We had returned to our room. The passport-size photograph of Muktananda was now with Feluda. I could not imagine why Mr Chowdhury had given it to him and told him he had a job. Lalmohan Babu, however, ventured to hazard a guess. ‘I think he asked you to become a follower of Muktananda,’ he observed. ‘Then why did he raise two fingers?’ ‘Maybe he meant . . . as a follower of Muktananda, your skills at your job would double themselves? Mind you,’ Lalmohan Babu added sadly, ‘I cannot figure out why he then shook his thumb at you!’ Early in the morning, Akhil Chakravarty rang us to say that Mahesh Chowdhury had breathed his last two hours after we had left his house the previous night. By the time the funeral was over, it was past eleven o’clock. On our way back from the cremation ground, Lalmohan Babu asked, ‘Where do you want to go now, Felu Babu? To Kailash, or back home?’ ‘I don’t think we should spend any more time in Kailash, just at this moment. They are bound to receive a lot of visitors. I won’t get any work done.’ ‘What work do you mean?’ ‘Gathering information.’ After lunch, Feluda took out his blue notebook and began scribbling in it. When he finished, he let us see what he had written: 1. Mahesh Chowdhury: Born 23 November 1907; died 24 November 1977 (Natural causes? Heart attack? Shock?). Fond of riddles, stamps, butterflies, rocks. A valuable stamp album given by Dorabjee—lost (how?). Attached to second son. What about his feelings towards the other two? Deep affection towards Shankarlal. No snobbery. Violent temper in the past; drinking. A changed man in later years, amiable. Why a curse? 2. His wife: Dead. When? 3. First son: Arunendra. Born (approx.) 1936. Deals with mica. Travels between Calcutta and Hazaribagh. Fond of shooting. Doesn’t talk much. 4. Second son: Birendra. Born (approx.) 1939. Very bright, a rebel. Left home at nineteen. Admired Col. Suresh Biswas. Wrote to father until 1967. Alive? Dead? Father thought he had returned 5. Third son: Pritindra. Younger than Arunendra by at least nine years (basis: family photo), i.e. born (approx.) 1945. Electronics. Bird calls. Talks a lot, chiefly about himself. Left tape recorder in Rajrappa. 6. Pritin’s wife: Neelima. Age twenty-five/twenty-six. Intelligent, smart, collected.

7. Akhil Chakravarty: Age (approx.) seventy. Ex-schoolteacher. Mahesh’s friend. Astrology, ayurveda. 8. Shankarlal Misra: Born (approx.) 1939. Same age as Biren. Mahesh’s chowkidar Deendayal’s son. Deendayal died in 1943. Question: why did he go into the forest? Mahesh raised Shankarlal. Owner of bookshop. Griefstricken by Mahesh’s death. 9. Noor Muhammad: Age between seventy and eighty. Serving Mahesh for over forty years. Feluda was right in thinking there might be a lot of visitors. When we arrived at Kailash long after lunch, we were told the last of them had just left. Mr Chowdhury’s two sons and Akhil Chakravarty were in the drawing room. Pritin Babu seemed more restless than ever. He was sitting in a corner, fidgeting and cracking his knuckles. Akhil Babu was sighing and shaking his head from time to time. Only Arun Chowdhury seemed calm and composed. Feluda addressed him directly. ‘Are you going to be here for a few days?’ he asked. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘I need your help. Your father gave me a job to do, although he was in no condition to explain the details. What I want to know is this: did any of you understand his meaning?’ Arun Babu smiled slightly. ‘Few of us could understand his meaning even when Baba was alive and well. A serious man in many ways, there was a childish streak in him, which you probably saw for yourself. I don’t think there is any need to pay too much attention to his last words.’ ‘But his last words did not strike me as totally without meaning.’ ‘No?’ ‘No. But obviously, I could not understand the significance of each little gesture. For instance,’ he turned to Akhil Chakravarty, ‘I do not know why he wanted me to have that photograph. Perhaps you can help me there? Didn’t you give it to him?’ Akhil Chakravarty smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I did. Muktananda once came to Ranchi, and I went to see him. He struck me as a genuine person, so I said to Mahesh: “You have never believed in sadhus and gurus, but if you keep a photo of this one with you, it cannot do any harm. He is worshipped in three continents, his influence can only do you good.” But I had no idea he had kept it in his bedroom. I never went into his bedroom until yesterday.’ ‘Do you know anything about it?’ Feluda asked Arun Babu, who shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘In fact, I didn’t even know he had such a photograph. I saw it yesterday for the first time.’ ‘I don’t know anything either,’ Pritin Babu piped up before anyone asked him. ‘Very well. But may I request you to give me two things? They would help me a great deal.’ ‘What are they?’ ‘The first thing I’d like are the letters and postcards your brother Biren sent your father.’ ‘Biren’s letters?’ Arun Babu sounded very surprised. ‘What do you need those for?’ ‘I believe your father wanted me to give that photo to his second son.’ ‘How strange! What made you think that?’ ‘Well, your father asked you to pass the photo to me, and then raised two fingers. All of you saw that. It could be that he meant to say “deuce”. Isn’t that what he called Biren? I could be wrong, of course, but I must proceed—at least for the present—on that assumption.’ ‘But how will you find Biren?’

‘Suppose Mr Chowdhury was right? Suppose he has returned?’ Arun Babu forgot himself for a moment and burst out laughing. ‘Mr Mitter, do you know how many times in the last five years my father claimed to