Eleven

The next morning, upon waking, we learned that it had rained during the night. The sky was shrouded in mist; the sun, it seemed, lay curled up beneath a blanket. There was, therefore, no reason for us to rise from bed either. At half past eight, Satyabati brought us tea and said, “Today is Amavasya again. No one is to step outside the house today.” Who would want to go out on such a day? But Pandeyji paid no heed. At precisely nine o’clock, he arrived, dressed in police attire. Shivering, we emerged from beneath our quilts. Pandeyji, seeing our condition, laughed. He said, “Something happened last night.” Byomkesh wanted to know what had happened. Pandeyji recounted the incident succinctly— From midnight, mist had begun to gather in the sky, and soon after, a light drizzle set in. Pandeyji, being a late sleeper, was preparing for bed around half past one when the telephone rang. The call was from Dipnarayan’s house—the jamadar whom Ratikanta had stationed there with four constables was calling. The jamadar reported that a short while ago, two men had tried to enter through the back door, but the sepoys were alert, and upon being spotted, the intruders fled. One sepoy had shone his torch at them from a distance—both were gentlemen in coat and trousers, but could not be identified. It seemed they had come on a motorbike, for a little later, the distant puttering of a bike was heard. Pandeyji had done nothing further that night, merely instructing the jamadar to keep a vigilant watch before hanging up. This morning, he had made inquiries and learned that there had been no further disturbances during the night. Byomkesh raised his brows and gazed at Pandeyji for a while. I said, “Narmada Shankar.” Byomkesh turned his head toward me and said, “I’m wondering who the other man was. If Narmada Shankar is indeed Dushyanta, would he venture into Shakuntala’s grove with a companion?—Pandeyji, what do you think?”

PANDITJI said, “I can’t make head or tail of this. I’ve brought two warrants with me—no names on them, but we can fill those in if necessary.”

Byomkesh replied, “Then let’s go. Let’s raid Narmadashankar’s house. If we catch him off guard, he might blurt out the truth.”

Within five minutes, we were ready and stepped outside. Satyabati said nothing, only stared at us with wide, unblinking eyes.

As we climbed into the car, I saw a burly sub-inspector already seated inside. Panditji introduced him—Sub-Inspector Tiwari.

Tiwari’s appearance was straight out of the old days—a true daroga. He bared his worm-eaten teeth in a salute. I gathered that Ratikanta had left him in charge of the station.

Meanwhile, the sky’s tears were slowly receding. The newly awakened sun was slicing through the clouds with a sharpened blade, scattering them into fragments. What had lain heavy and oppressive overhead now began to dissolve like rings of smoke. By the time we reached Narmadashankar’s house, the world was ablaze in raw, golden sunlight.

Narmadashankar’s house stood in the city’s new quarter, surrounded by a cast-iron railing, a tennis court in front. We left the car outside and entered as quietly as possible. From the look of things, the house had not yet fully woken. On the front veranda, a drowsy servant sat cross-legged, brushing several pairs of shoes. At the sight of us, he gaped, mouth agape, for a moment.

Byomkesh walked over, picked up a pair of shoes, and turned them over in his hands. He asked the servant, “Whose shoes are these?”

The servant, still slack-jawed, replied, “Master’s.”

Byomkesh showed us the soles. They were caked with mud. There could be no doubt these shoes had been worn after midnight.

Just then, from inside the house, a high-ranking, liveried bearer emerged. He too was startled at the sight of two police officers. Panditji, in a stern tone, demanded, “Where is Narmadashankar Babu?”

The bearer, frightened, replied, “Sir, he is at home.”

“Take us to him.”

The bearer hesitated a moment, then led the way. As far as I could see, the interior of the house was tastefully decorated. The bearer brought us to a door, drew aside the curtain, and stood aside. We entered the room.

The windows and doors were shut, electric lights burning. The room could only be described as a hunting lodge. Tiger and deer skins were spread across the floor, tiger and deer heads mounted on the walls. In a glass cabinet, rifles, guns, and pistols were neatly arranged. In the center of the room stood a round table, surrounded by several cushioned armchairs.

As we entered, we saw two men sitting opposite each other, each holding a glass of colored liquid. On a side table stood bottles of soda and whisky. It was not hard to guess what filled their glasses. Evidently, the midnight libations had not yet ceased.

The man facing us was Ghoda Jagannath. At the sight of us, his bleary eyes widened, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning; the glass in his hand—

Byomkesh Samagra

Liquid sloshed out of the glass. At that, Narmadashankar turned his head to look. A frown appeared on his flushed face. In a harsh voice, he said, “What do you want?”

Alcohol has its strange effects; once it enters the belly, a man’s character transforms. Some weep, some sing, some grow belligerent. Narmadashankar’s meek, compliant manner was gone; now he stared at us with fierce, defiant eyes.

Pandeyji strode over to them, his voice taking on the sternness of the police. “There is a warrant out for both of you.”

Narmadashankar rose to his feet, glass in hand, and exclaimed in insolent surprise, “A warrant? For me? What warrant?”

Pandeyji replied, “Last night at one o’clock, you both trespassed at Dipnarayan Singh’s house.”

“Do you have proof?”

Unmoved, Pandeyji said, “We do. Police officers saw you.”

A sly, wicked glint flickered in Narmadashankar’s bloodshot eyes. Curling his lips in a crooked sneer, he