They waited under the awning of a milk booth till the striplight was extinguished just after midnight. Eketi instantly zipped open his bag and took out lumps of red and white clay, together with the pouch of pig fat. He removed his cap and began stripping off his clothes. 'What are you doing?' Ashok asked in alarm.
'Eketi is preparing for taking the ingetayi. Onge have to show it proper respect.'
He disappeared behind the booth and emerged half an hour later wearing only a genital pouch and the jawbone around his neck. There were horizontal stripes of red and white across his face and a delicate white herringbone design along the middle of his chest and abdomen. He looked like a trick of the night.
'I hope no one sees you like this. Even I am getting the jitters.' Ashok pretended to shiver and squinted at his watch. 'It is almost one o'clock now. Time for you to climb that roof.'
Without a word, Eketi loped off towards Banerjee's house.
He jumped over the wooden railing around the house effortlessly and clambered on to the roof with the nimbleness of a monkey, his bare feet making no sound. The chimney was quite narrow, but by twisting his body he managed to lower himself inside it, black soot coming off on his hands like powder. Through the strategic placement of hands and legs, the tribal climbed down the chimney and landed on the kitchen counter with a little thud.
It took him only a few seconds to get used to the pitch darkness. He opened the kitchen door and stepped into a gallery. There were three doors to his left. He entered the first one. It was an empty bathroom and there was no sign of the sacred rock in it. He tiptoed out and tried the second door. It was unlocked, but the moment he stepped inside a switch flicked on and his eyes were dazzled with light. He saw a bespectacled old man sitting on the bed, wearing light-blue pyjamas.
'Come in, I've been expecting you,' Banerjee said in Onge, his voice deadpan.
'Where is our ingetayi?' Eketi demanded.
'I will tell you. But first tell me who you are. I know you people can travel out of your bodies. Are you real or are you just a shadow?'
'What difference does it make?'
'You are right,' he said morosely. 'Even dreams can kill. So are you going to kill me for stealing your sacred rock?'
'Onge people are not like Jarawas. Eketi has come only for the stone. Where is it?'
'It is no longer with me. I got rid of it ten days ago.'
'Onerta? Why?'
'Because it is cursed, isn't it? I should have known. It took away my son, my only son.' Banerjee's voice broke.
'What happened?'
'He was studying in America. Two weeks ago, he died in a freak road accident. I know I am to blame. If only I had not taken your ingetayi, Ananda would have been alive,' Banerjee sobbed.
'Who has it now?'
'I will tell you, but on one condition.'
'What?'
'You have to tell me how to bring a dead person back to life.'
Eketi shook his head. 'Even Nokai cannot do that. No one can challenge the will of Puluga.'
'Please, I beg you. My wife is going insane grieving over our son. I cannot continue like this any more,' Banerjee cried with folded hands.
'It is the curse of the onkobowkwe. You have invited it upon yourself,' Eketi shrugged. 'Now tell me who has the ingetayi.'
'No,' Banerjee said with sudden fierceness. 'If you cannot bring my son back to life, then you are not getting your ingetayi either.' With the speed of a cat, he jumped off the bed, darted out of the door and locked himself inside the bathroom.
'Open up.' Eketi banged at the door, but Banerjee refused to open it. Seething with frustration, the tribal made a thorough search of all the other rooms in the house, damaging a couple of cupboards and breaking some porcelain idols in the process, but did not find the sacred rock. In Banerjee's bedroom, however, he discovered a black leather wallet lying on the bedside table. He grabbed it, walked to the front door, undid the latch and let himself out into the garden.
Two minutes later he was back at the milk booth.
'What happened? I saw a light come on. Is everything all right?' Ashok asked breathlessly.
'Yes.'
'But where is the sacred rock?'
'It is not in the house.'
'Not in the house? That means Banerjee must have sold it. Did he give any clue?'
'No. But I brought you this.' Eketi handed over the leather wallet. Ashok flipped it open. There was very little cash inside, but he whistled as he extracted a business card. 'Calcutta Antique Traders,' it said. 'Prop. Sanjeev Kaul. 18B, Park Street, Kolkata 700016.'
'I bet you Banerjee has sold the ingetayi to this dealer,' Ashok declared.
'So how do we get it from him?'
'I will pay him a visit tomorrow.'
'But how do we go back to the hotel? Will we find a taxi now?'
No sooner had the tribal said this than an auto-rickshaw spluttered to life in a nearby alley. They ran towards it. 'Will you take us to Sudder Street?' Ashok asked the driver, a middle-aged man who reeked of alcohol.
The driver looked at him with large eyes, then looked at Eketi, and ran screaming from his vehicle.
Park Street was a modern, upmarket shopping area, full of designer clothes shops and trendy boutiques. Calcutta Antiques turned out to be a fairly big establishment next to a fancy Continental restaurant. Ashok Rajput entered through an ornate brass door to find extensive repair work being done inside the shop. The ceiling was blackened with soot and there was a strong smell of charring. A tall, fair man with an overly long nose looked at him enquiringly.
'What happened here?' Ashok asked.
'We had a devastating fire three days ago. Half our shop burned down. We lost a lot of antiques, but luckily no one was injured.'
'Are you Mr Sanjeev Kaul?'
'Yes. What can I do for you?'
'My name is Ashok Rajput. I am with the Tribal Welfare Agency in the Andamans,' he declared in an officious tone and produced his laminated ID card. 'I am here in connection with the theft of an ancient stone artefact belonging to the Onge tribe. Did Mr S. K. Banerjee sell a shivling to you?'
'Yes. About ten days ago.'
'Do you realize, Mr Kaul, that you are in violation of the Antiquities and Art Treasures Act 1972?'
'Banerjee did not tell me that it was an antiquity from the Andamans.' Kaul frowned. 'Look, I was not aware I was breaking any law. I thought it was just an old rock.'
'I would like to see it.'
'I am sorry, it is no longer with me. Last Monday I sold it to a client of mine from Chennai.'
'Chennai?'
'Yes.'
'Oh no!' said Ashok and balled his hands into fists. 'I want full details of this person to whom you sold the stone.'
Ten minutes later he emerged from the showroom with a slip of paper bearing yet another address. When he returned to the hotel room, Eketi was still sleeping.
'Get up, you bastard, and start packing,' he said.
'Where are we going now?'
'To Chennai,' Ashok replied. 'To meet one Mr S. P. Rajagopal.'
'And how will we go?'
'By train.'
Howrah station was busier than usual because of the festive season. Eketi gazed at the chaos on the platforms, the rows of passengers sprawled on the cold floor, the shrill vendors selling magazines and sodas, and especially the porters in red, their heads loaded with suitcases and boxes. He observed the sweat pouring down their faces and turned to Ashok. 'Why do you people work so hard?'
'Because we don't get free meals like your tribe,' Ashok said scornfully. 'Do you know how much these tickets to Chennai have cost me? This trip is becoming a nightmare.'
'But Eketi is loving it!'
As the train came hurtling towards the platform, Eketi tightened up in alarm. He cowered behind Ashok for a few moments before gingerly stepping inside the sleeper compartment. Women shrank back as soon as he entered, and clutched their handbags nervously. Children looked at him in fear and receded into their fathers. Eketi smiled. A dazzling, pearl-white smile. The train relaxed.