‘You two can do some more sightseeing today,’ said Feluda, the next morning after breakfast. ‘Try and see Swayambhu, Pashupatinath and Patan. That should be enough for a day. Let’s go to Sun Travels. They should be able to arrange a car.’ We bumped into Mr Batra the minute we stepped out of the hotel. This must be telepathy, I thought. He smiled as he greeted us. But his face grew grave almost instantly. ‘That man is back here,’ he told us. ‘A colleague of mine saw him yesterday, coming out of a jeweller’s shop on New Road.’ ‘Did your colleague think you had returned unexpectedly from Pokhara?’ Mr Batra smiled again. ‘No, and I’ll tell you why. You see, my “twin” appears to be rather partial to bright colours. Yesterday he was wearing a shocking pink pullover and green shirt. People who know me well would never mistake him for me. But anyway, I went to the police and told them about it. I happen to know a sub-inspector.’ ‘What did he say?’ ‘I feel much reassured by what he said. Apparently, the police already know about this man. They think he’s involved in smuggling, but is being protected by someone rich and influential. So the police can’t actually do anything until he makes a false move.’ ‘Didn’t you tell him about the inconvenience he has caused you? He did buy that kukri in your name, you know.’ ‘Yes, yes. I asked the sub-inspector if this man could commit a crime, and then get me framed. Do you know what the sub-inspector did? He burst out laughing. He said, “Please Mr Batra, don’t think the Nepal Police are so stupid!”’ ‘Well, that’s that, then. Surely now you’re feeling a lot better?’ ‘Well, yes”. I am much relieved, I must admit. And I think you should also relax a little. Why should you spend your entire stay in Kathmandu simply chasing a criminal? Tell you what, why don’t you spend a day at the new forest bungalow our company has just built in the Rapti valley, in the Terai? It’s a really wonderful spot. I need only a few hours’ notice to get a car to pick you up. In fact, if I happen to be free, I can join you myself. What do you say?’ The very mention of the Terai made my heart jump for joy. Lalmohan Babu’s eyes were shining, too. ‘Let’s see how it goes,’ said Feluda noncommittally. Thank goodness he didn’t reject the idea outright. Mr Batra said ‘Goodbye’ and left. ‘Why didn’t you tell him about what we saw in that pig alley?’ Lalmohan Babu asked curiously. ‘Because,’ Feluda replied, ‘it is not my wont to divulge every detail of my investigation to all and sundry. And certainly not to someone I have met only briefly.’ ‘I see. I understand. Felu Babu, I have learnt,’ said Jatayu, chastened.

On the way back to our room, we ran into Mr Bhowmik on the stairs. ‘Can you recognize this?’ he asked, holding up a medicine bottle. ‘Benadryl Expectorant’ said its label. It was a familiar enough sight—I was given the same red syrup at home every time I had a cough. ‘Yes, I can certainly recognize the bottle, but the colour of the syrup seems a little different, doesn’t it?’ asked Feluda. ‘Oh, can you see a difference in the colour? Then you are exceptionally observant. I noticed a difference in the smell.’ He unscrewed the cap and offered the bottle to Feluda, who sniffed a couple of times and said, ‘Yes, there is a subtle difference. You must have a very sensitive nose!’ ‘Yes, I do! And you know what I am going to do? I’ll take this bottle right back to the chemist, and ask for my money back. I mean it. Didn’t I tell you virtually every medicine these days is adulterated? Why, I’ve even heard they put chalk in baby food! Even innocent babies aren’t going to be spared!’ We had told Mr Batra that Lalmohan Babu and I needed a car for the day. A Japanese Toyota arrived at nine. When we left a few minutes later, Feluda was poring over the telephone directory. ‘Just noting down the addresses of the local chemists,’ he said. Only a place like Kathmandu could have both Swayambhunath, a Buddhist stupa and Pashupatinath, a Hindu temple. Lalmohan Babu left the Pasupati temple with a brief, ‘Tapesh, you can look at the view’ and disappeared inside the temple. When he came out, his forehead was smeared with sandalwood paste. He had clearly been blessed by the priest. The temple was made chiefly of wood. Its doors and the spire were plated with gold and silver. The first thing one saw on coming though the main gate was a huge statue of Nandi, also covered in gold. A walk down a courtyard brought the river Bagmati into view. The mountains stood on the other side of the river. The way to Swayambhu was through a road that wound up a hill like a snake. Our car stopped before a flight of stairs. We’d have to climb these and walk the rest of the way, we were told. There were little stalls near the stairs, selling Tibetan goods. Lalmohan Babu suddenly seemed quite keen on buying a prayer wheel. It wasn’t really a wheel—a small box was attached to one end of a stick. A chain hung from the box, with a little ball fixed at its tip. If one twirled the stick, the whole contraption moved round and round. These prayer wheels were made of wood, copper, brass and ivory. Lalmohan Babu wanted a wooden one, but it turned out that it was too expensive. All prices had been fixed, no doubt, with rich American tourists in mind. With a sigh, Lalmohan Babu came away. The stupa was built on top of the mountain two thousand years ago. What was most striking about it was a pillar