The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (55 page)

The sound of double shots had brought the local villagers running to the spot. Thrilled to see their enemy killed, they were now making arrangements to tie the tiger to bamboo poles and carry it to their village. There was no doubt that this was the man-eater, for two other bullet marks had been found on its body: one on a hind leg, the other near the jaw. These had clearly made the tiger lose its natural
ability to hunt for prey in the wild. Besides, the heavy growth of hair on its jowls indicated it was an old tiger, anyway. Perhaps that was another reason why it had become a man-eater.

Parvat Singh had returned and helped his master to get up and sit on one of the broken steps of the temple. Mahitosh Babu was still looking shaken and was wiping his face frequently. Lalmohan Babu had regained consciousness and climbed down from the tree, with a little assistance from me. Then he had calmly taken the sword back, as though carrying a sword and climbing trees was something he did every day.

After a few minutes’ silence, Feluda spoke. ‘Mahitosh Babu,’ he said, ‘you are worrying unnecessarily. I had already promised Mr Sanyal I would not disclose any of your secrets. No one will ever find out that you are not a shikari, and that you cannot even hold a gun steadily. I had my suspicions right from the start. Your signature on Lalmohan Babu’s letter made me think you were old. So I began to wonder how you could shoot, if you could not even write with a steady hand. Then I thought perhaps your hands had been affected only recently and all those tales in your books were indeed true. I started to believe this, but something your brother said raised fresh doubts in my mind. Yes, I know most of what he said was irrelevant, but I didn’t think he would actually make up a story. On the contrary, what he said often made perfect sense, if one thought about it. He obviously knew you had written books on shikar, and that the whole thing was based on lies. This distressed him very much, which is why he kept talking about Yudhisthir’s punishment for telling a lie. He also told me not everyone could be like your grandfather. Not everyone could handle weapons . . .’

‘Yes, they could!’ Mahitosh Babu interrupted, breathing hard and speaking very fast. ‘I killed mynahs and sparrows with my airgun when I was seven, from a distance of fifty yards. But . . .’ he glanced at the peepul tree. ‘One day, we came here for a picnic, and I climbed that tree. In fact, I was sitting on the same branch where your cousin was sitting a while ago, when my brother suddenly said he could see a tiger coming. I jumped down to see the tiger, and—’

‘—You broke your arm?’

‘Compound fracture,’ Mr Sanyal stepped forward. ‘It never really healed properly.’

‘I see. And yet you wanted to be known as a shikari, just because that was your family tradition? So you moved from here and went to
Assam and Orissa where no one knew you? It was Mr Sanyal who killed all those animals, but everyone was convinced you were a worthy successor of your forefathers. Is that right, Mahitosh Babu?’

‘Yes,’ Mahitosh Babu sighed deeply, ‘that’s right. What Shashanka did for his friend is unbelievable. He is a much better shikari than anyone in my family.’

‘But recently . . . were you two drifting apart?’

Both men were silent. Feluda continued, ‘I hadn’t heard of Mahitosh Sinha-Roy before his books began to be published. Nor, I am sure, had thousands of others. But when these books came out, Sinha-Roy became a famous name, didn’t it? He was praised, admired, even revered. And what was his fame based on? Nothing but lies. No one knew the name of Shashanka Sanyal. No one ever would. You had begun to resent this, Mr Sanyal, hadn’t you? You had done a lot for your friend, but perhaps the time had come to draw a line? We heard Mahitosh Babu speak very sternly to someone on our first night. I assume he was speaking to you. You two had started to disagree on most things, hadn’t you?’

Neither man made a reply. Feluda stared steadily at Mahitosh Babu for a few moments.

‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I shall take silence for assent. But there is another thing. I suppose silence is the only answer to that, as well.’

Mahitosh Babu cast a nervous glance at Feluda.

