The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (61 page)

A young man of about twenty was working with Shashi Babu. He turned out to be his son, Kanai. He confirmed that neither of them had left the veranda between seven and eight-thirty the evening when the Ganesh went missing.

Vikas Babu came to the gate to see us off.

‘I did not disturb Umanath Babu,’ Feluda told him, ‘because knew he was busy with his guests. Please tell him that I may drop it from time to time, and ask a few questions.’

‘Since he has asked you to make an investigation, that is your right and privilege,’ Vikas Babu remarked.

Just as we stepped out, a sudden noise from above made us all look up. Ruku was still on the roof, flying his kite. We could only see his little hands from where we stood, pulling at the thread.

Feluda stared at the kite, now flying freely in the sky.

‘That child seems very lonely,’ he said to Vikas Babu.

‘Yes, he is. He’s an only child, you see. At least he’s found a friend here. You’ve seen Suraj, haven’t you? He doesn’t have a single friend in Calcutta.’

On our way back from Mr Ghoshal’s house, we decided to take a short cut through an alley, away from the traffic on the main road.

Here too, a few sheep and lambs were roaming about. Lalmohan Babu prodded a lamb gently with his umbrella to get it out of the way, and said, ‘Shall I tell you something, Felu Babu, about myself? You see, when I visit a new place, I like to get into the spirit of things—you know, live like the locals, act like the natives. In fact, when we were in Rajasthan, I kept thinking of myself as a Rajput. A couple of times I even put up my hand to feel my
pugri
, and was most surprised to find my bald dome instead!’

‘And here? Have you been startled to discover the absence of long, matted hair like a sadhu?’

‘No, but I must confess the thought that the whole world is but an illusion did cross my mind yesterday when we were at the ghat. Today, walking through this alley, I would have been quite happy to have a dagger hanging from my waist. It’s the atmosphere, isn’t it . . .?’

He continued to expound on his theory, but I did not pay much attention. I had caught sight of the same figure that had followed us the day before. Among the various people who were either returning from the ghat or going to it, or crowding around shops, was this man, wearing tight pyjamas that peeped out from under a purple blanket which covered the rest of his body, including his face. He was following us doggedly at a distance of about ten yards. Since Feluda had appeared quite unconcerned the previous day, I didn’t raise the matter again, but began to feel uncomfortable.

Lalmohan Babu hadn’t stopped talking. ‘This business of the Ganesh is going to be complicated, as far as I can see,’ he was saying.

‘It is difficult to say whether a case is going to be complex or simple before it reaches a certain stage. Are you telling me that we have come to such a stage already?’

‘Haven’t we?’

‘No, not in the least.’

‘But the real villain could not have taken it, could he?’

‘Who are you referring to, may I ask?’

‘Why, it’s that man called Meghlal . . . or is it Meghram? . . . You know, the man we saw where Machchli Baba’s staying? My God, I’ve never seen a man with such broad shoulders. Give him a pair of horns, and he could easily join those massive bulls Banaras is famous for!’

‘You mean you think Maganlal Meghraj would have turned up personally to jump over the wall, steal into Ambika Babu’s room and remove the Ganesh?’

‘Oh, I see. He would have used an agent, right?’

‘Isn’t that far more natural? Besides, he might have threatened to get the Ganesh somehow, but that does not necessarily make him the real culprit.’

We had reached the hotel. Niranjan Babu’s room was next to the reception. We found a well-built young man sitting opposite him, explaining something rather animatedly.

Niranjan Babu looked up as we arrived. ‘Here they are. This visitor has been waiting for you for nearly twenty minutes. Allow me to introduce you. This is Inspector Tiwari, and these are . . .’ He rattled off our names quickly.

Mr Tiwari was looking straight at Feluda. His eyes twinkled. Feluda frowned for a moment, then his face broke into a grin.

‘You were in Allahabad, weren’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but I wasn’t sure that you’d remember me,’ Mr Tiwari replied, shaking his hand.

‘It would’ve been difficult, I must admit. You have lost a lot of weight. If I may say so, it’s done you some good!’

Mr Tiwari laughed. His height was about the same as Feluda’s, and he looked just as trim. A couple of years ago, Feluda had had to go to Allahabad in connection with a case. He had obviously met Mr Tiwari then.

‘I’d gone to meet Mr Ghoshal last night,’ said Mr Tiwari, ‘after you had left. He told me of your arrival and where you were staying.’

Niranjan Babu rang for tea. We all sat down.

