I was at first quite disappointed when I heard Baba say, ‘Let’s have a holiday in Lucknow this year. Dhiru has been asking us for a long time to go and visit him.’ It was my belief that Lucknow was dull and boring. Baba did say we’d include a trip to Haridwar and Laxmanjhoola, and the latter was in the hills—but that would be just for a few days. We generally went to either Darjeeling or Puri. I liked both the sea and the mountains. Lucknow had neither. So I said to Baba, ‘Couldn’t we ask Feluda to come with us?’ Feluda has a theory about himself. No matter where he goes, he says, mysterious things start happening around him. And true enough, the last time he went with us to Darjeeling, all those strange things happened to Rajen Babu. If Lucknow could offer something similar, it wouldn’t matter too much if the place itself was boring. Baba said, ‘Felu would be most welcome, but can he get away?’ Feluda appeared quite enthusiastic when I told him. ‘Went there in 1958 to play a cricket match,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad place at all. If you went inside the Bhoolbhulaia in the Burra Imambara, I’m sure your eyes would pop out. What an imagination those nawabs had—my God!’ ‘You’ll get leave, won’t you?’ Feluda ignored my question and continued to speak: ‘And it’s not just the Bhoolbhulaia. You’ll get to see the Monkey Bridge over the Gomti, and of course the battered Residency.’ ‘What’s the Residency?’ ‘It was the centre of the British forces during the Mutiny. They couldn’t do a thing. The sepoys tore it apart.’ Feluda had been at his job for two years. Since he hadn’t taken any leave in the first year, it wasn’t difficult for him now to get a couple of weeks off. Perhaps I should explain here that Feluda is my cousin. I am fourteen and he is twenty-seven. Some people think him crazy, some say he is only eccentric, others call him just plain lazy. But I happen to know that few men of his age possess his intelligence. And, if he finds a job that interests him, he can work harder than anyone I know. Besides, he is good at cricket, knows at least a hundred indoor games, a number of card tricks, a little hypnotism and can write with both hands. When he was in school, his memory was so good that he had memorized every word in Tagore’s ‘Snatched from the Gods’ after just two readings. But what is most remarkable about Feluda is his power of deduction. This is a skill he has acquired simply by reading and regular practice. The police haven’t yet discovered his talents, so Feluda has remained an amateur private detective. One look at a person is enough for him to guess—accurately—a number of things about him.

When we met Dhiru Kaka at the Lucknow railway station, Feluda whispered into my ear: ‘Is