The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (57 page)

I went to sleep at ten o’clock and woke at half past six. Breakfast was served when we reached Buxar. We were supposed to reach Mughalsarai at a quarter to nine. Lunch would be served at twelve-thirty, our bearer told us. By that time we should have reached Pratapgarh.

Mr Biswas turned out to be an early riser. After breakfast, he said,
‘Someone I know is travelling in the next compartment. Let me go and say hello to him.’

Lalmohan Babu, I noticed, had had a shave and was looking quite fresh. He was currently using imported razors. A friend had brought him twenty from Kathmandu. Each lasted three or four shaves, then had to be discarded.

‘What will you do when you run out of these?’ Feluda asked him. ‘Go back to ordinary Indian blades?’

‘No, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu grinned. ‘I rather like to indulge myself when if comes to shaving. I buy Wilkinson blades from New Market.’

‘But that’s really expensive.’

‘Yes, but I don’t have any other expenses to handle, do I? I live alone, so I like to spend my money on myself.’

‘We contribute quite a lot to your expenses, Lalmohan Babu. Just think how often we use your car?’

‘Heh, that’s hardly a problem. We are the Three Musketeers, remember? How can one of them travel in his own car, leaving the others to look for taxis? I never heard anything so ridiculous.’

Feluda lit a Charminar and went into the corridor for a walk. He returned in five minutes and said, ‘I found Mr Biswas and another man deep in conversation in coupe number one. He appeared to be an Anglo-Indian, although his complexion wasn’t all that fair.’

‘Did you hear what they were saying?’ Lalmohan Babu asked curiously.

‘I only heard what this other man was saying. He said, “I can give you just three days.” That was all.’

‘Did it sound like a threat?’

‘Difficult to say. One has to raise one’s voice so often in a moving train. Perfectly harmless words may sound like a threat.’

A little later, Mr Biswas came back with the man he had been speaking to. ‘I thought you might like to meet Mr Sukius,’ he said to Feluda. ‘He’s a well-known businessman of Lucknow; and a connoisseur of art.’

‘I hope we will meet again in Lucknow. Mr Biswas and I are old friends,’ Mr Sukius said, shaking hands with Feluda. He left soon after we had been introduced to him.

Feluda turned to Mr Biswas as he returned to his seat. ‘You told us your mother-in-law’s real name was Virginia Reynolds,’ he said. ‘Do you know anything about the history of their family? How long have
they been in India?’

‘Virginia’s grandfather, John Reynolds, came to India in 1827. He was nineteen at the time. He joined the Bengal regiment. During the mutiny of 1857, he was posted in Lucknow. He fought bravely for a long time, but was eventually killed. His son Thomas was also in the Bengal regiment and, like his father, was posted to Lucknow after a while. He decided to settle there. He learnt to speak Urdu, began to smoke a hookah, take paan and use attar. Since he was fond of music and dancing, he got professional singers and dancers to perform regularly in his house. Sometimes he even dressed in Indian clothes. In other words, his lifestyle was no different from that of a nawab in Lucknow. People called him “Thomas Bahadur”. In the end, he fell in love with a kathak dancer called Farida Begum and married her. They had two sons, Edward and Charles. Neither went into the army. Edward became a lawyer and Charles went to manage a tea estate in Assam. He never returned to Lucknow. Thomas and Farida’s third child was Virginia. She was born with her father’s pale skin, but her mother’s dark hair and eyes. When she began acting in films, she looked beautiful, and not unsuitable in the role of an Indian woman. She spoke both Urdu and English.

‘As I told you before, she married a Bengali Christian. He was called Percival Motilal Banerjee. He was, in fact, the producer of Shakuntala’s films. It was he who got Virginia to join films and change her name to Shakuntala. He made a lot of money from films. Virginia’s father, Thomas Reynolds, had virtually no savings. He might have died a pauper, but Virginia stepped in and took care of her old father.

‘Percival and Virginia had two daughters and a son. The eldest is called Margaret Susheela. She is married, as I told you, to a Goan called Saldanha. He owns a shop selling musical instruments.

‘I married their second daughter, Pamela Suneela, in 1960. I am in the business of imports and exports. I’ve told you about my daughter. I have also got a son. Victor Prasenjit. My daughter’s called Mary Sheela. I tried to get my son to join me, but he wasn’t interested in running a business. He usually does what he likes. Sheela finished college two years ago. She is quite a gifted actress, but her main interest is in journalism. She’s started writing for various publications. I’ve read her articles. They’re really good.’

Mr Biswas stopped and lit a cigarette, having offered one to Feluda.

‘Interesting,’ Feluda said briefly.

