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51 pages

English

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An incident near the desolate Chhinnamasta temple on the rocky riverbank of Rajrappa leads to the death of Mahesh Chowdhury, the head of a Hazaribagh family. Adding to the mystery are a set of coded diaries, a valuable stamp collection that is missing and a tiger that is roaming the streets of Hazaribagh. One of Feluda s most intriguing adventures, this shows the master sleuth at his best.

Informations

Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	18 avril 2016
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9789351185871
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0420€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Satyajit Ray s

THE ADVENTURES OF FELUDA The Curse of the Goddess
Translated by Gopa Majumdar
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Read the other Adventures of Feluda in Puffin
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PUFFIN BOOKS
THE ADVENTURES OF FELUDA THE CURSE OF THE GODDESS
Satyajit Ray (1921-1992) was one of the greatest filmmakers of his time, renowned for films like Pather Panchali, Charulata, Aranyer Din Ratri and Ghare Baire . He was awarded the Oscar for Lifetime Achievement by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science in 1992, and in the same year, was also honoured with the Bharat Ratna.
Ray was also a writer of repute, and his short stories, novellas, poems and articles, written in Bengali, have been immensely popular ever since they first began to appear in the children s magazine Sandesh in 1961. Among his most famous creations are the master sleuth Feluda and the scientist Professor Shonku.
*
Gopa Majumdar has translated several works from Bengali to English, the most notable of these being Ashapurna Debi s Subarnalata , Taslima Nasrin s My Girlhood , and Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay s Aparajito , for which she won the Sahitya Akademi Award in 2002. She has translated several volumes of Satyajit Ray s short stories and all of the Feluda stories for Penguin Books India. She is currently translating Ray s Professor Shonku stories, which are forthcoming in Puffin.
Read the other Adventures of Feluda in Puffin
The Emperor s Ring
Trouble in Gangtok
The Golden Fortress
The Incident on the Kalka Mail
A Killer in Kailash
The Royal Bengal Mystery
The Mystery of the Elephant God
The Bandits of Bombay
The House of Death
Trouble in the Graveyard
The Criminals of Kathmandu
Chapter 1
L almohan Babu looked up from his book and said, Rammohan Roy s grandson owned a circus. Did you know that?
Feluda was leaning back, his face covered with a handkerchief. He shook his head.
Our car had been standing for the last ten minutes behind a huge lorry which was loaded with bales of straw. Not only was it blocking our way, but was emitting such thick black smoke that we were all getting choked. Our driver had blown his horn several times, but to no avail. I was tired of being able to see nothing but the painting of a setting sun and flowers on the back of the lorry, and all that a lorry usually said: Ta Ta , Horn Please , Goodbye , and Thank You . Equally bored and tired, Lalmohan Babu had started to read a book called The Circus in Bengal . His next book was going to be set in a circus, so he had taken Feluda s advice and decided to do a bit of reading on the subject. As a matter of fact, we had stopped in Ranchi earlier in the day and seen posters advertising The Great Majestic Circus. It was supposed to have reached Hazaribagh which was where we were going. If we happened to be free one evening, we had decided to go and see the circus.
Winter had only just started. All of us wanted a short break. Lalmohan Babu s latest book- The Vampire of Vancouver -had been released last month and sold two thousand copies in three weeks, which naturally pleased him no end. Feluda had objected to the title of the book, pointing out that Vancouver was a huge modern city, a most unlikely place for vampires. For once, Lalmohan Babu had overruled Feluda s objection, saying that he had been through the atlas of the world, and Vancouver had struck him as the most appropriate name.
Feluda, too, was free for the moment. He had solved a case in Bihar last September. His client, Sarveshwar Sahai, had been so pleased with Feluda s work that he had invited us to his house in Hazaribagh. He did not live there permanently. It remained empty most of the time. There was a chowkidar, whose wife did the cooking. We could stay there for ten days. All we would have to pay for would be the food.
The offer seemed too good to miss. We decided to go by road in Lalmohan Babu s new Ambassador. Let s see how it performs on a long run, he said. We might have gone via Asansol and Dhanbad, but chose to go through Kharagpur and Ranchi instead. Feluda drove the car until we got to Kharagpur, then the driver took over. We reached Ranchi in the evening and stayed overnight at the Amber Hotel. This morning, we had left Ranchi at nine, hoping to reach Hazaribagh by a quarter past ten. But, thanks to the lorry, we were definitely going to be delayed.
