I knew Feluda would agree to take the case. He had recently started to record conversations with his clients on a microcassette recorder, which he had bought in Hong Kong. With Mr Puri’s permission, his conversation with Feluda had been recorded as well. In the afternoon, Feluda played the whole thing back and listened to every word carefully. Then he switched the machine off and said, ‘This case is quite different from what I usually get. That is reason number one why I think I ought to take it. Reason number two is the chance to visit Haridwar and Hrishikesh again. After all, isn’t that where I spent some of my early days as a detective?’ Yes, indeed. How could I ever forget it was in Haridwar that the case of the stolen Emperor’s ring took a new turn? He rang Mr Puri and told him of his decision. Mr Puri returned in just half an hour and paid him his advance. When he had gone, Feluda spoke to our travel agent and told him to book three seats on the Doon Express, as soon as possible. Two days later, something totally unexpected happened. Mr Puri sent us a telegram from Rupnarayangarh. It said: REQUEST DROP CASE. LETTER FOLLOWS. Drop case? Why? No client had ever done this to us before. A couple of days later, Mr Puri’s letter arrived. What it said briefly was that Pavandeo Singh had changed his mind. He would still find and interview Bhavani Upadhyaya, but would only show how he spent his time treating the sick. He would mention that Upadhyaya had once treated and cured the Raja of Rupnarayangarh, but would say nothing about the pendant. There was therefore no need for Feluda to travel all the way to Haridwar. Feluda replied to Mr Puri by sending another telegram: DROPPING CASE, BUT GOING AS PILGRIMS. His curiosity had been aroused. He would go simply as a tourist all right, but would certainly keep his eyes and ears open. To be honest, I was very pleased by this, for I wanted to meet both Bhavani Upadhyaya and Pavandeo. All this had happened a few days ago. We were, at this moment, sitting in a four-berth compartment of the Doon Express. The train had stopped at Faizabad, and we were sipping hot tea from clay pots. ‘You said you had once visited Haridwar,’ Feluda said to Lalmohan Babu. ‘When was that?’ ‘Oh, when I was only a child, just about two years old. I have no memory of the place at all.’ ‘Are you going only to Haridwar, or do you intend to see other places as well?’ This question came from our fellow passenger, an elderly gentleman who was sitting next to Lalmohan Babu. His thin hair was mostly white, but his skin wasn’t wrinkled, and his strong white teeth appeared to be his own. There were a few laughter lines around his eyes, and from the way his eyes twinkled, it seemed he was ready for laughter any time.

‘We have some work in Haridwar,’ Feluda answered. ‘When that gets done, we might try and see other places. We haven’t really thought about it yet.’ The gentleman raised his eyebrows. ‘What! You don’t mean to say you haven’t thought about going to Kedar and Badrinath? You must never miss those places, if you are travelling all that distance, anyway. You can go to Badrinath by bus. Buses don’t go right up to Kedar, and you have to walk the last few miles, but at your age that shouldn’t be a problem. And for your friend, there would be dandis and ponies. Have you ever ridden a pony?’ he asked, looking at Lalmohan Babu. Lalmohan Babu finished his tea, threw the pot out of the window and said gravely, ‘No, but I have ridden a camel in the Thar desert. Have you had that experience?’ ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ the gentleman shook his head, smiling, ‘I have never been anywhere near a desert. My field for roaming is restricted to the mountains. I have been to Kedar and Badri twenty- three times. It’s got nothing to do with religious devotion. I go back just to look at their natural beauty. That itself is a spiritual experience, I can tell you. If I didn’t have a family, I’d quite happily live there. I have also been to Jamunotri, Gangotri, Gomukh, Panchakedar and Vasukital. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Makhanlal Majumdar.’ Feluda said ‘namaskar’ and introduced us. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Mr Majumdar. ‘A lot of people are going to all these place now, thanks to road transport. They are not pilgrims, they are picnickers. But, of course, buses and taxis can do nothing to spoil the glory of the Himalayas. The scenic beauty is absolutely incredible.’ We reached Haridwar at 6 a.m. This time, there didn’t seem to be as many pandas as last time. We stopped at the railway restaurant for a cup of tea and snacks. Feluda asked its manager about Upadhyaya. What he told us came as a shock. Bhavani Upadhyaya had left Haridwar more than three months ago, and gone to Rudraprayag. ‘Who can talk to us about him? Is there anyone here who knew him well?’ ‘You can try talking to Kantibhai Pandit. He used to be Upadhyaya’s landlord.’ ‘Does he live in Laxman Mohalla?’ ‘Yes, yes. He and Upadhyaya were next-door neighbours. Go there, and ask anyone. They’ll take you to Kantibhai’s house.’ Feluda thanked him and paid the bill. We decided to go to Laxman Mohalla immediately. Kantibhai Pandit turned out to be a man in his mid-sixties, with a clear complexion and sharp features. He had heavy stubble on his face, and he peered at us through bifocal lenses. He seemed quite surprised on being told we wanted to ask him about Upadhyaya. ‘What is going on?’ he asked. ‘Why this sudden interest in Upadhyaya, I wonder? Someone else came to ask about