The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (35 page)

We had not made arrangements for an overnight stay. But it turned out accommodation was not a problem at all. Local pandas let out rooms. They even provided bedding, quilts and blankets. The rooms were small, with such low ceilings that if Feluda stood up straight, his head nearly touched it. The charges were low, and all of us thought the arrangements were fine, especially since we were not going to spend more than one night.

The first things we saw on arrival was the yellow American car that belonged to Pavandeo Singh. He and his team must have reached Gaurikund at least four hours before us. They had probably already hired horses and left for Kedarnath. If so, he would get more than a day in Kedar.

Mr Bhargav would probably also get there tonight.

So many people, with one common aim—tracking down Bhavani Upadhyaya.

All of us slept soundly that night. Our alarm clock woke us at five o’clock. We were ready to leave in a few minutes.

The number of people who were already out and about was quite amazing. People from virtually every corner of the country were present, including a large number of Bengalis. Most of them were travelling in groups. Many families had several generations travelling together, ranging from grandfathers in their seventies, to grandchildren barely five years old.

It took me only a few seconds to spot Pavandeo Singh. He was in the process of hiring two horses. What was he still doing here? I had assumed he had already gone to Kedarnath.

‘Good morning!’ he greeted us. ‘I got delayed in Son Prayag yesterday. The scenery there was so beautiful, I had to stop to take photos. I am now going to go up to Kedarnath alone. I’ll carry my camera and sound equipment with me, on one horse. The other will take all the new and unused film.’

Feluda returned his greeting and moved away. ‘There is no end to the mysteries,’ he remarked. ‘Could it be that he’s appointed someone in Kedar to find Upadhyaya?’ There was no time to ponder over this, for it was time to get going.

‘Are you still determined to walk with us?’ Feluda asked Lalmohan Babu.

‘Yes, sir. I may not be able to keep pace with you at all times, but—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. You walk at whatever pace you find comfortable. Since there is only one road, and one destination, we’ll all get there sometime, never fear. Here, take this.’

Feluda handed Lalmohan Babu one of the walking sticks he had bought for us. Nearly every traveller to Kedarnath was crying a similar stick. It was wooden, but the pointed end was covered by iron.

We left on the dot of six. Lalmohan Babu took a deep breath and shouted, ‘Jai Kedar!’ with such vigour that I began to feel afraid he might have spent half his energy at one go.

The road to Kedarnath was narrow and rocky. At times, there wasn’t even enough room for two people to stand side by side. There were steep hills on one side, and on the other were deep ravines. The Mandakini flowed with great force below these. There was little vegetation on the way, except for certain patches where large leafy trees created a green canopy over our heads; but these were few and far between. Those who were walking frequently had to stand aside to make way for horses and dandis. One had to stay as close to the
hill as possible, for going near the edge of the road was extremely dangerous. One single careless step could lead to a fatal accident.

Feluda and I did not find it too difficult to walk uphill, possibly because we both did yoga regularly. Lalmohan Babu tried very hard not to show what a struggle it was for him. He walked in complete silence, catching up with us when we reached flatter surface. ‘I can now see what made Tenzing so famous!’ he declared, panting slightly.

Twenty minutes later, something happened to delay our arrival in Kedarnath by another half an hour.

A large boulder suddenly came rolling down a slope at great speed. This was so totally unexpected that it took us a few seconds to realize what was happening. Although no one was seriously hurt, a certain amount of damage could not be avoided. The boulder brushed against Feluda’s arm and smashed his HMT watch. Then it knocked the walking stick from the hand of an elderly man, making it fly towards the edge of the cliff and disappear into the gorge below, perhaps to land directly in the gushing Mandakini.

By this time, Feluda had collected himself and decided to act. He began climbing up the slope with the agility of a mountain goat, as I stood gaping after him, marvelling at his strength and stamina. How could he do it, so soon after having climbed uphill for many miles? But there was not a second to be lost. I followed him as quickly as I could. By the time I reached him, Feluda had already caught the culprit. He was clutching at the collar of a young man, pushing him against a tree. The man could not have been more than twenty-five. He had turned visibly pale, and was freely admitting to having pushed that boulder deliberately. He had apparently been paid by someone to do this. The man took out a new, crisp ten-rupee note to show us he was telling the truth.

‘Who paid you?’ Feluda demanded.

‘I don’t know him. He is a man from my village, but I don’t know him personally. I did it only for the money.’

