The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I Page 9

  Feluda, however, had not lost his enthusiasm. ‘You’ll see how interesting it is to go from Haridwar to Hrishikesh and then to Laxmanjhoola. The river is different in each place. The further north you go, the stronger it gets. In Laxmanjhoola, it gushes with such powerful turbulence that it’s practically impossible to have a conversation by its side.’

  ‘Have you been to all these places?’

  ‘Yes, I went to all three after my last visit to Lucknow.’

  Dhiru Kaka himself drove us to the station. Almost as soon as we had moved into our coach with our baggage, Dr Srivastava turned up. Nice of him to have come to see us off. But no, a coolie was carrying his suitcase! We stared at him. ‘I had asked Dhiru Babu not to tell,’ Dr Srivastava laughed, as the coolie put the suitcase down. ‘He knew I wanted to go with you. Gave you a surprise, didn’t I?’

  Baba seemed very pleased.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to come away, or I’d have asked you myself.’

  Srivastava dusted one corner of a seat and sat down. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I’ve tried not to show it, but I have been upset by the loss of Pyarelal’s gift. So I thought, getting away from it all might do me some good.’

  Bonobihari Babu arrived within five minutes, with rather a lot of luggage. He greeted everyone with a smile and said, ‘Stand by now for a spectacular event. Pavitrananda Swami is travelling in this train. His followers are coming to bid him farewell. Witness their devotion!’

  A plump, saffron-clad figure arrived a little later, long hair flowing down his shoulders. He was accompanied by dozens of people with garlands in their hands. He got into the first-class coach next to ours. A few others crowded round the doorway. Presumably, all these were his devotees.

  There were just five minutes left before the train’s departure. We had all climbed into our own carriage. Dhiru Kaka was standing on the platform, chatting with Baba through an open window, when one of the men in saffron detached himself from the group and came walking towards Dhiru Kaka, a big smile on his face, his arm outstretched.

  ‘Dhiru? Do you remember me?’

  Dhiru Kaka stared dumbly for a few seconds, then with a shout of joy strode forward and nearly hugged the other man.

  ‘Ambika! Is it really you? Goodness—why are you wearing these clothes?’

  ‘Why, I’ve been in saffron now for seven years!’

  Dhiru Kaka introduced him.

  ‘Ambika and I were classmates in school. We last met each other about fifteen years ago.’

  The guard blew his whistle. The wheels creaked into motion and we heard Ambika Babu tell his friend, ‘I went to your house the other day. You weren’t in, so I waited for nearly half-an-hour. Didn’t your bearer tell you?’

  We couldn’t hear what Dhiru Kaka said in reply, for the train had gathered speed.

  Amazed, I looked first at Feluda, and then at Baba. Feluda’s brows were knitted in a deep frown.

  ‘Very strange!’ Baba said.

  ‘Had you been suspecting that gentleman of having stolen the ring?’ asked Bonobihari Babu.

  ‘Yes, but obviously that must now be ruled out. But then who took the ring? Where did it go?’

  The train clanked out of the platform. I stared with unseeing eyes at the minarets on top of the station. They were beautiful, but I was in no mood to admire them. All my thoughts were confused. What was Feluda thinking? Was he feeling a little embarrassed? After all, he had run all the way to the station to trace the sadhubaba.

  But if the man we just saw talking with Dhiru Kaka was a perfectly genuine sannyasi, who was that other man with an attaché case? Had he been loitering outside Dhiru Kaka’s house the same evening? If so, was it because he knew about the ring, or was there a different reason? And who had thrown that piece of paper at Feluda with ‘Watch Out!’ written on it?

  Was Feluda asking himself the same questions? I looked at him again and found him deeply engrossed in reading his blue notebook with the Greek scribbles and, occasionally, making further notes.

  Bonobihari Babu suddenly turned to Dr Srivastava and asked, ‘Tell me, Doctor, were you the last person to see Pyarelal alive?’

  Dr Srivastava was in the process of taking out oranges from a bag. ‘Yes,’ he replied, offering them to everyone, ‘I was certainly by his bedside when he died. So were his widowed sister, his bearer and another servant.’

