The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (45 page)

It began pouring soon after twelve o’clock. The rain was accompanied by frequent thunder. Lalmohan Babu and I sat in our room trying—in vain—to work out what possible role we might have to play later in the day. Mallik had been arrested, the yakshi’s head was safely locked away. As far as we were concerned, that was the end of the story. What else could Feluda be thinking of?

The chowkidar told us at one o’clock that lunch was ready. We went into the dining hall without Feluda. He was probably having lunch with Mr Kulkarni in the guest house.

Mr Raxit joined us. He had seemed extremely cross this morning when we had spoken to him, but now he appeared cheerful once more. ‘On a day like this,’ he said, ‘a Bengali ought to have kedgeree,
pakoras
and fried hilsa. I have lived out of Bengal for many years, but haven’t forgotten Bengali habits.’

The meal we were served here was different, but no less tasty. I finished my bowl of daal, and had just helped myself to the meat curry, when a car drew up outside the front door and a thin, squeaky voice cried: ‘Chowkidar!’ The chowkidar rushed out, clutching an umbrella. Mr Raxit soaked a piece of his chapati in the curry, put it in his mouth and said, ‘A tourist? In this weather?’

A tall man walked in, taking off his raincoat. Most of his hair was grey. He had a short moustache and goatee, and he wore glasses. ‘I’ve already had my lunch,’ he told the chowkidar, who was carrying his aged leather suitcase. Then he turned to us and asked, ‘Who has been arrested?’

Feluda had told us not to say anything about Mallik’s arrest, so we simply stared foolishly. Mr Raxit gave a start and said, ‘Arrested?’

‘Yes. Some vandal. He was apparently trying to steal a statue from one of the caves, and was caught. At least, that’s what I’ve just heard. I only hope they won’t decide to close the caves because of this. I’ve travelled quite far simply to see the statues here. Why, haven’t you heard anything?’

‘No.’

‘Anyway, I’m glad the fellow was caught. I must say the police here are quite efficient.’

The man was given the third empty room. He disappeared into it, but we could hear him talking to himself. Perhaps he was slightly mad.

The rain stopped at around two-thirty. Half an hour later, I saw the new arrival walking towards the eucalyptus trees. He came back in five minutes.

The chowkidar brought us our tea at four-thirty. I noticed a small piece of paper on the floor as he left. It turned out to be another message from Feluda: ‘Go to cave number fifteen at seven o’clock. Wait in the south-eastern corner on the first floor.’

He was still running a campaign, totally unseen. This had never happened before.

Fortunately, it did not rain again. When we left the bungalow at six-thirty, both Mr Raxit and the man with the goatee appeared to be in their rooms, for their lights were on. Lalmohan Babu muttered a short prayer as we set out. My own feelings were so confused that I am not even going to try to describe them. My hands felt cold. I thrust them into my pockets.

We reached Kailash ten minutes before seven. The western sky was still quite bright since the sun did not set here at this time of year until after six-thirty. The caves and hills seemed darker, but the sky had cleared.

We turned right after reaching Kailash. The next cave was number fifteen, the Das Avatar cave. It was at this one that Feluda had thrown a pebble last night.

There was no one around. We walked on. The courtyard before the cave was large. There was a small shrine in the middle of it. We crossed it quickly and climbed a few steps to go through the main entrance that took us into the cave. We had been told to find the first
floor. I could dimly see a flight of steps going up. God knew if there was anyone already hiding in the dark. We went up the steps, trying not to make any noise at all.

The stairs led us to a huge hall. Rows of carved pillars stood supporting the roof, as though they were carrying it on their heads. There were scenes from Indian mythology, beautifully carved on the northern and the southern walls.

We found the south-eastern corner. It was too dark inside to see clearly. I had taken off my sandals before climbing the stairs, but now the rocky floor felt so cold that I had to put them on again. As neither of us knew how long we might have to wait, we sat down, leaning against the wall. Who knew what was going to happen next in this cave, built twelve hundred years ago, and filled with amazing specimens of ancient art?

Something happened almost immediately. As soon as we had sat down, my eyes fell on something that made me give an involuntary gasp. Only a few feet away from where we were sitting, barely visible in the dark, was a solid round object lying on the floor. Sticking out from under it was a white square object. Neither was a part of the temple decorations. Someone had placed them there deliberately. What could they be? Who had kept them there, and for whom?

‘P-paper?’ Lalmohan Babu whispered, pointing at the white object.