There was no reason to doubt his word. We’d never learn from him who was really responsible. This man was no more than a hired hand.

Feluda grabbed the woollen wrapper the man was wearing, and tied him to the tree with it. ‘I’m bound to find a police constable somewhere. When I do, I’ll send him to you,’ he told him.

Lalmohan Babu sighed with relief when we joined him. ‘How
worrying, Felu Babu! Anything could have happened if that boulder hit you. Who is it that wants to prevent your reaching Kedarnath so desperately?’

We didn’t know the answer, so we simply resumed walking. A little later, we reached a place called Ramwara. Nearly everyone stopped here to rest for a while. There were dharamshalas here, as well as tea stalls. Lalmohan Babu deserved a short period of rest, so we decided to stop for half an hour. Ramwara was at a height of 2500 metres. The scenery around us was absolutely fantastic. Lalmohan Babu went into raptures, recalling scenes from the
Mahabharata
. He declared eventually that he would have no regret if he fell and died on the way, for no one could possibly have a more glorious death.

‘Really?’ Feluda teased him. ‘You must remember, sir, that considering the amount of rubbish you have always fed your readers, you are liable to spend a good many years in hell. So what good will a glorious death do?’

‘Heh! Who’s afraid of a few years in hell? Why, even Yudhishthir wasn’t spared, was he?’ Lalmohan Babu waved a hand dismissively.

In the remaining three and a half miles, only one thing happened that’s worth mentioning. The tall spire of the temple of Kedarnath came suddenly into view after leaving Ramwara. Most of the travellers stopped, shouting, ‘Jai Kedar!’ Some folded their hands and bowed, others lay prostrate on the ground. But only a few moments after we resumed walking, it vanished behind a mountain. We could see it again only after reaching Kedarnath. I learnt afterwards that the brief glimpse we had caught earlier was considered a special darshan. It was called
deo-dekhni
.

It was half past five in the evening by the time we reached Kedarnath. It had not yet started to get dark, and the mountain tops were all shining bright.

It is impossible to describe what one feels on reaching a flat plateau after climbing uphill for several hours on a steep and narrow road. The feeling uppermost in my mind was a mixture of disbelief, reassurance and joy. With this came a sense of calm, peace and humility. Perhaps it was those peaks which towered over everything
else that made one feel so humble. Perhaps it was this feeling that evoked religious ardour, a reverence for the Creator.

A large number of people were sitting, standing, or lying on the rocky ground, overcome with emotion, unable to say or do anything except shout, ‘Jai Kedar!’ The famous temple stood surrounded on three sides by heavy snow. We walked through the crowd to find ourselves somewhere to stay. There was a hotel here called Hotel Himlok, but it was already full, as was the Birla guest house. Finally, we went to a Kali Kamliwali dharamshala. They gave us mattresses, blankets and razais, at a very nominal charge.

By the time we finished booking a room, it was past six o’clock and the temple had closed. It would open only at eight the next morning, we were told. So we went off to find what we needed the most: a hot cup of tea. There was a stall not far from our dharamshala. The streets of Kedar reminded me of the streets of Benaras. Most of the roadside shops were selling incense, flowers and Vermillion. They would shut down in November, and until April, the town would remain totally deserted.

I had expected Lalmohan Babu to want to rest after our difficult journey. But he said he had never felt more invigorated in his life. ‘There is new life in every vein in my body,’ he said. ‘Tapesh, such is the magic of Kedar.’

Three steaming cups of tea were placed before us. The tea had been brewed with cinnamon. I could smell it as I raised a cup to my lips.

‘Did you find Upadhyaya?’ asked a voice. It was Pavandeo Singh, standing a few feet away. In his hand he still held his camera. The equipment for recording sound was strapped to his belt.

‘No, we came only about half an hour ago,’ Feluda told him.

‘I got here at two-thirty and made some enquiries. As far as I can make out, he has become a full-fledged sanyasi. I think he even dresses like one. So you can imagine how difficult it’s going to be to single out one sanyasi amongst so many. Besides, he is very likely to have changed his name. At least, no one I asked seemed to know anyone called Upadhyaya.’

‘Well, we must keep trying, mustn’t we?’ Feluda said. Pavandeo nodded and left. He was still a mystery to me.

We finished our tea and got up to leave. Another familiar voice spoke unexpectedly.

