For children: In this Satyajit Ray short story, a fortune teller witnesses a son’s revenge

One of Uncle Tarini’s nephews worked with a tea company and had gifted him a tin of special quality tea. Passing the tin in my direction, Uncle said, “Open this. Today I’ll drink this tea instead of yours.”

It was a Sunday evening in the month of April. After a kalbaishakhi, nor’wester storm in the afternoon, the evening was tranquil. The usual bunch of Uncle’s followers had all gathered in our room. Napla was one of them. He said, “Uncle, we have heard enough of your ghost stories; let’s hear something different today. You’d once mentioned how you were involved in the profession of astrology and it took a bizarre turn. We are yet to savour this story.”

“Oh, haven’t I narrated this story till now?”

“No!” All of us cried together.

Uncle said, “Let me first take a sip of this carefully infused new tea. Until the lip touches the cup, the story will refuse to unfold.”

The tea arrived within five minutes. Freshly brewed aromatic tea. Uncle instantly took a sip of the piping hot cup and said, “Ah! Outstanding!” He lit his export-quality biri and commenced his account.

“This took place in Nagpur. I was in Bombay looking for a job in the film industry. But don’t you assume I was trying my hands in acting. My expertise lay in the job of a production manager; I had worked in that position on two films in Tollygunge. Therefore, I was looking for work in that particular area. And soon enough I landed such a job for one film.

“I lived in Vile Parle in a small ground-floor flat of a two-storied house. The entire first-floor flat was occupied by Bombay’s well-known astrologer, Mukund Patwardhan. Following the principles of Indian palmistry, he had made a name for himself. As we were immediate neighbours, we eventually got to know each other. No idea why, but the gentleman took a fancy to me. He said, ‘I will teach you palmistry.’”

“As promised, after working hours, sitting in his room at night, I began to take lessons in palmistry. Such a captivating subject. I instantly got hooked. In a couple of months’ time, I realised I too was ready to read palms.”

“I could rightly predict the distant future of three of my colleagues; I foretold a producer that his film would be a hit which turned out to be true.”

“Eventually a day arrived when I realised I too could earn a living as an independent palmist. You all know quite well I can’t stick around at a job for too long, I left the film industry and took to palmistry. But not in Bombay. In this field, Patwardhan was the sole proprietor in Bombay. I needed to go to another city so I moved to Nagpur. I hired a room on the main road in Panchpaoli and displayed a notice saying, ‘Here you can easily avail of your future predictions through palm reading by Bengal’s noted palmist, etc.’”

“In no time I began to prosper. I didn’t expect such rapid success. Within a year I shifted to a bigger flat and employed a fresh graduate as my secretary. I received palm impressions of various people from all over the country. I’d go through these imprints, analyse them in English for my secretary to type out, and despatch them to their respective destinations. The majority of my clients were businessmen and out of these most were Marwaris. My monthly income was roughly Rs 3000 a month and my age, 32. Now you can figure out how long ago it was.”

“One day a man appeared, slim, trim, fair, spectacled, attired in foreign clothes. He was roughly thirty years old. He put forward his hand and said, ‘I’m here to know only one thing. I’ve joined a new job but want to find out if this will work out for me.’”

“After reading his hand I said, ‘You can continue with your new job. You’ll make good progress.’”

“‘Very good,’ he remarked. ‘Now I want to show you something.’”

“I had noticed that he was carrying an embroidered tote bag on his shoulder. The man took out a large envelope from this bag and from it pulled out a sheet of paper. It was easy to make out that this sheet was quite old. On that paper was an impression of a hand in black ink marked with imprints of various lines and creases. He then pushed the paper towards me. I noticed a date mentioned on the top right-hand corner of the paper. The date went back 15 years.”

“I enquired, ‘This is an impression of whose hand?’”

“‘My father’s,’ answered the gentleman. ‘This paper slipped out while I was rummaging through an old box. I think he had intended to give this to Bombay’s Patwardhan but for various reasons he did not.’”

“‘Do I have to analyse these palm lines based on this impression?’”

“‘Yes, please. A few precise facts.’”

“‘How old was your father at that time?’”

“‘Fifty.’”

“After studying the lines and features of this hand I discovered something very odd. This person died at the exact age of fifty. I told this to my patron.”

“‘Was this a natural death?’ he asked.’”

