‘Didn’t you once tell me you knew someone in Gosaipur?’ Feluda asked Lalmohan Babu. We—the Three Musketeers—had just visited the Victoria Memorial and come walking to the river. We were now sitting under the domes near Princep Ghat, enjoying the fresh breeze and munching daalmut. It was five o’clock in the evening. ‘Yes,’ Lalmohan Babu replied, ‘Tulsi Babu. Tulsicharan Dasgupta. He used to teach mathematics and geography in my school. Now he’s retired and lives in Gosaipur. He’s asked me to visit him more than once. He loves my books. In fact, he writes for children himself. A couple of his stories were published in Sandesh. But why are you suddenly interested in Gosaipur?’ ‘Someone called Jeevanlal Mallik wrote to me from there. His father’s called Shyamlal Mallik. I believe the Malliks were once the zamindars of Gosaipur.’ ‘What did Jeevanlal Mallik write?’ ‘He is worried about his father. He thinks someone is planning to kill him. If I can go and throw some light on the matter, he’ll be very grateful and he’ll pay me my fee.’ I knew the letter had arrived this morning, but had no idea about its contents. Now I remembered seeing Feluda looking thoughtful and smoking quietly after he had finished reading it. ‘Why don’t we all go?’ Lalmohan Babu sounded quite enthusiastic. ‘Look, we are both free at this moment, aren’t we? Besides, I think we’ll enjoy a visit to a small village after all the hectic travelling we have done in the past.’ ‘To be honest, I was thinking of going, too. Mr Mallik said he could not have me stay in his house —there is some problem, apparently. He’s spoken to a relative who lives three miles away. I could stay with him, but then I’d have to travel in a rickshaw every day. It struck me that it might be simpler to stay somewhere within walking distance. That’s why I thought of your friend.’ ‘My friend will be delighted, especially if he hears you are going to join me. He’s a great admirer of yours.’ Lalmohan Babu wrote to his friend the next day, and Feluda answered Jeevanlal’s letter. Tulsi Babu was so pleased that he wrote back instantly, saying that the Gosaipur Literary Society wanted to give a joint reception to Lalmohan Babu and Feluda. Lalmohan Babu was thrilled by the idea, but Feluda put his foot down. ‘Leave me out of receptions, please,’ he said firmly. ‘No one must know who I really am and why I’m visiting Gosaipur. Please tell your friend not to tell anyone.’ Rather reluctantly, Lalmohan Babu passed the message on, adding that he was perfectly happy about the reception. With this event in mind, he even packed a blue embroidered kurta.

We had to take a train to Katwa Junction, and then a bus to get to Gosaipur, which was seven miles from Katwa. Tulsi Babu was going to wait for us at a provision store near the bus stop. His house was just ten minutes away. On our way there, I saw a palanquin from the bus. This surprised me very much for I didn’t know palanquins were still in use. Feluda and Lalmohan Babu were similarly taken aback. ‘I wonder which century these people think they live in?’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed. ‘I hope Gosaipur has electricity. I had no idea the area was so remote.’ The conductor of the bus knew where we wanted to get off. He stopped the bus before the provision store, shouting, ‘Gosaipur! Go-o-sai-pu-u-r!’ We thanked him and got down quickly. The elderly gentleman who came forward to greet us with a smile had the word ‘ex-schoolmaster’ written all over him. In his hand was an ancient patched-up black umbrella, on his feet were brown canvas shoes, on his nose were perched his glasses and under his arm was a very old copy of the National Geographic magazine. He was wearing a kurta and a short dhoti. On being introduced to Feluda, he winked and said, ‘I did what you said. I mean, I didn’t tell anyone about you. You are only a tourist, you’ve lived in Canada for years, now you want to see an Indian village. I thought of this because it occurred to me that you might have to ask questions, or visit places unseen. A tourist can claim to be both curious and ignorant. No one’s going to be offended by what you say or where you go.’ ‘Good. I hope you have books on Canada I can read?’ Feluda asked with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Tulsi Babu grinned. Then he turned to Jatayu. ‘For you, my friend, I have arranged a function on Friday. It’s going to be a small informal affair—a couple of songs and dances, then you’ll be presented with a citation, and there’ll be speeches. The barrister, Suresh Chakladar, will preside. The citation is being written out by a young boy, but its contents—I mean the actual words— are mine, heh heh.’ ‘There was no need . . . you didn’t have to . . .’ Lalmohan Babu tried to look modest. ‘We wanted to. It isn’t every day that a celebrity deigns to visit us!’ ‘We saw a palanquin on the way,’ Feluda said. ‘Is that still used here as a mode of transport?’ Tulsi Babu stopped to prod a young calf with his umbrella to get it out of the way. Then he looked at Feluda and replied, ‘Oh yes. If you want a palanquin, you’ll get it here. But that isn’t all. We specialize in providing all sorts of things from the past. Do you want guards in uniform, carrying spears and shields? You’ll find them here. A man who spends his time getting hookahs ready? You’ll find him here. A punkha-puller? Oil lamps? Yes, we’ve got those, too!’ ‘But you’ve got electric connections, haven’t you?’ ‘Oh yes. Every house has electricity, except the one where it’s most needed.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The