Gopal and Rajinder ambled through the brightly lit streets. They were due to meet Manju in an hour at Sagar’s, the sweet and cake shop. In recent years the proprietor had added a coffee bar to his enterprise and the place was usually packed. It was cool inside, the air conditioning going into overdrive during the summer months, the trendy, sleek interior making it a pleasant place to sit. The tables spilt out into the square itself, so that the customers could sip their drinks and watch the world pass by, often calling out to friends who would grab a few chairs and join the group. Gopal liked coffee and drank it throughout the day, but to him, the buttermilk that was served there was the best in the city. It was chilled to the perfect temperature, had the right salty tang to it, and enough frothy bubbles to pop against one’s lips which added to the overall experience.
Sagar had never forgotten the help Gopal had given him with setting up the business, and a battle usually ensued when it was time to pay. As far as Gopal was concerned, he had done nothing that he wouldn’t have done for anyone else. Unlike many of his colleagues he refused to take part in anything corrupt, and Sagar’s planning application and licence to trade had all been above board. Sagar owed him nothing. Even when the man stood his ground and refused to accept any money, slamming the till shut and putting his hands in his pockets as a gesture that said absolutely and categorically no, Gopal would leave the money under the ashtray on the table.
That evening, the square was particularly lively with a variety of stallholders selling their wares, from saris and statues to leather slippers and kitchen equipment, spices, and a variety of food stalls, including the man who sold mangos. Like Sagar, he had been there for many years and must be in his sixties now, but his stall was the same, as was his persistence in piling the mangos too high so that he was constantly having to pick one up from the ground, wipe the dust off with the tails of his long shirt, and begin the process again.
‘How many years have I watched him do this?’ Gopal asked Rajinder, a rhetorical question, since Raj himself had become a keen watcher of the mango seller, agonising as the man carefully attempted to balance one more mango on the pile.
‘It is rather addictive, I must admit. I’m surprised that someone hasn’t set up another stall with the sole purpose of guessing how many will fall.’
‘A fine venture! When I am out of work, I shall try it!’ replied Gopal, thumping a fist into his other hand to seal the deal.
They wandered through the marketplace, comfortable and at ease with the noise and bustle of the place. To them it was home, and as such, the familiarity brought with it an internal warmth and bonhomie for each person there. They were about to head towards Sagar’s and the empty table that both had spotted at the same time, when Gopal heard a voice calling his name. At first, he ignored it. He didn’t want to become involved in any work-related issues when he was out with a friend, knowing full well that boundaries in India were often lax and undefined. Then he heard it again and turned his head in the direction it was coming from. Rajinder heard it too and stopped, carefully looking around him, he too expecting to be waylaid by someone wanting free advice about a tricky legal issue.
‘Mr Lal, Sir, Mr Lal… Won’t you stop for a moment? There is much to tell you. Mr Lal,’ came the call again, this time even louder. Looking through the crowd towards the direction of the voice, Gopal saw a man dressed in white sitting cross-legged on the ground, a mat in front of him and a cloth bag by his side.
Rajinder laughed. ‘Ah, the fortune teller. Rupi used to come here, and Ania does too on occasions. He seems to know you! You surprise me, Gopal,’ he teased, giving his friend a slap on the back. ‘You wish to know your future?’ he continued. ‘Come then, let’s sit and see what he has to say. In fact, I insist. I’ll pay too, as a special treat!’ He grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him through the crowds until they were both standing in front of the fortune teller.
Gopal had spoken with him before on several occasions, but in recent times the man had never even raised his head to acknowledge him. On one occasion he had come to the square with the sole intention of speaking to him and asking for his advice. His grandmother, Mati, was very ill, and struggling to cope with the many emotions he felt, had headed for the fortune teller whom he hoped would provide wise words and comfort as he’d done once before, when Gopal was looking for a wife. Everything the fortune teller said then had come true, and he often thought back to that time, also remembering the astrologer, Mr Jayashankar, who had his own mat spread under the shade of the coconut tree, a few yards away.
The astrologer was no longer there, nor had been for many years. A coconut had fallen from the tree, or maybe it was thrown by the mischievous monkey who liked to sit amongst the leaves. Either way, it landed on the man’s head, killing him instantly. Gopal had learned this very shortly after it had happened, because the marriage-maker, Mr Ranganathan, had told him when he’d requested that thanks be passed on to him for an excellent horoscope.
‘Impossible, Mr Lal. Quite impossible, I am afraid,’ had come the reply.
‘Why?’ asked Gopal. ‘Why impossible?’
