The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (16 page)

‘Do sit down,’ Maganlal invited, switching the video off. Lalmohan Babu and I sat down on a settee, Feluda took a chair.

‘Well, Mr Mitter?’

Feluda said nothing. Like me, he was looking straight at Maganlal. He hadn’t changed much in these few years. He was still wearing a dhoti and a sherwani. The latter had clearly been made by an expert tailor. What had changed, of course, were his surroundings. A dark and dingy house in a narrow alley in Benaras was a far cry indeed from this luxurious suite in a five star hotel.

‘This time, I hope, you are on a real holiday, Mr Mitter?’ Maganlal asked.

‘No, Maganlalji, not really,’ Feluda said pleasantly. ‘Some people are just not destined to have a holiday without having to mix
business with pleasure. I am one of them.’

‘What business have you got here, Mr Mitter?’ Maganlal picked up a telephone. ‘Tea or coffee? You can get the best quality Darjeeling tea here.’

‘In that case, let’s have tea.’

Maganlal rang room service, ordered tea for all of us and turned to Feluda again. ‘You are a big hero in India, Mr Mitter. But Nepal is a foreign country. Do you know many people here?’

‘Well, I seem to have found at least one person I know!’ Maganlal smiled wryly. His eyes did not move from Feluda’s face. ‘Are you surprised to find me here?’

‘Yes, I am, a little,’ Feluda lit a Charminar. ‘Not to find you outside the prison—I realize you have all the right connections to have organized an early release—but to see you outside Benaras.’

‘Why? Benaras is a holy place, and so is Kathmandu. We have Baba Vishwanath there, and here’s Pashupatinath. My karma, you see, is related to places of dharma! What do you say, Uncle?’

‘He heh!’ Lalmohan Babu tried to laugh. I could see he had gone visibly pale. All the horrors of Arjun’s knife-throwing must have come rushing back.

‘You talk of your karma, Maganlalji,’ said Feluda casually. ‘Would that by any chance involve drugs and medicines?’

A cold shiver ran down my spine. How could Feluda be so reckless?

‘Drugs? Medicines? What are you talking about?’ Maganlal sounded perfectly taken aback.

‘If you have nothing to do with them, then do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’

‘No, not at all. But we must have a fair exchange.’

‘All right. You go first.’

‘It’s all very simple, Mr Mitter. I am an art dealer—you know I like statues and paintings, don’t you? Many houses in Nepal are crammed with such stuff. My job is to collect them.’

Feluda remained silent. I could hear Lalmohan Babu breathing heavily.

‘Now you tell me about yourself.’

‘I don’t think you’ve been entirely honest with me,’ Feluda replied, ‘but I am going to be quite frank. I am here to investigate a murder.’

‘Murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean the murder of Mr Som?’

I gaped. Lalmohan Babu drew in his breath sharply. Only Feluda’s face remained expressionless. ‘Yes, that’s right, Maganlalji,’ he said coolly. ‘Mr Anikendra Som.’

A waiter came in with the tea. He placed the tray on a table in front of Maganlal.

‘It is my belief,’ Feluda continued when the waiter had gone, ‘that Mr Som had started to cause some concern to a certain individual. So he had to be removed from the scene.’

Maganlal began pouring. ‘One or two?’ he asked me, holding the sugar pot. It was filled with sugar cubes.

‘One, please,’ I replied. Maganlal dropped a cube in my cup and passed it to me. Then he turned to Lalmohan Babu, who was eyeing the cubes with open suspicion. I knew he was thinking of hippies and LSD.

‘What about you. Uncle.’ Two? Three?’

‘N-no, no.’

‘No sugar at all?’

‘No, th-thank you.’

I looked at him in surprise. We all knew he had a sweet tooth. ‘You amaze me, Uncle,’ Maganlal said with a slight smile. ‘Why are you saying no?’

