The Howrah Bridge Palmist

I’ve already published five stories by Ghetufoool (that’s his pen-name) here. He’s kindly given permission for me to publish “The Palmist”, possibly his best. Five years ago I designed a cover for a projected book of his stories. He had an objection—see comments below. But never mind that, at least six of his stories will appear in the e-book of the blog, and we’ll keep the cover design for that section, with his real name in big letters.

It’s been almost two hours since Anando set up his stall as usual with his parrot and his cards, on the famous Howrah Bridge which links Calcutta to Howrah over the Hooghly River. Business has been sluggish since he started at eight o’clock this morning. People don’t come like they used to. It’s all office-workers these days, for example the pot-bellied lazy babus, government clerks. For most of them the motto is: “Whatever you’d planned for today can always put off till tomorrow.” And what is uppermost in their minds? To discuss the country’s sad plight. The country’s on the road to hell; our sacred soil is being poisoned by global seed companies; and so on.

The ones who cross the bridge most hastily are the educated yet low-paid workers. These are the ones who burn out their life’s flame toiling for the rich but unschooled businessmen of Burabazar.

Anando enjoys his well-established perch on this bridge. He’s the prophet of doom looking with scorn on the self-satisfied. From his scant knowledge of the sacred books, he knows the world is Maya, illusion, and he never fails to preach this doctrine whilst he reads his clients’ palms. To him it’s an absorbing game: a cosmic game of chess!

For twenty years, he has been sitting here daily, becoming quite well-known to the office-wallahs on their daily pilgrimage. Some even wave as they pass, but Anando merely smiles. For a grave astrologer, waving is a little frivolous. The prestige of the craft must be upheld. He never tires of watching the expression on each face. Years of perseverance and observation tell him instantly when a man is getting a rough deal; when he’s dreaming of a better future and ready for change. Certain lines on a man’s face betray the precious knowledge that the fruit is ripe. This is the point where Anando begins. With red burning eyes he stares directly at a selected victim, tracking him unblinkingly through the crowd, till the man manages to disappear at the turn. The man tries to avoid such stares for a week or two, till one day he steals a glance at the palmist, to find that Anando’s eyes, full of secret knowledge, are already riveted upon him. His rich treasure of prophecy is ready for delivery. Who else but this seer, placed by Fate across his path, can speak of the evils which threaten the luckless man, and show him the royal road to future prosperity?

Like a deer-calf transfixed at the sight of a lion, he approaches the astrologer in a hypnotic trance and spreads his palm. His eyes are scared, brimful with a thousand questions!

Anando lets the parrot out of its cage, whereupon it picks up a card in its beak and places it in his hands. You can see Anando’s eyes glitter, whilst a thousand worry-lines ripple across his face. He looks at the card, then the palm. Finally he stares directly at his victim’s eyes. The man, pale and lifeless now, surrenders to the all-knowing sage. 

Today, Destiny brings a unique customer, unlike any who have gone before.

It’s been a lean day. Anando has failed to hook anybody so far. He’s pretty much given up by the time the girl stops in front of him. She looks about thirteen, but the lines on her forehead speak of things she has seen past her age.

“Are you the famous astronomer who sits in this bridge?” she asks.

“Why, yes, I am the astrologer. I have been here for twenty years and have solved problems of many famous people, so you can call me famous, in a way.” Anando finds himself pleased to be called ‘famous’.

“Can you solve my problem?”

“Anything, anything you want. I can make your exam results good. I can make you beautiful as a filmstar. I can get you a good husband when you’re grown up and ready for marriage. Anything you want, milady. Think of me as a genie. You wear my amulet and it will spell magic.”

“I don’t want good results, I don’t want a good husband, I don’t even want to be beautiful,” says the girl with a shrug and a hint of sadness.

Anando is perplexed. What this girl wants? What other dream a girl her age can have?

“What you want to know lady? I can answer to all your questions. Tell me what is ailing you?”

“Can you tell from the lines of my palm when we are going to get peace in our house?”

“Peace?” Anando was outwitted. “Why, what happened to your house?”

“They quarrel all the time.”

“Who?”

“Papa and Mummy. Papa comes drunk in the evening and beats Mum. Mummy in turn beats us.”

“Why he beats her? Isn’t she his wife? It’s a sin. When they got married they swore by the fire-god that they will stay together and take care of each other.”