We rose and went closer. What we saw made us stare in utter disbelief. It was indeed a piece of paper, but what had been used as a paperweight was the yakshi’s head! There could be no mistake. We had seen it only this morning—first in Mr Ghote’s hand, and then in Mr Kulkarni’s, who had locked it away in his safe.

I shone the torch on the piece of paper. It was another message from Feluda, this time addressed to Lalmohan Babu. ‘Keep the head with you,’ it said. ‘If anyone demands it, hand it over to him.’

What could this mean? But there was no time to think. Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Jai Guru!’ and picked up the head. I put Feluda’s message into my pocket, and we returned to our positions.

Our eyes were now getting used to the dark. There appeared to be a faint moonlight outside. We could see a portion of the western sky through the pillars. It had turned a deep purple. Gradually, it changed its hue. Perhaps the moon had risen higher. It didn’t seem as dark inside the cave as before.

‘Eight o’clock!’ Lalmohan Babu muttered, letting go of a long sigh.

Suddenly, a faint noise reached my ears. Someone was coming up the stairs, placing each foot with extreme caution. Then the noise stopped. A second later, the footsteps continued. The man was now walking on flat ground, among the pillars. There, now he was visible through a couple of pillars. He stopped, and looked around. Then, with a click, he lit a lighter. The small flame went out almost as soon as it had appeared, but it was enough to illuminate his face. We recognized him instantly.

Jayant Mallik!

How could he be here? He was supposed to be in police custody. My head began reeling. After this, I thought, if the dead Shubhankar Bose turned up in person, I should not be surprised.

Mr Mallik resumed walking, but did not come toward us. He made his way to the north-eastern corner. That part of the hall was in total darkness. He disappeared from sight.

My throat felt dry. I could hardly think clearly. Only one thing kept going round and round in my head. Where was Feluda Where was Feluda? Where was Feluda? Lalmohan Babu had once declared he would give up writing crime stories because his real-life experiences were so much stranger. What would he say after today?

The moonlight grew stronger as we waited. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Then it was quiet once more.

But not for long. A second man was climbing up the steps. Like Mr Mallik, he stopped for a moment on reaching the flat surface where the stairs ended. Then we could see him walking, but could not tell who he was. He did not stop to use a lighter.

He was coming towards us, getting closer and closer, walking with slow, measured steps. Then, without the slightest warning, our eyes were dazzled by a powerful light. The man was shining a torch directly into our eyes. The footsteps came even closer, and a voice spoke, softly, but with biting sarcasm.

‘Dreaming of the moon, weren’t you, you puny little dwarf? Who taught you to write threatening letters? “Come to the Das Avatar cave at 8 p.m. . . . then you’ll get back what you’ve lost, or else . . .” where did you learn all this, Professor? A professor of history, didn’t you say? Can you hear me now? Or are you still pretending to be deaf? How did you get involved in this, anyway? You had noted everything down in your notebook, hadn’t you? I saw it myself—“a Fokker Friendship crashes”, “a yakshi from Bhubaneshwar gets stolen”, “the Kailash temple in Ellora”, even plane timings . . . ! Why
have you got a child with you? Is he your bodyguard? Can you see what I’ve got in my right hand?’

I had recognized the voice as soon as it had started to speak. It was Mr Raxit. In his left hand was a torch. In his right was a pistol.

‘I . . . I . . .’ Lalmohan Babu stammered.

‘Stop whimpering!’ Mr Raxit’s voice boomed out. ‘Where’s the real thing?’

‘Here it is. I kept it for you,’ Lalmohan Babu offered him the yakshi’s head.

Mr Raxit took it with his left hand, making sure his right hand did not waver. ‘Not everyone can play this game, do you understand?’ he went on, still sounding furious. ‘It’s not for the likes of you, you stupid little—’ he broke off.

A strange thing had started to happen. Great clouds of smoke were coming into the cave, spiralling up and slowly enveloping everything—the pillars, the carvings, the statues. As we stood gaping in absolute amazement at this thick sheet of haze, another voice rang out, almost like a bullet. It was Feluda.

‘Mr Raxit!’ he called, his voice as cold and hard as the stony floor we were standing on. ‘Not one, but two revolvers are pointing at you at this very moment. Put your gun down. Go on, throw it down.’

‘What . . . what’s the meaning of this?’ Mr Raxit cried, his voice suddenly uncertain.

‘Let me explain,’ Feluda replied. ‘We are here to punish you for your crime, and it isn’t just one crime, either. First, you destroyed and damaged a part of India’s history. Second, you sold bits of your—and our—own heritage to foreigners. Third, you killed Shubhankar Bose.’