This time, Lalmohan Babu gave me a sidelong glance and said, ‘OK. One, please.’ Perhaps the fact that I had accepted a cube gave him courage. Feluda, too, was given one. He went on speaking, ‘I think Mr Som had unearthed an illegal racket. He had gone to Calcutta to make further enquiries, and to meet me. He was killed before he could do so. Since you appear to know about the murder, naturally one would wish to know if you are involved in any way in this case.’

Maganlal stared at Feluda for a few moments, his eyes narrowed, his lips contorted in a twisted smile. Lalmohan Babu and I sipped our tea. It really was the very best Darjeeling tea anyone could get.

‘Jagdeesh!’ Maganlal shouted suddenly. I couldn’t help but start. A door behind Maganlal opened and a man came into the room silently. Lalmohan Babu put his cup down on the table with a clatter.

The man called Jagdeesh standing behind Maganlal was the second Mr Batra. There were very slight differences in his appearance which were apparent only because we could watch him, for the first time, at close quarters. His eyes were lighter than our Mr
Batra’s, his hair was greyer, and—most important of all—the look in his eyes held not even a glimmer of warmth.

‘Do you know this man?’ asked Maganlal.

‘We haven’t met him, but we know him by sight.’

‘Then listen carefully, Mr Private Investigator. Do not harass Jagdeesh. I know you have been trying to track him down ever since you arrived. I will not tolerate your interference, Mr Mitter. Jagdeesh is my right-hand man.’

‘Even though he is left-handed?’

Feluda was still speaking lightly. Before Maganlal could say anything, he asked another question. ‘Are you aware that there is a gentleman who looks almost exactly like your Jagdeesh?’

Maganlal frowned darkly. ‘Yes, Mr Mitter. I know that. If this other man is a friend of yours, tell him to take care. He must think before he acts. You have seen the cremation ground near the temple of Pashupatinath, haven’t you, Uncle? You went there today, didn’t you?’ Without a word, Lalmohan Babu finished his tea in one long gulp and replaced the cup carefully on the table. His hand trembled slightly.

‘If Batra thinks he can commit a crime and try to get Jagdeesh blamed for it, then within two days Batra’s body will be cremated in that ground. Go tell your friend, Mr Mitter!’

‘Very well, I shall pass on your message.’

Feluda, too, finished his tea and rose. ‘We must take our leave now, Maganlalji. Thank you for the tea. It really was very good.’

Maganlal made no comment. Nor did he move from his seat. He simply reached for the remote control and switched the video on again.

We returned to our hotel soon after our meeting with Maganlal. None of us had any idea that there was more in store.

We found Harinath Chakravarty waiting for us in the lounge. This surprised us all. What was he doing here so late at night? It was past eleven.

‘Let’s go up to our room,’ Feluda said. Harinath Babu joined us without a word. He was clearly anxious about something.

‘What is the matter, Mr Chakravarty?’ asked Feluda when we
were all seated in our room.

Harinath Babu took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. Then he said slowly, ‘When Himadri left us so suddenly, I couldn’t think straight. Besides, it didn’t seem worthwhile to talk about such matters when nothing would bring him back.’

‘What are you talking about?

‘About three years ago,’ Harinath Babu replied after a pause, ‘Himadri had exposed a gang who were smuggling things like
ganja
and
charas.
I told you, didn’t I, that he often took his helicopter both to the north and south of Nepal? He discovered the den of these smugglers in the north and informed the police. The whole gang was caught.’

‘Are you telling us, that just before his death, he had come upon something involving another gang?’

‘He didn’t tell me anything. But a few days before he died, I saw him discuss something rather animatedly with his friend. I told him not to meddle in these things. These criminals can be totally merciless. But he only laughed and told me not to worry.’

‘I believe, Mr Mitter, my son would have died, anyway. If an attack of tetanus did not kill him, these crooks would have taken his life somehow.’

‘Why are you saying this?’

Harinath Babu took out a piece of paper and handed it to Feluda. It had something scribbled on it in red ink.

‘We found this in his trouser pocket after he died.’

‘Is it written in Nepali?’

‘Yes. It says, “You have gone too far”.’

