The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (29 page)

‘Which man?’

Dr Hajra intervened, ‘Mukul could not have seen him. He ran off to explore the area the minute he got out of the car. I never imagined such a thing would happen in Bikaner, so I wasn’t unduly worried about him.’

Even so, Feluda tried again, ‘Didn’t you see the man who tied the doctor’s hands?’

‘I want to see the golden fortress,’ said Mukul. It was clearly pointless to ask him anything else.

‘Let’s not waste our time any more,’ Feluda spoke abruptly. ‘In a way, I am glad that Mukul was nowhere near you. Or that man might have made off with Mukul. If he has returned to Jodhpur, we might be able to catch up with him, if we drive fast enough.’

In two minutes, we were all back in our cars and speeding back to
Jodhpur. This time, Lalmohan Babu decided to join us. ‘Those men drink a lot. I can’t stand the smell of alcohol!’ he confided.

Our Punjabi driver, Harmeet Singh, managed to drive at sixty mph. At one point, a small bird flew into our windscreen and died. Mukul and I were sitting in the front with the driver. I turned around once to look at the three men in the back seat. Lalmohan Babu was sitting crushed between Feluda and Dr Hajra. His face looked pale and his eyes were closed; nevertheless, a smile hovered on his lips, which told me that he could smell an adventure. Perhaps he had even thought of a plot for his next novel.

We drove at that speed for a hundred miles, but by that time it had become clear that the criminal had got away, and we wouldn’t be able to catch up with him. After all, there was no reason to think that he wasn’t travelling in a fast new car.

When we reached Jodhpur, it was dark and all the lights in the city had been switched on. Feluda said to Lalmohan Babu, ‘You’d like to be dropped at the New Bombay Lodge, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Lalmohan Babu squeaked, ‘I mean, all my things are there, so naturally . . . but I was wondering if . . . after dinner, I might go over to your place . . .?’

‘Very well,’ Feluda said reassuringly, ‘I will ask at the Circuit House if they have a vacant room. You can ring me at around nine. I should be able to tell you then.’

I was still mulling over all that had happened during the day. We were up against someone extremely clever and crafty—of that there was no doubt. Was it the man in the red shirt, who went to Bikaner today wearing a blue one? I didn’t know. Nothing was making any sense to me. Perhaps Feluda was just as puzzled. If he had worked things out, his whole demeanour would have changed. Having spent so many years with him and watched his reactions, that was something I had learnt to read quite well.

Upon reaching the Circuit House, we dispersed and went to our individual rooms. Before going to our room, Feluda said to Dr Hajra, ‘If you don’t mind, may I keep this with me?’ In his hand was the torn piece of cloth with which Dr Hajra had been tied.

‘Certainly,’ Dr Hajra replied. Then he moved a little closer and lowered his voice. ‘As you can see, Mr Mitter, the situation is now quite serious. This is exactly what you were afraid of, isn’t it? I must say I hadn’t anticipated such trouble.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Feluda told him. ‘You carry on with your work I
am going to be with you. If you had gone straight to the Circuit House in Bikaner today, I don’t think there would have been any problem. Fortunately, whoever attacked you could not kidnap Mukul. That’s the main thing. From now on, stay close to us. That should minimize the chances of something similar happening again.’

Dr Hajra continued to look troubled. He said, ‘I am not worried about myself, you see. If a scientist has to do research, he has to take certain risks just to complete his work. I am worried about you two. You are outsiders, not involved in this case at all.’

Feluda smiled. ‘You must assume that I, too, am a scientist involved in some research, and so I’m taking risks as well!’

Mukul was pacing up and down the corridor. Dr Hajra called him, said ‘Good night’ to us and went to his room with Mukul. He was still looking preoccupied.

We went to ours. Feluda called a bearer and ordered two Coca-Colas. Then he took out his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket and placed them on the table. He was looking worried. From a different pocket, he took out the matchbox he had found in Devikund. It had an ace printed on one side, and it was empty. Feluda stared at it for a few moments, before saying, ‘We stopped at so many stations on the way to Jodhpur, and you saw so many paan stalls selling matches and cigarettes. Did you notice any of them selling this particular brand of matches?’

I had to admit the truth. ‘No, Feluda, I didn’t notice anything.’

‘In western India, this brand with the ace on it is not sold anywhere—certainly not in Rajasthan. This matchbox has come from a different state.’

‘Does that mean it doesn’t belong to the man in the red shirt?’

‘That is a foolish question. To start with, if a man is dressed as a Rajasthani, that doesn’t automatically mean that he is one. Anyone can wear Rajasthani clothes. Secondly, plenty of other people could have gone to Devikund and attacked Dr Hajra.’