‘Highly romantic!’ Lalmohan Babu declared. ‘Tell me, has your wife ever worn that necklace?’

‘Yes, she’s worn it to a few parties. But usually it stays locked in a chest. You’ll see how valuable it is when I show it to you.’

‘I can’t wait!’ Lalmohan Babu cried.

‘You’ll have to be patient, Mr Ganguli, for just another four days,’ Mr Biswas told him.

We had been in Lucknow for the last three days. My mind kept going back to our first visit—Emperor Aurangzeb’s diamond ring, Dr Srivastava, Bonobihari Babu’s amazing zoo, Haridwar and, finally, our spine-chilling adventure on the way to Laxmanjhoola.

On that occasion we had stayed with a friend, not in a hotel. Clarks Avadh had probably not even been built at that time. It was a really good hotel. We had been given a double and a single room. Both overlooked the river. When the sun set every evening on the other side of the Gomti, it was a sight worth seeing. The food, too, was excellent. We had stayed in many hotels in various parts of the country, but I couldn’t recall a single place where the food had been quite so delicious.

Lalmohan Babu had seen most of the important sights in these three days. We had begun with the Bara Imambara. Its huge hall—unsupported by pillars—made my head reel once more. Lalmohan Babu was speechless. All he said, as we left, was: ‘Bravo, nawabs of Lucknow!’

The Bhulbhulaiya nearly made him faint. When Feluda told him the nawabs used to play hide-and-seek with their begums in this maze, he grew totally round-eyed.

The Residency was another surprise. ‘This . . . this is like going back in time, Felu Babu! I can almost hear the cannons and smell the gunpowder. My word, did the sepoys really cause such a lot of damage to this strong and sturdy building?’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed.

On the fourth day, we went out to the local market to buy bhoona peda, a sweetmeat Lucknow is famous for. On our return to the hotel, we found an invitation to dinner. It had been sent by Hector
Jayant Biswas, inviting us to attend his silver wedding anniversary in two days time. There was a map enclosed with the invitation, which showed clearly where his house was located. We already knew it was on the other side of the river. With a map like that, we should have no difficulty in finding it.

Mr Biswas rang us in the evening. ‘All of you must come,’ he said. ‘You’ll get to meet some other people, and of course I’ll show you Shakuntala’s necklace.’

We spent the next two days looking at the Chhota Imambara, Chattar Manzil and the zoo. Lalmohan Babu was most impressed to find animals in the open and not locked in cages. ‘The Calcutta zoo should also be like this!’ he proclaimed.

In the evening, we took a taxi to Mr Biswas’s house. The map we had been sent was a very good one. Our driver found his house quite easily. It was a bungalow, large and sprawling. Flowers bloomed in the big front garden. A cobbled driveway led to the front door. When we rang the bell, a bearer in uniform opened the door. We could hear voices from the living room. Mr Biswas came out quickly. ‘I am so glad you could come!’ he said warmly. ‘Do come in and meet the others.’

We followed him into the room where a few other people had assembled. Perhaps many more were expected. The first person we were introduced to was Mr Biswas’s wife, Pamela Suneela. She had clearly been good-looking at one time. Her daughter—Mary Sheela—was attractive and smart. Her son, however, was just the opposite: he sported long, thick, unruly hair untouched by a comb, an unkempt beard and a moustache. His name was Victor Prasenjit.

Mrs Biswas’s sister and brother-in-law—Mr and Mrs Saldanha were also present. Mrs Saldanha may have been pretty once, but had now put on a lot of weight. Her husband, on the contrary, was very thin. He seemed to be about sixty. I remembered being told he sold musical instruments. There was no one else in the room apart from these family members.

The room was fairly large. I was surprised to find that a screen had been put up in one corner. Opposite it stood a projector. I looked enquiringly at our host. ‘We have got a print of the last film in which Shakuntala Devi appeared. We’d like to show one reel from it before dinner,’ he explained. ‘You’ll see her wearing that famous necklace.’

That should be quite interesting, I thought. Mary Sheela came up
to speak to Feluda.

‘I am a fan of yours. I would love to have your autograph but, right now I haven’t got an autograph book. I’ll buy one and call on you at your hotel before you leave,’ she said.

A bearer came in with a tray of drinks. We picked up three glasses of orange juice. Samuel Saldanha approached us. ‘My shop is in Hazratganj,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come and see it one day? I should be very pleased if you did.’

‘Thank you. Do you sell Indian instruments?’

‘Yes, we sell sitars, as well as western instruments.’

At this moment, we were joined by another gentleman. Judging by the resemblances between him and Mrs Biswas, he was her brother. But his skin and his eyes were lighter, which made him look more European than Indian. He picked up a glass of whisky and turned to us.

‘I am Albert Ratanlal Banerjee, Jayant’s brother-in-law,’ he said. ‘You are—?’

Mr Biswas stepped forward and quickly introduced us. ‘Private detective?’ Ratanlal raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you here working on a case?’

‘No, no,’ Feluda smiled. ‘I am here purely on holiday.’

Another man emerged from the house. He seemed to be about the same age as Mr Saldanha. Perhaps he lived here. I looked at him in surprise. His clothes were dirty, he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and his hair hung down to his shoulders. He was a total misfit among the other people.

Mr Biswas laid a hand on his shoulder and brought him over to us. ‘Meet Mr Sudarshan Som,’ he said. ‘He is an artist, a well-known painter of portraits. He did many portraits of Shakuntala. He’s been living with us since his retirement.’

I had never heard of an artist retiring so early. Now I noticed the portrait of a woman in one corner of the room. Was that Shakuntala Devi? She must have been about forty when that portrait was painted, which meant she had already given up films. Sudarshan Som picked up a whisky from a tray. For some odd reason, I felt a little sorry for the man. Samuel Saldanha and Ratanlal had started a loud argument on current politics. Mr Som went and joined them.

I kept wondering when we’d get to see the necklace. Mrs Biswas and her sister were moving among the guests, making sure they were being looked after. Mrs Biswas stopped as she saw Feluda and
exclaimed, ‘What is this? Just orange juice? Don’t tell me you don’t drink!’

‘No, I don’t, Mrs Biswas,’ Feluda replied with a smile. ‘In my profession, it is best to keep a clear head at all times.’

‘But I always thought private detectives drank a lot.’

‘Perhaps you got that idea from American crime thrillers.’

‘Yes, perhaps. I am very fond of reading thrillers.’

‘Oh, by the way,’ Feluda couldn’t help saying, ‘your husband offered to show us your mother’s necklace.’

‘Yes, of course! I am so sorry, Mr Mitter, ! completely forgot. Sheela!’

Sheela came over to her mother.

‘Yes, Ma?’

‘Be a sweetheart, and bring me your grandmother’s necklace. Mr Mitter would like to see it. You know where the key is kept.’

‘Yes,’ she said and left immediately.

‘Don’t you keep the key with you?’ Feluda asked.

‘No, it is kept in the drawer of my dressing table. We hardly open the chest. It is perfectly safe, really. The few servants we’ve got are all old and trustworthy. Suleman, who opened the door for you, has been with us for thirty years.’

Sheela returned in three minutes, carrying a dark blue velvet box. Her mother took it from her and opened it. ‘Here it is,’ she said, turning the open box towards us.

Each of us gave an involuntary gasp. Never before had I seen a piece of jewellery with such exquisite craftsmanship. It was a golden necklace with a delicate design, studded with diamonds and pearls and many other precious stones.

‘A remarkable object,’ Feluda said. ‘Truly a unique piece. Do you have any idea how much it’s worth today?’

‘I don’t know . . . in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand, I should imagine.’

‘I see. Go and put it back, Sheela. It’s best not to keep something valuable like this out for long.’

Sheela left with the necklace.

I had noticed that Sheela’s brother was making no attempt to talk to us. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable and was obviously not enjoying himself. Perhaps he was one of those young men who cannot feel at ease unless they are with their own set of friends.

The round of drinks was coming to an end. I saw a man come in
and start fiddling with the projector. After a while, he called out to Mr Biswas, ‘I am ready.’

‘All right. Ladies and gentlemen, we are now going to watch a part of the last film Shakuntala Devi featured in. Suleman, please switch the lights off.’

The room was plunged in darkness. The projector began running noisily. A second later, the first scene appeared on the screen. ‘This film was made in 1930,’ Jayant Biswas told us. ‘Just before talkies began to be made in India.’

I watched Shakuntala Devi with some interest. She was undoubtedly a beauty—even today, one didn’t often get to see such a beautiful woman in films. It was clear why she was so successful. She had touched the hearts of people—from maharajas to. paanwalas—not merely because of her looks, but also because of her acting. Despite the drawbacks of a silent film and the overtly theatrical style of acting, Shakuntala Devi emerged as a gifted performer.

The film ran for ten minutes. All the lights were switched on again, and people began talking. Suddenly I realized someone had slipped in while the room was dark. It was Mr Sukius. He had presumably not been invited, for I heard him apologize for barging in. Mr Biswas waved aside his apologies and asked him to stay for dinner. Only a few minutes later, a bearer appeared at the door to announce that dinner had been served.

When we returned to our hotel after a sumptuous meal, it was a quarter past eleven. The party must have continued for quite a while after our departure.