29-08-2026, 07:35 PM
My wife sat still for a moment, then she began.
“Swami, our son has just written his final year LLB exams. The results have already come. We thought he would pass in all subjects. He failed in a few papers.”
Her voice was already shaking.
“I wanted him to become a successful advocate like his father. From the day he started college I sat with him and helped him study. I checked his notes every evening. If he did not understand a portion, I made him read it again. If he felt sleepy at night, I went to the kitchen and made coffee for him and stayed awake so he would not fall asleep over the books. There were many nights when I did not sleep at all. I sat near him until he finished the last page.”
She wiped her eyes once and continued.
“I told my friends he would pass. I told them he would become an advocate like my husband. Some of them I even told he might become a judge one day. Now he has failed, and I cannot accept it. I cannot show my face to those friends. I do not want backlogs. I do not want him to write next semester. I want him to pass this time itself.”
Deva listened without interrupting. The young assistant near the door also did not move.
My wife’s voice broke completely.
“For one week I have not been able to eat properly. I keep crying. I cannot think of anything else. I came here because the priest said you would have a solution. That is why I am here, Swami. I want my son to pass. That is all I want from you. Please tell me what must be done.”
She folded her hands toward him.
I sat beside her and listened to the whole thing again, now spoken to a stranger. Every sleepless night, every cup of coffee, every hope she had built around our son came out of her mouth in that room.
Deva still did not smile.
He only looked at my wife, as if he was measuring how desperate she really was.
The astrologer sat quietly after my wife finished.
The room remained still. The young assistant near the door did not move. My wife kept her hands folded, waiting. I watched the old man’s ugly face and tried to read him.
At last he spoke.
“Your son’s result has already come. That means the damage is sitting on paper. Ordinary prayer will not be enough now.”
My wife leaned forward at once.
“Then there is a way, Swami?”
The astrologer looked at her for a long time before answering. His small eyes moved over her face, then down over her pink chiffon saree, then back to her eyes.
“There is a way. But first I must see the boy’s details. Name. Date of birth. Time of birth if you have it. Without that I cannot say the exact remedy.”
My wife answered immediately.
“His name is Rajesh. I will give you everything you ask. Please just tell me he can pass this time.”
The astrologer raised one hand.
“Do not run. First the details. Then I will see whether the obstacle is only in the child’s chart, or whether it is coming through the mother also. In many houses the son’s education is blocked because of the mother’s period, not the boy’s.”
Those words made my wife sit even straighter.
“If it is because of me, I will do whatever is needed.”
The astrologer nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he wanted to hear.
“Good. Write the boy’s name and date of birth and give it to me. After that I will tell you what the stars are asking.”
He looked at me once, then back at my wife.
I still thought the whole thing was a performance. But I could see what he was doing. He was no longer talking to me. He was talking only to her desperation.
The astrologer took the paper from my wife after she wrote our son’s name and date of birth.
He looked at it for a long time. Then he shook his head slowly, as if the news was already bad.
“This is not the boy’s fault,” he said. “The obstacle is sitting on the mother.”
My wife froze.
“On me?”
“Yes. The child’s education is blocked because of your period. Your prayer, your sleepless nights, your coffee at midnight — none of that can open this. The block is coming from you.”
He spoke with such certainty that the colour left her face.
“Swami… I only wanted him to pass. I did everything for him.”
“That is why it is more dangerous,” the astrologer said. “A mother’s hunger for the child’s success, if it sits on the wrong star, becomes a lock. Until that lock is opened through you, the boy will not pass. Not this time. Not later also, if the same period continues.”
My wife’s hands started shaking.
“Then what should I do? Tell me. I will do it.”
The astrologer looked at her pink chiffon saree, then at her pink blouse, then straight into her eyes.
“Before remedy, I must know the present state of the body also. Stars do not work only on paper. Answer me truthfully.”
He paused.
“What bra are you wearing now?”
For a second I thought I had heard wrong.
My wife stared at him, stunned.
“Swami…?”
“I asked you a simple question. What bra are you wearing? Colour. Type. Do not hide.”
Her voice came out small.
“White bra.”
“And panties?”
She swallowed, her face turning red.
“Black panties.”
Near the door, the young man in the saffron dhoti and saffron shirt shifted. I saw it clearly. He was horny. His eyes had gone to my wife’s chest, then lower, and stayed there while she answered. He wet his lips once and did not look away.
The astrologer continued as if this was only part of the reading.
“White bra. Black panties. Pink chiffon saree. The pink chiffon saree and pink blouse are showing devotion, but the white bra and black panties are showing the body that must carry the remedy. This is why the block is sitting on you.”
My wife sat there frightened and ashamed, still believing she had to answer him if she wanted our son to pass.
I sat beside her, jaw tight, watching an ugly old man scare the life out of my wife — and a young assistant at the door getting hard just from hearing that she was wearing a white bra and black panties under her pink chiffon saree.
