The Kolkata Conundrum

The Letter on a Humid Afternoon

Kolkata was roasting. Even in late October, the city simmered, and you could almost see the air rippling with heat as it rose off the streets of Ballygunge. I was trying to read the newspaper, but the heat made even that a tiresome affair. Feluda, of course, was perched by the window, perfectly unbothered. He looked as calm and sharp as ever, even as he sipped tea that could have scalded a lesser man.

Then, just when I was about to give up and surrender to a siesta, a loud tap-tap-tap sounded at our front door. Before I could rise, the door swung open, and in came a young boy, all dust and urgency, clutching a letter as though it was worth a fortune.

"Is this...Mr. Prodosh Mitter's house?" he asked, catching his breath.

Feluda shot him a smile. "Indeed, my boy. And who might this letter be from?"

The boy handed over the envelope with a nod. I noticed the paper was thicker than usual, and when Feluda broke the seal and unfolded the note, I caught a whiff of something almost ancient. The handwriting was elegant, neat, but urgent in a way that words alone couldn't convey.

"Dear Mr. Mitter," the letter read, "I find myself in a predicament that requires someone of your skill and discretion. My brother, Professor Shantanu Bose, has disappeared, leaving behind a cryptic clue and a lingering sense of dread. Please, if you are willing, meet me at the College Street Coffee House tomorrow at 4 p.m. Signed, Prabir Bose."

Feluda folded the letter, a spark of intrigue lighting up his eyes. "Topshe," he said, handing it to me. "Take a look at this."

I read the letter, and my heartbeat quickened. A missing scholar, ancient clues, the promise of danger—all the ingredients of a new adventure. Kolkata had a way of hiding secrets in its every nook and cranny, and I knew we'd barely begun to scratch the surface.

Before I could speak, the familiar thunder of footsteps came charging down the hallway. In burst Lalmohan Babu—our beloved Jatayu—clad in a kurta-pajama that seemed one size too big, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Felu-babu, I hope I'm not intruding!" he called out, his face beaming despite the heat. "I just had the feeling that something exciting was happening here."

Feluda smiled. "And you'd be right, Lalmohan Babu. As it happens, we have a bit of a puzzle." He gestured to the letter in my hand. "It appears a certain Professor Bose has vanished under peculiar circumstances."

Before Jatayu could respond, he stepped aside with a theatrical sweep of his arm. "I didn't come alone, by the way. Allow me to introduce my niece, Madhuri."

A young woman stepped forward, looking every bit as composed as her uncle was flustered. She had Jatayu's warm, open expression but a sharper, more observant gaze that reminded me, for a fleeting moment, of Feluda himself.

"Namaskar, Feluda-da," she said, folding her hands with a small smile. "I've been wanting to meet you for ages." Her voice was steady, her words well-measured, though her eyes flickered with unmistakable curiosity.

"Namaskar, Madhuri," Feluda said, tipping his head. "Your uncle speaks highly of you."

"Oh, does he?" She cast a sidelong glance at Jatayu, whose face flushed with pride. "That's nice to know. I've always had a fascination for mysteries, though, admittedly, nothing as grand as what I hear you've solved."

"Well, Madhuri," Feluda said, his eyes gleaming, "perhaps you'll get your chance sooner than you think. We're meeting at College Street tomorrow afternoon, and I expect the matter will be anything but straightforward. Do you think you'd like to join us?"

Madhuri's eyes sparkled. "I wouldn't miss it for anything, Feluda-da."

The date was set. As I walked out into the lanes of Ballygunge later that evening, I had the feeling that Kolkata's streets were waiting for us, that the sounds of the street hawkers, the cries of the tram conductors, and the hum of rickshaws would soon echo with secrets of their own. And perhaps, this time, we'd need all the help we could get.

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