Sonia allowed her eye to casually travel over the nearly- empty bogey. On a Sunday evening, she was not surprised there were only six people sitting scattered in the bogey. Her attention was caught by the man seated opposite her, who was candidly observing her with a great deal of interest. He seemed vaguely familiar. Had she met him before? Sonia racked her brain for a hint.
The stranger was in his fifties, with a receding hairline which was sprinkled abundantly with grey. Round silver-rimmed spectacles rested tidily on his nose. A thin white moustache, on a plump, lined face, seemed vaguely undecided about its future. Dressed in a white, blue-striped cotton kurta, the man had a definite air of superiority.
“Sonia Samarth?” He leaned forward, catching her eye.
Sonia turned.
“I’m Charan Das,” the man said.
“Charan Das. the Astrologer?” she asked, in surprise.
“That’s right. I recognised you instantly.” Charan Das smiled, revealing slightly yellowed teeth.
“Oh!” The detective was a little abashed. “I read your horoscope weekly in the Citizen Magazine. It’s very interesting!”
“You mean monotonous!” Charan Das grinned. “It’s unavoidable, isn’t it? The planetary positions don’t change day to day, sometimes not even for months. In that case, the overall predictions remain boringly the same. It’s just the language and emphasis on different events that change.”
“I know.” Sonia nodded sympathetically. “But you’re still very convincing.”
“Thank you. You are being kind. But it’s difficult to satisfy an ever-curious reader, a person who wants to know everything. No one can predict everything!”
“I agree. Astrology has its limitations. Or should we say, more time and serious research need to be devoted to the science.”
“Even then, it’s tough to predict accurately. Also, there is the matter of belief and disbelief. Some believe in Astrology to the extent that everything they do is governed by astrological guidelines. And then there are some who scoff at it. And how can you blame them? Their lives definitely don’t follow the pattern their horoscopes have hinted at.”
Sonia was silent. She really did not wish to get into an argument over the truth of astrological predictions and the levels of people’s degree of credulity. Like Mohnish had said, each to his own belief. However, she knew from experience that life very rarely strayed away from the birth chart. It merely needed an expert eye to point out exactly how the horoscope had affected a person’s life. And to be very honest, very few were really qualified at such a level. Intuition, research, a non-commercial attitude, and a compassionate mind had a great deal to do with it. But at the moment she had no desire to expound on the qualities of the science and its influence on humans. Specially not to an Astrologer of repute who practised it as his profession!
The train chugged with a rhythm of its own. A foreigner with a haversack loaded on his back shuffled through the compartment to the next. Was Karjat Station approaching? Sonia loved the batata wadas sold at Karjat Station. Despite the heavy wedding luncheon, her stomach rumbled appreciatively at the thought of a batata wada, she glanced out of the window as the train slowed. The rain pelted down as the long ends of the platform slid into view, wet and splashy, and then the main station came into sight. The train slowed and squeaked to a halt.
Immediately vendors rushed into the compartment, offering an assortment of fast foods.
“Fried hot Samosas!”
“Karjat special Batata Wada-a-a-s!”
“Sandwi-e-e-e-ch!”
“Garam chai!”
“Idli, idli, idli!”
“Coffee-e-e-e!”
The nasal, elongated, high-pitched tones of the vendors seemed to ring in the compartment, as delicious smells whiffed into the air.
“Would you like to have wadas?” Sonia asked her companion.
“Oh yes, Karjat is special for its wadas. Can’t afford to miss them!”
Sonia smiled. “Same here.”
She hailed a passing vendor who was carrying his wadas on a tray covered with a white cloth. She ordered four wadas and dug into her handbag for the money.
“Please, let me pay.” Charan Das protested.
“No, let me!”
A minor tussle ensued, as the vendor placed the food on paper plates and waited impatiently for payment. Finally Sonia won. The vendor accepted the money, handed the plates to Sonia, and immediately moved on to cover as much sale as possible.
Sonia passed two wadas to Charan Das.
“Oh, thank you! You needn’t have!” the Astrologer exclaimed, a little bashfully.
The rain lashed on the corrugated sheets which roofed the station. Outside, hawkers stood on the platform, with cane baskets raised on crossed sticks, or frying food in huge black iron kadais - on wheeled carts.
Glad of the warmth in the compartment and to be out of the rain, Sonia tucked into the spicy delicious batata wada, a dish almost synonymous with the rains. Sonia even savoured the salted, red hot spicy chatni that supported the dish. She felt totally satiated after she had polished off the wadas and topped the snack with a cup of hot tea.
“The train stops at Karjat for about ten minutes. An additional engine is attached to the end of the train, so as to enable the steep climb to Pune,” Charan Das explained, as the train lurched. “That was the engine being attached!”
Even as he spoke, the whistle blew and passengers hastily ascended the train. Vendors making last-minute sales walked along with the train