‘I am now talking of Torit Sengupta,’ Feluda went on. ‘You never wrote a single line yourself, just as you never killed a single animal. You said something about your manuscript, which made me go and look for it in your study. But I didn’t find anything with your handwriting on it. All you ever did was just relate your stories to Mr Sengupta. It was he who wrote them out beautifully. They were his words, his language, his style; yet, everyone thought they were yours, and you earned more praise, also as a gifted writer. Yes, it is true that you paid him well and he lived here in great comfort. But how long could he go on seeing someone else take the credit for his talent, his own hard work? Anyone with creative abilities wants to see his efforts appreciated. If he continued to work for you, there was no way his own name could ever become well known. Disappointed and frustrated, he was probably thinking of leaving, but suddenly you chanced upon that puzzle left by Adityanarayan, and Mr Sengupta saw it. It could be that he had already found references to those coins among your grandfather’s papers; so he
knew what the treasure consisted of. He solved the puzzle, and decided to leave with the treasure. He even found it . . . but then things went horribly wrong.’

Mahitosh Babu struggled to his feet, not without difficulty. ‘Yes, Mr Mitter, you are quite right in all that you’ve said,’ he remarked. ‘It is very painful for me to hear these things, but do tell me this: who killed Torit? He might have resented—even hated—me for what I was doing, but who could have disliked him so intensely? I certainly know of no one. Nor can I imagine who else might have come to the forest that night.’

‘Perhaps I can help you there.’

Mahitosh Babu had started to pace. He stopped abruptly at Feluda’s words and asked, ‘Can you?’

Feluda turned to Mr Sanyal. ‘Didn’t you pick up a Winchester rifle from the trophy room that night and come here, Mr Sanyal? I noticed traces of mud on its butt.’

Perhaps being a shikari had given him nerves of steel. Mr Sanyal’s face remained expressionless. ‘What if I did, Mr Mitter?’ he asked coolly. ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’

Feluda remained just as calm. ‘I am not suggesting for a moment that you came looking for the hidden treasure,’ he said. ‘You were and still are loyal to your friend. You would never have cheated him. But is it not true that you knew Mr Sengupta had solved the puzzle?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Sanyal replied levelly, ‘I did. As a matter of fact, Torit had offered me half of the treasure since he felt we were both being deprived in the same way. But I refused. Moreover, I told him more than once not to go into the forest, because of the man-eater. But that night, when I saw the light from his torch, I had to follow him in here. Yes, I took that rifle from the trophy room. When I got here, I found that he had dug the ground and found that pitcher, but there was no sign of him. Then I looked around closely, and saw blood on the grass, and pug marks. So I quickly put the pitcher away inside the temple, and followed the marks up to the bamboo grove. Then . . . there was a flash of lightning, and I saw the tiger crouched over Torit’s body. It was too dark to see clearly, but I shot at it, and made it run away. I knew I couldn’t do anything to help Torit. It was too late. However . . .’ He broke off.

‘However, that isn’t all, is it? Please allow me to finish your story. Correct me if what I say is wrong. I can only guess the details.’

‘Very well.’

‘You were talking to Madhavlal last night, weren’t you?’

Mr Sanyal did not deny this. Feluda asked another question: ‘Were you asking him to place a bait for the tiger? See those vultures over that tree? I think they are there because a dead animal is lying under it.’

‘A calf,’ Mr Sanyal muttered.

‘That means you wanted the tiger to come out today, while we were here, so that you could show at least a few people you were the real shikari, not your friend. Is that right?’

Mr Sanyal nodded silently. Before Feluda could say anything else, Mahitosh Babu came forward and placed a hand on Feluda’s shoulder.

‘Mr Mitter,’ he pleaded, ‘I’d like to give you something. Please do not refuse.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘These coins. This treasure. You are entitled to at least some of it. Please let me—’

Feluda smiled, looking at Mahitosh Babu. ‘No, I don’t want your silver coins,’ he said, ‘but there is something I’d like to take back with me.’

‘What is it?’

‘Adityanarayan’s sword.’

Lalmohan Babu walked over to Feluda immediately and handed him the sword.

‘What!’ Mahitosh Babu sounded amazed. ‘You would like that old sword instead of these priceless coins?’

‘Yes. In a way, this sword is priceless, too. It is not an ordinary sword, Mahitosh Babu. No, I don’t mean just the history attached to it. There is something else.’