Feluda returned the piece of paper to Harinath Babu and smiled wryly.

‘The biggest irony is that one who was on the verge of exposing a drug racket had to die of a spurious drug himself.’

‘Do you really believe the injection he was given wasn’t genuine?’ Harinath Babu asked.

‘Yes. Hopefully, by tomorrow, we shall know for sure. You see, I’ve asked Dr Divakar to have a sample analysed.’

‘I see. Well, that is all I came to tell you. I hope it helps in some way,’ said Harinath Babu and stood up.

‘It certainly does. I am now much clearer in my mind about what I’m looking for. Thank you, Mr Chakravarty.’

Harinath Babu left. Lalmohan Babu, too, said, ‘Good night’ and
went to his room.
I went straight to bed after this. What a day it had been!

I must have fallen asleep immediately, but was woken a little later by the doorbell. A quick glance at my watch told me it was a quarter past twelve. Who on earth could it be at this hour? I got out of bed and opened the door. Then my mouth fell open.

It was Lalmohan Babu. In his left hand he held a scrap of
paper. In his right was the prayer wheel. His lips were parted in a smile that could only be described as beatific.

‘Hoom! Hoom! Hoom!’ he said, coming into the room, turning the prayer wheel. I took the piece of paper from his hand and saw what was written on it in English. ‘You have been warned,’ it said. It was written with the same red ink as the warning in Nepali we had just seen.

Feluda was sitting up on his bed. I passed the paper on to him and asked Lalmohan Babu, ‘Where did you find it?’

He patted the right pocket of his jacket. He had been wearing the same jacket in the morning. I remembered him saying a monkey had pulled at his clothes.

‘Om-m-m-m!’ said Lalmohan Babu, sitting down on a chair. The smile hadn’t left his face. I looked at Feluda. He was staring at Lalmohan Babu, looking concerned. ‘LSD,’ he whispered as he caught my eye.

That sugar cube!

Maganlal had made tea for all of us. Since Feluda and I were still sane, he had obviously tampered only with Lalmohan Babu’s tea, just to make a fool of him. What a swine he was!

Lalmohan Babu had stopped smiling. For some unknown reason, he was now looking decidedly displeased. ‘Take off your skull!’ he said sternly to Feluda. ‘I said take it off, you old scallywag!’

‘Maganlal—you scoundrel!’ said Feluda under his breath. Lalmohan Babu turned his eyes to the glass of water on the bedside table, and frowned. Then, slowly, his eyes widened in amazement and he began smiling again.

‘Ooooh!’ he said appreciatively. ‘Just look at those colours! Vibgyor! Look, Tapesh, have you ever seen such shades, such hues?

Vibgyor? Could he actually see a rainbow in that glass of water? ‘It’s vibrating! Have you ever seen colour vibrate?’

Then he fell silent. I began to feel sleepy again and nodded off. But I woke with a start almost instantly as I heard him shout, ‘Mice!’

He was sitting ramrod straight, staring at the floor.

‘Mice!’ he said again. ‘Terramyce, tetramyce, subamyce, chloromyce . . . compromise . . . there they are, wriggling on the floor . . . don’t play the fool with me, I tell you!’

He jumped up and began stamping his foot on the carpet, as if that was the only way he could get rid of the mice. Then he began hopping all over the room, still stamping his foot constantly. I hoped fervently the room below ours was empty.

‘Finished! Ah, at last! All ticks finished!’

He sat down again. How had the mice turned into ticks? ‘Antibioticks! Killed them all, I did. Ha!’

Now his eyes drooped. Perhaps the sudden burst of activity had tired him out. ‘Om-m-m-m!’ he said softly, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Om-m-m-m-mo-mo-mo!’

I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. When I opened them, sunlight was streaming in through an open window. Feluda had already had his bath, shaved and seemed ready to go out. He finished talking to someone on the phone and replaced the receiver when he saw I was awake.

‘Get up, Topshe, we have lots to do. Mr Batra must be told he’s not as safe as we had thought.’

