Byomkesh Bakshi Thriller, Part II

--2--

I knew Inspector Pronob Guha – the in-charge of the local police station. He was a very active and a seasoned professional, but somehow he was not very friendly with Byomkesh, though his feelings never came out through his dialogue or body language. As he would talk to Byomkesh with some extra respect and would end each sentence with a subtle laughter, possibly their polarities were opposite and Pronob Babu didn’t like private interferences in Government work.
After listening through my story he said, ‘what are you saying! Crime in the detective’s den! But when Byomkesh Babu is around why do you need me? Let him investigate!
I was so annoyed, I replied pretty roughly, ‘Byomkesh is not in town, had he been here, he would have surely investigate.
‘Okay! Then I am coming. He, He!!!
Before he hung up he annoyed me thoroughly again with his laughter.
Pronob Babu came with his men half an hour later. He looked at me, had a silent laugh and started examining the body very thoroughly, collected the pistol in a handkerchief and then sent the body to the hospital for post mortem.
After all these, he called everyone for interrogation. I told him whatever I knew, and then everyone gave their statements.
Let me try to give a summarized version of all the statements.
Manager Shivkali Babu was an unmarried man and since last twenty five years he was working as the ‘mess in charge’. Natavar Naskar came three years back and since then he was living in that room only. He was around fifty and didn’t mix up much with people, only Ram Babu and Banamali Babu would visit him sometimes. He was very particular about paying the rent and that’s why Shivkali never had anything against him.
Today evening Shivkali went to buy some vegetables for the mess kitchen from a wholesaler but couldn’t reach in time and had to return empty handed.
Bbhupesh Babu worked for an insurance company and had got transferred to Kolkata just a month & half back. He was widowed with no kids and a frequent traveler.
He described everything perfectly from the early ‘card sessions’ to the evening of the accident, he also mentioned the man with the brown stole whose face he couldn’t see as was running away through the lane, wouldn’t be able to identify him in future.
Ram Chandra Roy and Banamali Chanda’s statements were quite similar, I noticed one thing -though Rambabu was quite and calm but Banamali Babu couldn’t hide his expressions of the shock he had.
They both were in Dhaka and worked for an British company. During the partition riot they both lost their families and could only escape with their own lives. Ram Babu was forty eight and Banamali Babu was forty five. Since the last three years they had been staying in this mess and working in the same bank. They loved playing bridge but couldn’t play since they came to Kolkata. Finally they were having some good times since Bhupesh Babu arranged the Bridge sessions in his room.
Today they came to Bhupesh Babu’s room and within five minutes they there was this ‘Bang’ sound came from the lane below. They knew Natavar Babu from Dhaka, but he was just an acquaintance, didn’t know much about him. Natavar Babu used to work as an agent in Dhaka. Here as they were in the same building Ram Babu and Banamali Babu would visit him sometimes. They didn’t really know if he had any other friend here; they had a glimpse of the man in a brown stole, but of course couldn’t see his face, as he was already on the main road and was quite far. They wouldn’t be able to identify him in future.
Other members of the house couldn’t say much, most of them were in the corner room of the first floor – some were playing chess and others were watching the game. Most of these people only knew Natavar Naskar by face.
Haripada – the only servant of the mess said something interesting – around six in the evening Suren Babu – a first floor boarder, sent him to bring some ‘Aloor Chop’ (a very popular Bengali evening snacks {fried} to be taken with puffed rice & Green Chilies), while coming back through the backdoor he heard someone talking to Natavar Babu in a very low but harsh tone, but the door was closed so neither he could see anyone nor he could recognize the voice.
Generally no one used to come to Natavar Babu’s room which made Haripada more suspicious but he couldn’t do much.
Suren Babu approved Haripada’s version and said he surely asked Haripada to bring ‘Aloor chop’ around six pm.
One thing became clear that just half an hour before his murder Natavar Naskar had a visitor; most probably no one from the mess, because no one had mentioned it. Could be that man with brown stole or someone else.