‘Yes, of course. But we don’t know who they are, do we? So what’s the use of wondering about that?’

‘See, you are speaking without thinking again. Lalmohan, Mandar Bose and Maheshwari—all three men reached the Bikaner fort quite late. Just think about that. Besides . . .’

‘Oh. Yes, yes, now I can see what you mean!’

It just hadn’t occurred to me before. Lalmohan Babu told us that their car had a flat tyre, which delayed them by forty-five minutes.
What if he had lied? Even if he had told the truth and was quite innocent, Mandar Bose and Maheshwari could well have gone to Devikund instead of going to the local market.

Feluda let out a deep sigh and took out another object from his pocket. My heart gave a sudden lurch. I had totally forgotten about it. It was the letter Mandar Bose had handed him that morning.

‘Who wrote that letter, Feluda?’ I asked, my voice trembling. ‘No idea,’ Feluda replied, passing it to me. Only one line was written in large letters with a ballpoint pen:

If you value your life, go back to Calcutta immediately.

The note shook in my hand. I put it quickly on the table and placed my hands on my lap, trying to steady them.

‘What are you going to do, Feluda?’

Feluda was staring at the ceiling fan. His eyes remained fixed on it as he muttered, almost to himself, ‘A spider’s web . . . geometry. It is dark now . . . so you can’t see it . . . but when the sun rises, the web will catch its light . . . it will glitter . . . and then you can see its pattern. Now, all we have to do is wait for sunrise. . .!’

I woke for a few moments in the middle of the night—God knows what time it was—and saw Feluda scribbling something in his blue notebook, by the light of the bedside lamp. I don’t know how long he stayed awake, but when I woke at half past six, he had showered, had a shave and was dressed to go out. According to him, when your brain works at high speed, you tend to sleep a lot less, but that does not affect your health. At least, that’s what he believes. In the last ten years, I have not known him to be ill, even for a single day. Even here in Jodhpur, he was doing yoga every day. By the time I left my bed, he had finished his exercises.

When we went to the dining room for breakfast, we met everyone else. Lalmohan Babu had moved to the Circuit House the previous night. He had been given a room only two doors away Mandar Bose. We found him eating an omelette. He had thought of a wonderful plot, he told us. Dr Hajra still seemed upset. He had not slept well. Only Mukul seemed totally unperturbed.

Mandar Bose decided to be direct with Dr Hajra. ‘Please don’t mind my saying this,’ he began, ‘but you’re dealing with such a weird subject that you’re bound to invite trouble. In a country where superstition runs rife, isn’t it better not to meddle with such things? One day, you’ll find little boys in every household claiming to be jatismars! If you look closely, you’ll find that their parents want a little publicity—that’s all there is to it. But what are you going to do if that happens? How many kids will you take with you and travel all over the country?’

Dr Hajra made no comment. Lalmohan Babu simply cast puzzled glances from one to the other, for no one had told him about Mukul being able to recall his past life.

Feluda had already told me that after breakfast, he wanted to go to the main market. I knew he had some other motive; it could not be just to see more of the city, or to shop. We left at a quarter to eight, accompanied by Lalmohan Babu. I tried a couple of times to imagine him as a ferocious foe, but the mere idea was so laughable that I had to wipe it from my mind.

The area round the Circuit House was quiet, but the main city turned out to be noisy and congested. The old wall was visible from virtually every corner. Along that wall stood rows of shops, tongas, houses and much else. Remnants of a five-hundred-year-old city were now inextricably tangled with the modern Jodhpur.

We walked through the bazaar, looking at various shops. I could tell Feluda was looking for something specific, but had no idea what it was. Suddenly, Lalmohan Babu asked, ‘What is Dr Hajra’s subject? I mean, what is he a doctor of? This morning, Mr Trotter was saying something . . .?’

‘Hajra is a parapsychologist,’ Feluda replied. ‘Parapsychologist?’ Lalmohan Babu frowned, ‘I didn’t know you could add “para” before “psychologist”! I know you can do that to “typhoid”. So does it mean it’s half-psychology, just as paratyphoid is half-typhoid?’

‘No, in this case “para” means “abnormal”, not “half”. Psychology is a complex subject, in any case. Parapsychology deals with its more obscure aspects.’

‘I see. And what was all that about a jatismar?’

‘Mukul is a jatismar. At least, that’s what he’s been called.’ Lalmohan Babu’s jaw fell open.

‘You’ll get plenty of material for a plot,’ Feluda continued. ‘That
young boy talks of a golden fortress he saw in a previous life. And the house where he lived had hidden treasure, buried under the ground.’

‘Are we . . . are we going to look for those things?’ Lalmohan Babu’s voice grew hoarse.

‘I don’t know about you. We certainly are.’

