Seven

When Ratikanta returned, we all entered the house together. The hall was shrouded in shadowy gloom, not a soul in sight. The five of us stepped inside and looked at one another’s faces.

Byomkesh said, “Manager Babu, we’ve detained you for quite some time. Surely you have other work—”

The manager shook his head. “I have no work today. It’s Sunday, the office is closed. I came only out of habit.”

It was clear he would not leave our company. He listened to our conversation with deep concentration, striving to grasp its significance. His eyes, dark and honeyed like bumblebees, flitted over our faces. Yet he himself was sparing with words. A fish from deep waters.

Pandeji cast a sidelong glance at Byomkesh and said, “By the way, Banshi-ji, are the estate’s accounts all in order? We might need to examine them.”

Banshi-ji responded at once, “All the accounts are in order. You may inspect them whenever you wish.” Then, hesitating a little, he added, “Except for one transaction that hasn’t been settled—”

“What transaction?”

The manager replied, “Eight or ten days ago, Dipnarayanji summoned me and ordered that twelve thousand rupees be given to Dr. Palit. The money was handed over to the doctor, but the receipt—”

Byomkesh Samagra

‘No receipt was taken.’

‘Why wasn’t a receipt taken?’

‘The doctor had asked for the money as a loan, but Dipnarayanji had decided to reward the doctor with the money, so he forbade taking a receipt.’

‘Oh—’ Byomkesh furrowed his brow and remained silent for a while. Then he said to Ratikanta, ‘Now let’s question everyone in the house. Where are they?’

Ratikanta replied, ‘They’re all upstairs. All the bedrooms are above. Please sit, I’ll call them down one by one. Whom should I call first—Shakuntala Devi?’

Byomkesh said, ‘There’s no need to trouble Shakuntala Devi, we’ll go upstairs ourselves. We only have a few ordinary questions to ask. Debnarayan Babu is probably upstairs too?’

‘Yes. Chandni Devi is there as well.’

‘Then let’s go.’ A staircase led upwards from a small room beside us. We ascended the stairs.

At the top was a room, with two doors on either side. The upper floor was divided into two parts. As we reached the landing, Ratikanta said, ‘Which way will you go? This side is Debnarayan Babu’s quarters, that side is Dipnarayan Babu’s.’

Byomkesh hesitated, undecided about which way to go, when suddenly the door to Debnarayan’s side opened and Chandni emerged. In her hand was a bowl of milk; her face was swollen from crying. Seeing us, she stood still, embarrassed, instinctively reaching to adjust her veil, then remembering the new customs of the house, she stopped. Spotting the manager, Gangadhar Banshi, among us, she addressed him in a trembling voice, ‘Chachiji hasn’t taken a drop of water all day… so I’m going to try once more, maybe I can get her to drink a little milk. Chachaji is gone, and if she too dies without eating, what will become of us?’ With that, she broke down into tears.

We were taken aback. None of us seemed prepared to witness this image of intimate, domestic care. Gangadhar Banshi, visibly unsettled, cleared his throat and said, ‘Go, child, try to get her to eat something first. How can she go on without food?’

Chandni, still wiping her eyes, left with the milk. Byomkesh said, ‘Let’s go see Debnarayan Babu first.’

We entered Debnarayan’s quarters, the manager leading the way.

Room after room, all crammed with furniture from home and abroad; but nothing was in order, everything was a jumble, chaotic. At last, we reached the far end of the house, before a door veiled with a curtain.

We had not yet seen who was inside, but our collective footsteps drew someone’s attention—a man pulled aside the curtain and peeked out, then quickly vanished. We entered the room. It was quite large, with windows on three sides. Half the floor was covered with thick bedding, over which lay a Persian rug, and on that, several large cushions. Debnarayan sat in the middle, surrounded by cushions, and just behind him, a little to the side, was Beni Prasad, the jester, with curly hair and a curled moustache.

Seeing us, Beni Prasad stood up.

The manager addressed Debnarayan, ‘They have come to see you.’ Debnarayan said nothing, but stared at us, bewildered, like a stunned frog.

Bohni - Patanga 533

The manager asked us to sit. Byomkesh and I took our seats beside the bed. The others remained standing.

Byomkesh glanced around and said, “There was someone else in this room—the one who peeked through the curtain—where did he go?”

Beniprasad was visibly flustered. “He—you mean Liladhar—” He shot a quick, nervous glance at the manager and finished, “He’s gone to the next room.”

Byomkesh inquired, with the innocence of a good man, “What’s in the next room?”

Beniprasad replied, “That is—the bathroom!”

Byomkesh chuckled softly. “I see. There’s a spiral iron staircase attached to the bathroom, and Mr. Liladhar has left the house through that way. Am I right?”

Beniprasad did not answer. He scratched his hip, casting a sidelong glance at the manager.

We had learned last night that Liladhar was the son of manager Gangadhar Banshi and the assistant jester to Debnarayan. I noticed Gangadhar Banshi’s face had turned dark with anger, but he restrained his rising emotion as best he could and asked Beniprasad, “What are you all doing here?”

Abandoning his hip, Beniprasad raised one hand and began scratching his armpit. He said, “Well—the young master was feeling low, so we were just—”

At the mention of feeling low, perhaps Debnarayan was reminded of his uncle’s death. Suddenly, he burst into tears with a wild, animalistic wail. The man, as huge as an elephant, began to sob, his mouth agape as if to swallow the sky and the earth.

Yesterday, we had heard Debnarayan’s laughter; today, we heard his weeping. The sound was nearly the same, as though