B yomkesh was out of work for some time now. The people of this country have a bad habit of not even informing the police about small crimes like theft — better to have peace than prosperity — that is their philosophy. If something serious happens — the police get to know but no one spends hard-earned money on a private detective. For some days they moan and groan and complain, even abuse the police, then they forget about the whole thing.

Murders are also committed in our country. But most of the time they are acts of anger — unplanned and unintelligent — so that the murderers are caught at once — put into the jail and later hanged.

So it is not surprising that the Truth Seeker Byomkesh Bakshi had hardly any truth to seek. Byomkesh was not at all bothered about this. He continued reading the newspaper from its north-west comer to the south-east comer in detail and the rest of the time he spent in his library behind closed doors. But I was getting impatient with so much of free time. Though my job was not to catch criminals but to entertain readers with my stories free of cost, in fact that was the motto of my life, I was addicted to the catching of the criminals. As a result, life was getting as boring as a salt-less diet.

So that morning, while drinking tea, I asked Byomkesh, "What has happened, brother? Have the thieves and criminals of Bengal become saints and sages?"

Byomkesh smiled and said, "No, you are getting proof of that in the newspaper everyday."

"True, but why are we not getting a chance to catch them?"

"Patience, we will get a chance. The fish will take the bait at its own time — we can't force it. An intelligent criminal is becoming a paradox in our country — it's not my fault. Most of the names in the police diaries are of small fries. Those big fish hardly swim up to get caught in the net. I am interested in these.

You must be knowing that those ponds or rivers which have large fish are a temptation to people like me."

I said, "Your similes have a fishy stink in them. If there was a psychiatrist here he would have certainly concluded that you would leave your job of truth-seeking and start selling fish."

Byomkesh said, "In that case the psychiatrist would have made a terrible mistake."

Just then there was a knock on the door — the postman delivered a letter. Letters were a rare commodity in our lives — so its arrival instantly aroused our interest. It was an insured letter in Byomkesh's name.

When he pulled out the letter from the envelope, we were more impressed. There was a bronze and blue monogram on top of it. The paper was thick, smooth and expensive, attached to the letter was a cheque of five thousand rupees. Byomkesh read the short letter and passed it to me smilingly, "Take it, a very serious matter. A mystery in the home of a rich elite in North Bengal. I have been asked to go there post-haste — even the traveling expense has been advanced. The secretary of the gentleman has written,

"Kumar Tridib Narayan Roy has asked me to write this letter to you. He has heard about you and wants your help and advice regarding a very serious matter. So we will be grateful if you can come here as soon as possible — let us know which train you are boarding and we will send our car to the station.

Yours etc."

No fact could be gathered from the letter. I said, "It seems very serious. Could you make out anything from the writing or the paper — you are knowledgeable about these things."

"No. But from what I know about the rich in our country, I wouldn't be surprised if Kumar Tridibendra had a nightmare that his pet elephant had been stolen by his rival — frightened, he has called for a detective."

"No, no, I think you are exaggerating. Can't you see that he has already sent so much of money — something serious must have happened."

"That is your mistake. If the patient is wealthy, you think that his illness is also serious. It is usually the opposite. A doctor is called for in case of the rich even to treat a small pimple but a poor dies unattended even if he is seriously ill."

"Anyway, are you going?"

Byomkesh thought for a moment.

"Since I have nothing else to do, let us go for two days. At least we will see some new places — I don't think that you have been to those parts."

I was very eager to go but I hesitated, "Should I go? They have called you only."

Byomkesh smiled, "Nothing is wrong in your going. In fact Kumar Bahadur will be happy to see two of us instead of one. Besides, since someone else is spending the money, it is our moral duty to go. According to the scriptures — we should always go on a pilgrimage at other peoples' expense."

I could not remember which scripture had given such wise advice — anyway I did not need much persuasion to accompany Byomkesh.

We left that evening by train. Nothing much happened in the journey except that we met a very friendly man. There were only three of us in the compartment. After chatting with us for some time, the gentleman asked, "Where are you going?"

In reply, Byomkesh smiled pleasantly and asked, "Where are you going?"

The gentleman was a bit bewildered by the question, "I will get down at the next station."

Byomkesh again smiled and said, "We will get down at the station after the next."

There was no need to tell such a lie — but I realised that Byomkesh must be having some reason for doing so.