The aerial view of Srinagar was quite different from the one that greeted my eyes as we climbed out of the plane. Both were beautiful, but in different ways. It also became instantly clear that Srinagar was not like Darjeeling, Simla, or even Kathmandu, which I had seen before. When I saw the lake and the river Jhelum on our way to the city, I realized just how unique Srinagar was, both in its location and appearance. Our destination was the Boulevard, the road which ran by the southern side of Dal Lake. Small steps went down to the water, where little boats called shikaras were waiting to take passengers. Just as Venice has its gondolas, Srinagar is famous for its shikaras. Our houseboat was called The Water Lily. A special shikara was waiting to take us to it. We climbed into it, taking our luggage with us. Several houseboats stood in a row, at a distance of fifty yards. Then the lake became much wider and I couldn’t see any more houseboats. They were all parked on the western side of the lake. It was not difficult at all to climb up to the boat from the shikara. There was an open area in front of the rooms. One could sit there, or take the stairs that went up to the upper deck for a better view of the surroundings. The first room as we entered the boat was the living room. It was well furnished with flowers in a vase, paintings on the wall and a small library. Behind this was the dining room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. The kitchen was in a smaller boat, attached to the rear. In short, it provided every comfort on the lake that one might find in a private bungalow in town. ‘You have to thank me for this!’ Lalmohan Babu declared, grinning broadly. ‘It was really my idea to come here, wasn’t it?’ ‘Sure. You are a writer, Lalmohan Babu. All good ideas ought to come from you. Anyway, let’s have a cup of tea and then go for a ride in our shikara.’ There were two bearers in the houseboat to look after us. They were called Mahmudia and Abdullah. By the time we finished our tea and got into the shikara, the sun was about to set. Although it was May, it was quite cool. We had to wear our warm clothes when we went out. Feluda said, ‘I don’t think we’ll have time for anything but a tour of the lake. We’ll start our sightseeing from tomorrow. See that hill behind the Boulevard? Its height is 1000 feet. There’s a temple at its top—the temple of Shankaracharya. It is said to have been built by Emperor Ashok’s son. To the east of the lake are the Mughal gardens. We must see Nishad Bagh, Shalimar and Chashma Shahi. I believe there’s a spring in Chashma Shahi. Its water is supposed to be like nectar, both in taste and in its power to improve one’s appetite.’ ‘What is that little island in the middle of the lake?’ I asked. ‘It’s called Char Chinar. There are four chinar trees on it, one in each corner.’

Mahmudia and Abdullah began rowing. We passed about ten houseboats on our left and were soon at the spot where the lake widened. The retired judge, Mr Mallik, and his team had taken two houseboats. Mr Sushant Som waved from the lower deck of one of these and shouted: ‘Do drop in on your way back for a cup of tea!’ When I saw the lake properly, it took my breath away. I haven’t got words to describe its beauty. Its water was as clear as crystal. There was no wind, so like a mirror, its surface reflected the mountains. Lotuses bloomed everywhere. Our shikara made its way through these. Lalmohan Babu, deeply moved, first began reciting poetry, then stopped abruptly and started humming under his breath. When I asked him what he was singing, he replied, ‘An Urdu ghazal.’ I had to turn my face away to hide a smile. The sun had set, but at this time of the year, it stayed light for quite some time. When we began our return journey, it was nearly half past seven; but it wasn’t yet totally dark. Sushant Som was still standing on the deck of their houseboat which was called Rosemary. He waved again. We stopped our shikara and went up. ‘Welcome!’ said Mr Som. ‘Let’s have some tea.’ Mr Som was sharing this boat with Mr Mallik’s son, Vijay. The old Mr Mallik, his doctor Harinath Majumdar, and their bearer, Prayag, were in the next boat, called Miranda. We climbed to the top deck after tea had been ordered. ‘Are you any good at cards? Poker or rummy?’ Mr Som asked Feluda. ‘I haven’t played for a long time. But yes, I can play most games. Why do you ask?’ ‘People are hard at it downstairs, in the living room.’ ‘People?’ ‘Vijay met two other men in the plane from Delhi. One of them is called Sarkar. I don’t know the name of the other man. All three are gamblers.’ We were offered comfortable chairs. I still found it difficult to take everything in. Calcutta seemed to have faded away in the far distance. I might have been on a different planet. Some foreign tourists had moved into the boat on our right. Through an open window, I could see men and women dancing to western music. Feluda turned to Mr Som. ‘How long ago did Mr Mallik retire?’ he asked. ‘Five years ago, when he turned sixty.’ ‘But judges don’t have to retire at sixty, do they?’ ‘No, but his health wasn’t very good. He has angina, you see. He didn’t really wish to retire, but his doctor was most insistent. Actually, his ailment may be a result of a psychological dilemma.’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘He has sentenced many people to