‘Ah, so you’ve arrived finally. Wasn’t it worth the effort?’
It turned out to be Makhanlal Majumdar, the man we had met on the train.

‘Oh yes, most certainly,’ Feluda smiled. ‘I think we’re still in a daze. This is so incredible.’

‘I am so glad you came. Did you finish your work in Haridwar?’

‘No, which is why we’re here. You see, we’re looking for someone who used to live in Haridwar. When we went there, we were told he’d gone to Rudraprayag. So we followed him there, but by then he had left for Kedarnath.’

‘Who are you trying to find?’

‘A man called Bhavani Upadhyaya.’

Mr Majumdar’s eyes nearly popped out. ‘Bhavani? You came looking for Bhavani, and you didn’t tell me!’

‘Why, do you happen to know him?’

‘Know him? My dear young man, I have known him for seven years, ever since he cured my ulcer with just one pill. I met him shortly before he left Haridwar. I noticed a change in him. He seemed very detached. He said he wanted to go to Rudraprayag. I told him Rudraprayag was not the same any more, what with buses and tourists and everything. If he wanted peace and quiet, he should go to Kedarnath. Still, he went to Rudraprayag first, perhaps to give it a try. But now he is here.’

‘Where can we find him?’

‘Not in the main town. He now lives in a cave. Have you heard of Chorabalital? It’s now called Gandhi Sarovar, I believe.’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘The river Mandakini begins her journey from Chorabalital. You have to go behind this place, and make your way through rocks and snow for about three miles. There is no proper road. Then you will see a lake. That is the Sarovar. Bhavani lives in a cave near that lake. His surname has disappeared completely. People now know him as Bhavani Baba. He lives in complete seclusion. No one lives anywhere near him. If you are really keen, you may try finding his cave tomorrow morning.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘No, not this time. But some of the local people told me about him. Just occasionally, he comes here for food. Actually, fruit and vegetables are all he needs to keep going for days.’

‘Thank you very much indeed, Mr Majumdar. You’ve done us an enormous favour. But do you think anyone here might know of his
past?’

‘Yes, there’s every possibility of that. After all, he hasn’t given up practising altogether. I heard he has cured a local child of polio. But, very soon, I think he’ll stop seeing patients, and become a total recluse.’

‘One last question. Can you tell me which part of the country he comes from?’

‘To be honest, I never asked him. He always spoke to me in very good Hindi, without traces of a regional accent. Anyway, good luck!’ Mr Majumdar left.

Lalmohan Babu had left us a while ago, and was talking to someone. He now joined us once more, and said, ‘We’re wanted in the Birla guest house.’

‘Who wants us?’ Feluda asked.

The man who had been talking with Lalmohan Babu stepped forward and said, ‘Mr Singhania.’

Feluda frowned. Then he turned to me and whispered, ‘This may well be the same Singhania who had gone to see Upadhyaya in Haridwar, It can’t do us any harm to go and meet him.’ To Singhania’s messenger, he said, ‘
Chaliye
.’

The guest house was very close to the temple. It took us barely three minutes to get there. I noticed on the way that it was beginning to get dark, although the sun still shone on some of the peaks, making them turn red and pink and golden.

I was surprised to see how clean the guest house was. Perhaps this was the best place in town, at least in terms of cleanliness. God knows what their food was like. In any case, I had heard all one could get in Kedar was potatoes.

Our guide took us to the first floor of the building, and ushered us into a fairly large room. Four mattresses lay on the floor. Three bulbs shone rather dimly from the ceiling. Kedarnath did have electricity, but the voltage was clearly very low.

A minute later, the man who had summoned us came into the room.

I felt a sudden stab of disappointment on seeing Mr Singhania. Perhaps it was his name that had made me think of lions and,
subconsciously, I was expecting a man with a personality to match the majesty and ferocity of that animal. The man who walked in was of medium height, and everything else about him was so ordinary that it took me a while to accept that this indeed was the wealthy and powerful man who had gone to tempt Mr Upadhyaya. Only his thick moustache seemed to give him an air of importance.

‘My name is Singhania,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’

We sat on two mattresses. He took the third, and sat facing us.

‘I am aware how well-known you are, Mr Mitter, but so far I haven’t had the chance to meet you,’ he began.

‘Nobody wants to meet me unless they are in trouble,’ Feluda replied lightly.

‘Possibly, but I am not in trouble.’

