The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (56 page)

Feluda rose from his chair and glanced at the assembled group. Then he poured himself a glass of water from a jug, drank some of it, and began speaking.

‘Mr Mallik is no longer with us. I am going to start by talking about him. Siddheshwar Mallik worked as a judge for thirty years before ill health forced him to retire. But it could also be that he had lost some of his faith in the entire system of law and justice. He had started to question the validity of the death penalty. I am not going to discuss whether or not he was right in thinking what he did. I am merely going to describe events as they occurred.

‘Mr Mallik used to keep diaries. There was something special about these. He used to mark the days on which he passed a death sentence by writing the name of the condemned man and putting a red cross against it. If he wasn’t entirely satisfied that his verdict was justified, he used to put a question mark against that cross. I have seen Mr Mallik’s diaries. There were six question marks, which meant he had doubts about six men. They might have been innocent, but Mr Mallik had to send them to their deaths.

‘Now I would like to draw your attention to something else. Mr Mallik expressed his doubt about the accused, but nowhere in his diaries did I find any mention of the family or friends of these men. I don’t think he ever thought about the feelings of parents or wives or children, or anyone who might have known these men closely. But it is not difficult to imagine the pain these people must have suffered.

‘As soon as I realized this, I began to wonder if Mr Mallik himself might have been murdered by one of these people, who might have felt he was responsible for the death of an innocent man. The desire for revenge can be kept alive for many years. The more I thought about it, the more likely did it seem.

‘Now, the question was: could any one among those present here be a relative or friend of a man hanged for murder, though he might not have been the real culprit?

‘Dr Majumdar could be ruled out immediately, as he had been Mr Mallik’s physician for fifteen years. This left me with four people: Mr Som, Vijay Mallik, Mr Sarkar and Prayag. Vijay could be dropped from the list since none of his friends had been sentenced to die. The same rule applied to Mr Som. So, in the end, I was left with only Mr Sarkar and Prayag. Now I’d like to ask Prayag a question.’

Prayag stood in silence. Feluda looked straight at him. ‘Prayag,’ he said, ‘when you were washing your hands in the river the other day, I saw that two letters from the English alphabet had been tattooed on your right arm: “HR”. What do these letters stand for?’

Prayag swallowed. ‘They don’t mean anything, sir,’ he said slowly. ‘I wanted to have a tattoo done on my arm. The fellow who did it put those letters there, that is all.’

‘Are you telling me that they are not your initials? Nothing to do with your name?’

‘No, sir. My name is Prayag Mishir.’

‘Really? Suppose I tell you it’s not? You fail to respond often enough if anyone calls you Prayag. But you’re not really deaf, are you? You can hear perfectly well at other times. Why is that?’

‘I am called Prayag Mishir, sir. That is my name.’

‘No!’ Feluda shouted, ‘Tell me what the “R” stands for. What is your surname?’

‘What . . . what can I say?’

‘The truth. This is a matter of life and death, can’t you see? Stop telling lies.’

‘Well then, sir, you tell everyone what you know.’

‘Very well. The “R” stands for Raaut. Now tell us your full name.’ Suddenly, Prayag broke down. ‘He . . . he was my only son, sir,’ he sobbed, ‘and he didn’t kill anyone. But the case against him was so strong, he was so cleverly framed that he had to die. My only son . . . hanged!’

‘You still haven’t told us your name.’

‘Hanuman Raaut. That is my real name. But. . . but I did not kill my master, nor did I steal that ring. I swear I didn’t!’

‘Did I say you were being accused of murder and theft? All I wanted to know was your name.’

‘Then . . . then please, sir, please forgive me.’

‘No, Hanuman Raaut, you cannot be forgiven completely. Tell us the whole truth.’ Hanuman Raaut stared blankly at Feluda.

‘You did not kill your master, it is true,’ Feluda went on, ‘but you tried to kill someone else, didn’t you?’

‘No, no.’