After noting down everyone’s statement, inspector Pranab said, “you all can go, now we will search the room. And yes! One more thing - Ajit Babu and Shiv Babu you two, please do not leave Kolkata without my permission, till the case is solved.”
“What!” I almost shouted in exclamation.
“Yes! Both of you are wearing Brown stoles, He He He!”
We all went back to our rooms, none of us could even think of playing cards any more.
The next day passed by without any mentionable event. No news came from the police. Last night inspector Pranav searched Natavar Babu’s room; took some papers and locked it.
Sometimes I was compelled to think that how much Pranav Babu hated us, but his expressions were so polished that one would understand every hint but could say nothing.
In this case, though he knew that I had a strong alibi, but he just had to tease me.
The morning was like any other morning; everyone was indifferent; the office goers went out in time; and no one was bothered - that a man was killed, who was our neighbor; living in this building since last three years.
I went to Bhupesh Babu’s room in the evening. Ram Babu & Banamali Babu was there, all were looking very depressed. We discussed a little about the murder and about the ineffectiveness of police’s work over the tea and then returned home without even mentioning cards. As I was climbing the stairs up, suddenly this idea flashed in my mind – though inspector Pronob was smart enough, but I had a feeling that he would never be able to crack this case; Byomkesh was not in town; card sessions were also not quite happening – in such a situation, shouldn’t I write down the whole episode and have a detailed documentation! It would rather give me a chance to get busy and it might so happen that with the help of my documentation Byomkesh would crack the case when he is back!
I started writing things down the same night. Keeping every possible detail in mind, I tried very hard to maintain the right perspective. I truly didn’t want Byomkesh to pick up any loose-end of my account. I finished my writing the next afternoon. And I believed it was only my version of the story which ended, but the real story didn’t end. God only knows when & where the actual story would end! It might also be so, that the murderer’s name would never come to light. With a frustrated mind I lit a cigarette and then suddenly Byomkesh entered carrying his suitcase.
I jumped up from my chair, ‘Hey! You are back! Are you through with the work?’
Byomkesh said, ’I couldn’t even start my work dear, departments started fighting over some trivial issues and I couldn’t wait for them to finish so I told them I would be back in some time when these issues are sorted out.’
Satyavati must have heard Byomkesh’s voice from the kitchen; she came out running, wiping off her face with the loose end of her sari. Though they were not newly married, but still Satyavati’s face brightens up with an amazing light every time she unexpectedly finds Byomkesh by her side. I patiently waited till the end of the romantic scene, then told Byomkesh about the murder and handed him over my write-up. He immediately settled on his easy chair and started reading it over the special cup of hot tea made and served by Satyavati. By the evening he was through with the story and said, ‘Inspector Pronob is quite a man! Oh…How much he hates me! Let’s meet him tomorrow and for now, let’s go and meet our neighbor - Bhupesh Babu.
I could happily make out that Byomkesh was interested in the case and said, ‘let’s go, we might meet Ram Babu and Banamali Babu as well.’
We went to Bhupesh Babu’s room, Ram Babu & Banamali Babu were also there. Byomkesh didn’t need any introduction, everyone knew him. Bhupesh Babu welcomed him with all his warmth and then lit his stove to make tea.
As usual, Ram Babu was quite but Banamali Babu’s frightful eyes were moving around very carefully. Byomkesh sat on a chair and said, ‘ I was also addicted to bridge once, then Ajit taught me chess, but now I no more like any of these games.
While pouring tea leaves in the boiling water Bhupesh Babu looked at Byomkesh with a smile and recited loudly, “Now I’ll play the game of death with my own life O’ dear…!”
I was truly surprised to hear him reciting Tagore – an insurance guy and Tagore’s philosophical poetry – truly surprising!
‘Absolutely correct,’ said Byomkesh, ‘you know, after playing so much of the game of death, it’s so tough to enjoy any other simpler game.
Bhupesh Babu said, ’your’s is a different story altogether, but I also deal with death each passing day – I mean - insurance is nothing but the business of death, you see! But then again, I still enjoy playing bridge a lot.
