Magnamainak

Fifteen years have passed since we gained independence. According to the ancient laws of India, our Goddess of Liberty has now come of age; the time has come to cast aside our escapist tendencies and face the hard truth. Therefore, this story may now be told.

I begin this tale with a precocious youth named Nengti Dutta, for had it not been for him, we would never have become involved in this affair. It was Nengti who, almost by force, made his way into our home and struck up an acquaintance with Byomkesh. He was an exceedingly self-assured boy, quick of tongue and sharp of wit, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, though his thin and wiry frame made him appear even younger. At this age, he had already acquired considerable intelligence, yet there was a touch of childish foolishness about him as well—a curious blend of boyishness and premature cunning. At first acquaintance, he seemed rather cheeky and impudent, but we soon discovered he was not ill-natured at heart. He harbored a deep, secret admiration for Byomkesh, though from his manner of speaking, one might think he had seen through all of Byomkesh’s cleverness and fancied himself the more astute of the two.

Whenever he visited our house, he would engage Byomkesh in discussions on criminology, speaking with the air of a seasoned expert. He had long since abandoned formal studies, but was by no means ignorant. Byomkesh, amused, would indulge him with a smile. Despite the difference in their ages, a bond of affectionate banter soon developed between them.

After a few days of coming and going, Nengti suddenly reached out his hand one day and said, “Byomkesh-babu, give me a cigarette, won’t you?”

Byomkesh stared at him in astonishment, then rebuked him, “You’re just a boy, and you smoke cigarettes?”

Nengti replied, “Where would I get them to smoke? My aunt never gives me a single paisa, and now and then I steal one or two from my uncle’s tin. Besides, is it even possible to smoke at home? The moment my aunt smells smoke, she comes charging at me. Come on, give me one.”

Byomkesh handed him a cigarette, which he smoked with great care, then departed, promising to return soon.

Thereafter, whenever he visited, we had to give him a cigarette.

One day, Nengti arrived in a state of great excitement and said, “You know, Byomkesh-da, a girl has come to our house—she looks just like an English mem!”

Byomkesh, entirely unperturbed, replied, “Is that so?”

Nengti said, “Yes, I’ve never seen such a beautiful girl in my life. If you saw her, you’d be left cross-eyed.”

Byomkesh said, “In that case, I’d better not see her. Who is she?”

Nengti said, “She’s my uncle’s friend’s daughter. Used to live in East Bengal. Her parents were killed in the Hindu-Muslim riots; the girl barely escaped with her life. My uncle gave her shelter, let her stay in the house. Her situation is much like