  ‘Hm,’ Bonobihari Babu said gravely. ‘Were you informed after he suffered the attack?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you treat ailments of the heart as well?’

  ‘There is no reason why an osteopath cannot look at a heart patient, if need be. Besides, his own doctor—Dr Graham—was out of town that day. So they called me.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘His bearer.’

  ‘Bearer?’ Bonobihari Babu raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes. Pritam Singh. He’s been with the family for years. A very sensible and trustworthy man.’

  Bonobihari Babu took the pipe out of his mouth and popped a piece of orange into it.

  ‘You told us Pyarelal gave you that ring after his first attack. When he had his second, you were called, but he died.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Was anyone else present in the room when you were given that ring?’

  ‘How could that be, Bonobihari Babu? One doesn’t give away precious and valuable things in front of an audience. Besides, you know what kind of a man Pyarelal was. He would never have wanted to publicize a noble deed. Do you know how many charities he supported secretly? He donated very heavily to hospitals and orphanages, yet it was never reported in the press. He wouldn’t allow it!’

  ‘Hm.’

  Srivastava stared at Bonobihari Babu.

  ‘Do you have . . . reservations about what I’ve just said?’ he asked. ‘The thing is, you see,’ said Bonobihari Babu, ‘I do think it would’ve been sensible if you had got someone to witness the event. Such a valuable object changed hands, and yet no one can testify . . .’

  Srivastava was still staring, speechless. Then he burst out laughing.

  ‘Tremendous!’ he exclaimed. ‘This really takes the cake. What you’re implying is that I stole the ring from Pyarelal, then I gave it to Dhiru Babu, and then I went along and stole in back! Wonderful!’

  The expression on Bonobihari Babu’s face did not change. ‘You acted sensibly,’ he said coolly, ‘I would’ve done the same. You took the ring over to Dhiru Babu to keep it safe from the burglar who had broken into your house. Then you took it back and thought the burglars wouldn’t attack your house again. Tell me, Felu Babu, I am not too bad at detection, am I?’

  Feluda shut his notebook and began peeling an orange.

  ‘Surely,’ he asked, ‘there are plenty of witnesses to testify that Dr Srivastava did indeed save Mahabir’s life?’

  ‘Yes, there probably are,’ Bonobihari Babu had to admit.

  ‘In that case, it is my belief that no matter how valuable that ring was, its value could not have been more than that of a child’s life. If Dr Srivastava did steal that ring, he is certainly an offender. But those who are now after it are real criminals; and dangerous ones, at that.’

  ‘I see,’ Bonobihari Babu said gravely, ‘you don’t believe that Srivastava has still got the ring, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t, because I have evidence to the contrary.’

  Everyone in the coach was silent. I stared at Feluda. Bonobihari Babu was the first to speak.

  ‘May I ask what evidence it is?’

  ‘Yes, you certainly may, but you won’t get an answer, for the right time to discuss it hasn’t yet come.’

  I had never heard Feluda speak with such authority. Bonobihari Babu spoke again, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, ‘Let’s hope I live to see the day!’

  ‘It shouldn’t take long,’ Feluda said. ‘There is only that matter of the spy to be cleared up.’

  ‘Spy?’ asked Bonob
ihari Babu, surprised. ‘What spy?’

  Dr Srivastava spoke this time.

  ‘I think Felu Babu is referring to Pyarelal’s last words. Just before he died, he did say the word “spy”. In fact, he said it twice.’

  Bonobihari Babu’s frown went deeper.

  ‘Strange! A spy in Lucknow?’ Then, pipe in hand, he stared at the floor. ‘Yes, it could be . . . I did suspect . . .’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, never mind. I may be wrong.’

  Clearly he did not wish to talk about it. In any case, we had reached Hardoi, so our conversation came to a halt.

  ‘A cup of tea might be a good idea,’ said Feluda and went down on to the platform. I joined him for I couldn’t see the point in sitting inside a train when it was standing at a station.

  Just as I climbed down from our coach, another man in saffron clothes turned up from somewhere and got in.

  ‘This is reserved,’ said Bonobihari Babu quickly, ‘there’s no room.’