‘I know that. In fact, I had heard of you. But I wasn’t sure that you were the same Singhania.’

‘I’d be very interested to know how you learnt my name.’

‘Did you ever go to Haridwar?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Did you meet a man called Bhavani Upadhyaya there?’

‘I did, but how do you know about it?’

‘Mr Upadhyaya’s landlord told me someone called Singhania had come to meet his tenant, together with another man.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

‘You had apparently made a proposition that Upadhyaya found immensely tempting, but he managed to overcome that temptation.’

‘What a strange man, this Upadhyaya! I have never seen anyone like him. Can you imagine this, Mr Mitter? His monthly income never exceeded five hundred rupees, as he treated the poor without charging a penny. I offered him five hundred thousand. You know about the pendant he was given, don’t you? Originally, I believe it used to belong to the Maharaja of Travancore.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that, but what I’d like to know is who told you. I was given to understand that only a handful of people who were close to Chandradeo Singh knew about it.’

‘You’re right, Mr Mitter. It was one of this handful of people who told me. I have a business in Delhi. I buy and sell precious stones and jewellery. Umashankar Puri’s son, Devishankar, came to me and told me about this pendant. He wanted me to buy it, and naturally, expected a commission. So I went to Haridwar, but Upadhyaya refused to part with it, even at the price I offered. Puri lost all
interest, but I did not. I simply cannot give up the idea of buying it. I have come here to make one last attempt. If Upadhyaya has renounced the world and become a sanyasi, why should he want to hang on to an earthly object like that? Doesn’t it seem strange? Maybe if I made another offer, he’d agree to sell it this time?’

‘So why don’t you approach him?’

‘That is impossible.’

‘Why?’

‘He now lives in such a remote corner that I couldn’t possibly visit him there. May I ask you something?’

‘Yes?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have come, Mr Singhania, chiefly as a traveller. But I have got a lot of regard for Upadhyaya. If I see anyone trying to harm him, I shall certainly do my best to stop that person.’

‘Does that mean you are acting as a free agent? I mean, no one has employed you to be here on their behalf?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Would you agree to work for me?’

‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Go and see Upadhyaya, and persuade him to sell me that pendant. I will give you ten per cent of five hundred thousand. If Upadhyaya does not want to take any money for himself, I am prepared to give it to a member of his family, or whoever he thinks deserves to be paid.’

‘But are you aware that someone else is interested in this pendant?’

‘Yes. You mean Pavandeo Singh, don’t you? To be honest, I didn’t know until this evening. A reporter called Bhargav came and met me here. Who knew reporters would chase me even in Kedarnath? Anyway, it was he who told me. But I believe Singh is here simply to make a film.’

‘Sure. But Upadhyaya and his pendant will play a major role in his film.’

Mr Singhania began to look utterly helpless.

‘Please, Mr Mitter,’ he begged, ‘please help me.’

‘Did you mention anything to Bhargav?’

‘No, of course not. I told him I was only a pilgrim here.’

‘Bhargav himself is interested in Upadhyaya, but only as material for a scoop.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘Look, all I can promise to do is this: if I find Upadhyaya, I will pass on what you’ve just told me. I personally feel if he doesn’t want to keep the pendant with him any more, he’d like to give it to someone. I don’t think he’ll agree to sell it. So let’s not make any firm arrangements right now. I will let you know what happens if I can get to meet him at all.’

‘Very well. Thank you, Mr Mitter, thank you very much.’

It was dark outside. The town of Kedarnath was slowly going to sleep. The lights in the houses, the shops as well as the streets were all so dim that they didn’t really make much difference. In the middle of it all, one light shone very brightly. Curious, we made our way to it, and found Pavandeo Singh filming the streets of Kedar with the help of a battery-operated light. He stopped as he saw us, and asked, ‘Any luck with Upadhyaya?’

Instead of giving him an answer, Feluda asked him a question. ‘Where are you staying here?’

‘I have got a room in a private house. The house belongs to a panda. It’s not far from here. See that lane on the left? I’m in the third house one the right.’

‘OK. I’ll get back to you,’ Feluda said. We began walking back to our dharamshala.

A few seconds later, Lalmohan Babu suddenly remarked, ‘I don’t know what kind of a person Pavandeo Singh really is, but that man Singhania is a crook.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Maybe you couldn’t see it from where you were sitting, but I did. He had a small tape recorder in his pocket. I saw him switch it on as soon as you started speaking. He’s got the whole conversation on tape.’

