The Tale of Neelima and the Hidden Torpedo
Step into the nostalgic world of 1950s intrigue, humor, and mystery as we unravel the extraordinary tale of Neelima, a seven-foot tuna fish that brought the elite Tuna Club of Avalon to its knees. What starts as a fishing adventure turns into a web of secrets aboard a luxurious floating paradise.
Our Ghanada , stumbles upon more than just a fishing contest. In the shadow of wealthy and arrogant Benito, whose yacht hides a dangerous secret, the lines between humor and danger blur. A series of seemingly ordinary events—from cracked false teeth and marbles in croquettes to underwater torpedoes and clandestine weapons testing—set the stage for a shocking revelation.
Discover how ingenuity triumphs over arrogance as hidden cameras, covert messages, and fearless wit expose a sinister conspiracy. Neelima, once a symbol of the hunters' frustration, becomes the centerpiece of a story where science, betrayal, and courage collide.
Will Ghanada's cunning be enough to escape the grip of the shadowy forces? Will the secrets aboard Benito's yacht change the course of history?
Stay tuned to witness the humor, thrill, and adventure of a lifetime—a story where even false teeth play a starring role. Original story by noted Bengali writer Premendra Mitra.
Couldn’t go fishing after all.
All the planning, preparations, and discussions over so many days went in vain. And to think of the enthusiasm with which everything had been arranged! Such meticulous preparations! Such a flawless strategy for the expedition!
It wasn’t just about fishing; it was practically a military operation.
Shibu was in charge of supplies, Shishir was overseeing the arsenal, and Gour took on the responsibility of transportation.
In other words, Shibu was to ensure a feast, Shishir would arrange the fishing rods, hooks, bait, and lines, while Gour would manage the logistics to reach that mysterious, untouched waterbody where simple, innocent fish were yet to encounter the cunning tricks of humans.
And then it would be all about casting lines and reeling in fish.
For the past few days, the boarding house was abuzz with excitement and anticipation. Heated debates broke out over how to transport the massive haul of fish back, and even whether selling some at the market would be a bad idea. When Shibu proposed this, he faced harsh criticism for his lack of sporting spirit.
"Sell the fish we catch for fun? Might as well start a fish trading business!"
To justify his statement, Shibu even invoked the health department, claiming that bringing back so much fish at once in this humid time of the year could risk public health if they are spoiled. But even this reasoning didn’t save him.
"Why should it?" Shishir snapped.
"We’ll distribute them," Gour suggested generously.
A list of neighbors who could be given fish was promptly drafted.
In the midst of this list-making, Ghanada appeared. Borrowing his three-thousand-six-hundred-sixty-third cigarette from Shishir, he lit it and asked, "So, how’s your Pisces expedition coming along?"
The mention of Pisces initially puzzled us, but we quickly caught on. With Shibu around, we weren’t ones to be outsmarted. Pisces, of course, is the Latin name for the zodiac sign of fish. Laughing, we replied, "Almost there! You could say we’ve brought your astrological fish sign right to our courtyard."
In our excitement, we shared our plans about the innocent, well-behaved fish in that extraordinary pond.
But Ghanada merely smirked.
"So, you’re not going fishing, are you?" His words felt like a jab.
"What do you mean? What else would we be doing?"
"Say it – you’re going killing, not fishing. There’s a difference, you know. Fishing is a sport; killing is just murder. Catching a fish that doesn’t even know how to play the game is not fishing—it’s outright murder."
His words didn’t sit well with us. Picking a flaw, we retorted, "Why would the fish know how to play? It’s humans who teach them to play along."
"In games, games – even fish play along. And if the fish is skilled enough, it plays with humans instead. If the fish isn't a player, then casting a line is pointless. But where do you find such skilled fish these days? The last one I saw was Neelima."
"Neelima!" We were astonished.
"Yes, Neelima. I named her myself. Not a girl, but a fish. Deep blue on top, smoky silver underneath. A solid seven feet of a spectacular tuna. I don't know if you've heard of Avalon, a town in California. The sport of catching tuna with a fishing rod from a motorboat originated there. But that year, Neelima brought the entire town to its knees.
Where seasoned tuna hunters gathered, at Avalon's famous Tuna Club, there was complete silence. Neelima had defeated them all, leaving the entire town heartbroken. Neelima would approach the bait without hesitation, but only to mock the hunter. She would play, dance, and exhaust the poor fisherman until, in the end, she would somehow cut the fishing line and escape without anyone noticing. People even started a rumor in Avalon that Neelima wasn’t a fish but a mermaid in disguise that year."
