The sadhubaba surely knows something. But what does he know? Did he see Ishaanbabu’s murderer entering the fort that night? The staircase leading up from the grove to the fort isn’t visible; especially not on a dark night. Then does the sadhubaba wander near the stairs in the dead of night?... His tongs, after all, are not a trivial weapon—if the tip of those tongs were smeared with poison—

I asked Byomkesh; he only made a sound in his throat, like a suppressed cough.

By ten o’clock, we finished our meal and went out to sit again. We would have to stay awake for another two hours. Sitaram, having eaten, slipped away into the shadows; probably to smoke a bidi or two. The lantern was turned down low in the corner of the room.

The clock’s hands were edging toward eleven. Despite the tension in my mind, I kept yawning—

“Byomkeshbabu!”

A muffled voice startled me out of my stupor. I saw, not far off, a figure standing like a shadow. Byomkesh rose and said, “Ramapati! Come in.”

Taking Ramapati with us, we went inside. Byomkesh turned up the light and examined him from head to toe. “I see you haven’t eaten tonight. —Sitaram!”

Within five minutes, Sitaram brought in a few fried eggs and set them before Ramapati. Without a word, Ramapati began to eat. His face was drawn, his eyes sunken; his half-shirt was torn in several places, and he wore no shoes. As he ate, he said, “So you’ve heard everything? Who told you?”

“Tulsi. Where have you been all this while?”

“In the jungle. Then behind the fort.”

“Did they beat you badly?”

Ramapati lifted his shirt to show his back—red welts stood out in stripes.

Byomkesh’s face hardened.

“Banshidhar?”

Ramapati nodded.

“Why didn’t you go to the city?”

Ramapati didn’t answer, but silently continued eating.

“What’s the point of you staying here any longer?”

In a barely audible voice, Ramapati said, “Tulsi—”

“You love Tulsi?”

Ramapati was silent for a moment, then slowly said, “Everyone torments her, keeps her locked up, no one loves her. If I’m not here, she’ll die.”

When he finished eating, Byomkesh showed him his own bed and said, “Sleep.”

With a weary sigh, Ramapati lay down. Byomkesh gazed at him for a long time, then suddenly began to ask questions.

“Ramapati, do you know who killed Ishaanbabu?”

“No, I don’t know who killed him. But he was murdered.”

“Do you know who killed Haripriya?”

“No, Didi tried to tell me—but she couldn’t.”

“Do you know why Banshidhar’s wife jumped from the mountain?”

After a brief pause, Ramapati said, “I don’t know, but I suspected. Didi couldn’t stand her, Didi’s heart was very spiteful. I think she put on a mask and frightened her with ghosts—”

Durgar Hasya

“A mask?” “Didi had a Japanese mask. The day after that incident, I found the mask at the edge of the jungle; perhaps it had blown there in the wind. I brought it back and showed it to Didi. She snatched it from my hand and tore it up.” “Does Banshidhar know about the mask?” “I haven’t said anything.” “You must have seen the Sadhubaba. What do you think of him?” “I don’t feel any reverence. But the master holds him in high regard. He comes straight from the house.” “Has Ishanbabu ever told you anything about the Sadhubaba?” “No. He never went to see him either. He was rather annoyed with holy men and ascetics.” Byomkesh glanced at his watch and said, “It’s midnight. Ramapati, you should get some sleep. We’re stepping out for a bit.” Ramapati’s eyes widened. “Where to?” “Not far, we’ll be back soon. Come, Ajit.” Taking the large torch, we stepped outside. Ramkishorebabu’s house was shrouded in darkness. As we passed by the entrance hall, we heard Bulaki Lal snoring thunderously. The grove was thick with darkness, broken only by the muffled glow from the ash-covered dhuni. Sadhubaba lay beside the sacred fire; his posture was not quite natural. Byomkesh cast a sharp beam of light onto his face, but Babaji did not stir. Byomkesh then shook him by the shoulder and drew in a loud breath, exclaiming, “Ah—!” The torchlight swept over Babaji’s body and came to rest upon his feet. There, on the upper part of the heel, were two puncture marks—fangs of a snake.

Byomkesh said, “Well, at last, Ram Binod has truly left his body.” “Ram Binod!” “You look as if you’ve fallen from the sky. Didn’t you realize? Remarkable.” Fuel had been thrown into the dhuni, the flames now blazing. Babaji’s corpse lay stiff beside it. The two of us sat a little distance away, facing each other, drawing on our cigarettes. Byomkesh said, “Remember, when I first saw Ramkishorebabu, he seemed familiar? In truth, it was Babaji who seemed familiar when I saw him earlier. When I saw Ramkishore the second time, I understood.” “But Ram Binod died of the plague!” “The plague did strike Ram Binod’s household, but before he died, the others abandoned him and fled. I gathered that from Chandmohan’s account. After that, Ram Binod survived. It’s a bit like the Bhawal Sannyasi case.” “Where has he been all this time?” “That I don’t know. Perhaps at first, he was seized by renunciation, wandering among ascetics and holy men—”

Byomkesh Samagra 333

He had been wandering. Then, suddenly catching wind of Ramkishore’s whereabouts, he had turned up here. But let that be for now; we must arrange for someone to watch over the corpse. Ajit, I’ll stay here, you take the torch and go fetch Sitaram. And if you can, rouse Bulaki Lal from his sleep and bring him along too. Let the two of them stand guard over the body.’

I said, ‘You’ll stay here alone? That won’t do. If we must stay, we’ll stay together; if we must go, we’ll go together.’

‘Afraid I’ll be bitten by a snake too! This isn’t that kind of snake, you