Lalmohan Babu—alias Jatayu—broke open a groundnut carefully, and promptly transferred its contents into his mouth. Then he dropped the shell into an ashtray, rubbed his hands and asked, ‘Have you ever seen the Vijaya Dashami celebrations in Varanasi? You know, when Durga Puja ends and all the idols are immersed in the river at Dashashwamedh Ghat?’ Feluda was sitting with a chessboard in front of him, and a book called Great Games of Chess by his side. He had recently started playing chess by himself. Jatayu had arrived when he was almost halfway through the game. He told Srinath, our cook, to bring a fresh pot of tea and began answering Jatayu’s questions between moves. ‘No,’ he replied briefly. ‘Oh, it’s . . . it’s really a spectacular affair! You can’t imagine what it’s like!’ Feluda made the last move, stared for a second at the board and asked, ‘Are you trying to . . . tempt me?’ ‘Well, yes, you’ve guessed it. Heh heh!’ ‘In that case, Lalmohan Babu, you’ll have to describe the scene much better than that. What you just said won’t do at all.’ ‘Why?’ Lalmohan Babu raised his eyebrows. Feluda began putting the chessmen away. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘the word “spectacular” does not, by itself, evoke an image. It doesn’t explain why Vijaya Dashami is special. You are a writer, Lalmohan Babu. You should be able to be a bit more graphic.’ ‘Yes, you’re right, of course,’ said Lalmohan Babu quickly. ‘It was nearly twenty-five years ago, you see, when I saw the celebrations. So the details are a little hazy in my mind. But I still remember both my eyes and ears being dazzled by what I saw.’ ‘There you are! You said it. Eyes and ears. Your description should have something that appeals to one’s senses.’ ‘What?’ ‘Yes. Try to think of exactly what you saw or heard or even smelt! Don’t look so surprised. A particular place has a particular smell, haven’t you noticed? The little alley that leads to the Vishwanath temple in Varanasi smells of incense, flowers, cow dung, dust and sweat. If you came out of the alley and began walking towards the river, you’d pass through a relatively smell-free zone, until you came face to face with a herd of goats. The smell would then be most unpleasant, I can tell you. But then you’d walk on and would soon be greeted with another scent which would be a mixture of the scent of the earth, water, oil, sandalwood, flowers and more incense.’ ‘Hey, that means you’ve been to Banaras!’

‘Yes, when I was in college. I’d gone to play in a cricket match with the Hindu University.’ Lalmohan Babu began fishing in his pocket. ‘The paper cutting you’re looking for,’ said Feluda, ‘slipped out of your pocket and fell on the floor as soon as you walked in. There it is, near that stool.’ ‘Eh heh . . . when I took my handkerchief out, it must