Though Byomkesh was talking to Bhupesh Babu, but his eyes were moving on Ram Babu & Banamali Babu all the time. They were sitting quietly; perhaps they were new to this kind of a sophisticated discussion.
Bhupesh Babu brought tea and cream cracker biscuits on a tray for all of us, picking up a biscuit Byomkesh said, ‘you are also a very different kind of a person, as bridge is an intellectual game, mostly intelligent people gets attracted to it. Some people play bridge to forget the pains of life – actually many years back I heard of a person who played bridge to forget the painful loss of his only child.’
Three pairs of eyes moved towards Byomkesh ’s face from different directions as if they were all driven by a single machine; no one uttered a word but kept looking at Byomkesh’s face silently. And the room got filled with solid silence.
After finishing the tea Byomkesh took out his handkerchief, wiped his face and then broke the silence, ‘I actually went to Katak, and just arrived today and came to know about Natavar Naskar’s murder from Ajit. A murder in the same building, where I live! I was so intrigued I thought it should be a good idea to meet you all and talk.
Bhupesh Babu said, ‘then I would certainly say – the murder had at least one good after effect that you came to my room, HA HA...! I didn’t knew Natavar Naskar, never seen him actually, but Ram Babu and Banamali Babu knew him a bit I believe.’
Byomkesh looked at Ram Babu, who was trying to keep his serious face intact but I somehow could see a shade of fear on it. He cleared his throat twice but didn’t say a word. Byomkesh turned towards Banamali Babu and asked, ‘you must have known Natavar Naskar for long, how was he as a person? Banamali exclaimed, ‘What! Oh yes! He was a good man, but…’
Ram Babu suddenly cut him short; perhaps he had collected himself by the time and decided to act – we didn’t know him closely. He was our neighbor when we were in Dhaka and that’s how we knew him.
When did you leave Dhaka?
Ram Babu thought for a while and said, ‘5-6 years back, around the time of partition we came to Kolkata’.
Both of you were working in the same company over there as well?
‘Yes!’, said Banamali Babu, ‘Have you heard of Godfrey Brown – a British Multinational Company we were….’
Before he could finish Ram Babu again interrupted, this time he suddenly stood up and said, ‘Banamali ! We have to visit Narayan Babu at 7, do you remember? Okay gentlemen, we have to leave now.’
As they were going out, I found Byomkesh watching each of their moves thoroughly.
Bhupesh Babu was smiling silently, after a while he said, ‘Byomkesh Babu, your questions are apparently so simple but Ram Babu possibly had taken offence.’
Byomkesh said,’Why? Why would he take offence, I don’t understand! Do you have any clue?’
Bhupesh Babu moved his head from left to right, ‘No! I know nothing, though around that time I was also in Dhaka but I didn’t know them.’
So when the partition and communal riot started you were also in Dhaka? Asked Byomkesh
Yes, a year before partition I got transferred there and came back when the fire of the communal riot broke out.
For sometime silence prevailed in the room. Byomkesh lit a cigarette, Bhupesh Babu looked at him and said, ‘Byomkesh Babu, the story of this person you were telling us, who used to play bridge to forget the pain of losing his son, was that a true story?’
Byomkesh said, ‘yes! It was a true story, a pretty old one; I heard it when I was in college. But why do you want to know this?’
Bhupesh Babu didn’t answer, but got up; walked towards the wooden drawer; took out a photograph and gave it to Byomkesh. I could also see a photograph of a nine/ten year old boy, very good looking and very cute.
‘My Son!’ Bhupesh Babu uttered very softly. Byomkesh forcefully took his eyes off the photograph to look at Bhupesh Babu’s face and exclaimed,’Son …. !’
‘Yes my son! Who died sometime back.’
The black day when communal riot started in Dhaka, he went to school but only to never return.
Byomkesh uttered through the solid silence, ‘your wife…?’
‘She also died; she had a rather weak heart; couldn’t take the pain. But I lived – neither could I die, nor could I take the pain of the loss. It’s been time; I should have forgotten everything by this time, but no…! It never happened that way….I work, I play bridge, I talk to people, I laugh, but I just can’t forget it Byomkesh. Would you know about any medicine which would help me forgetting this painful memory…?’
Byomkesh took a deep breath and said, ‘the only medicine for this is time Bhupesh Babu.’