"You were on a trip, and the seasoned hunters who admitted defeat to Neelima—didn’t you amaze them by catching her not with a motorboat but from the shore, and not with a reel but a simple hand-held rod?" Gour cut off Ghanada’s story mid-sentence and continued on, adding, "And why tell this story again? It was even in the newspapers. We’ve read it."
Gour looked at us for support, and like puppets, we nodded in agreement. But by then, it was clear to us that the situation had spiraled out of control.
Perhaps Gour's intention was to quickly wrap up Ghanada’s story while keeping him happy. But the result was quite the opposite.
"No, you didn’t read it," Ghanada said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You couldn’t have read it. Because what you’ve made up never happened. And nothing about it was ever allowed in the papers."
"Listen, Ghanada, listen."
But listen? By then, Ghanada was already climbing the stairs to his attic room.
We all turned on Gour in anger.
"You’ve ruined everything."
"Ruined? I was only trying to help," Gour defended himself pitifully. "Who knew he’d get upset instead of happy hearing it was in the papers? Besides, I needed to meet the station wagon guy this morning. If Ghanada’s story started rolling, it wouldn’t have stopped before noon!"
We couldn’t blame Gour entirely. With all the chaos surrounding our fishing preparations, we all secretly agreed it would be better to postpone Ghanada’s story.
But Ghanada’s mood was not to be softened.
Once he got upset, no one could straighten him out. Though he had no objections to our fishing trip earlier, and even promised to join and guide us, he hadn’t explicitly withdrawn his promise yet. But his behavior left us worried.
Our expedition was planned for Sunday! On Friday, Ghanada didn’t leave his room the entire day. Food was sent upstairs, and we heard he had a cold. By Saturday morning, the cold had escalated to a fever, and by night, we were informed of toothache.
"Toothache?" We exchanged puzzled looks at the dinner table.
Immediately after dinner, we gathered in Shishir’s room downstairs, behind closed doors, to hold a meeting. By then, it was clear that Ghanada had devised a scheme to ruin all our fun. But we were determined—whether Ghanada joined or not, we were going fishing. And before that, we needed to outwit him a little.
The next morning, just before 7 AM, we all marched into Ghanada’s room, armed with a plate of freshly fried hot "croquettes."
"What’s the matter, Ghanada? Haven’t come downstairs in three days. You’re upset with us or what?"
“How can I go!” Ghanada sighed. Whether it was aimed at us or the plate of croquettes, it was hard to tell.
“Yes, with a toothache, it wouldn’t be wise to go,” we said, feigning sympathy. “But at least you could taste these croquettes for us. After all, it’s our fate. Let’s go, guys.”
Seeing us about to leave with the plate, Ghanada couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Well, if you’re insisting so much, give me one to try,” he said reluctantly.
We pretended to hesitate. “But with that toothache…”
Gour swung the plate tantalizingly close to Ghanada’s nose.
Snatching the plate from Gour’s hands with a resigned air, Ghanada said, as if making a great sacrifice, “Toothache or not, I have a responsibility. I can’t join you, but I also can’t let you carry on with nonsense without checking.”
The first bite went smoothly. Then the second bite—crack!
We all gasped in unison.
On one side, a large marble had rolled out of the croquette onto the floor. On the other, two false teeth had flown out of Ghanada’s mouth and landed on the plate.
With wide eyes fixed on the scene, Gour asked sweetly, “These don’t seem real. Do false teeth ache too?”
Was Ghanada flustered?
Of course not! That was just our imagination.
With a gap-toothed grin filled with patient dignity, Ghanada picked up the dislodged teeth, reattached them to his mouth, and said, “No, they don’t.”
Then his voice deepened mysteriously. “But what you foolish kids witnessed today—if it had been revealed to the world at the time, it could have changed the very face of this planet. If I hadn’t gotten these raw teeth replaced, and if I hadn’t found the clue from Neelima, the history of the world would have taken a very different course.”
He paused dramatically before continuing. “I’ve mentioned Avalon before. But I didn’t tell you where it is. It’s a small town on Santa Catalina Island, just off the western coast of California.
"If I hadn’t replaced my broken teeth that day and hadn’t discovered the clue from Neelima, the history of the world would have been written differently."
Neelima again! We grew restless, ready to leave the room.
But Ghanada kept going, "These two false teeth saved humanity that day from the greedy clutches of a fledgling empire.
