It had already been decided that we would first go to Laxmanjhoola, spend most of the day there and stop at Hrishikesh on our way back. To tell the truth, I wasn’t too keen on going to Hrishikesh, which I knew would be crowded and dirty like any other holy place. Only the river was likely to be a little different. Bonobihari Babu was now singing the same Urdu song Feluda had been singing in the train: Jab chhor chaley Lucknow nagari Kahen haal ke hum par kya guzri . . . He stopped abruptly and asked, ‘Have you heard of Jim Corbett?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He killed man-eaters in these valleys, but like me, he understood animals and loved them. I have always admired him for that.’ Bonobihari Babu started singing again. Our car sped towards Laxmanjhoola through the hills. On our right, the river occasionally showed itself through stretches of dense jungle. The sky was clouding over. The breeze seemed to grow cooler each time the sun got blocked out by a cloud. I began to think about the stolen ring again. I had learnt quite a few things in the last few days, but there was such a lot that still remained unexplained. Why did Mahabir think Pyarelal’s death had not been a natural one? Why had Pyarelal screamed? Which spy had he tried to talk about? Was it someone we knew, or was it an outsider? All these thoughts chased one another in my mind, as I glanced about idly. My eyes suddenly fell on the rear-view mirror. I saw Feluda in it, looking intently in front of him. I turned my head. He was staring at the driver. My eyes turned automatically in the same direction. Then my heart seemed to stand still. On the driver’s neck, between his turban and shirt-collar, was a long scratch. We had seen someone recently with an identical mark. It had been Ganesh Guha. I looked at Feluda again. He was now gazing out of the window. I had never seen him look so grim. Sitting with us in the Kwality restaurant, Ganesh Guha had said he had left his job and was leaving for Calcutta the same day. Today he was dressed like a Sikh and taking us to Laxmanjhoola. What could it mean? Then it occurred to me that this taxi had been arranged by Bonobihari Babu himself. Oh God . . . in that case . . . ? I could think no more. My head began to reel. Where were we going? Was it Laxmanjhoola or was it somewhere else? What did Bonobihari Babu intend to do? He appeared calm enough and certainly did not look as though he had any ill-intent. At this point, he startled me by speaking abruptly.

‘We shall now turn left. There is a path that goes through the jungle. Then we’ll come to a house where I expect to find the python. Let’s just have a look now, then we can collect it on our way back. All right, Felu Babu?’ ‘Yes, fine,’ said Feluda with remarkable composure. But I couldn’t help ask, ‘Didn’t you say the python was in Laxmanjhoola?’ Bonobihari Babu burst out laughing. ‘And who,’ he asked, ‘told you this is not Laxmanjhoola? Howrah doesn’t simply mean the Howrah Bridge, does it? It means a whole region. Laxmanjhoola begins from here. The bridge over the Ganges is more than a mile from here.’ Our car took a left turn into the jungle. The path, covered with overgrown wild bushes, was virtually invisible. I noticed that the driver didn’t even wait for instructions. He drove as though he knew where he was going. ‘How do you find this place, Felu Babu?’ Bonobihari Babu asked. His voice sounded different. There appeared to be a suppressed excitement behind those simple words. ‘Beautiful!’ said Feluda and gently pressed my right hand with his left. I knew it was his way of saying—‘Don’t be afraid, I’m here.’ ‘Have you brought a handkerchief, Topshe?’ asked Feluda. I wasn’t prepared for such a question at all. So I could only stammer, ‘H-h-andkerchief?’ ‘Don’t you know what it is?’ ‘Yes, of course. But . . . I forgot to bring one.’ Bonobihari Babu said, ‘Are you worried about the dust? It’s not going to be all that dusty in here.’ ‘No, it’s not the dust,’ Feluda replied and stuffed a handkerchief into my pocket. I totally failed to see why he did this. Bonobihari Babu’s tape-recorder was lying on his lap. He now switched it on. A hyena started laughing amongst the trees. The jungle was getting denser and darker. In any case, the sun was probably hiding behind clouds. I wondered where Baba’s car might be. Could they have reached Laxmanjhoola already? If anything happened to us, they wouldn’t even get to know. Was that why Bonobihari Babu had allowed them to go ahead? I tried to muster all my courage. Although I had every faith in Feluda, something told me every bit of his own courage and presence of mind was about to be tested. Our car was now crawling along in deep jungle. Bonobihari Babu had turned the recorder off; nor was he singing himself. All I could hear was a cricket and the crunch of leaves under the wheels. After about ten minutes, through the tree trunks and other foliage, we saw a house. Who on earth could have built a house in a place like this? Then I remembered an uncle of mine who was a forest officer. He was supposed to live in a house in the middle of a forest, with just tigers and other wild animals for company. Perhaps this was a house like his? As we went closer to the house, I realized it was made of wood and had been built on a raised platform. A wooden staircase went up to the front door. It was clearly very old and certainly didn’t look as though anyone