Adapted from Satyajit Ray’s "Ratan Babu and that man"
I like Satyajit Ray as a writer, but his stories leave a lot to imagination and dont offer a closure that I crave in a good short story. So I took it up on myself to adapt one of his stories to see if I could give some closure to people who crave the same closure as I do. So here goes -
Darul Dutta, DD as he liked to be called, was as unambitious as they come.
The year was 1951, India had just gained independence, and the British run institutions were being taken over by rich industrialists. One such institution the Indian Bengal Bank (erstwhile British Bengal Bank) was bought over by Abhinandan Agarwal, one of the first Marwari families that had made Calcutta their home.
DD held a Commerce degree from the University of Calcutta, a degree that his father had forced him to study for. If it was up to DD he would have stopped studying by High school. The degree helped, banks were hungry for educated professionals and DD’s father, an influential mathematics professor got him the job. But DD’s lack of ambition ensured that he would not get promoted.
DD’s personal life had also taken a beating. DD’s father got him married to an educated girl from a wealthy Bengali family. But that marriage didn’t last 4 months. According to the wife, DD was a boring person and barely had any interest. By DD’s own admission, all he needed was a movie on Sunday and eating fried fish as his favourite restaurant outside of Bada Bazaar. DD's mother died when he was in his teenage years and his father passed away a few months after the divorce. The only silver lining amongst this was the fact that DD’s parents left him a house in one of the posh areas of Calcutta, and enough money in the bank to last him a lifetime. Ideally DD didn’t have to work, but he would get bored at home anyway so he continued his 9 to 5 job.
The part of his job he liked the most was the 11 day vacation he got every year from his office. The train ticket and the stay was paid for. While other employees chose Delhi, Bombay and Lucknow as the vacation spots, DD would choose the most obscure of locations. His criteria was simple – he would choose a place that had a train station with no more than 24 hours train ride, the location should be so remote that it wouldn’t have any post office or police station even. DD found such locations interesting. The bank allowed to pay for the employee and plus one. But no one wanted to go to such places. Not that DD had any friends he could travel with anyway.
This year he chose Bhimghat in Madhya Pradesh. He got down from his first class compartment. Instantly he could feel the lightness in the air compared to the industrialized city he was from. He got a horse ridden tanga to his hotel - New Mahamaya hotel, the only hotel of repute in Bhimghat. The hotel barely saw any visitors and was more than happy to have a city babu stay at their establishment.
Room no. 45 read the key that the manager at the reception handed over. It totalled 9. DD liked the number 9 – this was another of his quirks. DD asked for the dinner to be sent to his room. He took a warm bath and then had his dinner – his favourite fried fish (albeit not as good as his city) and slept on the comfortable bed.
In the morning, it was a bit chilly. He went to the small restaurant within the hotel to have some breakfast. The locals made delicious poha and chai, something he wanted to try. On the table on the far end there sat another gentleman. He had his back to DD, but DD could feel he knew the man. After every sip of chai he would look up to see if the man had finished his breakfast. Finally the man got up and walked past DD to the reception to make the payment for his breakfast. DD could see that the man had the exact same breakfast as him – poha and chai. The man bought the newspaper and began to walk out of the restaurant. DD felt a strange familiarity with him but couldn’t place him. He followed the man.
The man walked into a nearby garden, found a bench to sit on and started reading the newspaper.
“Hello”, said DD.
“Hello”, replied the man.
DD could now make sense of it. The man looked a lot like himself. In fact it was like he was looking in a mirror. They were the same height – wore the same Bengali style kurta and dhoti as DD. They had the same receding hairline and the same sharp nose. They even sported the same set of reading glasses with the thick black frames. The only difference was maybe that DD was clean shaved and this man had a pencil moustache.
“I am Darul Dutta, I am here on vacation”, he said extending his hand for a handshake.
A smile appeared on the face of the man. He extended his hand and said – “Bhowmick Bannerjee. But you can call me BB.”
DD chuckled. “My friends call me DD.” Not that he had any.
“What made you visit this location? I mean this place is has no historical significance”
“I like to visit unknown places. I like the anonymity. Why are you here?”
“I work for the postal department. We are setting up a postal office here”, BB replied.