Read the last part of this story
in the next issue of megher khata....

Byomkesh Bakshi Thriller (Part 1) - The Mystry of Natavar Naskar's Murder by Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay

---1---

Byomkesh and I went to Katak* for a government work, but after a couple of days we could make out that this work would take longer time than expected. As the ‘truth’ was hidden much deeper in the piles of reports and files of different government departments. We decided that Byomkesh should stay back there and I should return to Kolkata, because everyone knows that - a middleclass Bengali family would never function well without a male member.
Without Byomkesh, Kolkata was always uninteresting for me and I always felt helpless. It was the beginning of the winters – the length of the days were shorter, but then again it was tough for me to pass time - to pull through a whole day. I would visit the printing press for some time (as we recently invested in this publishing business), supervise work, and shuffle through the new manuscripts. But even after that, there would still be a large part of the day left for me to spend.
One day suddenly, I got a chance to spend some good time.

The house where we were staying, was a three story building where we rented five rooms on the top floor. The first floor was occupied by a group of office goers – who ran their own mess (a contributory food & lodging arrangement). Ground floor had the mess manager’s office, store room, kitchen, dining hall etc., only one room on the ground floor was rented to a gentleman. I knew all these people by their faces but nothing more than that, not even their names.

One evening when I was flipping through a magazine, someone knocked the door. I opened up to find a middle-aged gentle man waiting with a smile on his face. I had seen him on the stairs many times but didn’t know his name. He had recently rented the best corner room on the first floor and he was staying alone. He seemed pretty stylish – nice warm Jwahar coat over silk kurta-pajama, his hair was more of black than grey – quite a smart looking person I must say.
‘Excuse me, my name is Bhupesh Chatterjee, I have recently rented a room on the first floor’. He joined both of his hands to say Namaskar.
‘Namaskar’, I said, ‘of course I have seen you many times! Please come and have a seat’. He entered but didn’t seat,
‘Thanks, I have just come to Kolkata a month back’. I work for an insurance company and keep on travelling very frequently.
I felt a bit uncomfortable, ‘Oh! You work for an insurance company! Sir, Frankly speaking I do not have any insurance policy and do not wish to have one in the near future.'
He laughed out loud and said – ‘Oh! No! I have not come for that. Though I work for an insurance company but I am not an agent. I actually have come……’
_________________________________________________________________
*Katak - a district headquarter in Orissa, India

He paused and then with a little hesitation he uttered – ‘you know, I play bridge! And I am quite a bit addicted to this game of cards. And I couldn’t play since I am here in Kolkata, as I do not know anyone here. After much effort, I could actually found two people who also like playing Bridge; they are the boarders of room # 3 on the first floor. Now everything else is set – except the 4th player. For couple of days we played ‘cut-throat Bridge’ - but as you know - hot water would never give you the taste of tea! Ha ha ! Today I thought – ‘let me ask Ajit Babu if he has any interest in Bridge’.
Actually I used to play bridge a lot, but that was long back and I am no more addicted to cards. But then again I thought bridge would surely be a much better time pass option for me than flipping through magazines all alone throughout the evening, and said, ‘that’s a good idea of course, though it’s been time I played, but that’s okay, I think I will manage!’
Bhupesh Babu got up in haste and said, ‘let’s go then, I have arranged everything in my room, why to waste time!’
I told him to carry on, as I wanted to have my evening tea and then to join them, but he insisted – ‘No no, we will have tea together in my room – please come.’
I couldn’t resist laughing at his child like excitement and could also remember – that even I was such an enthusiast for cards many years back. Then for me a day spent without playing cards was so meaningless.
I got up; called Satyavati and told her that I was going down stairs; and went out with Bhupesh Babu.

The first room on the left of the landing was Bhupesh Babu’s, before entering his room he called out loudly – ‘Ram babu, Banamali Babu please come, I could catch hold of Ajit Babu.’ Two faces popped out of a certain door, and disappeared after uttering – ‘coming!’
Bhupesh Babu entered his room with me and put the light on.