After another five minutes of honking, the lorry finally moved and allowed us to pass. Much relieved, we took deep breaths as our car emerged in the open. The road was lined with tall trees, many of which had weaver birds nests. Looking out of the window, I could see a range of hills in the distance. Small hillocks stood by the side of the road. We passed these every now and then. Lalmohan Babu saw all this and muttered, Beautiful! Beautiful! a couple of times. Then he began humming a Tagore song, looking more comical than ever. He was totally tone-deaf as well, and inevitably chose songs that were quite inappropriate. For instance, on this cool November morning, he had started a song that spoke of the new joys of spring. He had once explained his problem to me. Apparently, he felt like bursting into song the minute he left Calcutta and came into closer contact with nature; however, his stock of songs being rather limited, he couldn t always think of a suitable one.
But there was one thing for which I had to thank him. In the last twenty-four hours, he had told me a lot of things about the circus in Bengal that I did not know. A hundred years ago, it was circuses owned by Bengalis that were famous all over the country. The best known among these was Professor Priyanath Bose s The Great Bengal Circus. There were American, Russian, German, and French artists, in addition to Indian. Even women used to take part. An American called Gus Burns used to work with a tiger. Unfortunately, when Professor Bose died, there was no one to take charge. His circus went out of business, as did many others in Bengal.
This Great Majestic in Hazaribagh . . . where does that come from, I wonder? Lalmohan Babu asked.
It has to be south India, Feluda answered. They seem to have a monopoly in that line now.
How good is their trapeze? That s what I d like to know!
In this new book he was planning to write, trapeze was going to play an important role. One of the artistes was going to grab the arm of another while swinging in mid-air and give him a lethal injection. His hero, Prakhar Rudra, was going to have to learn a few tricks from trapeze artistes to be able to catch the culprit. When Lalmohan Babu revealed these details to us, Feluda remarked dryly, Thank goodness there is at least one thing left for your hero to learn!
We saw another Ambassador soon after passing a post that said 72 km . It was standing by the side of the road with its bonnet up. Its driver was bending over it, only partially visible from the road. Another gentleman was waving frantically at us. Lalmohan Babu s driver put his foot on the brake.
Er . . . are you going to Hazaribagh? the man asked. He was probably around forty, had a fair complexion, and wore glasses.
Yes, we are, Feluda replied.
My car . . . the problem seems to be serious, you see. So I wonder if . . . ?
You may come with us, if you like.
So kind of you. I ll try and get a mechanic and bring him back in a taxi. Can t see what else I can do.
Do you have any luggage?
Only a small suitcase, but I can take it with me later. It shouldn t take me more than forty-five minutes to return.
Come on then.
The man explained to his driver what he had decided to do, then climbed into our car and said so kind of you again. Then he told us a great deal about himself, even without being asked. His name was Pritindra Chowdhury. His father, Mahesh Chowdhury, was once an advocate in Ranchi. He had retired ten years ago and moved to Hazaribagh. Everyone there knew him well.
Do you live in Calcutta? Feluda asked him.
Yes. I am in electronics. Have you heard of Indovision?
I remembered having seen advertisements for a new television by the name. Mr Chowdhury worked for its manufacturers.
My father turns seventy tomorrow, he went on. I have an elder brother. He has already reached Hazaribagh, and so have my wife and daughter. I was away in Delhi, you see, so I very nearly did not make it. But my father sent me a telegram saying Must come , so here I am. Could you please stop the car for a minute?
The car stopped. Mr Chowdhury took out a small cassette recorder from his shoulder bag and disappeared among the trees. He returned in a couple of minutes and said, I heard a flycatcher. It was still there, luckily. It is something of an obsession for me-I mean, this business of recording bird calls. So kind of you.
The last words were meant to convey his thanks for stopping the car. Strangely, although he told us so much about himself, he didn t seem interested in us at all.
We dropped him outside Eureka Automobiles in the main part of Hazaribagh. He said so kind of you yet again and got out. Then he suddenly turned around and asked, Oh, by the way, where will you be staying?
Feluda had to raise his voice to make himself heard, for a lot of people were gathered nearby, talking excitedly about something. We learnt the reason for such excitement a little later.
I can t give you directions, for this is our first visit to Hazaribagh. All I can tell you is that the house belongs to a Mr Sahai, and it isn t far from the District Board rest house.
Oh, then it can t be more than seven minutes from our house. Do you have a telephone?
Yes-742.
Good.
My name is Mitter. P.C. Mitter.
I see. I didn t even ask your name. Sorry.
We said goodbye and went on our way. He s probably tense about introducing a new product, Feluda observed.