, took a puff on it and said, ‘Which one are you talking about?’
‘You have been married several times, have you?’
‘Not really several, sir; just twice.’
‘When did you last marry?’
‘It’s been about a year and a half now.’
‘Where did you marry her—in your village?’
‘I married her in Calcutta, sir. She is the sister-in-law of Kanpur’s Gaffoor Sheikh—the chap who owns a shoe store in Calcutta.’
‘So you have married into a good family.’
‘That I have. But the problem is, they are all from the western part of the country and understand very little Bengali; with great difficulty have I taught Nazar Jaan the language.’
‘Oh, that’s good. So, your first wife … did she pass away?’
‘Oh, no, God forbid! She was sterile, although she was a good human being. But when I brought the new wife home, the master said I could not live on the farm with both wives. What could I do? I divorced the old one with a talaq.’
At this moment, the train rushed into the platform. We left the highly entertaining discussion with Mushkil Mian unfinished and boarded the train home.
Once on the train, Byomkesh clammed up and stared out of the window absent-mindedly. But Ramenbabu became increasingly cheerful as Calcutta drew closer. The two of us continued having a pleasant chat. Once Sunayana’s name came up, he said, ‘If I had to swear under oath in a court of law, I’d say Sunayana was not on the farm. Yet, I can’t get rid of a niggling doubt …’
‘But how is it possible for Sunayana to live there in disguise? I asked. ‘Could someone go on wearing make-up all day long and day after day?’
Ramenbabu said, ‘I’m not alleging either that she is living there in disguise. She is in her natural state over there. But it could well be possible, couldn’t it, that she had disguised her real self when she went into films and that was the guise in which I had seen her?’
At this point, Byomkesh remarked, ‘A storm is brewing.’
I glanced out of the window curiously. But where was the storm? There wasn’t the trace of a cloud in the sky. Amazed, I turned to Byomkesh and saw that he was sitting there with his eyes shut. ‘Are you dreaming of storms?’ I asked.
He opened his eyes and said, ‘That is not the kind of storm I’m referring to—there is one brewing in Golap Colony. A lot of pressure has built up and something is about to happen.’
‘What will happen?’
‘If I knew that, I would be able to prevent it.’ He shut his eyes once more.
When we arrived at Sealdah station, the street lights had come on. Before we took leave of Ramenbabu, Byomkesh said, ‘I shall trouble you a little further. Could you get hold of two photographs of Sunayana—one as Kamalmoni, the other as Shyama, the maid?’
Ramenbabu said, ‘You shall have them tomorrow.’
10
The following morning, after reading the newspapers, Byomkesh carefully folded his section of it and observed, ‘Yesterday, we saw four women. Of the four, who would you say is the most beautiful?’
It was not like Byomkesh to discuss the beauty of women. But perhaps he had a reason for it. So I replied, ‘Damayanti Devi would qualify as the most beautiful …’
‘But …’
Startled, I asked, ‘But what?’
‘A doubt lingers in your mind.’ Suddenly, Byomkesh pointed a finger at me and said, ‘Who did you see in your dreams last night?’
Now I was truly uncomfortable. ‘Dreams!’ I exclaimed. ‘Well, no …’
‘Don’t lie to me. Who was it?’
I had no choice but to confess. Although dreams were beyond the control exercised by the human mind, I replied shamefacedly, ‘Bonolokhhi.’
‘What was the dream about?’
‘I saw her beckoning to me and smiling. But there was something odd about her—it was as if her teeth were not her own. As far as I remember, her teeth are regular and well set. But in my dream, her teeth were sort of crooked …’
Byomkesh stared at me in amazement and said, ‘So your dream was about teeth too, was it?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Did you have a dream as well? About whom?’
He laughed and said, ‘Satyaboti. But her teeth weren’t like her own; they were different. I asked her, “Why are your teeth that way?” Satyaboti laughed out loud and all her teeth fell out.’
I too laughed out loud at this and said, ‘These things belong to the domain of psychology. Let’s go and find Girindra Shekhar Basu. Perhaps he will be able to decipher the language of dreams.’
At this moment,
there was a knock on the door.
Byomkesh answered it. It was Bijoy. He came in, licked his lips and stated, ‘I am Nishanathbabu’s nephew …’
‘There is no need for an introduction, Bijoybabu,’ Byomkesh reassured him. ‘We met yesterday. So, what’s new?’
Bijoy replied, ‘Kaka has sent a letter. He asked me to deliver it to you.’