  ‘Please, sir,’ pleaded the man, ‘allow me to travel up to Bareilly. Then I’ll go elsewhere. I won’t disturb you at night.’

  Rather reluctantly, Bonobihari Babu made room for him to sit. ‘These sannyasis will drive me mad,’ said Feluda, waving at the chaiwalla.

  The man with the tea came running. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  Feluda asked the others, but they all declined.

  I was soon handed an earthen pot, filled with hot, steaming tea. I shifted it from one hand to the other, waiting for it to cool, and said, ‘If Dr Srivastava turns out to be the thief, I shall be very upset.’

  ‘Why?’ Feluda asked, casually sipping the hot tea.

  ‘Because I like him—he seems such a nice man!’

  ‘You’re a fathead! Haven’t you read whodunits? The person who appears to be the least suspicious always turns out to be the culprit.’

  ‘But this is not a story.’

  ‘So what? Don’t writers base their stories on what they see in real life?’

  This annoyed me very much.

  ‘In that case,’ I asked, ‘when Dr Srivastava came to our house with the ring, who was watching him from the gate and smoking a Charminar?’

  ‘That might have been the burglar—or his accomplice.’

  ‘You mean to say, Srivastava is a criminal and so are the burglars, which would make everyone a villain because Ganesh Guha said Bonobihari Babu wasn’t simple, either!’

  Feluda took another sip. But before he could reply, another screwed up piece of paper came flying, hit him on the forehead and fell into his earthen pot.

  Feluda retrieved it instantly, scanned it and glanced at the crowd on the platform. Then we heard the guard’s whistle. There was no time now to look for the person who threw it.

  Before getting back to our compartment, Feluda looked once more at what was written on the paper and showed it to me before screwing it up again and throwing it away on the track.

  It said: ‘Watch Out!’ and the words were written with the same red juice of a paan.

  The thrilling and mysterious affair of the Emperor’s ring had not been left behind in Lucknow at all. It was travelling with us.

  Eight

  It was getting dark. The lights in the train had just come on. We were speeding on our way to Bareilly.

  There were seven people in all. Feluda and I had one berth, Baba and Srivastava had another and on the third sat Bonobihari Babu and the sannyasi. Bonobihari Babu had placed a large trunk and a wooden packing crate on the bunk over the berth Baba and Srivastava were sharing. A stranger was sleeping in the berth over mine. He was all wrapped up in a sheet. All I could see were his toes. He had not stirred since we left Lucknow.

  I looked around. Bonobihari Babu was sitting crosslegged, smoking his pipe, Srivastava was reading the Gitanjali, and Baba looked as though he was trying very hard to keep awake. He kept rubbing his eyes as he tried to sit up straight.

  The sannyasi didn’t seem interested in us at all. He was turning the pages of a Hindi newspaper. Feluda was singing a song in Urdu, tapping his feet to the rhythm of the wheels:

  Jab chhor chaley Lucknow nagari

  Kahen haal ke hum par kya guzri.

  He hummed the rest of it. I could tell he didn’t know the words beyond the first two lines.

  Bonobihari Babu spoke unexpectedly.

  ‘How do you happen to know this song of Wajid Ali Shah?’

  ‘An uncle of mine used to sing it,’ Feluda replied. ‘He was a very talented thumri singer.’

  Bonobihari Babu inhaled deeply, stared out at the red western sky and said, ‘Nawab Wajid Ali Shah was an amazing man. He was both a singer and a composer. He composed the first Indian opera—very much in the style of Western operas. But he was not a warrior. So the British took Lucknow, and the Nawab left for Bengal. His last days were spent in Matiaburuz, where all the Muslim tailors of Calcutta now live. What was most interesting was that Wajid Ali got together with Rajen Mullik, who was well known for his wealth, and planned the first zoo in Calcutta.’

  He rose to his feet and opened his trunk. Then he took out a tape-recorder.

  ‘Allow me to play some of my favourite music,’ he said. He lifted the top and pressed a key. Something inside the recorder began whirring.

  ‘If you really wish to enjoy this music, look out of the window.’ I did. In the quickly gathering dusk, I saw a whole jungle rush past our window, and from its depths came the harsh cry of a wild cat. Or so it seemed.

