re you Feluda?’ The question wafted up from somewhere near Feluda’s waist. A little boy of about six was standing next to Feluda, tilting his head to look up at him. Only a few days ago, one of the local dailies had published an interview with Feluda, with a photograph that showed him sitting with a Charminar in his hand. As a result, people now recognized him nearly everywhere, almost as if he was a film star. Today, we were at the Hobby Centre at the corner of Park Street and Russell Street. It sold many interesting things, apart from toys and goldfish. Our Uncle Sidhu was soon going to turn seventy. Feluda had decided to come to the Hobby Centre to look for a good chess set for him. Feluda placed a hand gently on the boy’s head. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘Can you catch the thief who took my bird?’ said the boy, sounding as though he was throwing him a challenge. Before Feluda could reply, a gentleman of about the same age as Feluda walked over to us quickly, carrying a longish object wrapped in brown paper. He looked both pleased and slightly embarrassed. ‘Tell Feluda your own name,’ he said to the boy. ‘Aniruddha Haldar,’ the boy declared solemnly. ‘One of your many young admirers,’ the gentleman laughed. ‘His mother has read out to him all the stories about your adventures.’ ‘What’s this about a bird?’ ‘Oh, that’s nothing. He said he wanted to keep a bird, so I bought him a chandana. Someone took it out of its cage the day it arrived.’ ‘There’s just one feather left,’ Aniruddha told us. ‘Really?’ ‘Yes. It was there in the cage when I went to bed, but was gone in the morning. Great mystery?’ ‘Yes, that’s what it looks like, doesn’t it? Can’t Aniruddha Haldar shed any light on the mystery?’ ‘Why, I am not a detective! I’m only in the second standard in school.’ The child’s father intervened. ‘Come along now, Anu, we have to go to New Market. What you might do is ask Feluda to come to our house.’ Anu looked very pleased at this, and shyly repeated his father’s invitation. ‘My name is Amitabh Haldar,’ the gentleman said, offering his card. Feluda took it and looked at it briefly. ‘I see you live in Barasat,’ he remarked. ‘Yes. You may have heard of my father, Parvaticharan Haldar.’ ‘Oh yes. I’ve even read some of his articles. He’s got a large collection of antiques, hasn’t he?’

‘That’s right. He used to be a barrister, but now he’s retired. His chief passion in life is collecting ancient artefacts. He’s travelled very widely, all over the world, to add to his collection. I think you’ll enjoy seeing some of it—he’s got an ancient gramophone, a chessboard from Mughal times, Warren Hastings’s snuff box, Napoleon’s letter . . . you know, things like that. Our house itself is quite interesting, it’s a hundred and fifty years old. If you’re free one day, I mean on a Sunday or something . . . ? You just need to give me a ring—no, I’ll ring you myself. Your number will be in the directory, won’t it?’ ‘Yes, but here you are,’ Feluda handed him one of his own cards. It was then decided that we would visit Mr Haldar later in the month. Going to Barasat wouldn’t be a problem, since Lalmohan Babu’s car was always at our disposal. He wasn’t with us today, but I knew he’d love to go with us. Of late, he had been in a particularly good mood, since a giant Jatayu omnibus had come out only recently, containing ten of his best novels. It was apparently ‘selling like hot kachauris’, even at twenty-five rupees. We returned home. I noticed much later that Feluda was looking a little depressed. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, ‘It’s that young admirer of mine. I can’t forget what he told me.’ ‘You mean about that chandana?’ ‘Have you ever heard of a bird being stolen out of its cage?’ ‘No, I can’t say I have. But does it really strike you as a big mystery?’ ‘Well, it’s not the kind of thing that happens every day. A chandana is not a bird of paradise. No one would wish to steal it for its beauty. Why, then, did it disappear? ‘Of course, it could be that someone had forgotten to shut the door properly, and it was really no more than negligence . . .’ His voice trailed away. ‘There’s no way to find out, is there?’ ‘Of course there is. All we have to do is go there and ask a few questions. As far as I can make out, no one took the matter seriously. But obviously that little boy is upset, or he wouldn’t have told me straightaway. I wish I could go.’ ‘Where is the problem with that? Mr Haldar invited us, didn’t he?’ ‘Yes, but that may well have been simply out of politeness, just because he happened to run into us. He may have already forgotten all about it. After all, we didn’t fix a date or anything. It wouldn’t matter, and normally I wouldn’t care, but . . . it was something a small child asked me to do, so I feel I shouldn’t ignore it.’ Mr Haldar rang in less than a week, on a Saturday morning. I transferred the call to Feluda’s extension, and heard the whole conversation from the main phone in the living room. ‘Mr Mitter?’ said Mr Haldar. ‘Yes, how are you?’ ‘Fine, but my son is driving me crazy. When are you coming to our house?’ ‘Did the bird come back?’ ‘No. I don’t think there’s any chance of getting it back.’ ‘What if your son assumes I’ve come just to retrieve his chandana? When he realizes I cannot help him, isn’t he going to be very disappointed?’

‘No, no, don’t