The astrologer sat back and looked at my wife as if the next step was already decided.
“The lock is sitting on your body,” he said. “Paper and prayer will not open it. I have to examine what is touching your body right now. The white bra and the black panties must come off and come to me first. Only then I can see the exact remedy.”
My wife stared at him, shocked.
“Swami… I have to remove them?”
“Yes. There is a room adjacent to this one. Go there. Remove your white bra and black panties. Come back and give them to me. Do not fold them. Do not hide them. I need to examine them with my own hands.”
My wife shook her head at once. Her face turned red.
“No… I cannot do that. Please ask for something else. I will pray. I will do whatever else you say. But this… I cannot.”
The astrologer did not raise his voice. He spoke politely, almost gently, and that made it worse.
“Then your son will not pass. The block will remain on him. He will carry these papers again and again. The shame you are afraid of will stay. I am not forcing you. I am only telling you what the stars are asking. If the white bra and black panties do not come to me, I cannot give the remedy.”
My wife’s eyes filled.
“Swami, please… there must be another way.”
“There is no other way,” he said, still polite. “If you go back like this, the boy’s result will remain as it is. If you want him to pass this time, do what I said.”
That was the sentence that broke her.
She sat still for a few seconds, breathing fast, looking down at her lap. Then the same desperation from the past one week rose again on her face. She wiped her eyes and nodded.
“I will do it. My son has to pass.”
She got up, walked to the adjacent room, and closed the door.
I sat there unable to believe what was happening.
My wife, the same woman who wore her saree modestly because she knew I was possessive, had just gone inside to remove her white bra and black panties after an old man threatened our son’s future in a calm voice. Anger rose hard in my chest. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to take her out of that house. But her crying, her untouched plates, her sleepless nights sat in front of me, and I remained in the chair, jaw tight, watching.
Near the door, the young man was openly enjoying it. His eyes stayed on the adjacent door, waiting for her to come back. I could see he was horny.
A few minutes later my wife returned.
She came back wearing only her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse. There was no white bra under the pink blouse now. There was no black panties under the pink chiffon saree. In her hands she was holding the white bra and the black panties.
She walked up to the astrologer and gave them to him.
He took the white bra first, then the black panties, and placed both in front of him on the low table. The white bra and black panties of my wife were now lying openly before that ugly old man.
The young assistant at the door stared at them and then at my wife’s body under the pink chiffon saree, his breathing heavier.
I sat there angry, stunned, and helpless, unable to believe that this was really happening in front of my eyes.
“Swami, our son has just written his final year LLB exams. The results have already come. We thought he would pass in all subjects. He failed in a few papers.”
Her voice was already shaking.
“I wanted him to become a successful advocate like his father. From the day he started college I sat with him and helped him study. I checked his notes every evening. If he did not understand a portion, I made him read it again. If he felt sleepy at night, I went to the kitchen and made coffee for him and stayed awake so he would not fall asleep over the books. There were many nights when I did not sleep at all. I sat near him until he finished the last page.”
She wiped her eyes once and continued.
“I told my friends he would pass. I told them he would become an advocate like my husband. Some of them I even told he might become a judge one day. Now he has failed, and I cannot accept it. I cannot show my face to those friends. I do not want backlogs. I do not want him to write next semester. I want him to pass this time itself.”
Deva listened without interrupting. The young assistant near the door also did not move.
My wife’s voice broke completely.
“For one week I have not been able to eat properly. I keep crying. I cannot think of anything else. I came here because the priest said you would have a solution. That is why I am here, Swami. I want my son to pass. That is all I want from you. Please tell me what must be done.”
She folded her hands toward him.
I sat beside her and listened to the whole thing again, now spoken to a stranger. Every sleepless night, every cup of coffee, every hope she had built around our son came out of her mouth in that room.
Deva still did not smile.
He only looked at my wife, as if he was measuring how desperate she really was.
The astrologer sat quietly after my wife finished.
The room remained still. The young assistant near the door did not move. My wife kept her hands folded, waiting. I watched the old man’s ugly face and tried to read him.
At last he spoke.
“Your son’s result has already come. That means the damage is sitting on paper. Ordinary prayer will not be enough now.”
My wife leaned forward at once.
“Then there is a way, Swami?”
The astrologer looked at her for a long time before answering. His small eyes moved over her face, then down over her pink chiffon saree, then back to her eyes.
“There is a way. But first I must see the boy’s details. Name. Date of birth. Time of birth if you have it. Without that I cannot say the exact remedy.”
My wife answered immediately.
“His name is Rajesh. I will give you everything you ask. Please just tell me he can pass this time.”
The astrologer raised one hand.
“Do not run. First the details. Then I will see whether the obstacle is only in the child’s chart, or whether it is coming through the mother also. In many houses the son’s education is blocked because of the mother’s period, not the boy’s.”
Those words made my wife sit even straighter.
“If it is because of me, I will do whatever is needed.”