  ‘I have kept the volume low,’ said Bonobihari Babu, ‘so it would seem as though the sound was coming from afar.’

  The cat was followed by the hyena. It was fascinating. The train was tearing through a jungle, and it seemed as though the hyena’s laugh was coming from outside, echoing through the trees. Then came a different sound.

  ‘Kir-r-r-r-r-r-r kit kit! Kir-r-r-r-r-r-r kit kit!’

  My heart beat faster. Even the sannyasi had sat up and was listening intently.

  ‘Rattle-snake,’ Bonobihari Babu explained. ‘That noise might frighten you, but the snake makes it simply to let the other animals know of its existence, so that it doesn’t get trampled on.’

  ‘You mean it wouldn’t normally attack man?’ Baba asked.

  ‘No, not normally. But then, nor would any other snake. But if it was cornered or provoked, most certainly it would turn aggressive. For instance, if it was held captive in a small room and you happened to be in it, I’d say your chances of being attacked would be pretty strong. There is one other thing. These snakes can see in the dark.’

  He switched the recorder off, and said, ‘Unfortunately, the other inmates of my zoo are not represented here. Two of them—the spider and the scorpion—are, of course, totally silent. Now if I get that python, I’m going to record its hiss.’

  ‘It felt weird to hear those sounds,’ said Baba.

  ‘Yes, it must have done. But it is different for me, you see. What you just heard, to my ears, is sweeter than music. Since I cannot take my animals with me when I travel, I carry their voices—so to speak.’

  The train pulled in at Bareilly. A waiter came in with our dinner, and the sannyasi left.

  Having finished what was on his own plate, Feluda coolly helped himself to a leg of chicken from mine.

  ‘Chicken is good for the brain when it’s being exercised so much,’ he said by way of explanation.

  ‘I see. And am I not exercising my brain?’

  ‘No. For you the whole thing’s no more than a game.’

  ‘So where have you got to, with all your brain power?’

  Feluda lowered his voice, so that only I could hear what he said. ‘I have got an idea which spy Pyarelal had tried to talk about.’ He refused to say any more.

  The train left Bareilly.

  ‘We have to get up at four in the morning,’ said Baba. ‘It’s time for bed, I think.’

  Bonobihari Babu switched the lights off. />
  ‘I shan’t sleep,’ he said. ‘But rest assured, I’ll wake you before we get to Haridwar.’

  I stretched out on one half of our berth, leaving the other for Feluda. Looking out of the window, I could see the moon. It seemed to be travelling with us.

  What were we going to do in Haridwar? The moon, for some odd reason, made me think. There was plenty to see in Haridwar, I knew. But if we came away simply after a look at the Ganges and the temples, it would all be rather tame. Something had to happen. I wanted something exciting to happen.

  The train was making such a racket. How could anyone sleep in this? But, of course, people did. It was strange. If, at home, there was a constant clanking noise and someone kept shaking my bed, would I ever be able to sleep a wink? I had to ask Feluda.

  ‘If a particular noise goes on for a long time,’ he replied, ‘the ears get used to it; so after a point, it doesn’t disturb. And the rocking actually helps one to sleep. Haven’t you seen babies being rocked to sleep? As a matter of fact, if the noise or the movement stopped, you’d wake instantly, which is why, very often, one wakes when a train stops at a station.’

  Feluda was right. Soon, my eyes grew heavy with sleep and I began to see things. For a minute, I thought the man who was sleeping on the upper berth climbed down and moved around in the compartment. Then I heard a laugh—it could have been a man or a hyena. But there was no time to think for I was lost in the Bhoolbhulaia, going crazy trying to find my way out. Each time I turned a corner, there was a huge spider blocking my way and staring at me through green, luminescent eyes. Then it lifted one of its large hairy legs and laid it on my shoulder. At that moment, I opened my eyes and found Feluda shaking me by the shoulder.

  ‘Get up, Topshe. Here’s Haridwar!’

  Nine

  ‘Panda? Would you like a panda?’

  ‘May I have your name, babu? Where are you from?’

  ‘This way, babu. Which dharamshala are you booked at?’

  ‘You will go to the temple of Baba Daksheshwar, won’t you?’