Seven

We had just finished our tea and set down our cups when the sound of several footsteps echoed on the stairs. At last, I thought, the police must be arriving.

But I was mistaken—the police were still lost in sleep. The newcomers were three in number: an unfamiliar elderly gentleman, accompanied by Nimai and Nitai. Just as vultures sense a carcass from afar, Nimai and Nitai had caught the scent of their uncle’s great departure.

The footsteps woke Kestobabu, who sat up, rubbing his eyes. Prabhat entered from the inner rooms.

For a moment, both parties exchanged silent glances. Nimai and Nitai stood on either side of the elderly gentleman, their eyes moving from one of us to the next, finally coming to rest on Byomkesh; suspicion flickered in their gaze. Perhaps they recognized him.

Byomkesh was the first to speak. “What do you want?”

Nimai and Nitai immediately leaned in and whispered into the elderly gentleman’s ears.

Adimriphu 459

The middle-aged gentleman’s unshaven face bristled with a salt-and-pepper beard and mustache; perhaps his temper, too, was not at its best, having been roused at such an untimely hour. For a moment, he regarded Byomkesh with eyes full of irritation, then asked in a distorted voice, “Who are you?”

Byomkesh replied, “You may call me a family friend. My name is Byomkesh Bakshi.”

A sudden alertness flashed in the eyes of all three men. The middle-aged gentleman drew a breath and asked, “Detective?”

Byomkesh said, “Satyanweshi.”

The gentleman made a dismissive sound in his throat, then, turning to Prabhat, said, “We have received news that Anadi Halder has passed away. These two brothers, Nimai and Nitai Halder, are his nephews and heirs. They have come to take possession of the property. You will have to vacate this house.”

Prabhat stared blankly for a while, then turned his gaze to Byomkesh. Byomkesh said, “Is that so? We have to leave the house! But you haven’t told us who you are.”

The gentleman said, “I am their lawyer, Kaminikanta Mustafi.”

Byomkesh said, “A lawyer. Then you should know that Anadi Halder’s nephews are not his legal heirs. He had adopted a son.”

Lawyer Kaminikanta made a sound through his nose, regarding Byomkesh with utter contempt, and said, “Since you claim to be a family friend, you should know that Anadi Halder did not adopt a son. One cannot adopt a son with mere words. There must be a registered deed, rituals must be performed. Anadi Halder did none of these. —You will have to leave here with only the clothes on your back, not a stick more. Everything in this house belongs to my clients.”

For a moment, Byomkesh seemed taken aback, staring at Prabhat; then he composed himself. With a crooked smile, he said, “Indeed? You think you can seize Anadi Halder’s property with threats. It’s not so easy, Lawyer-babu. If the adoption was not lawful, you’ll have to prove it in court, obtain a succession certificate—only then can you take possession. Do you understand?”

The lawyer said, “If you do not vacate the house immediately, I will call the police.”

Byomkesh replied, “No need to call the police—the police are already on their way. —By the way, how did you learn of Anadi-babu’s death so quickly? It hasn’t even been two hours—”

Suddenly, one of the brothers, Nimai or Nitai, blurted out, “Two hours. Uncle died at eleven last night—” and stopped short, as if catching himself.

Byomkesh said sweetly, “At eleven, you say? How did you know? Were you present at the time of death? With a gun in your hand?”

Nimai or Nitai turned utterly pale. The lawyer snapped at him, “You two keep quiet, let me do the talking. So, you refuse to vacate. Very well, the court will see to it.” With that, he grasped his clients by the arms and turned toward the stairs.

Byomkesh said, “Leaving so soon? Won’t you wait a little longer? The police will surely want to hear the nephews’ statements. Where were you all at eleven o’clock last night—”

Before Byomkesh could finish, the pair of nephews hurried past the lawyer and made for the stairs.

Byomkesh Samagra

He disappeared down the stairs. Advocate Kaminikanta Mustafi cast a heated, smoldering glance at Byomkesh before following after them.

When the sound of their footsteps had faded below, Byomkesh turned to Prabhat and asked, “You never told me before that you are not, by law, Anadibabu’s adopted son. Why?”

Prabhat stood there, scratching his neck with a look of irritation. Now, Nanibala Devi stepped forward. Until now, I had not noticed how her face had shriveled and sunk, her eyes wide and desperate. She cried out, “Byomkeshbabu, is what they said true? Prabhat is not Anadibabu’s adopted son?”

Byomkesh replied, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out. Prabhatbabu—?”

Prabhat licked his lips and muttered, “I—I don’t know the law. When I first came to Calcutta, Anadibabu took me to a solicitor’s office. There I heard that to adopt a son, you have to register a deed, perform a homa-yajna. But none of that ever happened.”

“So you knew you were not Anadibabu’s heir?”

“Yes, I knew. But I thought—”

“You thought that before his death, Anadibabu would register the deed and make you his adopted son?”

“Yes.”

A moment of silence. Then Nanibala let out a long, trembling sigh and said, “Then—then—Prabhat will get nothing. Everything will go to that Nimai and Nitai!” Nanibala’s ample frame seemed to suddenly collapse; she sank down onto the floor.

Prabhat hurried to her side, sat down, and said in a low, deep voice, “Why are you worrying, Ma? We have the shop. That will be enough for the two of us.”

Nanibala clung to Prabhat’s neck and broke into sobs. At least, after the death of Anadi Halder, someone was finally seen to weep.

Byomkesh narrowed his eyes, watching them, then let his gaze wander around the room before suddenly asking, “Where is