I mentioned Avalon earlier but didn’t say where it is. It’s a small town on Santa Catalina Island, off the western coast of California. The entire island resembles a flat-bellied fish swimming southward, with Avalon as its eye. I didn’t visit Avalon for leisure; I went there at the call of an old friend, De Costa. Of course, I didn’t expect to find him under the name ‘De Costa.’ Like Lord Krishna with his hundred names, De Costa had countless aliases and disguises. But whatever his name or appearance, his nature never changed—wherever there’s trouble, there’s De Costa. How many dangers we’ve faced together in our lives, I’ve lost count. Even recently, after the mysterious disappearance of one of the greatest scientists, Anthony Fisher, we risked our lives searching for him. We didn’t succeed, which remains a stain on us. So, when I received an urgent coded telegram from De Costa, I rushed to Avalon. He hadn’t mentioned his current alias in the message, but he knew I would find him regardless."
As Ghanada paused to catch his breath, we heard the horn of the station wagon downstairs. Restlessness gnawed at us.
"Alright, then," Gour stood up, ready to leave, but that’s all he managed before Ghanada picked up again.
"As soon as I reached Avalon, I tracked down De Costa. But not alive. De Costa had drowned off the western coast of Santa Catalina the day before I arrived. Some local fishermen had recovered his shark-bitten body from the sea. No one in Avalon could identify him as De Costa. A few people recognized him under the alias ‘Miller,’ the name he had been using there.
De Costa’s death seemed suspicious to me. He wasn’t the kind of man to drown while swimming for fun. What had brought him here? And why had he called me?
With De Costa gone, who could uncover this mystery? Still, I re-read the coded telegram he had sent. De Costa was always careful. Even deciphering the telegram, there was nothing overtly suspicious. It read, ‘The tuna fish of Avalon is every hunter’s dream. If you’re coming, come quickly.’
The telegram offered no clue to any real mystery. Could it be that there was no mystery at all? Perhaps the coded message was just his sense of humor, and he had invited me for a short holiday to go tuna fishing. It was possible.
But something about that explanation didn’t sit right with me. A man like De Costa didn’t understand the concept of holidays. To them, chasing mysteries was their vacation, their life.
So, perhaps the clue to the mystery lay hidden somewhere in the tuna hunting itself.
At that time, in Avalon, Neelima was the sole topic of conversation. Whether in the streets, markets, or shops, there was no other subject. So, I had to visit the Tuna Club. I rented a motorboat, took a fishing rod, and went tuna hunting one day. I even encountered Neelima, and, as expected, met with humiliation. Just when I was about to reel her into the boat, Neelima somehow cut the steel-like fishing line and escaped.
That made me even more determined. But after one day, two days, and three days of being completely humiliated by Neelima, I decided not to go out for fishing on the fourth day. Instead, I rented a motor launch and traveled to Newport, California. There, I joined a sport where divers hunt fish with spears underwater. After spending a day in that thrilling game, I returned to the Tuna Club, only to be mocked.
“Hey, Negro! Had your fill of tuna hunting? Where did you run off to?”
The taunt came from none other than Benito, the wealthiest member of the club. His massive, rhinoceros-like figure was as unpleasant as his arrogance. With his vast wealth, Benito didn’t consider anyone other than his white peers to be human, let alone someone like me.
Receiving no response from me, Benito walked over to my table, placed one of his gorilla-like hands on my back with a loud slap, and bared his radish-like teeth in a grin. “You should stick to catching clams in the mud, got it? You’re as good a hunter as you are a man.”
And with that, another heavy-handed slap followed.
Still, I didn’t respond, just smiled faintly.
Disgusted, Benito finally left me alone.
Most Americans bow down to wealth, but not all are heartless. I realized that many were upset by Benito’s unprovoked rudeness. Some even expressed their anger to me. “What kind of person are you? Why did you tolerate that brute’s bullying?”
I laughed and said, “What bullying? That’s just how the rich joke around. A man who owns a colossal personal yacht and travels the world—imagine how much money he must have! If such people don’t see us as mere insects, who else will they treat that way? Besides, if I keep him happy, I might get invited to one of his yacht parties someday.”
My American friends scowled and left, clearly disappointed in me. I realized I had lost whatever little respect they had for me.
But surprisingly, I did receive an invitation to one of Benito’s yacht parties a few days later.
Before that, I had one more dive in the sea with the diving suit I had brought from Newport. Some desperate tuna hunters were still trying to catch Neelima. A few had taken their motorboats out that day as well.
