Thirteen

It was late afternoon when Putiram brought in the tea. I noticed his face looked drawn and pained.

I asked, “What’s wrong, Putiram?”

He replied, “The pain from my acidity has started again, Babu.”

Byomkesh said, “I’ll give you some medicine. Go lie down, you don’t have to cook for us this evening.”

For some days now, Putiram had been suffering from gastritis; pure gravel and tamarind seed powder no longer agreed with him. Byomkesh gave him a dose of ajwain water and, returning, I said, “Let’s send word downstairs and have our meal at the mess today.”

Byomkesh thought for a moment and said, “No, let’s eat out at a hotel tonight. Five hundred rupees came into our hands today—it’s only right that a barbarian’s wealth be squandered.”

I couldn’t agree with his lightheartedness. “Byomkesh, don’t mind me. When you realized that five hundred rupees was a bribe, was it right for you to take it?”

Byomkesh replied, “I could offer you many arguments in response, but I won’t. I needed the money, so I took it. I can’t chase wild buffaloes while starving at home.”

“But suppose—suppose in the end we find out that Nimai and Nitai are the murderers. What then? Will you hush it up because you took a bribe?”

“No, I won’t hush it up. I’ll hand them over myself—if the police want to catch them, that is. Remember, they paid me to investigate Anadi Haldar’s murder, not as a bribe.”

“If that’s so, then it’s a different matter.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t commit a sin for a bribe. If I intended to do wrong, I wouldn’t have settled for five hundred—I’d have made sure my own interests were well served.” Byomkesh smiled as he spoke.

I finished my tea and lit a cigarette. I was thinking perhaps there would be no more visitors this evening, when Prabhat arrived. He carried a bundle in his hand; his appearance betrayed that he was only recently recovered from illness—the signs of weakness still lingered in his eyes.

Byomkesh said, “Come in. How are you feeling now?”

Prabhat smiled shyly. “I’m well. I troubled you a lot the other day.”

“It was nothing. What’s that in your hand?”

“A little sweet. I was passing by Bheem Nag’s shop and thought I’d bring something.”

When he opened the bundle, we saw it was no small amount—a good twenty or twenty-five rupees’ worth of dense, syrupy sandesh. The other day, Byomkesh had helped him, refusing to take any fee for the doctor or the car fare, so Prabhat was now trying, with utmost politeness, to return the favor. Byomkesh exclaimed with delight, “Ah, this is heavenly! Ajit, can you guess whose face I saw first this morning?”

Adimriphu 485

I said, “As far as I recall, you saw my face, and I saw yours.”

“Then you understand—our faces are not ordinary.” He paused. “Anyway, it’s best to put the food away. It’s not wise to leave things out.” Byomkesh