‘Yes!’ Feluda said coldly. ‘You wanted to teach your master a lesson, didn’t you? You held him responsible for your son’s death. So you wanted him to feel the same sorrow and the same pain. Wasn’t it you who tried to kill Vijay Mallik? Didn’t you push him down the hill in Khilanmarg? You used your left hand, didn’t you, on which you wear a ring?’

‘But . . . but he didn’t die. He is still alive!’

‘Attempted murder, Hanuman Raaut, is a serious offence. You will not hang for murder, but what you did was utterly wrong. You cannot escape the consequences.’

Hanuman Raaut did not try to speak after this. Two constables took him away. Feluda drank some more water, then resumed speaking.

‘Let me now move on to something else. Something far more serious than what poor Hanuman Raaut did. Yes, I am talking of murder, the wilful destruction of a human life. Whoever took Mr Mallik’s life must pay for it by giving up his own. The death penalty in this case would be fully justified.’

Feluda stopped. Every eye was fixed on him. The noise from the river was the only sound that could be heard.

‘There is someone in this room I’ve already spoken to. But I’d like to ask him some more questions,’ Feluda went on. ‘Mr Sarkar!’

Mr Sarkar moved in his chair.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘When did you arrive in Srinagar?’

‘I arrived with you, by the same flight.’

‘There is an “S” engraved on your ring. What does it stand for?’

‘My surname, of course—Sarkar.’

‘But Mr Sarkar, I have checked with Indian Airlines. On that flight from Delhi, there was no Sarkar on the list of passengers. There was a Sen, two Senguptas, one Singh and one Sapru.’

‘But . . . but . . .’

‘But what, Mr Sarkar? Why did you feel you had to change your name? Do tell us.’ Mr Sarkar remained silent.

‘Shall I tell you what I think?’ Feluda asked. ‘I think you are
Manohar Sapru’s son. The same Sapru who had been sentenced to death by Mr Mallik. You look very much like a Kashmiri. Meeting Mr Mallik was an accident, but the minute you recognized him, you decided to change your name and befriended Mr Mallik’s son. This gave you the chance to move together with his group, and look for a suitable opportunity to strike. That opportunity came in Pahalgam.’

‘But how can you say that? This crime was committed by a left-handed man!’

‘Mr Sapru, don’t forget I have seen you deal cards. It may have escaped everyone’s attention, but I saw you use your left hand.’

Mr Sarkar—I mean Sapru—suddenly lost his temper.

‘All right, I stabbed him!’ he cried. ‘I don’t regret that for a minute. He was responsible for my father’s death. My father wasn’t guilty, but he was hanged because Mallik said so. I was only fifteen at the time. But. . . wait a minute!’ Sapru seemed to remember something. ‘I did not steal his ring. I only killed him!’ he added.

‘That’s right,’ Feluda replied. ‘You did not remove the ring. Someone else did that.’

There was complete silence in the room once more. Feluda’s eyes moved away from Sapru. ‘Vijay Mallik! You have been losing heavily at cards, haven’t you? I have made enquiries in Calcutta. I’ve got various sources of information, I even have friends in the police. You are up to your neck in debt, aren’t you?’

Vijay did not answer.

‘You were probably uncertain as to whether your father had left you anything in his will. So you hit him in order to snatch the ring from his finger.’

‘Hit him? What do you mean?’

‘I mean that your father was attacked by two different people. One was Sapru, the other was you. He died from his stab wounds—there is medical evidence to prove that. So Sapru is his real killer. But you were taking no chances, so you crushed his head with a heavy object. It is for the court to decide whether you should be tried for theft or murder, but certainly you are both going to be arrested.’

There was nothing more to be said. Inspector Singh and his men took the culprits away, and we returned to our tent.

‘One thing still bothers me, Felu Babu,’ said Lalmohan Babu on our return, ‘and you didn’t shed any light on this matter. Who attacked you, not once but twice?’

‘I didn’t shed any light, Mr Ganguli, because I was not sure about the answer. It was undoubtedly one of the three culprits—most probably it was Prayag. He had the opportunity each time. He could slip out unseen. It doesn’t seem likely that either Vijay Mallik or Sapru would have left their group to follow me. Anyway, that is now irrelevant. It did not affect the main investigation. Take it as a failure on my part.’