‘No! Lies, these are all lies!’ Mr Raxit shrieked. ‘Bose slipped and fell into the gorge. It was an accident.’

‘If anyone is lying, it is you. The crowbar you had used has been found behind a cactus bush fifty yards from where Bose’s body was found. It is heavily stained with blood. Had Mr Bose slipped and fallen by accident, he would certainly have screamed for help. None of the guards here heard a scream. Besides, you had hidden a blue shirt among the plants behind the bungalow where we were all staying. A portion of this shirt is torn. I found it. The piece of blue fabric Bose was found clutching is the same—’

Mr Raxit did not stop to hear any more. He leapt up and tried to dash out of the smoky curtain, only to find himself being embraced
by three different men. To our right, Jayant Mallik lit his torch. Now I could see Feluda, who had taken off his make-up. Next to him was Mr Ghote and a constable. At a nod from him, the constable put handcuffs on Mr Raxit.

Feluda turned to Mr Mallik. ‘I must ask you to do something for me,’ he said. ‘See that other cave over there? You’ll find Mr Raxit’s raincoat in it, tucked away in the left-hand corner. Could you get it for me, please? Well, we mustn’t stay in this smoke any longer. Come along, Topshe. Are you all right, Lalmohan Babu? This way, please.’

Feluda explained everything to us over dinner that night. We had dinner at the guest house. With us were Mr Kulkarni, Mr Ghote and Mr Mallik.

‘The first thing I should tell you,’ Feluda began, ‘is that Raxit isn’t his real name. His real name is Chattoraj. He is a member of a gang of criminals, who operate from Delhi. Their main aim is to steal valuable statues, or even parts of statues, from old temples, and sell them to foreign buyers, thereby filling their own pockets with tidy little sums. There must be many other gangs like this one, but at least we have managed to get hold of one. Chattoraj was made to come clean, and he gave us all the details we needed. It was he who had stolen that head, brought it to Calcutta and sold it to Silverstein. Then, when he heard of the plane crash, he rushed to the spot, bought it back from that boy called Panu for just ten rupees, and then chased Lewison all the way to Ellora. He wanted to kill two birds with one stone. The yakshi’s head could be sold to Lewison, and Chattoraj could steal another statue from Kailash. Sadly for him, he didn’t manage to do either of these things. Lewison agreed to buy the stolen statue, but Chattoraj lost it before he could pass it on to Lewison. As a result, Lewison got very cross with him and left. He might have succeeded in removing a statue from Kailash, but two things stopped him. One was the sudden appearance of Shubhankar Bose. The other was a small pebble, thrown on the courtyard before cave number fifteen.’

Feluda stopped for breath. I started feeling most confused. ‘What about Mr Mallik?’ I blurted out.

Feluda smiled. ‘The presence of Jayant Mallik can be very easily explained. In fact, it was so simple that even I could not figure it out at first. Mr Mallik was simply following Chattoraj.

‘Why?’

‘For the same reason that I was chasing him! He wanted to retrieve the statue, like me. But that isn’t all. He and I do the same job. Yes, he’s a private detective, just like me.’

I cast a startled glance at Mr Mallik. He said nothing, but I saw that he was grinning, looking at Feluda and waiting for him to explain further.

‘When I made enquiries about him,’ Feluda went on, ‘I discovered that he worked for an agency in Bombay. They sent him to Calcutta recently, in connection with a case. He stayed in a friend’s flat in Queen’s Mansion, and used his car while the friend was away on holiday. Normally, the kind of cases these agencies handle are all ordinary and pretty insignificant. Mr Mallik was getting bored with his job. He wanted to do something exciting, much more worthwhile and become famous. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’ Mr Mallik admitted. ‘I got the chance to work on such a case, most unexpectedly. My old job took me to the Grand Hotel last Thursday, and I happened to be in Nagarmal’s shop when an American visitor showed that yakshi’s head to him. At that time, I paid no attention. All that I grasped was that the man was immensely wealthy, and his name was Silverstein. But, when I heard about the plane crash the next morning and they said he had been on that flight, it suddenly struck me that it might be possible to retrieve that statue. I have a little knowledge of ancient art, and I knew that what I had seen Silverstein carrying was extremely valuable. So I thought if I could get it back, it might be reported in the press, which would be a good thing for the agency as well. So I rang my boss in Bombay and told him what I wanted to do. He agreed, and asked me to keep him posted. I left for Sidikpur immediately, but it was too late. I missed Chattoraj by just five minutes. He got there first and bought the head back. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do, but—’