The Kismet Story
He opened his office every morning at ten. The office was a quaint place with a nameplate fixed at the entrance. It drew quite a few clients because human nature is never at rest till it has dug its claws into unknown truths and scrounged for insights into what the future holds.
Divakar was no god but a sharp instinct and a rudimentary knowledge of human psychology, drawn from textbooks purchased at second hand shops, proved to be vital assets in the running of his business.
The tactic he employed was simple. He listened to their concerns for a good five minutes and began to make assertions based on his understanding of what he had heard. For instance, a middle aged bachelor wished to know why he wasn’t getting a bride. Having deduced that his mother’s vitriolic temper was keeping prospective brides at bay, he provided a remedy. “It’s kismet!” he announced in a solemn voice. “Your mother will die if your wife lives with her. Shift to another place, away from your mother and a bride will come your way.”
The man was heartbroken. Nevertheless, he heeded his advice. A year later, he was married.
Divakar’s reputation as a commendable fortune teller soon spread. He was busier and richer than ever before, though he found little time to spend with his wife.
One evening, just as he was about to call it a day, a distraught man came to meet him. His wife had disappeared and he was desperate to find her. He wept incessantly and not much could be gleaned from the few words that he managed to breathe out between sobs. It was late and Divakar was impatient to get back home. He was hungry and his wife would have kept a sumptuous meal ready.
“Kismet has its ways,” he interposed. The man quietened down. “One cannot challenge it.”
He knew he was rambling but there was little else he could say. With hunger gnawing at his stomach, he could not even think of suitable questions that he could ask in order to figure out a response.
He closed his eyes and sat still, long enough to convince the man of his psychic powers.
“Your wife is safe. But you must wait. Go home and meditate tonight. Come back in the morning with a calm mind. The path will open up.”
The man nodded and left. Divakar heaved a sigh of relief, shut his office and hurried home. To his surprise the house was locked. He pulled out his key, opened the door and turned on the light. A sense of pique crept in. How could his wife have gone out without telling him?
He walked up to the fridge and stopped short as he noticed a note fixed on the door of the fridge. He picked it up and as he skimmed through its contents, he froze. He turned pale and clutched the door of the fridge.
His wife had eloped with the neighbour’s friend.