“Papa says Mummy has something going on with somebody else, which is not true. Mummy says the same to him, which also is untrue. They don’t like each other. Do they even like us? I am not sure, but after beating me, they cry together. Papa hugs me and my sister and apologises again and again. I don’t know why they need to beat us. I am the eldest. If they beat me, that’s fine, I am fourteen. I have seen their love. But my sister is only five, and they are beating her also. It was not like this earlier. They were caring and loving. We were happy. Then the mill closed down. Papa became unemployed.

“I love them, but I love my sister the most. I take care of her as if she were my daughter. If peace returns, everything will be fine. Can your amulets bring peace to my house? I have only five rupees with me. Granny gave us five rupees each when she visited us. I am giving you my five rupees, since I cannot give my sister’s. I am saving it to give her when she is grown up.”

“Show me your palms, maa.”

The girl spreads her palms in front of Anando. He takes her hands and examines them minutely with a magnifying glass. He doesn’t have much knowledge of astrology or palmistry, but what he does know has been well ripened after twenty years in the business. He looks at the girl’s fragmented fate line. The palm is coarse, evidence that the girl does regular household chores: washing dishes and much more. How can parents be so insensitive to their children? They should keep their problems to themselves, not engulf their kids in the fire. Anando has chosen to remain a bachelor. Fortune-teller as he is, he’s unsure of his own future, not confident that he can take care of a family. But now, with this girl’s palm lying full of trust in his hand, his eyes become moist.. Oh, if this can be his own daughter: he’ll treat her like a princess!

Several broken lines criss-cross the girl’s palm. It doesn’t take a professional to tell that she’s not happy, that she lacks mental peace. Oh, the bastards!

In all his experience, it’s unprecedented for a client to come for a greater cause than her own fantasy, curiosity or vanity. It’s not his usual “victim” who stands before him now. This one really needs help.

Twenty years of observing and interacting with the human species have given Anando some knowledge of its psyche, which he invariably uses to turn to his own advantage. He hits his clients where it hurts most, then sells them amulets and rings at a premium.

He feels a burden of responsibility to solve this defenceless girl’s problem. Her problem has become his. Peace in the household, that’s what she needs. But how?

It’s taking longer than usual to check her lines. Anando is playing for time. Wresting a living from the dingy sidewalk of this bridge, he’s no stranger to quick thinking, but none of the solutions which flash into his mind are good enough. The girl’s getting anxious: “Are my lines so bad? Is my future very bleak? Is there no chance then?”

“No, oh no milady, your palms are those of a princess. You will be a very famous woman one day. The entire world will bow to you. You have the palms of Indira Gandhi. You could be the prime minister, I swear,” pontificates Anando, his eyes round and bulging in excitement.

The girl is mollified for a while, gives him more time to inspect, another five minutes. But then she becomes impatient again: “Please! Can there be peace in the house, or not?”

“Oh yes, absolutely. I see a united loving family, as it used to be.”

“Will father get his job back? Can the mill open again?”

“Definitely, oh definitely. I see your father becoming the supervisor of the mill. It’s clearly written in the lines on your palms.”

The girl is smiling now. “Please show me which one is the line for that!” Anando shows her the heart-line, a beautiful curve with no gaps or islands. Oh, she has a heart of gold! thinks Anando. In her gladness, she grants him more time to ponder.

And now an idea comes to Anando, surely a brilliant one. Twenty years of psychological observation, hustling on the ruthless street, have taught him one thing: hit where it hurts the most.

“Listen, girl. I’ve consulted the lines of your palms. It took time but I was meditating and discussing with my Gods about you. They also analysed the planetary position on your palm and whispered in my ears the solution. You have to be stern to your parents. You have to threaten them.”

“Threaten? Me? How can I threaten them? I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Oh no darling, there are several kinds of threatening. I am suggesting you use the weapon that only children can. Your parents love you, right?”

“They do.”

“Then tell them if they don’t stop fighting each other, their daughters will die. The planetary position on your palms tells me that somebody needs to be sacrificed for the peace to prevail. Tell them if they don’t stop fighting with each other, they have to pay a hefty price. The Gods are very angry over the elders of the house.