Lalmohan Babu stopped, bang in the middle of the road, and grasped Feluda’s hand with both his own. ‘Mr Mitter! This is the chance of a lifetime! Please don’t disappear anywhere without taking me with you. That’s my only request.’

‘But I don’t know where we’re going next. Nothing’s decided.’ Lalmohan Babu paused for a while, deep in thought. Then he said, ‘Will Mr Trotter go with you?’

‘Why? Would you mind if he did?’

‘That man is powerfully suspicious!’

There was a stall by the roadside, selling naagras. Most people in Rajasthan wear these shoes. Feluda stopped at the stall.

‘Powerful he might be. Why suspicious?’ he asked.

‘When we were travelling to Bikaner yesterday, he was bragging a lot in the car. Said he had shot a wolf in Tanganyika. Yet I know that there are no wolves anywhere in Africa. I have read books by Martin Johnson. No one can fool me that easily!’

‘So what did you say?’

‘What could I say? I could hardly call him a liar to his face. I was sitting sandwiched between those two men. You’ve seen how broad his chest is, haven’t you? At least forty-five inches. Both sides of the road were lined with huge cactus bushes and prickly pear. If I dared to contradict him, he’d have picked me up and thrown me behind one of those bushes—and then, in no time, I’d have turned into fodder for vultures. Great squadrons of vultures would have landed on me and had a feast!’

‘You think so? How many vultures could possibly feed on your corpse?’

‘Ha ha ha ha!’

Feluda had, in the mean time, taken off his sandals and put on a pair of naagras. He was walking back and forth in front of the stall.

‘Very powerful shoes. Are you going to buy those?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.

‘Why don’t you try on a pair yourself?’ Feluda suggested.

None of the shoes were small enough to fit Lalmohan Babu, but
he did slip his feet into the smallest pair that could be found, and gave a shudder. ‘Oh my God! This was made from the hide of a rhino. You’d have to be a rhino yourself to wear such shoes.’

‘In that case, you must assume that ninety per cent of Rajasthanis are rhinos.’

Both men took the naagras off and wore their own shoes again. Even the shopkeeper began laughing, having realized that the Babus from the city were having a little joke.

We left the stall and walked on. From a paan shop, a film song was being played very loudly on a radio. That reminded me of Durga Puja in Calcutta. Over here, people celebrated not Durga Puja, but Dussehra. But that was a long way away.

A few minutes later, Feluda suddenly stopped at a shop selling stoneware. It was a prosperous looking shop called Solanki Stores. Displayed in the showcase were beautiful pots, bowls, plates and glasses, all made of stone. Feluda was staring at those fixedly. The shopkeeper saw us, came to the door and invited us into his shop.

Feluda pointed at a bowl in the glass case, and said, ‘May I see it, please?’

The shopkeeper did not pick up the bowl that was displayed. Instead, he took out an identical one from a cupboard. It was beautiful, made of yellow stone. I couldn’t remember having seen anything like it before.

‘Was this made here?’ Feluda asked.

‘It was made in Rajasthan, but not in Jodhpur.’

‘No? Where was it made then?’

‘Jaisalmer. This yellow stone can be found only in Jaisalmer.’

‘I see.’

I had heard of Jaisalmer, but only vaguely. I didn’t know where exactly in Rajasthan it was. Feluda bought the bowl. Then we took a tonga back to the Circuit House. It was half past nine by the time we returned, after a most bumpy ride. But it did mean that, after such a journey, our breakfast was certainly digested.

Mandar Bose was sitting outside in the corridor, reading a newspaper. ‘What did you buy?’ he asked, looking at the packet in Feluda’s hand.

‘A bowl. After all, I must have a Rajasthani memento.’

‘I saw your friend go out.’

‘Who, Dr Hajra?’

‘Yes. I saw him leave in a taxi, at around nine o’clock.’

‘And Mukul?’

‘He went with him. Perhaps they’ve gone to talk to the police. After what happened yesterday, Hajra must still be quite shaken.’

Lalmohan Babu returned to his room, on the grounds that he had to work on his new plot and change it a little. We went to ours.

‘Why did you suddenly buy that bowl, Feluda?’ I asked.

Feluda sat down on the sofa, unwrapped the bowl and placed it on the table, ‘There is something special about it,’ he said.

‘What’s so special?’

‘Here is a bowl made of stone. Yet if I were to say it was a golden bowl, I wouldn’t be far wrong! I have never seen anything like this in my life.’

After this, he lapsed into silence and began turning the pages of a railway timetable. There was little that I could do. I knew Feluda wouldn’t open his mouth, at least for an hour. Even if I asked him questions, he wouldn’t answer. So I left the room.