“Once again, I went through the imprint carefully. I then revealed that the features clearly point out that it was an accidental death. Not natural.”

“‘Are you sure about this?’”

“‘Absolutely,’ I asserted myself.”

“‘In that case, let me elaborate further on this incident,’ said the gentleman. ‘My father’s name was Prakash Chandra Mathur. I’m his only child. My mother died during delivery. I was brought up by my widowed aunt. My name is Suresh Mathur. My father was a businessman. He had a partner by the name of Gajanan Apte. This happened 15 years ago when I was 17 – I found my father deeply troubled about something. I’d never seen my father so disturbed. When I asked him for the reason behind this, my father said, ‘When the person you’ve known to be closest to you turns out to be a traitor, nothing can be more agonising than this.’ The only individual who crossed my mind was my father’s partner. However, my father decided to remain quiet. A few days after this, my father was found sitting in his chair in his office with his head slumped on the table. Soon the doctor was called for. By then he was no more. The doctor said it was a heart attack. I wanted to reach out to the police as I thought my father had been killed. My father had caught his partner in an unlawful act and to silence him he was killed. But I was only seventeen – who would take me seriously? But today from your analysis I realise that my hunch was right – he was bumped off.’”

“I said, ‘In any case it’s all over and done with. This took place so long ago, there’s not much you can do now.’”

Suresh Mathur left after thanking me and paying my fee.

About six months after this encounter, a client appeared aged between 60 and 62 years, robust owing to a diet of butter. He said he was a businessman and wanted to invest his money in a new venture. He wanted to find out the consequences if he went ahead with the investment. Was he likely to face any financial glitch?

When I asked, he said his name was Gajanan Apte. I was stunned.

However, as he was my patron I had to attend to him. I asked him to sit on my carpet and then I posed my questions to him.

“‘How old are you?’”

“The gentleman said, ‘Sixty-six.’”

“I studied his palm. I could sense there was no point in him starting on a new endeavour. He was to die that year, and it would be an accidental death. But I couldn’t tell him so. I said, ‘You’d stand to gain nothing with your new investment plans; continue with your present business.’”

“‘Are you sure?’ The gentleman questioned me. ‘I’ve arrived at this decision after a lot of deliberation.’” Once again, I told him not to take it up. His palm was still wide open in front of me and I continued to read it. I suddenly spotted something.

It was clear that 15 years ago he had murdered someone. He had taken a tremendous risk and survived it. This too could be seen on his palm.

Naturally, I remained discreet about this. He paid me my fees and left. For the nth time I reiterated that it would be pointless for him to invest fresh money into a new project.

After seven days Suresh Mathur turned up again. I said, “‘Now what?’”

“I found Mathur very agitated. He said he had dropped into Gajanan Apte’s office one day. He wasn’t in but his secretary was – Mathur knew this arrangement. The secretary had been with Apte for the last 20 years. Mathur needed to talk to him directly. He asked him about his father’s death. The secretary remembered the day clearly. He was very fond of him. He said soon after the older Mathur drank his evening coffee, he collapsed. The secretary thought the coffee could be poisoned but couldn’t question the doctor.”

“‘But now what’s your plan of action?’ I asked Mathur.”

In a whisper Mathur hissed, ‘I want to avenge my father’s death.’

“‘What? But how?’”

“‘Anyhow!’”

“I decided to remain silent about Gajanan Apte’s visit to my chamber and that his days were numbered. Suresh Mathur left my office clearly convinced about his desire to avenge his father’s death.”

“Three days later the incident was reported in the newspaper. Gajanan Apte was found murdered. He lived on Itwari Road. Every evening after his office hours he would go for a stroll beside the Jumma Talav lake. While on his walk that evening, someone had struck him on the back of his head with a blunt and heavy instrument. The police were on the lookout for the assailant.”

“I’d read Suresh Mathur’s palm. I knew that he was in danger but also that he’d definitely come out of this.”

“And that is exactly what happened. The police were unable to identify the murderer and Gajanan Apte’s murder case was slotted under the category of ‘Unsolved Crimes’.”

“Suresh Mathur not only eluded punishment, I know for certain that he is to live till the age of 82 and will die a natural death. At least his palms suggest so.”

Excerpted with permission from ‘Uncle Tarini, the Fortune Teller’ in The Curious World of Uncle Tarini, by Satyajit Ray, translated from the Bengali by Indrani Majumdar, Puffin India.