Fifteen

I had hoped to return to Calcutta together with Satyabati and Khoka; Satyabati too, after so long away, was desperate to come home. But it was not to be. After such a long stay in Patna, a proper household had taken shape, and I could not simply leave all the responsibility of packing it up onto Sukumar’s shoulders. We agreed that Sukumar would return with Satyabati and the others about a week later; we would go ahead and set up the house, arrange it to suit Satyabati. At dawn on the 13th of August, Byomkesh and I arrived in Calcutta. The sun had not yet risen. Alighting from the taxi in front of our house, we saw a crowd gathered at our main door. In the throng, I spotted Putiram. What’s going on! We pushed through the crowd and entered. A corpse lay on the pavement, a dried, clotted stain of blood on the left side of the back. The eyes stared wide open, sightless. There was no difficulty in recognizing him—Kestobabu. The police had not yet arrived. We stepped out of the crowd, called Putiram, and went upstairs. Byomkesh’s face had hardened like iron, a smoldering fire in his eyes. We sat together in our own sitting room. Who could have imagined that Kestobabu’s sudden change of fortune would end like this? I said, ‘I had a feeling—’

Byomkesh Samagra

The open conflict in Calcutta has come to an end.

Byomkesh said, “This was no open conflict. Kesto Das was stabbed from behind. Putiram, did you recognize him?”

Putiram replied, “Yes, sir, I did. He’s that Mr. Bhetki Fish. He came yesterday evening, asked about you.”

“He came yesterday evening?”

“Yes, sir. I told him I’d received your letter, that you and Babu would arrive the next morning. Then he left.”

“Hm. All right, Putiram, go make some tea.”

Byomkesh stretched his legs on the easy chair and frowned up at the rafters. I went to the window and peered out; the police had arrived on the footpath, the crowd had dispersed. They were trying to lift Kesto Babu onto a motor van. Whether the police had managed to learn his name or address, I could not tell. They took the body away.

Tea arrived. Byomkesh took a sip and said, “Judging by the body, it looks like Kesto Das was murdered late at night—around three or four in the morning. The first time Kesto Babu came to see me, it was also around three or four in the morning. But there was a reason then. Why was he coming here so late tonight?”

I said, “What proof is there he was coming to see you? He was a drunken, wild man—maybe he was just passing this way, a goon stabbed him—”

“No, such a coincidence is impossible. Kesto Das was coming to see me. He came yesterday evening, heard I wasn’t here, and left. Then, something happened at night that made him unable to wait until morning—”