Tulsi Babu and Lalmohan Babu were waiting for us. I felt immensely relieved to see electric lights again. ‘Can you imagine,’ said Lalmohan Babu, ‘even in this tiny village, I found as many as twenty people who had read more than fifty per cent of my books? Of course, many of them got them from the school library, but those who had bought a few copies had them signed by me.’ ‘Very good. I am very pleased to hear that, Lalmohan Babu.’ Tulsi Babu turned to Feluda, ‘Let’s go and call on Atmaram. We can see the Bat-kali temple tomorrow.’ ‘Bat-kali temple? What on earth is that?’ ‘Yet another local attraction. There is an old and abandoned Kali temple in the bamboo grove you just came through. It’s two hundred years old. It must have once had a statue of Kali, but it’s gone now. Dozens of bats live in it, which is why people call it the Bat-kali temple. When it was in use, it must have seen a lot of activity.’ ‘I see. By the way, does your Atmaram come from this village?’ ‘No, but he has been living here for some time. Two years ago, his special power came to light. Besides, he knows astrology and palmistry as well. People from Calcutta often come here to consult him.’ ‘Does he charge a fee?’ ‘Yes, he probably does. But I’ve never heard of him charging any of the locals. He holds seances on Mondays and Fridays. Today, we’ll just go and meet him.’ ‘All right, let’s go.’ I could see that, somehow, Mriganka Bhattacharya had become a part of Feluda’s investigation. We left the house once more. Although lights were on in every house in the vicinity, it was very dark outside, possibly because of the large number of big trees. The moon had not yet risen. Crickets and owls and jackals in the distance had started a regular concert, which made me think that, in a place like this, it was Shyamlal Mallik’s palanquin and the flickering light from his oil lamps that fitted the atmosphere far better. Lalmohan Babu whispered into my ear, declaring that he had never seen a place so full of mystery and excitement. ‘You know, Tapesh,’ he said, ‘I had thought of Guatemala as the place of action for my next novel; but now I think I will change it to Gosaipur.’ ‘Really?’ Feluda laughed, having overheard this remark. ‘But you haven’t even seen the thugee’s noose. Can you think of anything more exciting?’ ‘What are you talking about, Felu Babu?’ Feluda explained quickly. He also mentioned the anonymous note.

‘If Mr Bhattacharya got Durlabh Singh’s spirit to come and reveal the truth, you need not look any further, Mr Mitter,’ Tulsi Babu remarked ‘Shyamlal Mallik’s enemy must be in his house.’ No one said anything after this, for we had reached Mr Bhattacharya’s house. This house did not appear to have an electric connection, either. Perhaps souls found it easier to re-enter the earth if they could move in the faint and hazy light of lanterns. Mriganka Bhattacharya turned out to be a man with an impressive appearance. It was impossible to guess his age. His hair had thinned, but not turned grey. His features were sharp, his skin smooth, except around his eyes and mouth. He was seated on a divan, facing three chairs and two benches. He clearly did not share Shyamlal Mallik’s aversion to furniture. A young man of about twenty-five was sitting on one of the benches, leafing through an astrological magazine. We learnt later that he was Mr Bhattacharya’s nephew, Nityanand. He helped his uncle in hailing spirits. Tulsi Babu touched Mr Bhattacharya’s feet quickly and said, ‘These are my friends from Calcutta. I brought them here so that they could meet the man Gosaipur is so proud of.’ Mr Bhattacharya raised his eyes and looked at us. Then he glanced at the chairs. The three of us sat down. Tulsi Babu remained standing. Mr Bhattacharya closed his eyes, sat erect, his legs crossed in the lotus position. A few moments later, he suddenly opened his eyes and said, ‘Sixteen, three, thirteen. Which one of you has those initials?’ We stared at him, perfectly taken aback. Feluda was the first to speak, after a short pause. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘My full name is Pradosh Chandra Mitter, and you are quite right. P, C, M, are the sixteenth, third and thirteenth letters from the alphabet.’ I felt considerably surprised by this. Tulsi Babu had certainly not mentioned our names. How did Mr Bhattacharya guess Feluda’s initials? I saw Tulsi Babu cast an admiring glance at Mr Bhattacharya. Then he asked, ‘Can you guess his profession?’ By this time, another man—possibly a client—had entered the room. Feluda naturally did not want his profession disclosed before a stranger. So he said hurriedly, ‘Oh, there’s no need to do that.’ Tulsi Babu realized his mistake and began to look embarrassed. ‘I’ll bring them back on Friday,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘We came today only to meet you.’ Mr Bhattacharya looked steadily at Feluda. ‘You simply seek the truth, don’t you? Stop worrying, sir, nobody will understand my meaning if I say that.’ We took our leave and left soon after this. ‘He must have a very strong sixth sense,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked as we began walking, ‘and he can speak in riddles. Remarkable!’ Someone was coming from the opposite direction, carrying a lantern in one hand. It swung as he moved, making his shadow sweep the ground. Tulsi Babu raised the torch in his hand, shone it on the man’s face and said, ‘Off, to see Bhattacharya? You’ve started visiting him pretty frequently, haven’t you?’ The man smiled, hesitated for a second, then went on his way without saying anything. ‘That was Bholanath Babu,’ Tulsi Babu informed us, ‘Bhattacharya’s latest devotee. I believe Bhattacharya went to his house once and spoke to a spirit. Whose, I couldn’t say.’