‘Because, Mr Lal, he is no longer with us. He had the misfortune to be hit on the head with a coconut. Bang! Just like that, and he was dead!’
The astrologer had once bragged to his client that the fortune teller had warned him of imminent death by the falling of a coconut, yet despite this, he still flatly refused to change his position. Uncomfortable under the laden tree, Gopal had asked him about the dangers of a falling nut, heavy with water and the force of falling such a long way.
‘You are not worried that one will drop and land on your head, Sir?’ he asked. ‘This position under the tree is not without danger.’ The reply had been surprising, and on reflection, rather foolish.
‘The fortune teller told me many years ago that I will be killed by a single blow to the head with a coconut. I do not believe in such rubbish. Good day, Mr Lal.’
A few moments later, the two men were standing before the fortune teller, who graciously welcomed them both.
‘Ah, Mr Lal, and Mr Desai. A pleasure, a great pleasure. Won’t you sit down, both of you, because I have information to impart that you have great need to know.’ He gestured with his hand that they sit.
Rajinder looked to his friend. ‘Not my thing really, Gopal, I shall just listen.’ He’d been a little shaken by the fact that the fortune teller knew his name. Of course, he was a well-known lawyer and his family had practised in the city for decades. Many people knew him, but the man had a strange glint to his eye that Rajinder found rather disconcerting.
‘A great shame, Mr Desai. I know you are thinking that I am a quack, a conman who will say many good things to earn a few coins to buy his supper. Let me tell you, Sir, I am in no need of your money. I come from a good family. We have a large house in the city. I have no need to work at all. I called you to me to tell you news I have for you. I will tell you for free if you wish it…’
‘I for one am happy to hear the news you have for me,’ said Gopal. ‘I have come here every week for more than twenty years. Sometimes, you are here, Sir, and sometimes you are not. Never have you called me to you like you did the first time, before I was married. I have been waiting for it, and you have called me now. I am here.’ He turned to Rajinder and placed his hand gently on his friend’s arm.
‘Please sit, my friend. You may learn things that will guide you in the future. I did, and it all came true. The knowledge was of great use to me.’
Rajinder felt awkward. What if any of his clients saw him sitting in front of a street fortune teller? They would think he was an idiot! Those who knew him well would tease him mercilessly. He could hear it now…
‘So, Raj, you are now taking advice from a fortune teller? This is how you have become the best lawyer in Delhi?’ There would then be great guffaws of laughter and slaps on the back. ‘I may try it myself, Raj. Yes, I shall do so next time I am in town.’ Soon all his clients would know and… The fortune teller interrupted his racing thoughts, cutting them dead as though he had sliced them with a knife.
‘You fear ridicule, is that so? Let me tell you something. The ones who you think will mock, are the ones who come to see me. I will tell you this also. To pull a rope with nothing attached to the other end will break your back as you fall. You understand my meaning, Sir?’
Rajinder felt as though he had received a blow to the stomach. The analogy was his own! How could the man have known it?
‘Now, make up your minds please. As you see, there are many who wish to speak with me. Both men turned, and as the fortune seller had said, some half a dozen men and women appeared to be loitering in the crowd behind them, casting furtive glances before looking away again.
‘Shall we, my friend?’ asked Gopal. ‘There is nothing to fear, I assure you, and maybe much to gain…’
Rajinder took another look around him. The loiterers behind them now seemed to have vanished, and taking a deep breath, he quickly sat down on the rush mat and beckoned to his friend. ‘Sit down then! What are you waiting for?’
With both men in front of him, the fortune teller looked from one to the other.
‘Your friendship runs deep and is born out of connections from times past.’ He paused for a moment, then closed his eyes.
Gopal waited with some trepidation for the man to roll his eyes back in his head in the most alarming manner, which was what he had done before. To his relief, this didn’t happen, instead opening his eyes again to look at them both.
‘There is a house… Yes, yes, I hear you say. Who does not have a house? Patience please. This house is not like any other. It is a house that can only be found by those who need to do so. A large house. A house of magic and secrets, some of which are not yet known, even to the one who owns it.’
Raj shivered, and seeing this, Gopal reached out to pat his arm.
‘Perhaps you met in this house?’ the fortune teller continued, without waiting for a reply. ‘It is of no matter, but I tell you this. All who pass through its door will have their life changed forever.’ He picked up the cloth bag and handed it to Gopal.
‘Now Sir, please choose four discs.’