‘Who were you calling.’’

‘The police. They gave me some good news. The two governments have agreed to carry out a joint investigation.’

‘That’s splendid!’

‘Yes. But I made another call, and that worried me.’

‘What happened?’

‘I rang Dr Divakar. Apparently, he received an urgent call early this morning and left. I don’t like this at all.’

‘Why?’

‘I have a feeling the gang we’re after found out I had asked him to get a sample tested. But I could be wrong. I’ll call him again a little later. If I can’t get him on the phone, I’ll go straight to his dispensary.’

‘Er . . . . where is Lalmohan Babu?’

‘He left an hour ago, looking as though he had attained
moksha.
But he was quite calm, no problem there. The whole effect of the drug will take about eight hours to wear off.’

‘Were you up all night?’

‘Yes, someone had to keep an eye on him.’

‘Is he normal now?’

‘Almost. Just before going he told me one-third of my brain was made of solid stuff, the remainder was water. God knows what he meant.’

It took me half an hour to get ready. Feluda had already gone down. I found him waiting for me by the reception, pacing anxiously.

‘Dr Divakar hasn’t returned to his house,’ he told me. ‘I rang him again. His family doesn’t know where he’s gone.’

‘And Batra?’

‘I couldn’t get through. I’ll try once more, then I’ll go over to his office. We need a car, anyway.’

Lalmohan Babu came down in less than five minutes, looking absolutely normal. But a few things he said implied the effects of LSD hadn’t quite worn off. There was a large Nepali mask hanging on the wall near the reception. He stroked it gently and asked, ‘What is the name of the palace in England?’

‘Buckingham Palace?’

‘Yes, bat it’s nothing compared to this.’

‘Compared to what?’

‘This hotel. Hotel Lumumba.’

‘Lumbini.’

‘All right. Lumbini. He was born here, wasn’t he?’

‘Who?’

‘Gautam Buddha.’

‘Not in this hotel!’

‘Why, you mean to say they didn’t have hotels before Christ?’ Luckily, this weird conversation could not continue for long, for Feluda turned up soon after and said we had to finish our breakfast quickly and go to Sun Travels, for he still couldn’t get them on the phone.

We decided to just have a cup of coffee for breakfast. Something told me today was going to be another eventful day.

It took us only five minutes to walk down to Sun Travels. Their office was obviously new, and very smartly furnished. Mr Pradhan, Batra’s secretary, ushered us into Batra’s room; and then dropped a bombshell.

‘Mr Batra has gone out, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘A very important person rang him this morning, you see. He wanted to see our new bungalow in the Rapti valley. So Mr Batra had to go with him. But he did tell me you might need a car. I can arrange one quite easily.’

‘Thank you. But could you please tell us who this important person was?’

‘Certainly. It was Mr Meghraj. He’s staying at the Oberoi. A very important art dealer.’

Lalmohan Babu clutched my hand. The very mention of Meghraj’s name had brought him to his senses. But Mr Batra? Who could have known he would fall into Maganlal’s trap so soon?

‘How long does it take to get to your bungalow?’ Feluda asked. ‘You will need to go via Hetaora—that’s 150 km. You might wish to stop for lunch in Hetaora. Our bungalow is new, you see, so the kitchen isn’t ready yet. Turn right as you come out of Hetaora and go along the river for three kilometres. You’ll find our bungalow there, in the middle of the jungle. It’s a beautiful spot.’

‘I see. Could you have a car pick us up from the hotel in half an hour?’

‘Very well, sir. No problem!’

‘You two go back to the hotel and wait for me. I have to go to Darbar Square. I won’t be long,’ Feluda said as we came out of Sun Travels.

The car arrived in twenty minutes. Feluda took twenty-five. ‘Had to go to Freak Street,’ he explained.

‘Where is that?’

‘Not very far. That’s where most hippies stay.’