“See the result then. When you utter these words, they will stop fighting with each other. Peace and good fortune will return to your house. The evil airs will disperse and your Papa will be allowed his job back. Come back to me after that. Don’t tell them my name. Just say a famous astrologer has made this prediction. And please, take back your money. I’ll only accept it when the work is done.”

A month passes without Anando seeing the girl. It’s not like a small village, where you know everyone. It’s Calcutta! Every day, a vast human tide—a million in fact—cross and recross the Howrah Bridge. Individual faces become a blur, their features and their histories rubbed smooth in Anando’s memory like pebbles on a beach. He continues to play his game, selecting victims from the throng and reeling them in like a patient fisherman.

One day he’s approached by a man he’s not previously seen. He’s never seen anyone look more like a zombie: as if some wretched evildoer has sucked out the life and left the body to rot. He moves heavily, dragging his body, the perfect fodder for Anando’s flimflammery. But, before he can bait his hook, the man comes straight up to him, taking a five-rupee note from his pocket.

“My daughter told me to pay this money to an astrologer. She didn’t say who, so I want to give it to you. Please accept, or she would be very sad. It’s her own money. She had saved it for a long time.”

Anando is not used to being offered money like this. Usually he extracts it only with hard work and low cunning. His day is starting well. He’s curious to know more, but the man is clearly anxious to leave.

“Please stay!” says Anando, aware of the sudden urgency in his own voice. “If you tell me more, I offer this money to the Gods and pray for the girl’s happiness too.”

The man hesitates uncomfortably, torn between speaking or walking away. Finally, he sits cross-legged on the pavement, in front of Anando’s stall, obstructing passers by. Some curse him, some accidentally kick him in their hurry. Absorbed in his tale, he doesn’t seem to notice. Anando listens intently.

“Some months ago, I became jobless and spent my days wandering the city in search of work. I couldn’t face being such a failure and I’d start coming home drunk. I’d curse at my wife and even beat my daughters. The elder one was very sensitive. She couldn’t bear it. One night I came home drunk, late when everyone was asleep—or so I thought. But my eldest daughter came to greet me at the door, not lovingly but scolding. She said the Gods were angry with me, and the family’s luck would never change unless there were a sacrifice: a human sacrifice!

“I was shocked. I asked her where she got her idea. I tried to put my arm around her and give her a kiss. But she wriggled free in horror, as if I were some stranger with evil intentions. She said she had consulted a fortune-teller. I became angry. I shouted that our family was no business of strangers, especially those who would say anything for money. She told me this fortune-teller was different. He was kind. He even refused to take the five rupees she offered—until the business was finished. I felt like hitting her, but what she said rang in my ears and sobered me up fast. She climbed into bed with her sleeping sister, while I sat up through half the night, brooding and silently cursing.

“Next morning I was up before dawn. I stood looking at my wife and daughters as they slept. Then I quietly left the house. All morning I searched for jobs, revisiting the places which had turned me down before, finally calling at the factory which had sacked me. To my astonishment, they took me back on, with increased responsibility and better wages. I gave thanks to the gods for my good fortune and my beautiful family, whom I had so much taken for granted.

“I reached home so happy. All it needed to complete my joy was to see it reflected in the faces of my family. But my eldest daughter was not there. Apparently she’d had an invitation to stay with her best friend Surabhi in Konnagar.

“At this news, a sudden fear took hold of me. I rushed to the station where trains leave for Konnagar, with a sense of great urgency. They told me an unknown girl had fallen from the platform, in front of a train which … the wheels got her … Oh! Oh! My darling was still lying there … her body cut in two halves.

“I know you are a custodian of the unknown. You have knowledge of worlds beyond our understanding … can you please tell me, how is she now? Is she happy?”

The man halts his story. He is staring at Anando, expectantly.

Anando holds tightly to the great iron railing of the Howrah Bridge. He can’t look the man in the eye. Hit him where it hurts the most … that’s always been his motto. A curse upon palmistry! How much more blood shed over the years … ? A buzzing in his ears now, like a thousand angry ghosts getting nearer, ready to hit him where it hurts most … And the man’s words, haunting him, over and over: “How is she now? How is she? Is she happy?”

He bends over, his face deathly pale, to stare down at the relentless waters of the River Hooghly. To be swallowed up by those waters would be best.

© 2007 Anup Roy