The corridor was now empty. Mandar Bose had gone. So had the European lady, who had been sitting at the far end earlier on. The sound of a drum reached my ears. Then someone started singing. I looked at the gate and found a boy and a girl, who looked like beggars. The boy was beating the drum and the girl was singing. They were walking towards the corridor. I went forward.

When I reached the open space, suddenly I felt like going upstairs. I had been walking past the staircase every day. I knew there was a terrace upstairs, but hadn’t yet seen it. So I climbed up the steps.

There were four rooms upstairs. To the east and west of these was an open terrace. The rooms appeared to be unoccupied. Or it could be that the occupants had all gone out.

I went to the western side. The fort was clearly visible from here, looking quite majestic.

The two beggars downstairs were still singing. The tune of their song sounded familiar. Where had I heard it before? Suddenly I realized it was very similar to the tune I had heard Mukul hum at times. The same tune was being repeated every now and then, but it did not sound monotonous.

I went closer to the low wall that surrounded the terrace. It overlooked the rear portion of the Circuit House.

There was a garden at the back as well. I was considerably surprised to see it. All I had seen from one of the windows in our room was a single juniper tree standing at the back, but that gave no
indication that there were so many trees spread over such a large area.

What was that bright blue object glittering behind a tree? Oh, it was a peacock. Most of its body was hidden behind the tree, so at first I couldn’t see it properly. Now it emerged, and was pecking the ground. Was it looking for worms? As far as I knew, peacocks ate insects. Suddenly something I’d once read about peacocks came back to me. It is always difficult to find a peacock’s nest. Apparently, they manage to choose the most inaccessible spots to lay their eggs and raise their young.

The peacock was moving forward, taking slow, measured steps, craning its neck and occasionally looking around. Its long tail followed the movement of its body.

Suddenly, the peacock stopped. It craned its neck to the right. What had it seen? Or had it heard something?

The peacock moved away. Something had disturbed it.

It was a man, standing right below the spot where I was. I could see him through the gaps in the trees. The man had a turban on his head. It wasn’t very large. He had wrapped a white shawl around himself. As I was standing above him, I could not see his face. All I could see were his turban and his shoulders. His arms were hidden under the shawl.

He began walking stealthily, moving from the western side of the building. I was on the terrace facing the west. Our room was on the ground floor, in the opposite direction.

I wanted to see where the man was going. So I ran past the rooms in the middle of the terrace, and leant over the wall on the eastern side.

The man was standing below me once again. If he looked up, he would see me. But he didn’t. He was creeping closer to our room, to one of its windows. Then one of his hands slipped out from under the shawl. What was that, close to his wrist, glinting in the sun?

The man stopped. My throat felt dry. Then he took another step forward.

Suddenly, a loud, harsh sound broke the silence. The peacock had cried from somewhere. The man gave a violent start and, at the same moment, I screamed, ‘Feluda!’

The man in the turban turned and ran in the same direction from which he had come. He disappeared in a matter of seconds. I sprinted down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, ran along the corridor
without stopping, crashed straight into Feluda at the door to our room, and stood there, stunned.

Feluda pulled me inside and asked, ‘What’s the matter? What happened?’

‘I saw from the roof . . . a man . . . wearing a turban . . . walking towards your window!’

‘What did he look like? Tall?’

‘Don’t know. Saw him from a height, you see. On his hand . . . was a . . .a . . .’.

‘A what?’

‘Watch . . .!’

I thought Feluda would either laugh the whole thing off, or tease me by calling me an idiot and a coward. He did neither. Looking a little grim, he simply peered out of the window and looked around.

Someone knocked on our door.

‘Come in!’

A bearer came in with coffee.

‘Salaam, saab!’ He placed the tray on the table and took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Feluda, saying, ‘Manager saab asked me to give it to you.’

He left. Feluda read the note quickly, then flopped down on the sofa, with an air of resignation.

‘Whose letter is that, Feluda?’

‘Read it.’

It was a short note from Dr Hajra, written on a sheet of paper that had his name printed in a corner. It said:

I believe it is no longer safe for me to remain in Jodhpur. I am going somewhere else, where I hope to have better success. I see no reason to drag you and your cousin into further danger. So I am leaving without saying goodbye. I wish you both all the very best.

Yours, H.M. Hazra

‘He has acted most hastily,’ Feluda spoke through clenched teeth. Then he made for the reception desk without even drinking his coffee. Today, we found a different man at the desk. ‘Did Dr Hajra say when he was going to be back?’ Feluda asked.

‘No, sir. He paid all his bills. Said nothing about coming back.’

‘Do you know where he has gone?’

‘To the railway station. That’s all I know.’

Feluda thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘It’s possible to go to Jaisalmer by train from here, isn’t it?’