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 to break something made of stone. Didn’t your cousin tell us there was a large gang working behind this whole business? I believe Bose is one of them. Did you see his nose? It’s exactly like Ghanashyam Karkat’s.’ ‘Who is Ghanashyam Karkat?’ ‘Oh ho, didn’t I tell you? He is the villain in my next book. Do you know how I’m going to describe his nose? “It was like a shark’s fin, rising above the water.”’ I paid no attention to this last bit, but couldn’t ignore his remarks about Mr Bose. I would not have suspected him at all. How could a man who knew so much about art be a criminal? But then, those who go about stealing art must know something about the subject. Besides, there really was something sharp about his appearance. ‘I only wanted to warn you,’ Lalmohan Babu went on speaking, ‘just keep an eye on him. He offered me a toffee, but I didn’t take it. What if it was poisoned? Tell your cousin not to let on that he is a detective. If he does, his life may be at risk.’ The next day, we left in a taxi at half past six in the morning and went to see Bibi ka Makbara (also known as the ‘second Taj Mahal’). Then we went to the Buddhist caves. The taxi dropped us at the bottom of a hill. A series of steps led to the caves. Mr Bose had accompanied us, and was talking constantly about ancient art, most of which went over my head. I still couldn’t think of him as a criminal, but caught Lalmohan Babu giving him sidelong glances. This often made him stumble, but he did not stop. Two other men had already gone into the caves. I had seen them climbing the steps before us. One of them was a bald American tourist, dressed in a colourful bush shirt and shorts; the other was a guide from the tourist department. Feluda took out his Pentax camera from his shoulder bag and began taking photos of the hills, the view and, occasionally, of us. Each time he peered at us through the camera, Lalmohan Babu stopped and smiled, looking somewhat self-conscious. After a while, I was obliged to tell him that he didn’t necessarily have to stop walking and, in fact, photos often came out quite well even if one didn’t smile. When we reached the caves, Feluda suddenly said, ‘You two carry on, I’ll join you in a minute. I must take a few photos from the other side.’ ‘Don’t miss the second and the seventh cave,’ Mr Bose called out to us. ‘The first five are all in this area, but numbers six to nine are half a mile away, on the eastern side. A road runs round the edge of the hill.’ The bright sun outside was making me feel uncomfortably hot, but once I stepped into the first cave, I realized it was refreshingly cool