DD and BB immediately hit it off. They were alike. Even the silk handkerchief DD used to clean his spectacles was similar to BB’s. BB was staying in the same hotel as DD. BB invited DD over for a round of Old Monk Rum. DD didn’t drink much but he couldn’t turn down an invitation by someone who was so similar to him. What else was similar? A thought passed DD’s mind – could they be… could they be twins?
“What year were you born in?” DD asked.
“1919.”
Same as him.
“What, umm, what date?”
“29th January”
Same as him.
“What did your parents do?” DD asked.
“You work for the Police?” BB let out a hearty laugh. “Let’s keep some discussion for drinks”
They came back to the hotel – it was only afternoon, but DD was on vacation, and how many times had someone invited him for drinks.
Room no. 54. BB opened the door. Total 9.
They had drinks and spoke heart to heart about many things that one does with close friends. DD’s heart felt light.
This continued for the next 9 days. Every time DD broached the subject of BB’s parents, BB would change the subject.
On the last day of his stay BB called DD to his room.
“I hear this is your last day in town”, BB said.
“Yes. My leave gets over tomorrow. This has been a refreshing break. Thanks to you.”
“Really? I am glad I could help.” BB said wiping his thick framed glasses with the silk handkerchief that he used to carry.
“We are similar you know.” DD said. “We look the same, have the same habits. Both of us are Bengali, we even the same height. Some people might say we are twins!”
BB let out a hearty laugh.
“We aren’t similar apart from the fact that both of us wear thick framed glasses. I am at least 2 inches taller than you, you know.” BB chuckled. “And I am not even Bengali – have you heard a single Bengali word come from my mouth. Is this why you keep asking about my parents? You think we are twins?”
DD had a serious look on his face.
“You can have a look at the picture of them. I always carry with me.” BB said pointing towards the drawer in his bedstand.
DD pulled it open. There was a black and white photo of a couple dressed in traditional Maharashtrian attire. Next to it was a knife with a curved blade.
BB walked to the cabinet with his back towards the bedstand. He poured himself a glass of old monk.
DD picked up the knife with the curved blade and walked towards BB ever so quietly and with all his strength in his puny little body all of 5 feet 8 inches, he pushed the knife into BB’s back. BB let out a cry of distress. DD covered his mouth before stabbing him 7 times.
He then walked out of room 54 and walked into his room. He washed his knife lovingly under the tap in his bathroom, humming an old Rabindranath Tagore song. Wiped it clean with the silk handkerchief he used to clean his glasses with and packed it carefully with his clothes.
He picked up his suitcase and quietly walked out of the hotel. His train was just pulling into the station when he reached. He got into his first class compartment, laid out his bedding and went to sleep.
When he joined office the next day his manager Jaspreet Singh, a tall Sardar from Lahore who moved to Calcutta during the partition, asked - “How was your holidays, DD?”
“Refreshing”
“Really? What god forsaken place did you go to this time?”
“Bhimghat”, replied DD.
“Bhimghat?” Jaspreet said stroking his beard. “Why does that ring a bell?”
He thought about it for a second, then shook it off. There was work to be done.
DD left the office at 5 pm as usual. He reached home, changed his clothes into a more comfortable lungi and vest, made himself a cup of chai and sat down with the day’s newspaper. He directly opened the 4th page. Found a pair of scissors and cut a news article out.
He pulled out a file from his cupboard and stuck it on the 4th page.
The article read –
“A man in his late forties was found brutally murdered in a Bhimghat hotel on Thursday morning. His body was found when the hotel manager found his door unlocked in the wee hours of the morning. The body has been identified as Bhushan Bedekar, or BB as he was lovingly called, a postal employee from Pune. He was on special duty to establish a new postal office. The Police arrived late as they were summoned from the neighbouring district to investigate the matter. The postal office has offered their condolences to the parents of the deceased along with a compensation of one thousand rupees.
The investigating officer feels the job might be done by an insider or someone who knows Bhushan, as it would be difficult to overpower Bhushan who was a well built man almost 6 feet tall.
The motive of the murder was unknown."
The first 3 pages of the file had old clippings about different murders from years 1948,49,50.
The last line for each read - Motive unknown.
---The End---
Editor in chief Arshat Chaudhary
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