‘Are you from Bengal?’ Dr Vaidya asked. He spoke with a funny accent. ‘Yes,’ Feluda replied. ‘Helmut has told us about you.’ ‘Helmut is a nice boy,’ Dr Vaidya nodded, ‘but I’ve had to warn him about one thing. People here don’t normally like being photographed. You see, it is their belief that if a part of a person is represented somewhere else in a different form, it reduces the vital force—the ability to live—of that person.’ ‘Do you believe this yourself?’ ‘What I believe is of no consequence, at least not to Helmut. He hasn’t stopped taking pictures, has he? Why, I have been captured in his camera, too! What I say is this: one cannot disregard anything in life without studying it, or examining it thoroughly. I still have a lot to learn.’ ‘But there’s such a lot you know already! I’ve heard you can see the future and even speak to the dead.’ ‘No, not always.’ Dr Vaidya gave a slight smile. ‘A lot depends on the immediate surroundings. But there are certain things that are fairly easy to tell. For instance, I can tell that this gentleman here is under a lot of stress,’ he pointed at Mr Sarkar, who licked his lips nervously. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ Feluda said. ‘Somebody is trying to threaten him. He thinks his life is in danger. Can you tell us who is doing this?’ Dr Vaidya closed his eyes. He opened them a few seconds later and stared out of the window absently. ‘Agent,’ he said. ‘Agent?’ ‘Yes. A man must be punished for his sins. Sometimes he is punished by the Almighty. At other times, God sends His agents out to do this job.’ ‘Enough!’ shouted Mr Sarkar. His voice shook. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’ Dr Vaidya smiled again. ‘I am saying all this only because your friend asked me. If you can learn something yourself, there’s no need to go looking for a teacher. But one thing I must tell you. If you wish to live, you will have to tread most carefully.’ ‘What does that mean?’ asked Mr Sarkar. ‘I can’t say anything more than that.’ The tea arrived. Helmut poured it out and passed the cups around. ‘I believe you met Mr Shelvankar,’ said Feluda, sipping his tea. ‘Yes. It’s all very sad. I did warn him about a rough patch he might have to go through. But death? No, that’s a different matter altogether, and no one has any control over it.’ No one spoke after this. We drank our tea in silence. Helmut sorted a few papers out on his table. Mr Sarkar stared absently into space, apparently unaware that his tea was getting cold. Only Feluda

seemed totally at ease, happily finishing the biscuits that had arrived with the tea. After a while, Helmut rose to switch on a light. Daylight had almost gone by this time. But it turned out that there was a power cut. ‘I’ll get some candles,’ said Helmut and went out to look for the bearer. Feluda turned to Dr Vaidya again. ‘Do you really believe Mr Shelvankar’s death was accidental?’ Dr Vaidya took a moment to reply. Then he said, ‘Only one person knows the answer to that question.’ ‘Who?’ ‘The person who died. Only he knows the truth. We who are living look upon this world and this life through eyes that take in every irrelevant and unnecessary detail. Just look out of that window. All those mountains and trees and rivers are irrelevant. They stand as a screen between ourselves and the truth. But death opens an inner eye that sees nothing but what is real and of true significance.’ Most of this speech went over my head, but I was sure Feluda had understood every word. ‘You mean it is only Mr Shelvankar who could tell how he died?’ Feluda asked. ‘Yes. He couldn’t have known the truth when he died. But now . . . yes, now he knows exactly what happened.’ I shivered suddenly. There was something eerie in the atmosphere, in so much talk about death, and the way Dr Vaidya smiled in the dark. It gave me goose-pimples. The bearer came in at this moment. He cleared the table and placed a candle on it. Feluda took out a packet of Charminar, offered it to everyone else in the room, then lit one himself. ‘It may be a good idea to consult Mr Shelvankar and see what he thinks,’ he remarked, blowing out a smoke ring. I knew he had read a lot on seances and most things supernatural. He kept an open mind on every subject, never hesitating to read or hear about other people’s views, even if he didn’t believe in something himself. Dr Vaidya closed his eyes. A few moments later, he opened them and said, ‘Shut the door and windows.’ There was something authoritative in his tone. Mr Sarkar got up like a man hypnotized and obeyed silently. We were left sitting around the table in the faint flickering light of the candle. On my right was Dr Vaidya. On my left sat Feluda. Mr Sarkar sat next to him. Helmut finished the circle. ‘Place your hands, palms down, on this table. Your fingers must touch your neighbour’s,’ commanded Dr Vaidya. We did as we were told. Dr Vaidya placed his own hands between mine and Helmut’s, and said, ‘Look straight at that candle and think of the death of Shelvankar.’ The candle was burning steadily. A few drops of wax had fallen on the table. A small insect, trapped in the room, began buzzing around the flame. God knows how long we sat in silence. I did cast a few sidelong glances at Dr Vaidya, but he couldn’t have seen me for his own eyes were closed. After a long time, he spoke. His voice sounded very faint as though he was speaking from a great distance. ‘What do you want to