Gopal did as he was told, handing the discs over and making himself comfortable to listen to what the fortune teller had to say. A quick glance in his friend’s direction showed him to be somewhat ill at ease. In truth, Gopal was far more interested in his friend’s fortune than his own and was surprised that he’d agreed to have his fortune told at all. He looked back to the fortune teller who had begun to turn the discs around in his hand, then closed his eyes, groaning a little, as though he was in pain. Suddenly his eyes flew open, and he dropped the discs back into the bag.
‘Your life has been pleasant since we last met,’ he stated. ‘Your marriage to the girl of your dreams continues to flourish, and fortune has shone upon you.’
Hearing this, Rajinder smirked, his discomfort from the earlier comments now soothed by what sounded like typical fortune teller’s nonsense. Anyone might have told him about Gopal’s life. The man was a fake, and as he thought this, relief flooded through him. However, the next few words made him sit up straight, and a chill run down his spine.
‘You have suffered a great loss, this much I know…. Yes, yes, I know you are thinking that I am a fraud. How tiresome it is.’ He aimed this aside at Rajinder who looked down at his feet, unable to hold the man’s direct and piercing gaze. ‘I ask that you suspend your disbelief, Sir. You will soon know your own fate.’ He turned back to Gopal. ‘Yes, you have known loss, but I tell you now that this person will rise again. When she was alive, there were certain dealings… Things which you know nothing about and which you could not even imagine. A journey across the ocean to lands far away will also be made. You must prepare yourself. Your life is not yet done, Gopal Lal, in fact, it will begin for the second time.’ He paused and closed his eyes, then raised his hands as if to silence any response.
Gopal thought he had finished. He and Leila had always discussed travel. Neither had ever left India, yet only last week the subject had been raised again.
‘Gopal, we are invited to visit Harish at his English manor!’ Leila had made this declaration whilst they were eating dinner. ‘Rani will go, with George and the priests. Together, he says. He wants us there. What is your view. Surely work will allow it? You never take your holidays.’
He’d been rather taken aback, although the invitation was no surprise. Leila had often brought young Harish home with her for the weekend, as well as caring for him during the week, along with George and Fathers Ryan and Malachy. Mati and the child had hit it off as soon as he was old enough to speak. She would tell him long stories from memory about her past, including invitations to the maharaja’s palace, and the princes and kings that came from abroad. She usually threw in a few tales of rampaging elephants and tigers that had got into the house, which the boy loved, his silver eyes wide with both fear and delight in equal measure. It had been strange to see them like this. He had no memory of her ever telling him stories when he was a boy. He sighed.
‘Yes,’ continued the fortune teller. ‘Much has been given by you and yours, and now you will receive. Your gift will be greater than you can imagine.’ He gave a loud clap of his hands to declare the end of Gopal’s session making them both jump, then adjusted his position slightly before addressing Rajinder. He gave a great sigh of his own, then took in a deep breath, before releasing it slowly.
‘If you have run out of time, not to worry. You are in much demand. I …’ stammered Rajinder, eager to be on his way. The man opposite seemed to look right through him, and he felt uncomfortable and exposed.
‘I have been waiting for you this evening, Mr Desai. And now I will tell you the news I must impart. What you do with it will be up to you. I will begin.’
He handed over the bag of wooden discs and waited for his client to pull four out. He studied them for a moment, then held them tightly in his hand before tossing them back in the bag. This time there was no groaning nor anything like it. Instead, the fortune teller raised his hand to cover his heart, and his eyes filled with tears.
Rajinder felt his own eyes tear over and struggled to control himself. It was bad enough for a man such as he with high standing to be sitting in front of a fortune teller in the middle of Delhi where all could see him, even hear what was being said, without sobbing at the same time. Yet sob was what he wanted to do more than anything. He felt as though there was a huge pressure inside him which demanded release.
Seeing his distress, Gopal put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief just in case. He had seen his friend in many different emotional states, but never like this.
‘You have known misery and pain. For many years, loneliness has been your only companion. I do not believe that all things come to those who wait, Mr Desai, but in your case, this was indeed so. I must remind you once again, that to pull a rope with nothing attached to the other end will break your back as you fall. You must let go of the rope, Sir, or you will cause yourself harm. When they are ready, those that you seek to pull in will come of their own choosing. Do you understand?’
‘Rajinder nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I do…’
‘Good! Now, soon you will be separated from the one you cling to. You must let this person go. Do you hear me?’
Rajinder nodded again. He meant Rani, who else could it be? She was going to see her son. He’d hoped that she would invite him along, but this hadn’t happened.
‘It is not the time for you to visit with me. I know you will understand this,’ she had said. ‘We have a family problem to discuss. After this is done, I will tell you everything, and may need your advice. I am not keeping secrets without need, Rajinder, only that he and I must talk first.’ She’d watched as his face dropped and he looked away.
