We were not in a hurry to go out, so we waited until we’d had some tea. Then we set off in Lalmohan Babu’s car and I could see for myself the devastation caused by the storm. I had seen the press report that mentioned the number of uprooted trees, but had been unable to believe it. Now I counted nineteen trees—in some places, a number of branches—lying on the ground by the time we reached Park Street. Three of them were in Southern Avenue alone. It was staggering, although many of the fallen branches had been cleared away.

As we reached the entrance to the Park Street cemetery (Feluda told us where we were going only when we reached Camac Street), I happened to glance at Lalmohan Babu. He appeared a bit subdued. Feluda looked enquiringly at him. ‘In 1941,’ Lalmohan Babu explained, ‘I was in Ranchi. There I saw an Englishman being buried. When the coffin was lowered into the grave, and they threw clods of earth ... ugh, the sound they made was terrible!’

‘You won’t have to hear that sound here,’ Feluda assured him. ‘There is no chance. In the last one hundred and twenty-five years, no one has been buried in this cemetery.’

The chowkidar’s room was to the right of the entrance. Anyone was free to enter the cemetery during the day, so presumably the chowkidar had little to do. ‘The only thing he must ensure,’ Feluda said, ‘is that no one makes off with a marble plaque. Genuine Italian marble would fetch a good price. Chowkidar!’

The man came out of his room. His appearance told us instantly that he hailed from Bihar. He was chewing tobacco; perhaps he had just put it in his mouth.

‘Was a Bengali Babu injured here yesterday? Hit by a falling tree?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can we see that spot?’

‘Go down that path ... right up to the end. Then if you turn left, you’ll see it. The tree is still lying there.’

We went down the paved path he indicated— overgrown with grass—and walked through rows of tombs. They were all twelve or fourteen feet high. At some distance, to our right, was a tomb as high as a three-storeyed house. Feluda said it was probably the tomb of the scholar, William Jones. It was the tallest tomb in Calcutta.

Each tomb had either a white or a black marble plaque, with the dead person’s date of birth, the date on which he died and some other facts. Some large plaques had brief details of the person’s entire life. Most tombstones rose like columns. Their bases were broad, but they tapered off as they rose higher. ‘These are spooks in burkhas!’ proclaimed Lalmohan Babu. He was right in a way, except that these spooks were quite immobile. They were more like spooky guards, protecting the being that was buried underground, encased in a coffin.