Fifteen

Dinner invitation at Pandeyji’s house. The number of guests had increased: Dr. Palit, Miss Manna, Byomkesh, and I. We sat around the table to eat. The main dish among the fare—Kashmiri chicken korma.

Byomkesh placed a piece of meat in his mouth, savoring it with half-closed eyes, then said in a voice thick with emotion, “Pandeyji, I am going to steal.”

Pandeyji raised his brows with a smile. “What will you steal?”

“Your cook.”

Byomkesh Samagra

Pandeyji burst into laughter and said, “Impossible.” “Why impossible?” Pandeyji replied, “I am my own cook.” “You—so you cooked this ambrosia yourself! Then why bother with a job in the police? Open a hotel, and you’ll be rolling in riches within three days.” After a while of laughter and banter, Miss Manna said, “Byomkesh Babu, you have deceived me. That won’t do. You must tell the whole story from beginning to end. Tell me how everything happened—I want to hear it all.” Dr. Palit said, “I want to hear it too. These last few days I’ve been half-dead with worry, wondering if I was a suspect. Now, please tell us.” Byomkesh said, “Let us finish eating first. I’ll speak after the meal.” Having eaten our fill, we stepped outside and sat down. Byomkesh took the stem of the hookah in his hand, and Dr. Palit lit a thick cigar. Miss Manna, with a wad of jorda tucked in her cheek, smiled and said, “Now, begin.” Byomkesh drew a few slow, deliberate puffs from the hookah, then began to speak, his words unhurried and measured. “It was in this very room that I first saw Ratikanta. He had come to invite Pandeyji. Handsome face, blue eyes. He made a light jest at Dipnarayan Singh—called him a ‘great man, a kinsman.’ I didn’t know then how much venom was hidden behind that light jest. I knew nothing at the time, so even the word ‘kinsman’ didn’t prick my ears. Now, of course, I have learned that there was a distant connection between Shakuntala and Ratikanta; both were from Pratapgarh, both from once-prominent but now-fallen families, childhood sweethearts. “That night, Ratikanta didn’t learn who I was—Pandeyji had only said, ‘my friend from Calcutta.’ He had no reason to suspect anything. If he had known that the unworthy fellow’s name was Byomkesh Bakshi, who knows what he would have done—perhaps changed his plan altogether. But he was in a bind; there was no time to turn back, the crisis was upon him. “As far as I can surmise, the secret romance between Shakuntala and Ratikanta had a past. There were social obstacles to their marriage, so their wild passions found an outlet in clandestine love, deceiving the eyes of society; their reckless, unrestrained hearts took full advantage of modern permissiveness. Yet all was done in secret. They may have lacked moral shame, but they feared public disgrace; besides, ‘stolen love is a hundred times sweeter.’ There is an intense sweetness in hidden love. “Then, one day, Dipnarayan saw Shakuntala and fell into the snare of her beauty and youth. Shakuntala saw Dipnarayan’s immense wealth and could not resist temptation. She married him. But she did not let go of Ratikanta. Whether Ratikanta agreed to the marriage, we do not know. Perhaps not entirely, but it was impossible for him to give up Shakuntala. When Shakuntala came to Patna after her marriage, Ratikanta too made arrangements and settled in Patna—perhaps with some help from Dipnarayan himself. Thus, beneath the surface, the old relationship between Ratikanta and Shakuntala continued. The marriage was nothing but a sham. “As a ‘kinsman,’ Ratikanta frequented Dipnarayan’s house, but in public he did not display much intimacy with Shakuntala. Their true meetings happened away from prying eyes. Shakuntala would write letters and, late at night, drop them in the mailbox with her own hand; Ratikanta would come on appointed nights, enter through the back door into the courtyard, then climb the iron stairs to the upper floor.”

Bohni - Patanga 557

Shakuntala would wait by the door, expectant—

“Things were proceeding in this manner when suddenly Mother Nature herself intervened. Just as Dipnarayan fell gravely ill, Shakuntala discovered she was with child. What now? Perhaps others could be deceived, but not Dipnarayan. The two of them conspired: Dipnarayan must be removed quickly; otherwise, their honor, prestige, and royal fortune would be lost, and they would be forced to slink away from respectable society in utter disgrace.

“There is no doubt that this clever plan for murder originated in Ratikanta’s mind. Fate lent its hand as well; a vial of curare had been found with a petty thief. When it came into Ratikanta’s possession, he first set aside a portion of the curare. Then, at the opportune moment—Ratikanta himself broke into the doctor’s dispensary, swapped out the liver injection vial, and left. Afterwards, he went to the house where the feast was being held and spread the news. Everyone assumed it was the work of a common thief.

“That very night, Ratikanta learned my name. Thanks to my translations, my name is not unknown among the Hindi-educated circles. Ratikanta was rattled. But by then, it was too late—the arrow had already left the bow.

“The next morning, the doctor administered the injection, and Dipnarayan died. Ratikanta believed that no one would suspect curare; everyone would think death was due to shock from the liver injection. The doctor himself thought so at first, but when the matter of curare was raised, he grew suspicious. He said, ‘It’s possible.’

“Ratikanta, already shaken, now became even more nervous and made a mistake. This may have been his only error. He thought, curare will surely be found in Dipnarayan’s body; but if no curare is found in the liver vial, suspicion will fall on Dr. Palit for having swapped the vial. Ratikanta had in his possession a harmless liver vial, which he had taken from Dr. Palit’s bag. He sent that harmless vial for analysis.

“When it was discovered