‘Oh? But that’s good news, Felu Babu. It is very reassuring to know that even a super sleuth like you can fail or make mistakes sometimes.’

‘Are you trying to be modest, Lalmohan Babu? There’s no need. A super sleuth I might be, but I could never write like you, not in a million years.’

‘Thanks for the jibe!’

‘L
ook,’ said Lalmohan Babu, ‘I have been with you since your visit to Jaisalmer and the golden fortress there, but before that you had been to Lucknow and Gangtok, hadn’t you? I didn’t know you then, so I have not had the chance to see these two places. I am particularly interested in Lucknow. It’s got so much history. Why don’t we go back there in the Puja holidays this year?’

The idea appealed to both of us. Feluda loved Lucknow. I was quite young the last time we had been there, when Feluda had solved the mystery of the stolen diamond ring that had once belonged to Aurangzeb. If we went back to Lucknow, I knew I’d enjoy seeing it more than I had done the last time.

It didn’t take Feluda long to make up his mind. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I must admit any mention of Lucknow makes me feel quite excited. It’s a beautiful place. How many cities in the country have a river flowing through it, tell me? Besides, it still hasn’t lost the old Mughal atmosphere. You can find signs of life from the time of the nawabs, and of course the mutiny of 1857. You’re right, Lalmohan Babu. I had been wondering where we might go this year. Let’s go back to Lucknow.’

Feluda was earning pretty well these days. He was easily the best known among all the private investigators in Calcutta. He usually got seven or eight cases every month, and he charged two thousand for each. Even so, it wasn’t possible to get anywhere near Lalmohan Babu. He had once told us that his annual income was in excess of three hundred thousand. He published two new books every year, and each ran into several editions.

We completed all the arrangements without further ado. Feluda bought three first-class tickets on the Doon Express. It would leave Howrah at 9 p.m., reaching Lucknow at half past six in the morning. He also made our hotel bookings at the Clarks Avadh.

‘We couldn’t really enjoy ourselves if we didn’t stay somewhere comfortable,’ he said.

‘What’s Avadh?’ Lalmohan Babu wanted to know.

‘Avadh is the Urdu name for Ayodhya.’

‘You mean Lucknow is in Ayodhya?’

‘Yes, sir. Didn’t you know that? The name “Lucknow” has come from “Laxman”.’

‘Laxman? You mean, as in the
Ramayana
?’

‘Right. Clarks Avadh is the best hotel in Lucknow. The river Gomti flows by it.’

‘Lovely. Avadh-on-the-Gomti, one might call it. Is it going to be cold?’

‘Take a woollen pullover. The evenings may well be cool. Or a warm waistcoat will do, depending on whether you wish to wear western clothes, or dress as a traditional Indian.’

‘I think I’ll take both.’

‘Good.’

‘A lot of Bengalis live in Lucknow, don’t they?’

‘Oh yes. Some families have been there for several generations. There’s a Bengali Club where they have Durga Puja every year. Who knows, you may even find people who have read your books!’

‘You think so? Should I take a few copies of my latest,
Shaken
in
Shanghai
?’

‘Take a dozen. Why stop at only a few?’

We left on the fifth of October, which was a Saturday. The station was absolutely packed. We were shown into our compartment by a railway official who happened to recognize Feluda. We had been given a lower and two upper berths in a four-berth section. We thanked the official and took our places. The fourth berth was already occupied by a middle-aged man, sporting a thin moustache. He moved aside to make room for us. We didn’t have much luggage. Feluda and I had packed our clothes in one suitcase, and Lalmohan Babu had brought his famous red leather case. A friend of his had brought it specially for him, all the way from Japan.

‘How far are you going?’ asked our fellow traveller when we were all seated.

‘Lucknow,’ Lalmohan Babu replied. ‘What about you?’