‘Well then, Mr Ganguli, I make a much better crook, wouldn’t you say?’ Feluda took out his mircrocassette recorder. ‘Do you think that I—’ he couldn’t finish. A man had emerged from the shadows and hit him on his shoulder as he was speaking. I saw Feluda sway and then fall to the ground, without being able to do anything to defend himself. The lane we were passing through was totally deserted. No doubt the attacker had taken the fullest possible advantage of this.

He tried to run away after that one blow. I stood stupefied, but only for a moment. Some odd instinct made me leave Feluda, and chase the other man instantly. Ten seconds later, I had caught him by his shoulders and pinned him against the wall. He kicked at me, and began to push me away; but Lalmohan Babu’s weapon shot out at him, and he fell down, crying in pain. I looked with some surprise at the weapon, which was nothing but his walking stick with a sharp pointed end. Deliberately, or otherwise, Lalmohan Babu had managed to hit this man on the head. I could see, even in the semi-darkness, blood gush forth from an open wound. But the man was obviously quite strong. He struggled to his feet in spite of his injury, and ran again, this time quickly melting into the darkness.

We turned to Feluda, and helped him to his feet. He did not say anything, but it was clear that he was hurt and in pain. Luckily, our dharamshala was not far. He said only one thing on the way: ‘So the goondas have made it to Kedarnath!’

By an enormous stroke of luck, it turned out that there was a doctor staying in the dharamshala. He was a Bengali, who happened to recognize Feluda. So he received extra special care. His shoulder had a nasty cut. The doctor washed it with antiseptic lotion, then put a band-aid on it. ‘It’s impossible to tell without taking an x-ray whether you’ve fractured your shoulder or not,’ he said.

‘Never mind about that. Fracture or no fracture, you couldn’t make me stay in bed, I promise you,’ Feluda grinned.

When we asked him about his fee, the doctor shook his head vigorously.

‘No, no, I cannot charge a fee for doing so little,’ he said. ‘You know, Mr Mitter, this is my third visit to Kedar. Each time I come back, I find the natural beauty of the place quite unspoilt, but the number of antisocial elements appears to be on the increase. I suppose the improvement in road transport is responsible for this. While it has made Kedar accessible to thousands of pilgrims and tourists, it has also made it easier for these elements to spread crime and vice where it simply did not exist before.’

The manager of the dharamshala had informed the local police without being told. When an inspector turned up, Feluda spent a long time speaking to him. I couldn’t hear what exactly he told him, but could see that the inspector was listening carefully and nodding in agreement.

Mr Bhargav arrived as soon as the inspector left. ‘What is this I
hear about you being attacked?’ he asked, sounding both surprised and concerned.

‘It was nothing, Mr Bhargav. A detective learns to take these things in his stride. It was probably only a local goonda, interested more in my wallet than my person. But he didn’t succeed in taking anything.’

‘You mean this is not connected in any way with your investigation?’

‘What investigation? I am here merely to meet Upadhyaya.’

‘I see. Have you discovered where he lives?’

‘Have you?’

‘No one here knows anyone called Upadhyaya.’

‘Then perhaps he has changed his name.’

‘Yes, maybe.’

Feluda did not reveal anything of what we knew. Bhargav left, looking faintly disappointed.

Since we had another early start the following morning, we had dinner at half past eight and prepared to go to bed. Feluda, however, had other plans. To my amazement and considerable annoyance, he said, ‘You two can go to bed. I’m going out now, but will soon be back.’

‘Going out? Where? Feluda, you can’t! I know your shoulder’s still hurting, and you need to rest.’

‘I need to see Pavandeo. It’s urgent.’

‘What! You can’t go straight into the enemy camp.’

‘Look, Topshe, this has happened to me before. The shock of a physical attack makes my mind function much better. I now realize Pavandeo is not our enemy.’

‘No? Then who is?’

‘You’ll see for yourself, very soon.’

‘What will you do if you go out, and find him waiting for you?’

‘I have got my weapon with me. Stop worrying, and go to sleep. It doesn’t matter what time I come back. Tomorrow’s programme remains the same. We are leaving for Gandhi Sarovar at half past four.’

Feluda went out, his revolver in his pocket and a big torch in his hand.

‘What admirable courage!’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed.