The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (74 page)

A minute later, a strange creature was shown in: a smallish man in his mid-sixties, clad in a loose and ill-fitting yellow suit, a green tie wound rather horrifically round his throat, a beard that stood out like the bristles of an old brush and a moustache that reminded me of a fat and well-fed caterpillar. His eyes were abnormally bright, and he carried a stout walking-stick.

He looked around as he entered the room and asked in a gruff voice, ‘Tarafdar? Which one of you is Tarafdar?’

‘I am. Please sit down,’ Mr Tarafdar invited.

‘And these three?’ The man’s eyes swept over us imperiously. ‘Three very close friends.’

‘Names? Names?’

‘This is Pradosh Mitter, and this is his cousin, Tapesh. And over there is Lalmohan Ganguli.’

‘All right. Now let’s get to work, to work.’

‘Yes, what can I do for you?’

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘You only mentioned your surname on the phone, Mr Thakur. That’s all I know.’

‘I am Tarak Nath Thakur. TNT. Trinitrotolvene—ha ha ha!’

Mr Thakur roared with laughter, startling everyone in the room. I knew TNT was used in making powerful explosives. But what was so funny about it?

Mr Thakur did not enlighten us. Feluda asked him a question instead.

‘Does an exceptionally small dwarf live in your house?’

‘Kichomo. A Korean. Eighty-two centimetres. The smallest adult in the entire world.’

‘I read about him in the papers a few months ago.’

‘Now the Guinness Book of Records will include his name.’

‘Where did you find him?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.

‘I travel all over the world. I have plenty of money. I got it all from my father, I’ve never had to earn a penny in my life. Do you know how he made his money? Perfumes, he ran a thriving business in perfumes. Now a nephew of mine looks after it. I am a collector.’

‘Oh? What do you collect?’

‘People and animals. People from different countries and different continents. People who have some unique trait in them. I’ve just told you about Kichomo. Besides him, I have a Maori secretary who can write simultaneously with both hands. He’s called Tokobahani. I have a black parrot that speaks three different languages, a Pomeranian with two heads, a sadhu from Laxmanjhoola who sits in the air—quite literally, six feet from the ground, and . . .’

‘Just a minute, sir,’ Lalmohan Babu interrupted. Tarak Nath Thakur reacted instantly. He raised his stick over his head and shouted, ‘You dare interrupt me? Me? Why, I—’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ Lalmohan Babu offered abject apologies. ‘What I wanted to know was whether all these people in your collection stay in your house totally voluntarily?’

‘Why shouldn’t they? They’re well-fed, well-paid and kept in comfort, so they’re quite happy to live where I keep them. You may not have heard of me or my collection, but hundreds of people elsewhere in the world have. Why, only the other day, an American journalist interviewed me and published an article in the New York
Times called “The House of Tarak”.’

‘That’s all very well, Mr Thakur,’ put in Mr Tarafdar, ‘but you still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

‘You mean I must spell it out? Isn’t it obvious? I want that boy of yours for my collection . . . what’s his name? Jyotishka? Yes, I want Jyotishka.’

‘Why? He’s being very well looked after here, he’s happy and content. Why should he leave me and go and live in your queer household?’

Mr Thakur stared at Sunil Tarafdar for nearly a minute. Then he said slowly, ‘You wouldn’t speak quite so recklessly if you saw Gawangi.’

‘What is Gawangi?’ asked Lalmohan Babu.

‘Not what, but who,’ Mr Thakur replied. ‘He’s not a thing, but a man. He comes from Uganda. Nearly eight feet tall, his chest measures fifty-four inches and his weight is 350 kg. He could beat the best of Olympic heavyweight champions hollow, any day. Once he spotted a tiger in the jungles of Terai that had both stripes and spots. A perfectly unique specimen. He managed to knock it unconscious with a shot of a tranquillizer. Then he carried that huge animal for three-and-a-half miles. That same Gawangi is now my personal companion.’

‘Have you,’ asked Lalmohan Babu, with considerable courage, ‘reintroduced the old system of slavery?’

‘Slavery?’ Mr Thakur almost spat the word out. ‘No, sir! When I first saw Gawangi, he was facing a totally bleak future. He came from a good family in Kampala, Uganda’s capital. His father was a doctor. It was he who told me that Gawangi had reached the height of seven-and-a-half feet even before he had turned fifteen. He couldn’t go out anywhere for little urchins threw stones at him. He had had to leave school because his classmates teased and taunted him endlessly. His height and his size were a constant source of embarrassment to him. When I met him, he was twenty-one, spending his days quietly at home, worrying about his future. He would have died like that, had I not rescued him from that situation and brought him with me. He found a new life with me. Why should he be my slave? I look upon him like a son.’

‘All right, Mr Thakur, we believe you. But even so, I cannot allow Jyotishka to go and join your zoo.’

‘You say that even after being told about Gawangi?’

‘Yes. Your Gawangi has nothing to do with my decision.’

For the first time, Mr Thakur seemed to lose a little bit of his self-assurance. I heard him sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but can I at least see the boy?’

‘Yes, that can be easily arranged.’

Nayan returned to the room. Mr Thakur looked him over, scowling.

‘How many rooms does my house have?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Sixty-six.’

‘Hm . . . .’

Mr Thakur slowly rose to his feet, gripping the silver handle of his walking-stick firmly with his right hand.

‘Remember, Tarafdar, TNT does not give up easily. Goodbye!’ None of us spoke for a long time after he left. At last, Lalmohan Babu broke the silence by saying, ‘Felu Babu, number four is quite an important number, isn’t it? I mean, there are the four seasons, and four directions, most of our gods and goddesses have four arms, then there are the four Vedas . . . I wonder what these four characters might be called?’

‘Just call them FGP—Four Greedy People. Each was as greedy as the other. But none of them got what they wanted. I must praise Sunil for that.’

‘No, sir, there’s no need for praise. I only did what struck me as very simple. Nayan is my responsibility. He lives in my house, he knows me and I know him. There’s no question of passing him on to someone else.’

‘Good. All right, then. It’s time for us to leave, I think.’

We stood up.

‘There’s just one thing I’d like to tell you before I go,’ Feluda added. ‘No more appointments with strange people.’

‘Oh no, sir. I’ve learnt my lesson! This morning’s experience was quite enough for me.’

‘And please remember, if Nayan needs my protection, I am always there to do what I can. I’ve already grown rather fond of that boy.’

‘Thank you, sir, thank you so much. I’ll certainly let you know if we need your help.’

It was Thursday. We had spent the previous morning with the Four Greedy People. Things were now getting exciting, which was probably why Lalmohan Babu had turned up at 8.30 today instead of 9 a.m.

‘Have you seen today’s papers?’ Feluda asked him as soon as he came in.

‘I’m afraid not. A Kashmiri shawl-walla arrived early this morning and took such a lot of time that I never got the chance. Why, what do the papers say?’

‘Tiwari opened his chest, and discovered it was empty.’

‘Wha-at! You mean young Nayan was right, after all? When was the money stolen?’

‘Between two-thirty and three one afternoon. At least, that’s what Mr Tiwari thinks. He was in his dentist’s chamber during that time. His memory is now working perfectly. Apparently, he had opened the chest two days before the theft and found everything intact. The money was indeed in excess of five lakhs. Tiwari suspects his partner, naturally, since no one else knew the combination.’

‘Who is his partner?’

‘A man called Hingorani. The “H” in T H Syndicate stands for Hingorani.’

‘I see. But to tell you the truth, I’m not in the least interested in Tiwari or his partner. What amazes me is the power that little boy has got.’

‘I have been thinking about that myself. I’d love to find out how it all started. Topshe, do you remember where Nayan’s father lives?’

‘Nikunjabihari Lane. Kalighat.’

‘Good.’

‘Would you like to go there? We might give it a try—my driver is familiar with most alleyways of Calcutta.’

As it turned out, Lalmohan Babu’s driver did know where Nikunjabihari Lane was. We reached there in ten minutes. A local paanwalla showed us Nayan’s house. A rather thin gentleman opened the door. Judging by the towel he was still clutching in his hand, he had just finished shaving.

‘We are sorry to disturb you so early,’ Feluda said pleasantly. ‘Were you about to leave for your office? May we talk to you for a minute?’

‘Yes, of course. I don’t have to leave for another half an hour. Please come in.’

We walked into a room that acted as both a living room and a bedroom. There was no furniture except two chairs and a narrow bed. A rolled-up mattress lay on it.

‘Let me introduce myself. I am Pradosh Mitter, and this is my cousin, Tapesh, and my friend Lalmohan Ganguli. We came to find out more about Nayan. You see, we’ve come to know him and Tarafdar recently. What a remarkable gift your child has been blessed with!’

Nayan’s father stared at Feluda, open awe in his eyes. ‘You mean you are
the
Pradosh Mitter, the investigator? Your pet name is Felu?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, it is such a privilege to meet you, sir! I am Ashim Sarkar. What would you like to know about Nayan?’

‘I am curious about one thing. Was it Tarafdar’s idea that Nayan should stay with him, or was it yours?’

‘I shall be honest with you, Mr Mitter. The suggestion was first made by Mr Tarafdar, but only after he had seen Nayan. I had taken my son to see him.’

‘When was that?’

‘The day after I came to know about his power with numbers. It was the second of December.’

‘Why did you decide to take him to Tarafdar in the first place?’

‘There was only one reason for that, Mr Mitter. As you can see, I am not a rich man. I have four children, and only a small job in a post office. My salary gets wiped out long before a month gets over. I have no savings. In fact, I haven’t been able to put Nayan in a school at all. When I think of the future of my family, it terrifies me. So when I realized Nayan had a special power, I thought that might be put to good use. It may sound awful, but in my situation, anyone would welcome the chance to earn something extra.’

‘Yes, I understand. There’s nothing wrong with what you did. So you took Nayan to see Tarafdar. What happened next?’

‘Mr Tarafdar wanted to test Nayan himself. So I told him to ask him any question that might be answered in numbers. Tarafdar said to Nayan, “Can you tell me how old I am?” Nayan said, “Thirty-three years, three months and three days.” Tarafdar asked two more questions. Then he made me an offer. If I allowed him to take Nayan on the stage with him, he’d pay me a certain amount of
money regularly. I agreed. Then he asked me how much I expected to be paid. With a lot of hesitation, I said, “A thousand rupees.” Tarafdar laughed at this and said, “Wrong, you’re quite wrong. Nayan, can you give us the figure that’s in my head?” And Nayan said immediately, “Three zero zero zero.” Mr Tarafdar kept his word. He’s already paid me an advance of three thousand rupees. So when he suggested that Nayan should stay in his house, I couldn’t refuse him.’

‘Was Nayan happy about going and living with a virtual stranger?’

‘Yes, surprisingly enough. He agreed quite happily, and now seems to be perfectly content.’

‘One more question, Mr Sarkar.’

‘Yes?’

‘How did you first learn about his power?’

‘It happened purely out of the blue. One fine morning he just woke up and said to me, “Baba, I can see lots of things . . . they’re running helter-skelter, and some are jumping up and down. Can you see them, too?” I said, “No, I can see nothing. What are these things, anyway?” He said, “Numbers. They’re all numbers, from nine to zero. I’ve a feeling if you asked me something that had anything to do with numbers, these crazy ones would stop dancing around.” I didn’t believe him, of course, but thought a child ought to be humoured. So I said, “All right. What is that big fat book lying in that corner?” Nayan said, “That’s the
Mahabharat
.” I said, “Yes. Now can you tell me how many pages it’s got?” Nayan smiled at this and said, “I was right, Baba. All the numbers have gone away. I can see only three, standing still. They are nine, three and four.” I picked up the
Mahabharat
and looked at the last page. It said 934.’

‘I see. Thank you very much, Mr Sarkar. I haven’t got any more questions. We’re all very grateful to you for giving us your time.’

We said namaskar, came out of the house and got into our car. We returned home to find two visitors waiting for us. One of them was Sunil Tarafdar. I did not know the other.

‘Sorry,’ said Feluda hurriedly. ‘Have you been waiting long?’

‘No, only five minutes,’ said Mr Tarafdar. ‘This is my manager, Shankar Hublikar.’

The other gentleman rose and greeted us. He seemed to be of the same age as his friend. His appearance was neat and smart. ‘Namaskar,’ said Feluda, returning his greeting. ‘You are from
Maharashtra, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s right. But I was born and brought up here in Calcutta.’

‘I see. Please sit down.’ We all did. ‘What brings you here this morning?’ Feluda asked Mr Tarafdar.

‘It’s something rather serious, I’m afraid.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We were attacked last night by a giant.’

My heart skipped a beat. Was he talking about Gawangi?

‘Tell us what happened.’

‘I got up this morning as usual at 5.30 to take my dog Badshah for a walk. I came downstairs to collect him, but had to stop when I reached the bottom of the stairs.’

‘Why?’

‘The floor was covered with blood, and someone’s footprints went from there right up to the front door. I measured these later. Each was sixteen inches long.’

‘Sixt . . .?’ Lalmohan Babu choked.

‘And then?’

‘There is a collapsible gate at my front door, which stays locked at night. That gate was half open, the lock was broken, and outside that gate was lying my chowkidar, Bhagirath. The bloody footprints went past him up to the main compound wall. Well, I washed Bhagirath’s head with cold water and brought him round. He began screaming, “Demon! Demon!” the minute he opened his eyes and nearly fainted again. Anyway, what he then told me was this: in the middle of the night, he happened to be standing just outside the collapsible gate, under a low power bulb that’s left on all night. Bhagirath looked up at a sudden noise and, in the semi-darkness, saw a huge creature walking towards him. It had obviously jumped over the wall, for outside the main gate was my armed guard, who had not seen it. Bhagirath told me he had once been to the zoo and seen an animal called a “goraila”. This creature, he said, looked very much like a “goraila”, except that it was larger and more dangerous. I couldn’t learn anything more from Bhagirath because one look at this “demon” made him lose consciousness.’

‘I see,’ said Feluda, ‘the demon then presumably broke open the collapsible gate and got inside. Your Badshah must have attacked him after that and bitten his leg, which forced him to run away.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t spare my Badshah, either. Badshah’s body was found about thirty feet from the main gate. This horrible creature
had wrung his neck.’

The only good thing about this whole gruesome story, I thought, was that TNT had failed in his attempt. Nayan, thank God, was still safe.

Feluda fell silent when Mr Tarafdar finished his tale. He simply sat staring into space, frowning deeply.

‘What’s the matter, Mr Mitter?’ Mr Tarafdar said impatiently. ‘Please say something.’

‘The time has come to act, Sunil. I can no longer sit around just talking.’

‘What’re you thinking of doing?’

‘I have decided to accompany you and Nayan—all over south India, wherever you go, starting with Madras. He’s in grave danger, and neither you nor your friend here could really give him the protection he needs. I must do my bit.’ Mr Tarafdar smiled for the first time.

‘I can’t tell you how relieved I feel, Mr Mitter. If you now start working in your professional capacity, I will naturally pay your fee and all expenses for the three of you to travel together. I mean, my sponsor will meet all costs.’

‘We’ll talk about costs later. Which train are you taking to Madras?’

‘Coromandel Express, on 19 December.’

‘And which hotel are you booked at?’

‘The Taj Coromandel. You’ll travel by first class AC. Just let me have your names and ages. Shankar will make the reservations.’

‘Good,’ said Feluda. ‘If you have any problems, let me know. I know a lot of people in the railway booking office.’