‘I am also going to Lucknow. That’s where I live. My family has been settled in Lucknow for years—we go back three generations. Are you on holiday?’

‘Yes.’

Feluda spoke this time: ‘I can see three letters on your suitcase: H J B. These are rather unusual initials. Would you mind if I asked your name?’

‘Not at all. My name is Jayant Biswas. The “H” stands for Hector. I am a Christian. Everyone in my family has a Christian name.’

‘Thank you. Please allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Pradosh Mitter, this is my cousin Tapesh and that’s my friend, Lalmohan
Ganguli.’

‘Pleased to meet you. You may have heard of my mother-in-law. She used to be an actress in silent films, and was quite well known.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Shakuntala Devi.’

‘Good heavens!’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed. ‘She was a major star in her time. One of my neighbours has old issues of the
Bioscope
magazine. He used to be a regular film buff in his youth. I’ve seen Shakuntala Devi’s pictures in those old magazines, and read articles on her. She wasn’t a Bengali, was she?’

‘No, she was an Anglo-Indian. Her real name was Virginia Reynolds. Her father, Thomas Reynolds, was in the army. He could speak fluent Urdu. He married a Muslim singer. Virginia was their daughter.’

‘Highly interesting,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked, ‘but she didn’t work in a single talkie, did she?’

‘No. She married a Bengali Christian before talkies began to be made in India. Then, when she was expecting her first child, she retired from films. Her first two children were girls, the third was a boy. I married her second daughter in 1960. My wife’s sister married a Goan. Their brother has remained a bachelor.’

Feluda spoke again: ‘Didn’t a maharaja give Shakuntala Devi a valuable necklace at one time?’

‘Yes, that’s right. It was the Maharaja of Mysore. He was so moved by Shakuntala’s acting that he gave her that necklace. Even in those days, it was worth a hundred thousand rupees. But how did you learn about it? Shakuntala stopped acting before you were born.’

‘True. But I read a report about it fifteen years ago. This necklace was stolen and then recovered by the police, wasn’t it?’

‘Right. Shakuntala was alive at the time. She died only three years ago, at the age of seventy-eight. There were stories about the necklace even after her death. But how did you manage to remember something you had read fifteen years ago? You must have a very sharp memory.’

‘I have always been interested in news on crime. And yes, I can usually recall things I’ve read. Perhaps I should tell you the whole truth. You see, my profession is related to crime and criminals.’

Feluda took out one of his cards and offered it to Jayant Biswas. He took it, raising his eyebrows. ‘A private investigator! Oh, I see.
That’s
why your name sounded familiar. You have a pet name, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I am called Felu.’

‘That’s right. Feluda. My daughter’s an ardent admirer of yours. She has read all your stories. I am very glad to have met you.’

Feluda now turned to Lalmohan Babu. ‘I don’t know if his name has reached Lucknow,’ he said, ‘but he is a very well-known writer in Bengal. He writes under the pseudonym of Jatayu.’

‘Really? Who knew I’d get to meet two famous personalities tonight in the same compartment? Where will you be staying in Lucknow?’

‘The Clarks Avadh.’

‘I see. I live on the other side of the river, in Badshah Bagh. I will contact you in Lucknow. All of you must come and have a meal with us. My wife is a great cook, and Mughlai food is her speciality. And of course my daughter’s going to be thrilled to meet her hero.’

‘Thank you,’ said Feluda. ‘We’d be very glad to come. Perhaps we can see that famous necklace?’

‘Oh sure. That’s not a problem at all, since it’s with me. I mean, my wife has got it.’

‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Surely it should have been given to Shakuntala’s elder daughter? Didn’t you say you had married the younger one?’

‘Yes. The reason is quite simple. Virginia—I mean Shakuntala—was deeply fond of my wife, Suneela. Suneela is extremely talented. A gifted actress, she might have gone into films and become a famous star like her mother. But she chose to be a simple housewife instead.’

‘Suneela? Doesn’t she have a Christian name?’

‘Yes. Her full name is Pamela Suneela.’