‘I must say this is a relief,’ Feluda said to the inspector. ‘I was beginning to worry about how the police might react to my presence. I know I won’t have any problems with you. Two heads are better than one, aren’t they? And it does appear to be a difficult case.’

Mr Tiwari’s face fell. He forced a smile, and said slowly, ‘Yes, Mr Mitter, it is so very difficult that I came to tell you to stay out of it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Maganlal is involved in this. In fact, I’m concerned that you’ve already been to Mr Ghoshal’s house. You must be very careful. Maganlal has a team of hired hooligans working for him.’

A bearer came in with the tea. Feluda picked up a cup, looking slightly worried, and asked, ‘But how can you be sure that Maganlal is truly involved?’

‘The line of investigation we’re following points towards Maganlal. I have never seen anyone with such cunning.’

‘But what is this line of investigation?’

‘I’ll tell you. Have you met everyone in the Ghoshal household?’

‘Yes, all except the servants.’

‘Did you see Shashi Babu?’

‘Yes, we met him this morning.’

‘And his son?’

‘Yes, he was working with his father.’

‘Did you know Shashi Babu has another son?’

‘Does he? No, we didn’t know that.’

‘This other son is called Nitai. A bad type, very bad. He’s only eighteen, but there’s very little he hasn’t tried his hand at. Supposing he has joined Maganlal’s gang . . .’

Feluda raised a hand. ‘I get it. Maganlal would get Nitai to work through either his father or brother to get the Ganesh.’

‘Exactly. Nitai could easily be persuaded to use force, even on his own family. So I suggest you take it easy, at least for the time being. There is a lot to see in Banaras during the time of Durga Puja and Dussehra. So do enjoy yourselves, but don’t go anywhere near the Ghoshal family.’

Feluda smiled and changed the subject. ‘Aren’t you thinking of investigating the case of Machchli Baba?’ he asked.

Mr Tiwari put his cup down on the table and burst out laughing. ‘You’ve already been to see him, have you? What did you think of it all?’

‘Since I raised the question of an investigation, you must assume he didn’t arouse any religious ardour in me.’

‘Yes, Mr Mitter, but you’re talking only of yourself. What about his devotees? Do you think they’d stand by and watch quietly if we openly tried to carry out an enquiry? They’d skin us alive!’

Mr Tiwari spoke the last sentence with a sidelong glance at Niranjan Babu, who threw up his hands in protest. ‘Don’t look at me, Tiwariji!’ he exclaimed. ‘What do I know of devotion? All I can say is that in our otherwise boring and eventless life, Machchli Baba is an event, an excitement—but that’s all.’

‘There is something you can do,’ said Feluda. ‘Try and find out if anyone called Machchli Baba had appeared recently in Haridwar or Allahabad.’

‘Very well. That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get you this information in a couple of days.’

Mr Tiwari looked at his watch and rose. Just before stepping out of the room, he stopped for a minute and slapped Feluda on the back. ‘Why don’t you come to my office one day and see how we deal with crime in Varanasi? But do remember—and I mean this seriously—you must stay away from the case of the missing Ganesh.’

After lunch that afternoon, we went out for a walk again. I didn’t know whether Feluda had anywhere specific in mind, but Lalmoham Babu and I followed him into an alley opposite the hotel.

‘I think your cousin is looking for a sweet shop for a plate of rabri,’ whispered Lalmohan Babu into my ear. I had to laugh, but I knew he was wrong.

The alley was both narrow and winding. Houses with two or three storeys stood on both sides. The sun hardly came in at all. Feluda told us most of these houses, like many others in Varanasi, were more than a hundred years old. Some had paintings of animals and birds on their front walls. A few had handwritten posters and advertisements in Hindi.

As we made our way carefully through this dim, dingy alley, several new noises began to reach my ears. The loudest among them was that of pealing bells. We were getting closer to the temple of Vishwanath.

Sheep and lambs had been replaced here by large cows and bulls. Each time we saw a particularly strong bull, Lalmohan Babu
exclaimed, ‘Look, there goes Meghraj!’ In the end, Feluda was obliged to say, ‘Look Lalmohan Babu, I do think those poor bulls are a lot less harmful than Meghraj, so please stop making a comparison. Anyway, I am trying to picture him as a man with thin, cruel lips and a malicious glint in his eyes. You are spoiling it for me by constantly harping on the bulls!’