A nice, big enough room for a single occupant. The room had two big windows on the Northern wall, which opened towards the road. A bed on one side and a steel Almirah on the other side. I could see a newly bought stove and arrangements for making tea were kept nicely on the ‘not so high Almirah’. At the centre of the room, there was a three-legged low table with four chairs around it. There was also a dressing table and a sideboard. Every thing in the room was smart looking (a bit European in style) and very neatly placed; which made me appreciate the master’s taste, in my mind.
As I occupied one of the chairs, Bhupesh Babu said – ‘Let me make tea for you, it’ll take just five minutes.’ He ignited the kerosene stove. Ram Babu and Banamali Babu came within a couple of minutes.
Though I was familiar with their faces, Bhuepsh Babu introduced us again, ‘This is Ram Chandra Roy and this is Banamali Chanda - both share the same room as well as the work place….Ha Ha Ha!!! – they work in the same bank !’
When I looked at them and greeted, I discovered that there were many more similarities than the ones Bhupesh Babu had just mentioned. May be I didn’t see them together and that’s why I missed these similarities earlier, that – they both were aged between forty five to fifty, both were quite fat with medium height (must be 5.4” – 5.5”), both had the same facial shape with fat noses, invisible eyebrows, and strong jaw lines. The similarities were so biological; it seemed that they belong to the same family. I was happy with my observation; and in excitement I couldn’t resist commenting –
“Are you guys cousins by any chance?”
Both of them gave me a sudden surprised look; Ram Babu said, ‘Oh No! We are from different casts altogether, I am ‘Vaidya’ and Banamali Babu is ‘Kayastha’.
I was a bit demoralized and wanted to say something to justify my thought – but Bhupesh Babu came to my rescue with a plate of ‘singara’s (a Bengali snack - something like deep fried vegetable momos).

We started with the cards after finishing our tea and I discovered one thing while playing - that I still remember all the tips and tricks of the game. The stake amounts were very low, so low that at the end of the game one would lose or win utmost a couple of coins, but then again this was the only thing which kept the spirit of the game alive.
In the first Rubber Ram Babu became my partner, he lit a long cigar; I and Bhupesh Babu lit our own cigarette brands; Banamali Babu took some massala.
We went on with our game. One rubber would end; we would change our partners and start fresh. All of these people were good with their cards. Everyone sank into the game; no one was talking much, only the cigars and cigarettes went on burning to make the air heavy. Bhupesh Babu got up to open one of the windows and silently came back to his seat.
It was 9 pm when we finally called the day off, the servant came twice in between, to call me for dinner. After the final calculation it was found that I won a couple of coins. As I got up I felt very happy, Bhupesh Babu asked with a smile, ‘what about tomorrow! Will you come?’
‘Oh Sure! I will.’ I replied.

I had to face Satyavati’s scolding for getting late – it’s actually true, during the winters, even 9.15 pm seems very late in Kolkata. But I was too happy to respond to her scolding.
Since that day our evening session became a regular event. We would start around 6 and would play till 9. Over this period of five-six days I gathered some clearer ideas about these three people –Bhupesh Babu was a kind hearted, soft spoken and friendly person who is truly passionate about Bridge. Ram Babu was a serious kind, would not talk much or would not argue if someone made a mistake. Banamali Babu respected Ram Babu a lot, always wanted to be as serious as him and sometimes would even try to imitate him. Both of them talked less, highly enthusiastic about the game of Bridge and both of them had a little 'East Bengali' accent in their dialect.

