Nine

As we drove in the motorcar, the scene in Shakuntala’s bedroom floated before my eyes. It felt as though I had just witnessed a profound moment from a heart-rending drama. If Shakuntala had not fainted, and if Chandni had not entered and broken the spell—

Why did Shakuntala suddenly lose consciousness? Of course, in such circumstances, a fainting spell at any moment is not unusual, but was the intensity of her grief the only cause?

I looked at Byomkesh; he seemed lost in the depths of thought. I asked,

“Are you thinking about Shakuntala’s swoon?”

He roused himself and replied, “The swoon? No—I was thinking about the letterbox.”

In surprise, I said, “You were thinking about the letterbox!”

He said, “Yes, the letterbox at the corner of Dipnarayan’s house. It’s in a very peculiar spot. When you look at it, it seems like a plump little sepoy in a red coat, standing guard at the street corner. But that’s not what it really is.”

“What is it, then?”

“In truth, it’s the messenger of Shri Radhika.”

“I don’t follow. Stop being cryptic and speak plainly.”

But Byomkesh did not speak plainly. With a crooked smile, half to himself, he murmured, “The idea of a clandestine rendezvous is rather sweet, of course, if the woman is someone else’s wife. If it’s your own, perhaps it’s not so sweet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, ‘Ratisukhasare gatamabhisare madana-manohara-vesham.’”

“What nonsense are you spouting!”

Byomkesh replied gravely, “It’s not nonsense, it’s from the Gita Govinda. If you want nonsense, I can oblige—the rhythm is the same. ‘Baburam the snake-charmer, where are you off to, my good man—’”

Pandeyji, driving the motorcar, burst out laughing. Disappointed, I decided to rein in my curiosity for the time being.

When we reached Pandeyji’s house, we found tea was ready. Alongside it, there were steaming hot beguni, pakora, and spicy dal fritters. Byomkesh, without a word of protest, sat down. We joined him.

After we had helped ourselves generously to the fare, Byomkesh, in a tone of deep satisfaction, said, “I hadn’t realized it before, but my soul had been yearning for these very things.”

Pandeyji smiled and said, “Now that your wait is over, tell us what you saw and heard.”

Byomkesh took a long sip from his teacup, set it down with care, drew a few foundational pulls from the hookah, and then, in a slow, thoughtful voice, said, “I saw and heard many things, but the end is not yet in sight.”

Pandeyji asked, “Still?”

Byomkesh said, “Two motives are emerging. One—money, two—the poison of passion. I can’t yet tell which outweighs the other. It’s possible the two motives have become entangled.”

I said, “Whatever the motive, who is the man?”

Byomkesh replied, a shade impatiently, “How can I say? The person who mixed the poison with the medicine could be a hired hand. The one who hired him is the one we’re after.”

Pandeyji said, “Among those we know, who could have done the hiring? There’s Debnarayan. But would he—”

Byomkesh said, “Very well, let’s start with Debnarayan. He appears to be a thorough simpleton, but that could be a disguise. Perhaps he’s the one who arranged for someone to kill the old man. He has no shortage of loyal followers—Liladhar, Banshi, or Beniprasad—any of them might kill for the promise of a reward. Here, the motive is sole control of the property.”

Bohni - Patanga 539

I said, “But—”

Byomkesh raised his hand to stop me. “Then let’s consider—Chandni.”

“Chandni!”

“Yes, Chandni. Her excessive concern for Shakuntala doesn’t seem quite natural; in fact, it feels a bit overdone. Perhaps, deep down, she envies her, wishes to diminish her authority. After Dipnarayan’s death, Shakuntala will no longer be the mistress of the household—Chandni will. If Debnarayan truly is as meek and simple as he appears, he’ll be entirely in Chandni’s grasp, and Chandni will become the sole sovereign of a vast fortune—”

“But—”

Byomkesh again raised his hand, silencing me.

“Then consider—the manager, Gangadhar Banshi. According to Dr. Palit, he’s a fish from deep waters. That’s not so surprising; you can’t become the manager of such a large estate without being a creature of the depths. But if he’s a crocodile, then there’s real cause for worry. Think about it—Dipnarayan Singh was a shrewd man, kept a close watch on his property. While he was alive, large-scale theft was impossible—perhaps a little pilfering here and there, but nothing more. But if he dies, the entire estate passes to Debnarayan. Then, theft with both hands would be possible. So, we must admit that manager Gangadhar Banshi, too, has a motive.”

Byomkesh drew on the hookah for a while; we remained silent. Then he handed me the stem and said, “Finally, consider—Shakuntala Devi.”

Having said this much, he fell silent. We waited in anticipation. He shifted in his seat, then began to speak slowly, “It is not the business of a gentleman to discuss a lady’s character, but when a murder has taken place, there is no choice but to do so. Shakuntala Devi is three months pregnant, yet three months ago Dipnarayan Singh was bedridden, passing through a critical phase of his long illness… Today, Shakuntala told us she had informed her husband last night of her pregnancy, and that Dipnarayan Singh, upon hearing the news, was overwhelmed with joy… I suspect that is not true.”

I asked, “Why do you think it’s not true?”

Byomkesh said, “If Dipnarayan Singh had truly been overwhelmed with joy, why did he not share this wonderful news with anyone? If not at night, he could have told Dr. Palit in the morning, or called Miss Manna to confirm the good news… Shakuntala did not tell her husband, because it was not something she could tell him. Had Dipnarayan Singh found out, he would have killed Shakuntala, or at the very least, cast her out of the house. That is why, before the truth could come out,