It was on that day that I finally understood the secret of Neelima’s invincibility—and, along with it, the mystery behind De Costa’s death.
But the real mystery, which I hadn't even begun to suspect, became as clear as water on the night of Benito's yacht party.
The yacht wasn’t just a vessel—it was a floating paradise. Everyone from the Tuna Club, along with all the prominent figures of Avalon, had been invited. The enormous upper deck glittered under the glow of colorful lights. Music, dancing, food, and revelry continued non-stop.
The festivities were supposed to last all night, but at 12:30 AM, everything came to a sudden halt. In an instant, the lively crowd on the deck froze like wooden puppets. Only Benito’s harsh, booming voice broke the silence:
"Friends, it pains me to inform you that among us tonight is a vile, despicable thief who has taken advantage of being a guest here to commit a heinous act. I carry some highly valuable documents and items with me on this yacht. Just now, I’ve discovered that someone used the revelry as an opportunity to sneak into my secure storeroom and tamper with it. Though they may have entered, I am certain they haven’t escaped this yacht. They will be caught.
I’m compelled to end tonight’s festivities here. Arrangements will be made shortly to transport you back to the shore. But before you leave, I would greatly appreciate it if, for the sake of your own dignity, each of you would voluntarily identify yourself and prove that you do not possess any of my stolen items.”
Of course, the search yielded nothing, and, as expected, when all the other guests had left, the only name that remained was mine.
I was seated in one of the yacht’s cabins. I couldn’t remember how many cigarettes I had smoked. But as soon as I heard someone grip the handle of the cabin door from outside, I stood up, warmly welcomed the visitor, and said, “Come in, Benito. I’ve been waiting for you! Is that why it took you so long—because you were busy searching?”
His face now looked no different from that of a gorilla, except for the color. But even this expression he managed to suppress. A predator cat doesn’t immediately bite and devour the mouse it has trapped.
Benito approached me with an eerie, sinister grin. I could tell by the look on his face that he was ecstatic at having the chance to exact his vengeance slowly and thoroughly.
“You’ve got guts, sneaking into the snake’s den. But what’s the point of such courage? Do you think you can escape?”
His final words betrayed his barely contained rage. Still, I smiled and replied, “Why would I want to escape? Your yacht is so luxurious and comfortable.”
As I was about to sit down, Benito yanked me to my feet with one swift pull, grinding his teeth in fury. “I’ll show you comfort, but first, let’s see where you’ve hidden it!”
I raised my arms nonchalantly. Benito meticulously searched me from head to toe but found nothing. Furious, he roared, “You think you can hide it somewhere now and smuggle it out later when you get the chance? Not happening!”
“Like De Costa—huh? How does that sound?”
For a moment, Benito flinched, startled, and then grew even more ferocious. “Yes, like De Costa! He, too, came here trying to expose the secrets of this yacht.”
“So, there is a secret to this yacht? I only saw a bundle of papers in that hidden compartment you mentioned.”
“So, you’ve touched those papers, then?” Benito’s rage was escalating rapidly.
“Yes, I did go through them, but you’ve already checked and counted; I didn’t take anything, did I?”
My calm demeanor seemed to irritate Benito even more.
“Even if you didn’t take anything, how can I trust you didn’t copy it down?”
“Oh, come on! That bundle of convoluted math? You think I’d copy all that in such a short time?”
“Whatever you did, there’s no escape for you. Nobody who learns this yacht’s secrets leaves alive. I’m arranging for you to join De Costa as a shark’s meal. Though I doubt even the sharks would touch your scrawny meat!”
“Then why don’t you serve them the kind of meat they would enjoy—like yours?”
What happened next is hard to describe. Benito, like a crazed gorilla—or perhaps a raging bull, or a mix of the two—lunged at me.
I calmly dusted off my shirt, lit another cigarette, and said, “There’s a lot I owe you, Benito. Why rush?”
Benito, who had fallen in a heap at the corner of the cabin, slowly got up and advanced toward me cautiously this time, having realized that haste wouldn’t work.
When he got close enough, he tried to grab me with his vice-like hands, but he collapsed and stayed down. The blow he took earlier was harder than I had anticipated.
I lifted him up and placed him gently on the sofa in the cabin.
The next moment, I saw his pistol aimed directly at me. Taking advantage of the moment when I was helping him, Benito had pulled it out of his pocket.