‘You mean something to do with Torit’s murder?’

‘No. Mr Sengupta was not murdered.’

‘What! You mean he killed himself?’

‘No, it was not suicide, either.’

‘Then what was it, for heaven’s sake? Why are you talking in riddles?’ Mahitosh Babu said impatiently, sounding stern once more.

‘No, no, I am not talking in riddles. Let me explain what happened. We were so busy looking for a murderer that the obvious answer did not occur to anyone. Mr Sengupta had removed the sword himself.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Because he needed something to dig the ground with. He didn’t have time to look for a spade. That sword was handy, so he took it.’

‘And then?’

‘I am coming to that. But before I do, I’d like to show you what’s so special about it.’

Feluda stopped and began moving towards Mr Sanyal with the open sword in his hand. Brave though he was, Mr Sanyal moved restlessly as Feluda got closer. But Feluda did not hurt him. He merely stretched his arm, so that the iron blade could get closer to the point of the gun in Mr Sanyal’s hand. A second later, the two pieces of metal clicked together with a faint noise.

‘Good heavens, what is this? A magnet?’ Mr Sanyal cried.

‘Yes, it is now a magnet. I mean the sword, not your gun. Let me point out that when I saw this sword the first time, it was no different from other swords. There were various pieces of metal lying near it, but they were not sticking to the blade. It was magnetized the same night when Mr Sengupta died.’

‘How did that happen?’ Mahitosh Babu asked. We were all waiting with bated breath to hear Feluda’s explanation.

‘If a person happens to be carrying a piece of metal in his hand when lightning strikes, that piece of metal gets magnetized,’ Feluda went on. ‘Not only that, it may actually attract the lightning. What happened that night, I think, was this: it started raining as soon as Mr Sengupta finished digging the ground. He got the pitcher, but had to leave it there. I think he then ran towards that peepul tree to avoid getting wet. He was still carrying the sword, perhaps without even realizing it. Lightning struck the tree only a few seconds later. Mr Sengupta was lifted off the ground and flung aside under its impact . . . As he fell, the point of the sword pierced his clothes and left a deep wound in his body, purely by accident. No one killed him. It is my belief that he was already dead when he fell. Then the tiger found him.’

Mahitosh Babu was shaking violently. He looked up and stared at the peepul tree.

‘That’s why . . . that explains it!’ he said, his voice sounding choked. ‘I was wondering all this while why that tree had suddenly grown so old!’

We were going back to Calcutta today. The sun was shining brightly, but because of the recent rains, it felt pleasantly cool. We had finished packing, and were sitting in our room. Devtosh Babu’s room was now unlocked. I could hear his voice from time to time. Lalmohan Babu had grazed a knee while climbing down from the tree. He was placing a strip of sticking plaster on it, when a servant arrived, carrying a steel trunk on his head. He put it down on the ground and said Mahitosh Babu had sent it. Feluda opened it, and revealed a beautiful tiger skin, very carefully packed. There was a letter, too. It said, ‘Dear Mr Mitter, I am giving you this tiger skin as a token of my gratitude. I should be honoured if you accept it. The tiger was killed by my friend, Shashanka Sanyal, in a forest near Sambalpur, in 1957.’

Lalmohan Babu read the letter and said, ‘Ah, so you get both the sword and this skin!’

‘No, Lalmohan Babu. I am going to present the tiger skin to you.’

‘To me? Why?’

‘For your remarkable achievement. I have never known anyone who could lose consciousness on the top of a tree, and yet manage to stay put, without crashing to the ground. I would not have thought it possible at all. But you have proved it can be done!’

Lalmohan Babu waved a dismissive hand.

‘Did I tell you why I fainted in the first place? It was only because of my very lively imagination, Felu Babu. When you mentioned a tiger, do you know what I saw? I saw a burning torch, its orange flame shooting up to the sky. An awful monster sat in the middle of it, pulling evil faces, and I could hear the roar of engines. An aircraft was about to take off . . . and I knew it was going to land on me! Hey, what else could I do after this, except close my eyes and pass into oblivion?’