We had to take the Doon Express to get to Haridwar. It left Lucknow in the evening and reached Haridwar at 4.30 a.m. When Baba had mentioned a possible visit to Haridwar before we left Calcutta, I had been pleased. Puri was the only holy place I had seen. So the thought of seeing another was quite exciting. But now, after all this hullabaloo over the stolen ring, I did not feel like leaving Lucknow. Feluda, however, had not lost his enthusiasm. ‘You’ll see how interesting it is to go from Haridwar to Hrishikesh and then to Laxmanjhoola. The river is different in each place. The further north you go, the stronger it gets. In Laxmanjhoola, it gushes with such powerful turbulence that it’s practically impossible to have a conversation by its side.’ ‘Have you been to all these places?’ ‘Yes, I went to all three after my last visit to Lucknow.’ Dhiru Kaka himself drove us to the station. Almost as soon as we had moved into our coach with our baggage, Dr Srivastava turned up. Nice of him to have come to see us off. But no, a coolie was carrying his suitcase! We stared at him. ‘I had asked Dhiru Babu not to tell,’ Dr Srivastava laughed, as the coolie put the suitcase down. ‘He knew I wanted to go with you. Gave you a surprise, didn’t I?’ Baba seemed very pleased. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to come away, or I’d have asked you myself.’ Srivastava dusted one corner of a seat and sat down. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I’ve tried not to show it, but I have been upset by the loss of Pyarelal’s gift. So I thought, getting away from it all might do me some good.’ Bonobihari Babu arrived within five minutes, with rather a lot of luggage. He greeted everyone with a smile and said, ‘Stand by now for a spectacular event. Pavitrananda Swami is travelling in this train. His followers are coming to bid him farewell. Witness their devotion!’ A plump, saffron-clad figure arrived a little later, long hair flowing down his shoulders. He was accompanied by dozens of people with garlands in their hands. He got into the first-class coach next to ours. A few others crowded round the doorway. Presumably, all these were his devotees. There were just five minutes left before the train’s departure. We had all climbed into our own carriage. Dhiru Kaka was standing on the platform, chatting with Baba through an open window, when one of the men in saffron detached himself from the group and came walking towards Dhiru Kaka, a big smile on his face, his arm outstretched. ‘Dhiru? Do you remember me?’ Dhiru Kaka stared dumbly for a few seconds, then with a shout of joy strode forward and nearly hugged the other man. ‘Ambika! Is it really you? Goodness—why are you wearing these clothes?’

‘Why, I’ve been in saffron now for seven years!’ Dhiru