The astrologer nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he wanted to hear.
“Good. Write the boy’s name and date of birth and give it to me. After that I will tell you what the stars are asking.”
He looked at me once, then back at my wife.
I still thought the whole thing was a performance. But I could see what he was doing. He was no longer talking to me. He was talking only to her desperation.
The astrologer took the paper from my wife after she wrote our son’s name and date of birth.
He looked at it for a long time. Then he shook his head slowly, as if the news was already bad.
“This is not the boy’s fault,” he said. “The obstacle is sitting on the mother.”
My wife froze.
“On me?”
“Yes. The child’s education is blocked because of your period. Your prayer, your sleepless nights, your coffee at midnight — none of that can open this. The block is coming from you.”
He spoke with such certainty that the colour left her face.
“Swami… I only wanted him to pass. I did everything for him.”
“That is why it is more dangerous,” the astrologer said. “A mother’s hunger for the child’s success, if it sits on the wrong star, becomes a lock. Until that lock is opened through you, the boy will not pass. Not this time. Not later also, if the same period continues.”
My wife’s hands started shaking.
“Then what should I do? Tell me. I will do it.”
The astrologer looked at her pink chiffon saree, then at her pink blouse, then straight into her eyes.
“Before remedy, I must know the present state of the body also. Stars do not work only on paper. Answer me truthfully.”
He paused.
“What bra are you wearing now?”
For a second I thought I had heard wrong.
My wife stared at him, stunned.
“Swami…?”
“I asked you a simple question. What bra are you wearing? Colour. Type. Do not hide.”
Her voice came out small.
“White bra.”
“And panties?”
She swallowed, her face turning red.
“Black panties.”
Near the door, the young man in the saffron dhoti and saffron shirt shifted. I saw it clearly. He was horny. His eyes had gone to my wife’s chest, then lower, and stayed there while she answered. He wet his lips once and did not look away.
The astrologer continued as if this was only part of the reading.
“White bra. Black panties. Pink chiffon saree. The pink chiffon saree and pink blouse are showing devotion, but the white bra and black panties are showing the body that must carry the remedy. This is why the block is sitting on you.”
My wife sat there frightened and ashamed, still believing she had to answer him if she wanted our son to pass.
I sat beside her, jaw tight, watching an ugly old man scare the life out of my wife — and a young assistant at the door getting hard just from hearing that she was wearing a white bra and black panties under her pink chiffon saree.
The astrologer sat back and looked at my wife as if the next step was already decided.
“The lock is sitting on your body,” he said. “Paper and prayer will not open it. I have to examine what is touching your body right now. The white bra and the black panties must come off and come to me first. Only then I can see the exact remedy.”
My wife stared at him, shocked.
“Swami… I have to remove them?”
“Yes. There is a room adjacent to this one. Go there. Remove your white bra and black panties. Come back and give them to me. Do not fold them. Do not hide them. I need to examine them with my own hands.”
My wife shook her head at once. Her face turned red.
“No… I cannot do that. Please ask for something else. I will pray. I will do whatever else you say. But this… I cannot.”
The astrologer did not raise his voice. He spoke politely, almost gently, and that made it worse.
“Then your son will not pass. The block will remain on him. He will carry these papers again and again. The shame you are afraid of will stay. I am not forcing you. I am only telling you what the stars are asking. If the white bra and black panties do not come to me, I cannot give the remedy.”
My wife’s eyes filled.
“Swami, please… there must be another way.”
“There is no other way,” he said, still polite. “If you go back like this, the boy’s result will remain as it is. If you want him to pass this time, do what I said.”
That was the sentence that broke her.
She sat still for a few seconds, breathing fast, looking down at her lap. Then the same desperation from the past one week rose again on her face. She wiped her eyes and nodded.
“I will do it. My son has to pass.”
She got up, walked to the adjacent room, and closed the door.
I sat there unable to believe what was happening.
My wife, the same woman who wore her saree modestly because she knew I was possessive, had just gone inside to remove her white bra and black panties after an old man threatened our son’s future in a calm voice. Anger rose hard in my chest. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to take her out of that house. But her crying, her untouched plates, her sleepless nights sat in front of me, and I remained in the chair, jaw tight, watching.
Near the door, the young man was openly enjoying it. His eyes stayed on the adjacent door, waiting for her to come back. I could see he was horny.
A few minutes later my wife returned.
She came back wearing only her pink chiffon saree and pink blouse. There was no white bra under the pink blouse now. There was no black panties under the pink chiffon saree. In her hands she was holding the white bra and the black panties.
She walked up to the astrologer and gave them to him.
He took the white bra first, then the black panties, and placed both in front of him on the low table. The white bra and black panties of my wife were now lying openly before that ugly old man.
The young assistant at the door stared at them and then at my wife’s body under the pink chiffon saree, his breathing heavier.
I sat there angry, stunned, and helpless, unable to believe that this was really happening in front of my eyes.
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