The Kolkata Conundrum

The Scholar of the Hidden Path

The next morning, Kolkata was washed with the golden glow of dawn as we set off for Dr. Prafulla Sen's residence in Shyambazar. Dr. Sen was a retired professor from the University of Calcutta, specializing in ancient Bengali art and artifacts—a fitting associate for Professor Shantanu Bose. The roads were relatively quiet, the city just beginning to shake off its slumber.

We arrived at Dr. Sen's home, a modest, old-fashioned bungalow with a garden overgrown by weeds. Dr. Sen himself greeted us at the door, a thin, elderly man with a kindly but sharp gaze. His wrinkled face showed a faint smile, and he wore thick glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose.

"Prodosh Mitter, I presume?" he asked, nodding at Feluda. His voice was low and gravely, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence. "Please, do come in. I've heard much about your adventures."

Feluda inclined his head politely. "Thank you, Dr. Sen. We're here to ask about your work with Shantanu Bose."

At the mention of Shantanu's name, Dr. Sen's expression softened. He motioned us inside and led us to a small sitting room lined with shelves holding dusty books, sculptures, and ancient scrolls. Once we were seated, he settled into an armchair and sighed deeply.

"Ah, Shantanu. A brilliant man, but he was delving into dangerous waters," Dr. Sen said. "You see, he had been studying an artifact we referred to as the Shyamal Murti—The Dark Idol."

Jatayu, seated beside me, whispered, "The same idol in Prabir's letter!"

"Yes, precisely," Dr. Sen said, catching Jatayu's murmur. "The idol is said to be linked to an ancient legend, one that speaks of 'The Path to Moksha.' Shantanu believed it held knowledge that could unlock the secrets of the self."

"What exactly did he hope to find?" Madhuri asked, her eyes wide with interest.

Dr. Sen's gaze turned distant. "The idol, it's more than just a relic. It is said to be a map of sorts, a guide to a hidden part of our culture—one that has been buried in myth and obscured by centuries. Shantanu believed this path to Moksha wasn't simply a spiritual journey, but a physical one. He thought it might even lead to a hidden trove of ancient scrolls, records from our history that were deliberately hidden from the world."

Feluda's eyes gleamed with interest. "And you shared this theory with him?"

Dr. Sen nodded, though he looked uneasy. "Yes, but I warned him to be cautious. The idol's whereabouts were kept secret for a reason, and anyone who knew of its power could be tempted to exploit it. But Shantanu wouldn't listen—he was too taken with the idea that he was on the brink of a great discovery."

He paused, glancing around the room as though expecting shadows to leap from the corners. Then, he lowered his voice. "There is an ancient saying: Jekhane Shyamal shesh, sekhane andhakaar aarambho hoy—Where the Shyamal ends, the darkness begins."

Dr. Sen's words hung in the air like a chill. The idea that Shantanu had ventured into "darkness," both literal and metaphorical, was unsettling. I couldn't help but wonder if he had truly understood the risks.

"Do you have any idea where Shantanu might have gone?" Feluda asked, his tone careful.

Dr. Sen hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his shawl. "He was last seen near an old temple in the Sundarbans. It's a remote spot, and few even know of its existence anymore. The temple is dedicated to Shyamal, the dark form of Lord Shiva. Shantanu believed he could unlock the secret of the idol there."

Feluda's eyes sharpened. "You think he went there alone?"

"Knowing Shantanu, yes," Dr. Sen replied gravely. "He was determined, almost obsessed. But...there is something else."

He rose from his chair, crossing to a small, locked cabinet at the far end of the room. Carefully, he unlocked it and pulled out a small, crumpled note. Handing it to Feluda, he said, "Shantanu left this for me the night before he disappeared."

Feluda unfolded the note. It read: "If I don't return, find the shyamal rekha—the dark line. It will show you where my path ends."

Feluda's brows furrowed as he reread the note. "The dark line," he murmured. "Perhaps a landmark of some sort? Or a hidden symbol?"

Dr. Sen nodded. "That is what I suspect. But to decipher it, one must visit the temple. I can tell you the way, if you're willing to risk it."

Feluda's eyes met mine. I could tell he was intrigued, eager to follow Shantanu's trail, though he kept his expression calm and composed. "We'll go," he said finally. "And we'll find what your friend sought—if it's still there."

Dr. Sen's face softened, and he extended a shaking hand to Feluda. "Be careful, Mr. Mitter. The Sundarbans are not forgiving, and you'll be far from the comforts of the city."

With Dr. Sen's directions in hand, we left his house, stepping out into the streets of Shyambazar. The reality of the Sundarbans loomed in my mind—a dense, humid expanse of mangroves and wildlife, remote and mysterious. The prospect of venturing into such unknown territory was both thrilling and a little daunting.

As we made our way back, Jatayu clapped a hand on my shoulder, his eyes shining with excitement. "Imagine, Topshe! A hidden temple, a mystical idol, and secrets from ancient Bengal! This is even better than my last novel!"

Madhuri, walking beside me, gave a small smile. "I must say, I wasn't expecting things to become so...dangerous."

Feluda glanced back at us, a hint of a grin on his face. "It's only dangerous if you're afraid of the unknown. And the unknown," he said, his gaze fixed on the distance, "has always been where the truth lies."

We had our destination—the Sundarbans, the hidden temple, and the dark path that Shantanu Bose had dared to tread. As we headed home to prepare, I couldn't shake the feeling that this mystery was taking us somewhere far more perilous than we'd anticipated. But with Feluda leading the way, I knew we were prepared for whatever secrets awaited us in the shadowed forests of Bengal.