In five minutes, we were on our way to Hetaora. Feluda had his notebook open and was studying its entries, frowning deeply. Lalmohan Babu had been restored to his normal self, although I noticed he had a strangely tranquil air, suggesting he was totally at peace with the world. Looking at the scenery, he made only one comment: ‘I had double vision yesterday. Now I can see only one of everything.’

Feluda looked up at this and said with a slightly preoccupied air, ‘That is true. But then, so is its reverse.’

I found this remark extremely mystifying.

We had climbed four thousand feet from Kathmandu. Snow-capped peaks were clearly in view. Soon, it became necessary to take out woollen mufflers, and drink the hot coffee we had
brought in a flask.

Half an hour later, we began climbing down, making our way to the Shivalik hills. The Rapti valley and the town of Hetaora were not far.

‘Topshe, do you know Batra’s first name?’ Feluda asked suddenly, closing his notebook.

‘No. He never told us, did he?’

‘He didn’t. But you should have noticed the name-plate on his desk. It’s Anantlal Batra.’

When we reached Hetaora, it was nearly 2 p.m. None of us felt hungry, so we didn’t stop for lunch. ‘What is food at a moment like this?’ asked Lalmohan Babu. ‘It is nothing!’

The driver drove on, turning right from the highway. I could now see the river Rapti gushing through the trees. The road we were on was lined with tall trees on both sides. I couldn’t get over the fact that we were actually passing through the famous Terai, which was well-known for its vicious wild animals. I had read such a lot about it! After the sepoy mutiny in 1857; Nana Saheb was supposed to have taken refuge in its leafy depths, together with all his men.

We took another right turn, which brought us to a dirt road. A few minutes later, we saw the bungalow. A large area had been cleared to build it. It had a sizeable compound. Our car passed through the gate and went up a cobbled driveway. Then it stopped just before the front door.

I realized how quiet the place was as soon as our driver switched off the engine. He then got out and moved towards the garage. I could see another car parked there. We too got out of the car and went into the house. The front door was open.

‘Come in, Mr Mitter!’

It wasn’t difficult to recognize the deep voice of Maganlal Meghraj. We walked into the living room. There were two settees. The floor was covered by a Tibetan carpet. A radio stood on a small table on one side, and on a shelf were a few books and magazines.

Maganlal was sitting on one of the settees, eating puri-sabzi from a tiffin carrier. A servant stood waiting with a towel and a bowl of water. There was no one else in the room.

‘I knew you’d come,’ he said, wiping his hands. By this time, we were all seated. ‘I also know why you’ve come,’ Maganlal went on, ‘but I am going to win this round. You can’t have it your way each time, can you?’ Feluda did not speak.

‘I haven’t forgotten the humiliation you caused me in Benaras, Mr Mitter. I am going to pay you back.’

I could hear a funny thudding noise coming from one of the rooms to our right. God knows what was causing it.

‘Where is Mr Batra?’ asked Feluda calmly, ignoring Maganlal’s threat.

Maganlal clicked his tongue. ‘Very sorry, Mr Mitter. I told you Jagdeesh was my right hand. One needs only one right hand, doesn’t one? I saw no reason to have two.’

‘You did not answer my question. Where is he?’

‘Batra is still alive. He’ll be safe during the day. But who knows what might happen at night? There is a law against destroying wild-life. But tell me, have you ever heard of a law protecting a man from hungry wild animals?’

‘Why did you leave Kathmandu, Maganlalji? Do you know what’s happening there today?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Your factory in Patan and warehouse in Kathmandu are both being ransacked by the police.’

Maganlal burst into laughter. His massive body swayed from side to side. ‘What kind of a fool do you take me for, Mr Mitter? The police will find nothing, absolutely nothing! The warehouse in the pig alley is empty, and all that is now being made in Patan are handicrafts. Perfectly genuine handicrafts. I have brought all my stuff with me, Mr Mitter. Didn’t you see lorries going to India through Hetaora? They carry timber; and some of them, Mr Mitter, carry what I wish to have hidden in the timber. Yes, that is how I send fake drugs to India. Mind you, most of my work is done in India by Indians. Labels, capsules, ampoules, phials—they all come from India. The rest is done here, for Nepalis work harder—and better—than Indians.’

