Mumbo-Jumbo Mania

A pair of eyes gleamed at me through the incense smoke. After a gap of a second or so, a fine set of white teeth sparkled through the greyness. Then a disembodied voice said, "I am sorry. You are going through a bad phase now. Your planets have gone and misaligned themselves, bad boys that they are..." If I was looking for sympathy in that voice, my search would be in vain, for the voice hinted of untold pleasures and unmistakable glee. I let out my breath through pursed lips, disrupting the smoke's lazy ascent to the ceiling. Suddenly I noticed that beads of sweat were now collecting themselves into a mighty stream and had overcome the barrier of my eyebrows and were hovering on the tips of my eyelashes. I fished out the handkerchief and thwarted the attempts of the salty river to blind me.

My relief was palpable. Planetary misalignment was a mere trifle. Planets are obedient characters. A prayer or so would move mighty Jupiter back into his path and a few more prayers or a lamp or so would make the dangerous Saturn shed the extra ring or so. I had feared that something more sinister than planetary whims were at play behind my misfortunes, such as mortal human beings a hundred thousand millionth the size of these planets casting a spell on me. Spells are dreaded in this part of the world. A single spell would stop the favourable planet dead in his tracks and send Mr. Good Fortune packing. But planets... Bah! They are just pawns in the celestial game of chess that astrologers play.

Having made the statement of the day, the astrologer looked to me for deliverance. I spoke the words he was waiting to hear, "What is to be done?" The glint in his eye was replaced by a professional matter-of-fact look. He outlined his plans. A visit to an unheard-of temple in a nondescript village in the remotest part of the State, where he would invoke the Lord Saturn, followed by a feast to the villagers and generous offerings of food, clothing and other goodies such as jewellery to the priest (who would be one other than the present speaker, the astrologer). The plan seemed foolproof. I could get away with an expenditure of a few thousands of rupees. What's years of good fortune compared to a little loose change like this? I approved of the plan. Only the awareness of his position as a respectable astrologer prevented the man from jumping to the ceiling faster than the rising smoke and shouting, "Whoopee!"

Three weeks later, I had a nasty fight with my girlfriend and we broke up. Then the examination department of my college told me that I was dangerously close to falling short of attendance. The few Universities which I hoped would offer a seat to a moron like myself responded by invoking some technicalities and thus denied me admission. To add to the growing list, my boss called me up and said a monosyllabalic "No" to my request for a pay hike so that my joining the company would become meaningful. So that evening I stormed into the astrologer's house and confronted him with the situation. He gave me the look of a man who was expecting it all to happen.

Then the incense got the better of me. My reverance for the planets and the spells and all associated stuff returned with a bang. I waited until he rolled his dice and did some random mathematical calculations on the floor using a piece of chalk. In the meanwhile I weondered if I could also communicate with the planets by using the above-described methods, and whether couching these actions in scientific terms would win me one of the most famous patents in history. While I mused thus, the man finished his interplanetary voyage and prepared to speak. I was reminded of what some Shakespearan character told another about the Oracle and his listeners - that the listeners wait so anxiously for words of wisdom to flow from the mouth of the Oracle, but when the words do flow, the listeners feel like fools for having waited. I could now empathise with these ancient listeners and mulled over the fact that the practice of astrology hadn't changed over the millennia, the world over.

The man did speak eventually. The disembodied voice said, "You will have a bad time till the 26th of May. After that, you will have a good time. In the meanwhile, there is something you can do (with my help, of course)...." Shakespeare was so right. We listeners end up as fools. The Bard should take the place of these Oracles or astrologers or whatnot with his sharp prophetic insights. However, since Shakespeare died a few centuries ago, fools like me have to make do with the available stock of astrologers. This time I was having none of it. The incense began to choke me and the vermillion smeared on his forehead began to look more like part of a clown's ensemble. Without the atmosphere, the astrologer was nothing. From the Master of Planets, he had now dwindled to the position of a Nobody. I stormed up from my seated position. Fearing the worst, he let loose the secret of my misfortunes, "Your great-great-great grandfather was cursed by his second wife on her deathbed. The curse has to be broken...."

I sat back on the mat. The incense began to intoxicate me again. The vermillion on his forehead looked more intimidating than ever before. I spoke to his now-smiling countenance, "What can be done now?".....