‘No sulks, Rajinder Desai,’ she had continued. ‘You are an old man and should by now be fully grown.’ This sharp retort had made him smile, then laugh, and the pair wandered into the garden hand in hand to inspect the flowers.
‘I see you understand me,’ continued the fortune teller, who had watched the emotion as it played out on his client’s face. ‘Good. To object will cause trouble. There is no need.’
Rajinder now felt like a naughty schoolboy and began to resent the intrusion. What a cheek! Didn’t he know who he was talking to? Why, he would tell him what he could do with his fortune telling…
‘Please pay attention, Mr Desai. There is much happiness to come your way, but you must avoid overreacting. Another man will come into your life. A good man, but not at your invitation. He desires something from you that you are not willing to give. Once again, I must advise that you let go. The prize is not yours to give or hold. To control will only destroy you. Once again, I say, let go. Do you hear me?’
‘Yes, I hear you,’ Rajinder replied. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and a chill ran down his spine. He felt uneasy, but instead of wanting to run away, now he wanted to hear more.
‘You are a lucky man. You have great wealth in more ways than you know, but to receive your reward you must first let it go. Twice you must do this, Sir. Twice.’ With this statement, the fortune teller rubbed his hands together as though he was trying to rid himself of something.
‘There, gentlemen. I have said my piece. You are now free to meet your friend. Already he is waiting for you at Sagar’s, with another much loved by you. Like a son, in fact.’
‘Thank you, Sir. Thank you,’ said Gopal, his hands now in his pockets. ‘We are most grateful and will mind what you say. What is your fee please, and we will pay double? To hear your words of wisdom has surely been worth more than you will ask.’
‘You owe me nothing. Go!’ He waved them off with his hand, in a gesture of dismissal and a job done.
Now it was Rajinder’s turn to object. ‘No, we must pay. Yours is a job after all, and a man must live and feed his family.’
‘I have already told you. I have no need of money. My words have been given as a gift.’ He turned to watch several young men sitting on some steps nearby, holding large metal beakers of iced buttermilk.
‘Well, there is one thing, if you insist. A buttermilk from Sagar’s. Nothing more.’
‘Of course,’ said Rajinder. ‘And thank you for your advice and wisdom. I must admit to having little faith, but I shall now without doubt seek you out again.’
‘No need,’ replied the fortune teller. ‘It is I who will seek you when the time is right.’
‘One question only,’ asked Gopal. ‘What is your name please, Sir?’
‘You will know it one day, Mr Lal. One day you will know it… Goodnight.’
Five minutes later, Rajinder and Gopal were sitting at an outside table with Manju and Sami Sahni. Sami had once been the servant boy of Gopal and his grandmother, arriving at the house aged eight and never leaving it. He and Mati had been particularly close, and the boy was heartbroken when she died, retreating to the old hut in the courtyard. He had refused to come out for several days, despite much coaxing and the shrieking of his pet Mynah bird who lived in a large banyan tree, not used to being left to seek its own food.
Now in his early thirties, Sami had stayed behind in the house when Gopal and Leila left for their modern apartment, and some years later still lived there; alone, except for his bird. He remained convinced that the bird, whose official name was Coco but was always just called Mynah, was the same one he had kept throughout his childhood. If so, he was a very elderly bird indeed. Far more likely was that both he and his extended family lived in the tree, and it was one of the family members who now hopped onto his hand to take a nut, or flew into the kitchen to drink milk from a saucer, or peck at halva from its very own china dish. Leila thought that Sami was fully aware of the reality of the situation, but didn’t wish to know it, preferring to continue with his own fantasy about the bird that he loved so much.
Encouraged by Mati, and then Leila, who had taught him to read and write and educated him widely, he excelled in literature. Even as a child, he was already rather adept at stringing words together to describe both beauty and emotion in a style that was entirely original and way beyond his years, particularly when considering his lack of education. He flourished in his studies, eager to learn about anything that might help with his art of twisting words together to become a wonderful and powerful whole. Mati had insisted on paying his university fees, although Sami insisted likewise that his weekly pay be reduced, to only leave enough for basic clothing and his study needs. His widowed mother had married again to a merchant who had more than enough money, so he no longer had any need to send her any of his.
Despite his insistence, every week Sami’s pile of notes and coins under a loose tile on the kitchen floor continued to grow, Gopal refusing to discuss it when he was questioned.
‘You may need it in the future. I will not accept refusal!’ came Gopal’s usual reply, walking away to end the conversation and prevent any further argument.