Maganlal stopped. I could hear crickets outside, making a racket. But what was that noise—?

Jagdeesh lifted a colourful embroidered curtain and came in, a revolver in his left hand. He stood mutely, pointing it at Feluda.

‘Get up!’ Maganlal ordered. We rose slowly.

‘Raise your hands.’ We did.

‘Ganga! Kesri!’

Two other men came in and began to search us. One of them found Feluda’s revolver and handed it to Maganlal.

The thudding noise seemed to have grown louder and more insistent. Maganlal looked faintly annoyed and said, ‘I am sorry, Mr Mitter, but I had to get hold of another friend of yours. He was trying to get our drugs analysed and create more problems for us. So naturally he had to be stopped.’

‘Will you feed him to the animals, too?’

‘No, no, Mr Mitter.’ Maganlal grinned. ‘I can use him to my own advantage. It’s very useful to have a doctor to turn to. My heart—’

Before he could finish speaking, a number of things happened all at once. The two men called Ganga and Kesri had left the room. Now they came back carrying thick ropes. At this moment, a car drew up outside. Jagdeesh promptly removed the safety catch of his revolver; but Feluda was too quick for him. He leapt up in the air and kicked the revolver out of Jagdeesh’s hand. But somehow the gun went off. A bullet shot out and hit the ceiling fan, making it spin.

In these few seconds, as if by magic, a large number of men had appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t recognize any of them, but could tell that they were all policemen in plain clothes from both India and Nepal. One of them grabbed Jagdeesh and pinned him against the wall.

Maganlal was on his feet, glaring with smouldering eyes. ‘Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare!’ he hissed.

‘We’ll deal with you in a minute, Maganlalji,’ Feluda said, ‘but first, let me get something settled.’ He turned to Jagdeesh. ‘I couldn’t see your fingers properly because you were holding that gun,’ said Feluda, ‘but now . . . yes, I can see that two of your fingers have got ink on them. Are you still using that same old pen that leaks, Mr Batra?’

‘Shut up, Mr Mitter!’ shouted Maganlal. ‘Just shut up! Jagdeesh is my—’

‘Not Jagdeesh. Batra—Anantlal Batra—is your right hand. There is no Jagdeesh; nor is there a second Mr Batra. It’s the same man. I’m sure the police can make him remove his contact lenses. There is something he doesn’t yet know. His house was searched this morning after he left. The police found a lot of counterfeit money, which—no doubt—used to be produced in your factory in Patan.’

An officer from the Nepal Police brought out a large bundle of hundred-rupee notes. Batra went white.

‘You made one false move in Calcutta, Mr Batra,’ Feluda told him. ‘In trying to establish that there were two Batras, you bought a
kukri at the gift shop in your hotel and gave them a fake note. But you could not take it back, since later you had to pretend to be totally innocent. So the shop passed it on to the police. The number on it was the same as the number on all the notes they found in your house.’

Batra looked as though he wanted to sink through the floor. But Maganlal had not given up.

‘I warn you, Mr Mitter—’ he began.

‘You’re talking too much!’ Feluda interrupted him. ‘I must do something to keep you quiet. Topshe, get the man!’

I was quite willing to do this, but noticed, to my surprise, that Lalmohan Babu seemed much more keen to grab Maganlal and push him down on the sofa. He wriggled a lot, but the two of us held him back.

Feluda, in the meantime, had taken out two objects from his pocket. One of them was a sugar cube. This explained why he had gone to Freak Street. He forced it into Maganlal’s mouth and made him swallow it.

The second object was a roll of cellotape. Feluda tore a portion of it and sealed Maganlal’s mouth with it.

Finally, he put his hand inside his jacket pocket and brought out something that looked like a cigarette case. He handed it to one of the police officers and said, ‘I had switched on this mini cassette recorder the minute we stepped into this room. You will get a lot of information from it, given by Mr Meghraj himself.’