He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Byomkesh. From the way he was behaving, it seemed as if he was somewhat agitated. He wiped the sweat off his neck with a handkerchief, parted his lips as if on the verge of saying something, then prepared to leave without saying it. Byomkesh tucked the letter away in his pocket and invited him in, ‘Please have a seat.’
Bijoy stood there, undecided for a few moments. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down. Smiling sheepishly, he said, ‘Yesterday, I had noticed you too, but we were not introduced at the time …’
‘So how did you find out who we were?’
‘I came to know last evening, after I returned to the farm. Had Kaka summoned you to take on an assignment?’
Byomkesh asked with a fleeting smile, ‘Why didn’t you ask your Kaka this question?’
Bijoy’s face grew heated. He answered, ‘Kaka doesn’t tell us everything. But he was concerned about those motor parts being left around and perhaps that is why …’
‘What is your opinion about the motor parts?’
‘I feel it is just a practical joke. There’s a village about a mile or so away and the children from there often come down to play in the junkyard. I believe they are the ones who’ve been coming and leaving car parts in the farm just for a lark.’
‘Hmm, fine,’ Byomkesh said, ‘let’s put that aside for now. How is Professor Nepal Gupta?’
Bijoy’s brows knotted together in a frown. He said, ‘Yesterday, when I returned home, I came to know that Nepalbabu had insulted Kaka. And he had put up with it too; had I been there …’
‘Is Nepalbabu still on the farm?’
Glumly, Bijoy replied, ‘He is. Mukul came over and begged and pleaded with Kakima. She has a tender heart and is easily swayed. She pleaded with Kaka on their behalf. He cannot deny Kakima anything …’
‘So, Nepalbabu is going to stay. He’s not a very nice man. Perhaps, it would have been better if he’d left. Tell me something, what kind of a person is his daughter?’
Bijoy seemed to flounder. He looked at Byomkesh wide-eyed and hastily replied, ‘Mukul! She’s not like her father—she’s all right—but—right then, I’ll be off. It’s quite late already and I have to go to the stall. Namaskar.’
After Bijoy beat a hasty retreat, Byomkesh continued to stare at the door with raised eyebrows. Then he returned to the charpoy and sat down. He said musingly, ‘Bijoy probably doesn’t know about Sunayana, but why did he take to his heels at the mention of Mukul?’
‘Yesterday Dr Bhujangadhar too was hesitant about divulging any information about Mukul,’ I told him.
‘Hmm. Now let us see what Nishanathbabu has to say. But why has he written a note? He could as easily have telephoned.’
As he tore open the envelope and began to read it, Byomkesh’s expression grew puzzled and he said, ‘Oh … so this is why a letter had to be sent.’
I asked, ‘What has Nishanathbabu written?’
‘Read it,’ he said and handed the note to me.
It was written in English. Just a few lines …
Dear Byomkeshbabu,
There is no further need to proceed on the assignment for which I had enlisted your services. I hope the remuneration I have already paid for your assistance will suffice. Thanking you,
Yours sincerely,
Nishanath Sen
I looked up from my perusal of the letter and asked dejectedly, ‘Why did Nishanathbabu change his mind?’
Byomkesh said, ‘He avoided calling me, just in case I asked him the same question. He preferred dealing with the matter through a note.’
‘But why?’
‘Maybe, he was apprehensive about more information being unearthed by an investigation than he had bargained for. Nishanathbabu has a skeleton in the cupboard. Didn’t you hear how Nepal Gupta, in the heat of the moment, shouted, “Shall I let the cat out of the bag?”’
‘So Nepalbabu knows about his skeleton?’
‘Apparently so. And he is probably blackmailing him too with threats of letting the cat out of the bag.’
‘But yesterday Nishanathbabu was quite confident in his assertion that nobody was blackmailing him.’
‘Hmm …’ Byomkesh lit a cigarette and seemed lost in thought as he puffed on it.
The morning passed in a state of despondency. We had just got our hands on a strange mystery; a dramatic layout of the emotional interactions among a group of exceptional people had been gradually assuming shape before our eyes, when suddenly, even before the first act of the play could come to a close, someone threw us out of the auditorium as it were.
That evening, following my post-lunch siesta, I found Byomkesh, alone, deeply engrossed in writing something. I peeped over his shoulder and saw that he was jotting down something in tiny script in a small diary. ‘What is it you’re so busy writing?’ I asked him.
He finished what he was doing and looked up. ‘I have written a brief introduction to the traits characterizing the cast at Golap Colony. Very brief descriptions, of course, thumbnail sketches, as it were.’
Taken aback, I asked, ‘But haven’t your ties with Golap Colony been severed? What is the use of drawing thumbnail portraits now?’