“Now, you devil!” His grin was as sinister as the devil’s itself. “Tell me, what did you do?”
He got up and cautiously moved toward me this time, having realized that haste would achieve nothing.
As he came close, he tried to grab me with his vice-like hands, but the moment he fell, he couldn’t get back up. I hadn’t expected the blow to be that powerful.
I picked him up by the waist and placed him on the sofa in the cabin.
The very next moment, I saw his pistol aimed at me. While I was helping him up, he had taken the opportunity to pull it out of his pocket.
“This is it, devil!” Benito’s grin was as sinister as his words. “Tell me, what did you do with the documents in my safe?”
Taking a drag on my cigarette, I replied, “What’s the point in saying? Whether I tell you or not, the result will be the same. I’m going to die anyway.”
“If you tell me the truth, I might give you a chance.”
“What’s the chance?” I asked.
“The chance to swim to the island from this yacht.”
Smiling, I said, “Isn’t that the same chance you gave De Costa? But the sharks around here seem awfully hungry.”
“Still joking?” Benito shouted. “Do you think this pistol is a joke?”
“Foolish,” I replied, “especially in the hands of an amateur like you. But what if what I’m about to tell you makes you even angrier?”
“Say it anyway!” Benito growled.
“Well, listen. Since you’re not going to let me go, I’ve already photographed all your documents.”
“You’ve photographed them?” Benito’s voice trembled with rage.
“Yes, precise microphotographs—every single page.”
With great effort, Benito composed himself and asked, “Where are these photos?”
“They’re no longer on this yacht.”
“Not on the yacht!” Benito leapt to his feet in a frenzy. “Where have you hidden them?”
“Hidden? Why would I hide them? I’ve already sent them away. You’re testing remote-controlled weapons here, right? And in your arrogance, you couldn’t resist using that underwater torpedo to cut the lines of tuna hunters’ fishing rods, making Neelima invincible and leaving everyone awestruck. I used that same torpedo to send the photos to the Newport coast. The people I’ve alerted will retrieve it from the shore tomorrow morning and extract the photos from it.”
“Lies!” Benito screamed in a mix of anguish and disbelief. “No one but one person knows how to operate that torpedo.”
“The one who knows is the one who operated it!” This voice wasn’t mine—it came from behind Benito.
A lean, dignified elderly man with a calm yet stern demeanor stood behind Benito, holding a pistol to his back. Benito, lost in his fury, hadn’t noticed when the man had approached him.
In his disoriented state, Benito stammered, “A-Anthony…?”
"Yes, I am Anthony Fisher," the man replied. "The unfortunate, disgraced scientist whom you abducted and imprisoned, forcing me to work like a slave for five long years. I am weak, I fear death, and because of that fear, I complied with your demands like a coward. Not only did you make me develop remote-controlled weapons, but you also forced me to write down the calculations for a cobalt bomb—a weapon no one in the world has yet been able to create. But now, those calculations are no longer solely yours. You will no longer be able to use them to threaten the world. That is my only solace.
And I must thank this man," he continued, pointing to me, "for saving me from being a mere puppet in the hands of these monsters."
Taking the pistol from Benito’s hand, I said, "Don’t thank me—thank De Costa. It was his sacrifice that led to the unraveling of this mystery."
"It’s only now that I fully understand," Fisher said, "that De Costa’s cryptic telegram was meant for you. I never realized before that the reference to tuna hunting was hiding my name—Anthony Fisher—within it."
"But how—how did you take the photographs?" Benito asked, unable to suppress his curiosity even in his state of despair. "I’ve secretly kept track of every item brought aboard this yacht. No camera, big or small, was ever seen with you. Where was your camera?"
"You still don’t understand, even after hearing my explanation?" I asked.
"Explain?" Benito suddenly realized the meaning behind my words and collapsed to the floor in shock.
"Yes, I knew bringing a visible camera would immediately arouse suspicion. That’s why I devised a way to remain completely undetected. My false teeth were the hidden camera. Those very teeth, with the photographs, were sent via the torpedo. If my gap-toothed explanation still doesn’t make sense, I apologize."
What my earlier blow couldn’t achieve, my final words did. Benito fainted, collapsing entirely.
The torpedo successfully delivered the hidden photographs to their intended location. From the very next day, Benito and his yacht were nowhere to be seen around Santa Catalina.
As for the Tuna Club, they also lost one of their most infamous members, someone whom they had once held in deep contempt.
Ghanada paused his story.
By then, there was no time left for our fishing trip.
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