29-08-2026, 07:33 PM
The next morning my son was still depressed.
He sat at the dining table without touching his breakfast. My wife stood beside him and tried to console him, speaking softly, telling him not to lose heart, telling him that they would find a way. He only nodded, eyes down, and did not answer much.
I looked at my wife and said,
“Get ready. We are going to the temple.”
I asked my son to come with us. He refused at once.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Appa.”
My wife understood his pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said,
“It’s okay. You stay at home. I will go with Appa and come back.”
She went into the bedroom and came out after some time wearing a pink chiffon saree and a pink blouse. The saree sat lightly on her body and made her look stunning, even with the sadness still on her face. I took her in the car and drove to the temple.
The temple was almost empty.
My wife stood in front of the deity and began to pray. Within a few minutes her shoulders started shaking. Tears ran down her face as she folded her hands and whispered to God about our son, about the failed result, about how badly she wanted him to pass this time. I stood a little behind her and watched, feeling helpless again.
That was when the priest noticed her.
He came closer, saw her crying, and asked gently what had happened. My wife, who had been holding everything inside for a week, opened up to him. She began telling him about our son’s exams, about the sleepless nights she had spent helping him study, about the coffee she made when he felt sleepy, about her shame in front of her friends, and about how she could not accept the failure. While speaking she started crying again.
The priest listened and consoled her.
Then he took out a small piece of paper, wrote an address on it, and placed it in her hand.
“There is an astrologer named Deva,” he said. “Go to him. He will have a solution for this.”
The moment she heard that, a little hope came into my wife’s eyes. She turned to me at once.
“Shiva, take me there. Please. He said this man will have a solution.”
I looked at the paper and shook my head.
“Astrology is bullshit, Sudha. These people only scare you first and then sell you a remedy. They talk about planets and timing until you become desperate, and then they take money. There is no science in it. They use your pain and your belief. That is how the scam works.”
My wife was in no mood to listen.
“I don’t care what you think. Just take me to that address.”
I saw the same adamant look on her face that I had been seeing all week. There was no space left for my argument. She was holding that paper as if it was the first real chance she had found for our son.
I started the car.
Against my own judgment, I took my wife toward the address the priest had given her.
I drove toward the address the priest had given.
The city roads slowly ended. After some time the car entered a remote village in Tamil Nadu. The streets became narrower. There were fewer houses, more trees, and a quiet that felt far away from Bangalore. My wife sat beside me holding that piece of paper tightly in her hand.
She was nervous, but she kept talking as if she needed to convince herself.
“He will definitely have a remedy, Shiva. I know this will work. The priest himself gave this address. There must be a reason.”
I did not answer.
She continued, looking out of the window and then back at me.
“Stars decide so many things. Even rich people go to astrologers before they start a business or a marriage or a new house. If they can believe, why can’t we? For our son’s future this will work. I can feel it.”
I kept my eyes on the road and remained quiet. I still thought it was a scam. But I also knew that if I argued now, she would only become more adamant. So I said nothing and followed the address until we reached the place.
Deva’s house stood a little away from the other houses.
It was secluded, with a compound wall around it and trees on both sides. In front of the gate there was a huge hoarding board. On it his name was painted in large letters — ASTROLOGER DEVA — along with pictures of planets, a palm, and lines promising solutions for education, marriage, court cases, and family problems. The board was so big that it was impossible to miss even from the road.
I parked the car and we got down.
A maid came out from the house and welcomed us. She looked at my wife first, then at me, and folded her hands.
“Please come. Swami is inside.”
She guided us through the front yard and into the house. The inside was quiet and dim. We followed her down a short corridor until she stopped before a room and opened the door.
“Please sit. I will tell Swami you have come.”
She led us into the astrologer’s room.
That was how we entered Deva’s place — my wife full of hope, and I still silent, already regretting that I had brought her there.
He sat at the dining table without touching his breakfast. My wife stood beside him and tried to console him, speaking softly, telling him not to lose heart, telling him that they would find a way. He only nodded, eyes down, and did not answer much.
I looked at my wife and said,
“Get ready. We are going to the temple.”
I asked my son to come with us. He refused at once.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Appa.”
My wife understood his pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said,
“It’s okay. You stay at home. I will go with Appa and come back.”
She went into the bedroom and came out after some time wearing a pink chiffon saree and a pink blouse. The saree sat lightly on her body and made her look stunning, even with the sadness still on her face. I took her in the car and drove to the temple.
The temple was almost empty.
My wife stood in front of the deity and began to pray. Within a few minutes her shoulders started shaking. Tears ran down her face as she folded her hands and whispered to God about our son, about the failed result, about how badly she wanted him to pass this time. I stood a little behind her and watched, feeling helpless again.
That was when the priest noticed her.
He came closer, saw her crying, and asked gently what had happened. My wife, who had been holding everything inside for a week, opened up to him. She began telling him about our son’s exams, about the sleepless nights she had spent helping him study, about the coffee she made when he felt sleepy, about her shame in front of her friends, and about how she could not accept the failure. While speaking she started crying again.
The priest listened and consoled her.
Then he took out a small piece of paper, wrote an address on it, and placed it in her hand.
“There is an astrologer named Deva,” he said. “Go to him. He will have a solution for this.”
The moment she heard that, a little hope came into my wife’s eyes. She turned to me at once.
“Shiva, take me there. Please. He said this man will have a solution.”
I looked at the paper and shook my head.
“Astrology is bullshit, Sudha. These people only scare you first and then sell you a remedy. They talk about planets and timing until you become desperate, and then they take money. There is no science in it. They use your pain and your belief. That is how the scam works.”
My wife was in no mood to listen.
“I don’t care what you think. Just take me to that address.”
I saw the same adamant look on her face that I had been seeing all week. There was no space left for my argument. She was holding that paper as if it was the first real chance she had found for our son.
I started the car.
Against my own judgment, I took my wife toward the address the priest had given her.
I drove toward the address the priest had given.
The city roads slowly ended. After some time the car entered a remote village in Tamil Nadu. The streets became narrower. There were fewer houses, more trees, and a quiet that felt far away from Bangalore. My wife sat beside me holding that piece of paper tightly in her hand.
She was nervous, but she kept talking as if she needed to convince herself.
“He will definitely have a remedy, Shiva. I know this will work. The priest himself gave this address. There must be a reason.”
I did not answer.
She continued, looking out of the window and then back at me.
“Stars decide so many things. Even rich people go to astrologers before they start a business or a marriage or a new house. If they can believe, why can’t we? For our son’s future this will work. I can feel it.”
I kept my eyes on the road and remained quiet. I still thought it was a scam. But I also knew that if I argued now, she would only become more adamant. So I said nothing and followed the address until we reached the place.
Deva’s house stood a little away from the other houses.
It was secluded, with a compound wall around it and trees on both sides. In front of the gate there was a huge hoarding board. On it his name was painted in large letters — ASTROLOGER DEVA — along with pictures of planets, a palm, and lines promising solutions for education, marriage, court cases, and family problems. The board was so big that it was impossible to miss even from the road.
I parked the car and we got down.
A maid came out from the house and welcomed us. She looked at my wife first, then at me, and folded her hands.
“Please come. Swami is inside.”
She guided us through the front yard and into the house. The inside was quiet and dim. We followed her down a short corridor until she stopped before a room and opened the door.
“Please sit. I will tell Swami you have come.”
She led us into the astrologer’s room.
That was how we entered Deva’s place — my wife full of hope, and I still silent, already regretting that I had brought her there.
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