{"id":1541,"date":"2012-05-31T20:47:50","date_gmt":"2012-05-31T20:47:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=1541"},"modified":"2012-06-11T14:57:39","modified_gmt":"2012-06-11T14:57:39","slug":"the-astrologer-by-debashish-majumdar","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/the-astrologer-by-debashish-majumdar\/","title":{"rendered":"The Astrologer by Debashish Majumdar"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/h1>\n

?The? Astrologer<\/h1>\n

?by Debashish Majumdar<\/p>\n

??? It was my friend Usha who introduced me to the new arrival in our locality.??The astrologer was old, looked wise and he wore a saffron robe. He sat on a charpoy under a banyan tree, sheaves of paper stacked under his folded legs. A well fed green parrot cackled inside a rusted cage. Women of different shapes and sizes, huddled together close to him on a coir mat battling the summer heat.<\/p>\n

He sent these hope-pregnant women smiling, touching and kissing his dirty feet.<\/p>\n

Well, I was here because my husband was not keeping well of late. He had suffered a heart attack a month back. Usha was convinced that this astrologer was a very accurate one. He had predicted that she would benefit from a? windfall any day soon. Usha had bought a lottery ticket. She reaped five hundred rupees! She was sure his prophesy was on the way to blossom.<\/p>\n

The astrologer made us wait. He would bob his head and half-smile. Finally, my turn arrived. He asked me my birth time, date and place of birth. He neatly stacked a bundle of cards on the charpoy. He opened the door of the bird cage which creaked noisily. The parrot hopped out. The bird took a few unsteady steps towards the pile. It dragged out a card with its red beak. It fluttered its wings excitedly. The astrologer patted the bird, stroked its feathery neck and pushed it back to the cage in a jiffy. He held up the forecast card for us to see.<\/p>\n

There was an illustration of Yama, the God of Death. My heart lost a few beats.<\/p>\n

The astrologer pierced into my eyes gravely. He apologized profusely.<\/p>\n

He declared that my husband will not live beyond Sunday. He glanced at the parrot, his Guru.
\n??
\nOh God, why did I have to come here? There was a strange feeling inside. I could not even speak to Usha. She buzzed consoling words into my deaf ears. I sped home in an auto rickshaw.<\/p>\n

My husband was humming A.R. Rahman?s Oscar winning tune, Jai Ho. He looked up at me surprised. I recalled that I had not shown him affection even once in the past year. For the first time, I was gripped with fear.<\/p>\n

Strangely ,the next morning, he opened his steel almirah. He showed his death insurance policy and other finacial papers to me.? I was choking with tears.<\/p>\n

The evening melted into a pool of tears for me and a sea of darkness That fateful Sunday, I lost my sleep. I lay awake watching his heaving chest. Night melted into dawn. My hubby had survived.<\/p>\n

That bloody astrologer! My anxiety turned to rage. I reached the banyan tree. The charpoy was brimming with wailing women. Usha was there, her hesitant voice tugging at my senses.<\/p>\n

? Oh, my husband? He?s fine!?<\/p>\n

? The astrologer,? Usha dabbed her face with a handkerchief, ? He died last night.?<\/p>\n

The parrot had flown. His empty steel cage lay upturned upon the parched earth.<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was my friend Usha who introduced me to the new arrival in our locality. The astrologer was old, looked wise and he wore a saffron robe. He sat on a charpoy under a banyan tree, sheaves of paper stacked under his folded legs. A well fed green parrot cackled inside a rusted cage. Women of different shapes and sizes, huddled together close to him on a coir mat battling the summer heat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[86],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1541","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-featured"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1541","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1541"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1541\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1550,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1541\/revisions\/1550"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1541"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1541"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1541"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}