Although the traffic was not likely to be heavy at that time of night, we left a little before nine, giving ourselves more than an hour to reach Barasat. We had our dinner before leaving, which felt slightly strange because none of us was used to eating so early. ‘If we start to feel peckish a little later,’ Lalmohan Babu observed, ‘we can always go to that sweet shop where Mr Datta is meeting us. I’m sure they’ll have kachauris and aloo-sabzi.’ Lalmohan Babu’s driver was greatly excited on being told why we were returning to Barasat. Luckily for us, he was a great admirer of Feluda, and quite fond of watching action-packed Hindi films. Any other driver would have been cross at being told to drive out of town late at night. But Lalmohan Babu’s driver, Haripada, seemed to get new life in his tired limbs when Feluda explained the situation. When we reached VIP Road, Lalmohan Babu decided to burst into song. ‘Everyone has gone to the wood, on this moonlight night . . .’ he began, but one look from Feluda stopped him immediately. The sky was totally dark. There was no sign of the moon. But it was a clear night. Perhaps the faint light from the stars would be of some use. In accordance to Feluda’s instructions, I was wearing a dark shirt; and Lalmohan Babu had put on Feluda’s raincoat over his light yellow pullover. Although it wasn’t possible to see it in the car, I knew that when he got out, one of his pockets would hang heavy under its load. He had borrowed the iron rod of Srinath’s hand-grinder and stuffed it into his pocket. Feluda, too, was armed, but not with an iron rod. In his jacket pocket lay his Colt revolver. We reached the crossing just before ten. Mr Datta was standing in front of a paan stall next to the sweet shop. Haripada stopped the car. Mr Datta got in swiftly, and said, ‘Please take the next right turn.’ Only a few minutes later, the number of houses grew appreciably less. The streetlights disappeared. I realized we had left the town of Barasat behind us and were in the country. ‘The first indigo factory was built in Barasat,’ Mr Datta told us. ‘If you ever come this way in daylight, you’ll be able to see broken old houses in which the British owners of these factories used to live.’ We drove in silence for another twenty minutes. Then, suddenly, Mr Datta said, ‘Here we are. Stop the car.’ Our car came to a halt. All of us trooped out. ‘Please tell your driver to wait here with the car. I’ll show you where Sadhu Dastidar has asked me to meet him. Then your car can take me home, and come back here. I’ll make my own way to the right place just before eleven.’ Lalmohan Babu gave some money to his driver, and said, ‘Get yourself something to eat after you’ve dropped Mr Datta. It may well be quite late by the time we get back home.’

We began walking through a field. Five minutes later, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a wood. ‘Madhumurali Deeghi is behind all these trees. But we have to go over there,’ Mr Datta pointed at the trees. We began walking again. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but I could make out the outlines of broken structures. This place wasn’t really a wood. It had probably been a part of private grounds that belonged to some rich owner of an indigo factory. Years of neglect had turned it into a jungle. A large house must have stood here once. Part’s of its front veranda were still standing upright. Thank goodness it was winter, or we might have had to deal with snakes. ‘It’s probably quite safe at this moment to use a torch,’ Feluda remarked. ‘Yes, I don’t think right now it would matter.’ Feluda switched on his small pocket torch. We made our way towards the rubble of the derelict building, trying not to stumble or fall into potholes. ‘There it is, look!’ Mr Datta pointed at a tree. ‘That’s a sheora tree. That’s where Sadhu Dastidar asked me to wait.’ Feluda shone his torch briefly on the tree, then switched it off. ‘Perhaps I should go now,’ Mr Datta said. ‘Yes. We’ll see you in . . . let’s see . . . about forty-five minutes?’ ‘OK.’ Mr Datta made an about turn and disappeared in the direction from which we had come. A minute later, we couldn’t even hear his footsteps. ‘Here’s some Odomos,’ Feluda said, taking out a tube from his pocket, ‘you may find it useful.’ ‘Oh, thank you, Felu Babu. Malaria is on the rise again, isn’t it?’ All of us applied Odomos on our hands, faces and necks, and prepared ourselves for a long wait. We didn’t have to stand, for there were small piles of bricks strewn about everywhere that could be used as chairs or stools. Conversations had to be carried out in whispers, but after the first few minutes, we fell silent. By now my eyes had got used to the dark, and I could see that there was a wide variety of trees, including mango, banyan and peepal. There were bamboo groves as well. From the far distance came the faint noises of rickshaw horns, trains, barking dogs—I could even hear a transistor being played somewhere. Feluda’s watch had a luminous dial, so he could see the time even in the dark. It seemed to be getting colder by the minute. Lalmohan Babu hadn’t brought his cap, and his handkerchief was white, so all he could do to protect his head was cover it with his hands. After a long period of silence, we heard him say something under his breath. ‘What did you say?’ Feluda whispered. ‘N-nothing,’ he whispered back. ‘It’s just that I suddenly remembered