Byomkesh said, ‘No use at all, just an impersonal curiosity. Now pay attention, please. If you have anything to say, wait until I finish.’
He picked up the notebook and began to read aloud:
‘Nishanath Sen: Age fifty-seven. Had been a judge in the state of Bombay; but quit and started a rose farm in the suburbs of Calcutta. A reserved man. Has a skeleton in the cupboard. Wishes to find out about a certain film actress called Sunayana. Recently, someone has been sending him broken motor parts (why?).
‘Damayanti Sen: Around thirty. Still rather attractive. Possibly Nishanathbabu’s second wife. A truly efficient housewife. Handles the entire finances and accounts of the farm. Her demeanour and the way she conducts herself command respect. Around two years ago, was travelling to Calcutta regularly for further studies.
‘Bijoy: Age twenty-six or twenty-seven. Nishanathbabu’s nephew and ward. In charge of the flower shop. Has been sitting on the accounts for a few days now. Has an emotional and nervous disposition. Loves his uncle and probably his aunt too. Cannot stand Nepalbabu. There is a knot of confusion in his mind regarding Mukul—hint of some secret enigma there.
‘Panugopal: Age around twenty-four or twenty-five. Ear and vocal chords impaired. Illiterate. Extremely loyal to Nishanath. Personality: No distinctive traits.
‘Nepal Gupta: Around fifty-six or fifty-seven. Scheming and foul-mouthed. An extraordinarily inflated ego. Used to be a professor of chemistry. Still conducts experiments, but the results are quite the opposite of what is intended. Is envious of Nishanath. Perhaps aware of a skeleton in the latter’s closet. Damayanti Devi quite devoted to him (out of fear?).
‘Mukul: Between nineteen and twenty years old. Beautiful, but her voice doesn’t sound natural. Used to making up her face with powder and rouge. Although resentful of the present situation, not a schemer like her father. Living on the farm with her father for nearly two years now.
‘Brojodas: About sixty. Used to be a clerk in Nishanath’s office. The latter sent him to jail for theft. Since leaving prison, has taken refuge on the farm. Apparently, always speaks the truth now. Appears to be a shrewd character.
‘Bhujangadhar Das: Around thirty-nine or forty. Exceptionally intelligent. His innate good humour remains intact despite decline in his fortunes. Flawed moral character and quite devoid of any sense of guilt, though caught in an immoral act. Nurses a powerful grudge against Bonolokhhi (why?). A skil
ful sitar player. Living on the farm for the past four years.
‘Bonolokhhi: Around twenty-two or twenty-three. Young and serene. Has sex appeal (Ajit dreamt about her) and a kind of earthy charm, but doesn’t seem to be promiscuous. Not restless. Or even outgoing. Skilled in her work. Bijoy brought her to the farm around a year and a half ago.
‘Mushkil Mian: Fifty. A drug-addict (probably opium), but has his wits about him. Keeps tabs on all activities on the farm. Believes that Nishanathbabu’s shops in Calcutta are being systematically defrauded. A year and a half ago, brought home a new wife and divorced the old wife.
‘Nazar Bibi: Around twenty. Grew up in western India. Didn’t know Bengali earlier, but has picked up the language after her marriage. Seems to come from a respectable background. Has lost her shyness with farm residents, but covers her head with her sari in the presence of visitors.
‘Rashik De: Thirty-five. Quite discontented with his present situation. Suggestion of trouble brewing between Nishanath and him in connection with the shop’s accounts. A sickly appearance. Personality traits? None to speak of. (Dark horse?).’
Byomkesh shut the diary and asked, ‘Well, what do you think of it?’
Since he had pulled my leg about Bonolokhhi, I couldn’t help returning the compliment. ‘It’s fine. But one fact has been overlooked. About Nepalbabu being an excellent chess player.’
Byomkesh sized me up and laughed, ‘Touché! We’re quits now.’
That evening, Ramenbabu’s peon came over and handed us an envelope containing two photographs. We examined them with keen interest. Kamalmoni was truly Bankim Chandra’s Kamalmoni, exuding sweetness and grace. And Shyama, the maid, was, again, a really authentic portrayal. There wasn’t a trace of similarity between the two countenances. Nor did they bear the slightest resemblance to any of the women we had seen in Golap Colony.
11
The following morning we woke to the jangling sound of the ringing telephone.
Those of you who are familiar with the instrument, probably know that the ‘r-rring … r-rring’ of the phone sometimes acts as a harbinger of ill tidings. As if the unarticulated feelings of the caller were being transmitted through the wires.
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 6