It soon became impossible to walk freely. The crowd pushed us along in one direction. Pandas were scattered everywhere, each one pouncing on us eagerly. ‘
Darshan
? Would you like a
darshan
of Baba Vishwanath, babu?’ they kept asking. We walked straight ahead, ignoring them as best we could. My attention was taken up totally in trying to protect my pocket and my wallet in it, and stop myself from stepping into the many puddles that dotted the way. When I finally looked up, I found Lalmohan Babu gazing at the golden dome of the temple, wonder and amazement in his eyes. I saw him ask Feluda something, but couldn’t quite catch what he said. Only the word ‘carat’ reached my ears. All thoughts of God and religion had clearly been abandoned, at least for the moment.

Then I saw the kite. It was a red and white kite, identical to the one Ruku had been flying earlier. There it was, disappearing behind the temple.

Feluda, too, was staring at it. ‘Most interesting,’ he said briefly. ‘It’s not just interesting, my friend,’ said Lalmohan Babu. ‘I find it positively disturbing. No, I am not talking of that kite. But do you realize this place might be infested with Meghraj’s spies? In fact, one of them can’t take his eyes off you. I’ve been watching him for nearly three minutes.’

‘Is it someone dressed as a sadhu, with a long flowing beard and a brand new robe?’ Feluda asked, still staring at the sky.

‘Full marks,’ Jatayu replied.

Now I noticed the man. He was standing near a shop laden with flowers, incense and vermilion. As we passed him, Feluda stopped for a second and said, ‘Jai Baba Vishwanath!’ in a very loud voice. This nearly made me burst out laughing, but I controlled myself.

By now we had come out of the alley, having left the temple behind us. Close to where we were standing was the mosque built by Aurangzeb, and a huge open terrace. I looked up again as we reached the terrace, but couldn’t see the kite any more. Steps ran down from the terrace to the road below. Feluda turned towards these. I did have a vague suspicion about where he wanted to go, but as it turned
out, the same idea had occurred to Lalmohan Babu too.

‘Are you, by any chance, heading for Meghraj’s house?’ he asked. ‘Who else would I wish to call on? If there were no criminals, Lalmohan Babu, your friend here would starve. So don’t you think we should pay a visit to the temple of the biggest criminal in Kashi?’

My heart began thudding faster. Since the crowd had thinned somewhat, Lalmohan Babu had to lower his voice to ask the next question, ‘I hope you haven’t come without your weapon?’

‘If by a weapon you mean my revolver, no, I didn’t bring it with me. But I’ve got all the other three, thank you.’

Lalmohan Babu looked up, startled, and nearly stumbled against a step. But he said nothing more. I knew that when Feluda mentioned three other weapons, he was simply referring to his powerful brain, steady nerves and strong muscles.

A tailor’s shop stood where the steps ended. An old man was sitting just outside its entrance, working on a sewing machine. He told us where Maganlal lived. ‘Go straight, past the Hanuman Mandir, and take the first right turn. You’ll find Maganlal’s house easily enough; it’s the one with two large paintings of guards with swords,’ he said.

‘And aren’t there real guards outside the main door?’ Feluda asked.

‘Oh yes, you’ll find those as well.’

In less than two minutes, we were standing outside Maganlal’s house. Two armed guards were painted on the wall, but there was no one in sight. The street, unlike the ones we had passed through, was remarkably quiet. Not even a goat or a lamb could be seen.

The front door was wide open. How very strange! Where had the guards gone? Were they perhaps having their lunch? Feluda sniffed a couple of times and said, ‘I can smell tobacco.’ Then he looked around and added, ‘Come on, let’s go in. If we’re stopped, we can always say we’re new and slipped in by mistake, thinking it was a temple.’

Lalmohan Babu and I followed him in. Goodness, was this where the great Maganlal lived, I thought in wonder, staring at the cows that stood in the dark, damp courtyard. Our appearance did not bother them at all. Each continued to chew the cud, gazing at us calmly.

‘This is quite common here,’ Feluda whispered. ‘Very few people have any open space to keep their cows in. So they keep them in their
courtyard inside the house, for they can’t do without large quantities of milk and ghee.’

On our right and left were corridors, leading to nothing but darkness, as far as I could see. Presumably, there was a staircase somewhere, for I had noted outside that the house had three floors.

As we stood debating what to do next, my eyes suddenly fell on a figure that had emerged silently from the dark depths and was standing on our right.

It was a middle-aged man, of medium height, clad in a green kurta-pyjama, an embroidered white cotton cap on his head. A thick moustache drooped down, brushing against his chin. When he spoke, his voice sounded like an old, worn out gramophone record.

‘Sethji would like to meet you,’ he said. ‘Which Sethji?’

‘Seth Maganlalji.’

‘All right. Let’s go.’