Best Served Cold by Chattopadhyay Bhaskar

Author:Chattopadhyay, Bhaskar [Chattopadhyay, Bhaskar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

[13]

There was still no sign of Pele, so without wasting any time, we set out on foot, walking as fast as we could. Out of the guest house, all the way to the T-junction, turning left, then past the post office, and proceeding towards the bungalow.

Although Maity had almost dragged me out of the bed and my head was in a tizzy from what he had told me, I couldn’t help but notice that the gardens had donned a fresh and beautiful appearance in the early morning. The ground, for instance, was wet, although winter was still far away and dew was uncommon. Had it rained last night then? After I had gone to bed? After walking for a couple of minutes, I realized that it probably hadn’t. We had to stand aside to let a tractor pass. The vehicle was hauling a tank, from which water was being sprayed onto the path, most probably to ensure that it doesn’t get too dusty throughout the day. As I looked in the distance, I saw a couple of more tractors running through various parts of the garden, perhaps doing the same. The heads of the tea shrubs looked extra green, their tips now shining brightly in the soft light of the rising sun. After the sound of the passing tractor had died down, I could hear hundreds of birds chirping from the branches of the shade trees. Some of the smaller ones had even made their way down to the top of the shrubs, landing on them and hopping on from one to the other. Far towards our right, the branches of a couple of large Krishnachura trees seemed to be swaying a bit too much, and upon a closer look, I saw a group of black-faced langurs frolicking about within the foliage. A particularly enthusiastic langur flung itself from one treetop to the other, causing hundreds of red Krishnachura flowers to dislodge from the branches and drop on the shrubs below. From a distance, it almost seemed like the tree was shedding blood.

Indeed! Blood had been shed in Manikpur. Apparently, Jagat Narayan Chowdury had been stabbed to death. While we were sleeping. We had failed to do the job that had been entrusted upon us. There were thin billows of smoke rising from over the heads of the treetops towards the east. The village was waking up, perhaps oblivious to the news of the death of a man they all knew. News would spread though, bad news always does. Although, for some reason, it didn’t seem to me that even a single drop of tear would be shed in the village of Manikpur today.

As we hurried down the path, Maity said that he was awoken by the caretaker Gangadhar knocking on his door. Mohan Sharma was on the phone, and it was he who gave Maity the news. Charan had found his master lying dead on his bed, soaked in blood. There was a wound on his chest, it was obvious that he had been stabbed with a sharp weapon.

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