I woke for a few moments in the middle of the night—God knows what time it was—and saw Feluda scribbling something in his blue notebook, by the light of the bedside lamp. I don’t know how long he stayed awake, but when I woke at half past six, he had showered, had a shave and was dressed to go out. According to him, when your brain works at high speed, you tend to sleep a lot less, but that does not affect your health. At least, that’s what he believes. In the last ten years, I have not known him to be ill, even for a single day. Even here in Jodhpur, he was doing yoga every day. By the time I left my bed, he had finished his exercises. When we went to the dining room for breakfast, we met everyone else. Lalmohan Babu had moved to the Circuit House the previous night. He had been given a room only two doors away Mandar Bose. We found him eating an omelette. He had thought of a wonderful plot, he told us. Dr Hajra still seemed upset. He had not slept well. Only Mukul seemed totally unperturbed. Mandar Bose decided to be direct with Dr Hajra. ‘Please don’t mind my saying this,’ he began, ‘but you’re dealing with such a weird subject that you’re bound to invite trouble. In a country where superstition runs rife, isn’t it better not to meddle with such things? One day, you’ll find little boys in every household claiming to be jatismars! If you look closely, you’ll find that their parents want a little publicity—that’s all there is to it. But what are you going to do if that happens? How many kids will you take with you and travel all over the country?’ Dr Hajra made no comment. Lalmohan Babu simply cast puzzled glances from one to the other, for no one had told him about Mukul being able to recall his past life. Feluda had already told me that after breakfast, he wanted to go to the main market. I knew he had some other motive; it could not be just to see more of the city, or to shop. We left at a quarter to eight, accompanied by Lalmohan Babu. I tried a couple of times to imagine him as a ferocious foe, but the mere idea was so laughable that I had to wipe it from my mind. The area round the Circuit House was quiet, but the main city turned out to be noisy and congested. The old wall was visible from virtually every corner. Along that wall stood rows of shops, tongas, houses and much else. Remnants of a five-hundred-year-old city were now inextricably tangled with the modern Jodhpur. We walked through the bazaar, looking at various shops. I could tell Feluda was looking for something specific, but had no idea what it was. Suddenly, Lalmohan Babu asked, ‘What is Dr Hajra’s subject? I mean, what is he a doctor of? This morning, Mr Trotter was saying something . . .?’ ‘Hajra is a parapsychologist,’ Feluda replied. ‘Parapsychologist?’ Lalmohan Babu frowned, ‘I didn’t know you could add “para” before “psychologist”! I know you can do that to “typhoid”. So does it mean it’s half-psychology, just as paratyphoid is half-typhoid?’

‘No, in this case “para” means “abnormal”, not “half”. Psychology is a complex subject, in any case. Parapsychology deals with its more obscure aspects.’ ‘I see. And what was all that about a jatismar?’ ‘Mukul is a jatismar. At least, that’s what he’s been called.’ Lalmohan Babu’s jaw fell open. ‘You’ll get plenty of material for a plot,’ Feluda continued. ‘That young boy talks of a golden fortress he saw in a previous life. And the house where he lived had hidden treasure, buried under the ground.’ ‘Are we . . . are we going to look for those things?’ Lalmohan Babu’s voice grew hoarse. ‘I don’t know about you. We certainly are.’ Lalmohan Babu stopped, bang in the middle of the road, and grasped Feluda’s hand with both his own. ‘Mr Mitter! This is the chance of a lifetime! Please don’t disappear anywhere without taking me with you. That’s my only request.’ ‘But I don’t know where we’re going next. Nothing’s decided.’ Lalmohan Babu paused for a while, deep in thought. Then he said, ‘Will Mr Trotter go with you?’ ‘Why? Would you mind if he did?’ ‘That man is powerfully suspicious!’ There was a stall by the roadside, selling naagras. Most people in Rajasthan wear these shoes. Feluda stopped at the stall. ‘Powerful he might be. Why suspicious?’ he asked. ‘When we were travelling to Bikaner yesterday, he was bragging a lot in the car. Said he had shot a wolf in Tanganyika. Yet I know that there are no wolves anywhere in Africa. I have read books by Martin Johnson. No one can fool me that easily!’ ‘So what did you say?’ ‘What could I say? I could hardly call him a liar to his face. I was sitting sandwiched between those two men. You’ve seen how broad his chest is, haven’t you? At least forty-five inches. Both sides of the road were lined with huge cactus bushes and prickly pear. If I dared to contradict him, he’d have picked me up and thrown me behind one of those bushes—and then, in no time, I’d have turned into fodder for vultures. Great squadrons of vultures would have landed on me and had a feast!’ ‘You think so? How many vultures could possibly feed on your corpse?’ ‘Ha ha ha ha!’ Feluda had, in the mean time, taken off his sandals and put on a pair of naagras. He was walking back and forth in front of the stall. ‘Very powerful shoes. Are you going to buy those?’ Lalmohan Babu asked. ‘Why don’t you try on a pair yourself?’ Feluda suggested. None of the shoes were small enough to fit Lalmohan Babu, but he did slip his feet