Aurangabad was a historical city. An Abyssinian slave called Malik Ambar had been brought to India. In time, he became the Prime Minister of the King of Ahmednagar and built a city called Khadke. During the time of Aurangzeb, Khadke changed its name and came to be known as Aurangabad. In addition to Mughal buildings and structures, there were about ten Buddhist caves—thirteen hundred years old—that contained statues worth seeing. The gentleman we had met at the airport—whose name was Shubhankar Bose—came to our room later in the evening for a chat. ‘You must see the caves here before going to Ellora,’ he told us. ‘If you do, you’ll be able to see that the two are similar in some ways.’ Since it was drizzling outside, we decided not to go out immediately. Tomorrow, if the day was fine, we would see the caves and the mausoleum built in the memory of Aurangzeb’s wife, called Bibi ka Makbara. We would have to remain in Aurangabad until the next afternoon, anyway, since Jayant Mallik was supposed to get here at eleven o’clock. He would probably go to Ellora the same day, and we would then follow him. After dinner, Feluda sat down with his guide book on Ellora. I was wondering what to do, when Lalmohan Babu turned up. ‘Have you looked out of the window, Tapesh?’ he asked. ‘The moon has come out now. Would you like to go for a walk?’ ‘Sure.’ We came out of the hotel to find everything bathed in moonlight. In the distance was a range of hills. Perhaps that was where the Buddhist caves were located. A paan shop close by had a transistor on, playing a Hindi song. Two men were sitting on a bench, having a loud argument. They were probably speaking in Marathi, for I couldn’t understand a word. The road outside had been full of people and traffic during the day, but was now very quiet. A train blew its whistle somewhere far away, and a man wearing a turban went past, riding a cycle. I felt a little strange in this new place— there seemed to be a hint of mystery in whatever I saw, some excitement and even a little fear. At this moment, Lalmohan Babu suddenly brought his face close to my ear and whispered, ‘Doesn’t Shubhankar Bose strike you as a bit suspicious?’ ‘Why?’ I asked, considerably startled. ‘What do you think his suitcase contains? Why does it weigh 35 kgs?’ ‘Thirty-five?’ I was very surprised. ‘Yes. He was before me in the queue in Bombay, when we were told to check in. I saw how much his suitcase weighed. His was thirty-five, your cousin’s was twenty-two, yours was fourteen and mine was sixteen kilograms. Bose had to pay for excess baggage.’

This was news to me. I had seen Mr Bose’s suitcase. It wasn’t very large. What could have made it so heavy? Lalmohan Babu provided the answer. ‘Rocks,’ he said, still whispering, ‘or tools