Six days passed; our evening session was about to turn into a club – and then suddenly this incident changed everything. The only boarder of the ground floor of our building – Natavar Naskar was murdered. None of us knew him, but the ripples created after such accidents touch everyone in and around.
That day, it was around 6.30 and I was late for the card session; I put a warm shawl (a woolen stole) over my kurta in haste and was coming down. As I reached the first floor landing, suddenly I could hear a ‘Bang’; I stopped to figure out what kind of a sound was it, but couldn’t make out - It could be a ‘back-fire’ sound from a motor car; but the sound was very powerful – a ‘back-fire’ sound from the road would not have pulled through. After waiting for another couple of seconds I entered Bhupesh Babu’s room, it was dusk and all lights were switched on in the room. I found Bhupesh Babu standing in front of one of the windows and trying hard to look at something, Ram Babu and Banamali Babu were trying to peep over Bhupesh Babu’s shoulder as they were behind him.
The moment I entered, Bhupesh Babu shouted with excitement – “There, there……running through the lane, could you see? That guy with a brown shawl…!”
I said, ‘what happened? ’Everyone turned back, Bhupesh Babu asked me, ‘Have you heard the sound? I am sure it had come from the back lane, below this window. You know! – The room was a bit suffocating; I was about to open the window and then suddenly this ‘BANG’! I looked through the window at once and saw this man running through the lane.Our house was on the main road and this was a narrow blind lane which was the connector of the main road and the backdoor. Generally servants used this lane.
It suddenly flashed in my mind and I said, ‘the only ground floor room which was rented to someone was just below us. Did the sound come from there?’
Bhupesh babu said, ‘God Knows! A gentleman stays in that room, that much I know, but I don’t even know his name.’
Ram Babu & Banamali Babu looked at each other and then Ram Babu said, ‘The gentle man’s name is Natavar Naskar.’
I said, ‘Let’s go and ask him, if he is there – he must have heard the sound as well and possibly would be able to tell us about the source.’
None of them seemed interested, but I was also adamant, how could I leave the mystery of this big a sound just like that and play Bridge!
‘At least let’s try to go down and enquire about it, it’ll not take more than a minute and then we’ll come back to play,’ I insisted. ‘The sound was surely not any common or normal sound; we surely need to find out – what was it?’

We all walked down, the first thing we noticed on the ground floor was that – the manager’s office and the storeroom was locked. The dining room was opened but apart from some tables and chairs, there was nothing. Natavar Babu’s room was not locked from outside, ‘He must be in his room’ I said and called out loudly ‘Natavar Babu ‘!
No answer! I called once again, this time a little louder, but no reply came from inside. Now I pushed the door a little; it opened partly – it was dark inside and through the partly opened door a very light smell came to our nostrils….
Gun powder!
We looked at each other – then Bhupesh Babu pushed the door, stepped inside the room and put on the light. The first thing we could see in the harsh bright yellow light was Natavar Babu’s body. He was lying on the floor, the chest of his white sweater was colored with blood, and he was surely not alive, as we could see the sheer fear of death on his face.We stood like statues for some time and then Ram Babu cleared his throat; I looked at his face and discovered that he was staring at Natavar Naskar’s body with a very strong disbelief. Suddenly Banamali Babu clasped Ram Babu’s shoulder and uttered, ‘Dada! Natavar Naskar is dead!’ - the way he said it, I truly couldn’t make out whether he was sad or astonished.
‘I am sure he is dead’, Bhupesh Babu said, ’someone shot him with a gun – look over there, on the windowsil. ’The window pane was open and a pistol was lying on the windowsil. Everything was clear – the murderer walked through the lane; reached the window; fired at Natavar Babu and ran away leaving his pistol behind.

This time we heard someone coming – it was the mess manager Shivkali Chakravarty. Shivkali was a very thin and ‘always in haste,’ kind of a person. His eyes were always worried and he had this funny habit of repeating words.

‘What happened? What happened? what are you guys doing here? He went on asking.
‘Have a look’ I said very coldly and gave him way to enter the room. ‘Oh! Oh! Natavar Naskar is dead! Oh, So much of Blood, So much of Blood! How?
’With cold enough expression I pointed my finger towards the window.
‘Oh, Pistol, Pistol! Who had done this? When?
I said - can’t say, ‘who’, but we know ‘when’ was this happened – just five minutes back.
Then I told him the story briefly and after that I suddenly noticed that Shivkali Babu was wearing a brown shawl. My heart skipped a beat. I tried controlling my expression and asked him –‘are you coming from outside? Where have you been?’ he replied, ’yes I went out for some work – but, but what do we do now?’

‘We have to call the police,’ I said.

‘Right, Right!’ said Shivkali Babu, ‘but I don’t have a telephone, Ajit Babu! if you please…’
I told them not to go inside the room and went upstairs to make a call to the police. As I rushed inside our drawing room to pick up the telephone receiver, the mirror suddenly came in the cone of my vision and with all of my astonishment, I noticed something ……the color of my shawl was brown.

To be continued...
In the next issue of megher khata.