I woke the next morning to find the sky overcast. It was drizzling softly and, judging by the puddles on the road, it had rained fairly heavily during the night. Feluda was already up, sitting on the balcony, his feet resting on the railing. His famous blue notebook lay open on his lap. He was turning its pages with great concentration, quite oblivious of the fact that his feet were getting wet. A number of people were making their way to the ghat, undaunted by the rain. But I knew that the noise from the street below would do nothing to disturb Feluda. Lalmohan Babu rose a little later. ‘I had such a strange dream, Tapesh,’ he said. ‘There I was, with knives and daggers sticking out from virtually every inch of my body. And I was standing before my publisher, asking for the proofs of my novel. Do you know what he said to me? He said, “Lalmohan Babu, why don’t you change your pseudonym? Drop Jatayu. Porcupine would be more apt—and your books will sell much better.” Ho!’ Feluda came back into the room a few minutes later, as Lalmohan Babu and I sat sipping our first cup of tea. ‘Tell me, Mr Jatayu,’ he said, ‘do any of your books mention sending messages through a kite?’ ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Lalmohan Babu shook his head regretfully. ‘I rather wish I had thought of that. As far as I can see, Ruku got the idea from a book by another writer.’ ‘Perhaps I should not have laughed at your adventure series. Considering the impact it’s had on Ruku’s mind, it deserves to be taken a bit more seriously. Oh, by the way, can you tell me a number between one and ten?’ ‘Seven.’ ‘Did you know that seventy per cent of people would say “seven” if asked the same question?’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes. And they’d say “three” if you asked them to choose a number between one and five. Try asking them to name a flower, and they’d say “rose”.’ We went down to breakfast at eight. About half-an-hour later, one of the waiters came looking for Feluda. ‘There is a phone call for you,’ he said, ‘in the manager’s room.’ Phone call for Feluda? Who would be ringing him so early in the morning? But there was nothing for me to do, except wait patiently until he came back and explained. He reappeared only a few minutes later. ‘That was Tiwari,’ he said. ‘Neither Prayag nor Haridwar could confirm that anyone by the name of Machchli Baba had been seen or heard of in recent times.’ ‘How interesting! Does that mean the man here is a fraud?’ ‘He might be, but that does not bother me. I mean, there are scores of people who claim to have magical powers. What we have to establish is that there is no sinister motive behind Machchli Baba’s

little deception.’ ‘Didn’t Mr Tiwari say anything else?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ Feluda replied. ‘Three weeks ago, a man escaped from the Rai Bareli jail. He was serving a sentence for deception and fraud. His description fits Machchli Baba somewhat, although he is reported to be clean-shaven and not quite so dark.’ ‘He might have used make-up,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked. ‘Why don’t we go and have a good look at him in broad daylight? We could wait for him at the ghat. Surely he’d go to Dashashwamedh, or perhaps Kedar?’ ‘Not a chance. He receives visitors only in the evening. His days are spent behind a closed door. I believe he doesn’t step out of his room at all. No one but Abhay Chakravarty is allowed to go in. His meals are served in his room. He doesn’t even bother with having a bath.’ What! A supposedly great sadhu like him went without a bath every day? ‘Did Mr Tiwari tell you all this?’ Feluda turned his head to give me a cold look. Then he shook his head sadly and said, ‘Failed. You have just failed in an observation test. Didn’t you notice my wet clothes hanging on the line on the balcony upstairs? If you did, didn’t that tell you anything? Have you ever heard of anyone getting drenched without stepping out?’ I couldn’t say a word. Feluda was right, of course. I should have been more observant. But why had he gone out anyway? He explained. ‘I got up at four this morning and went to Kedar Ghat to wait for Abhay Chakravarty. He turned up at 4.30. It wasn’t difficult to start a conversation with him. He’s a very good, kind, simple man, just as Niranjan Babu had said. I learnt about the Baba’s habits from him. When he mentioned the Baba didn’t have a bath, I must have wrinkled my nose or something, for he said, “Does it matter, son, when his mind is clean and pure? After all, it’s just a matter of ten days. He rose from the water, didn’t he, and he will go back to it.” I didn’t dare ask if he smelt! I believe a man comes in every morning with a basket full of fish scales. These are distributed in the evening. I stayed on at the ghat after Abhay Chakravarty left, and spoke to a panda called Lokenath, who also comes to the ghat every day. Lokenath said he had actually witnessed the first meeting between Mr Chakravarty and Machchli Baba, though by the time he arrived, the Baba was fully conscious. Apparently, he called Lokenath by his name and told him a few startling things. Even if he is a crook, he must have a very clever and efficient manager.’ ‘Could that perhaps be Abhay Chakravarty himself?’ Lalmohan Babu asked. ‘No. Mr Chakravarty is undoubtedly sincere. I asked him if he didn’t find it difficult to believe that a man could swim all the way from Prayag. To this he replied, “Nothing is impossible, my dear, if your dedication and faith is