Short Story by Amit Shankar
“What am I supposed to do?” Rupesh was agitated.
He got up from the weather-beaten sofa and walked towards the side table, crowded with a concoction of whiskey and beer bottles, some empty while others seeking indulgence.
“Just three more months and…” Jyoti was at her usual self, reassuring and comforting.
“That Baba ji of yours must have told this?” He opened a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a stiff drink.
“Rupesh, at least have some respect for someone who is trying to help us.”
“Yeah, yeah, as if he is doing some charity.”
“Would you act for free?”
“Yes, I would. Now, I would. But even then, no one is ready to…”
Jyoti’s phone started to ring.
“Must be your baba ji.” He slurred, and his frustration was palpable. Jyoti looked at the phone’s screen. Indeed, it was him.
Jyoti could not segregate the rush of pity from compassion and empathy.
“His name is Harish ji, and he is no Baba, just an astrologer.” She tried being reasonable.
She knew that Rupesh was a talented actor. However, after some initial success, his career started to stagnate. The past few years were tough for him and her.
Married to him for five years, she had only faced temper issues, physical abuse and frustrated rants. Being from a lower middle-class family that was not in favour of her marriage to him, she had no choice but to cope with the never-ending outbursts of her flop Actor husband.
Her only sanity was Harish Ji, the astrologer.
He did not even favour her marriage to Rupesh and warned her of constant struggle. But blinded by her love and dreams of a Bollywood life, she ignored his repeated warnings, too.
“Rupesh, we are almost there. Have some patience, please” She pleaded.
“Why the hell can’t you stop lecturing me?”
“I am just trying to help you, Rupesh. This is the last period of Shani…”
The phone rang again, punctuating the heavy air.
She disconnected the call again.
“If you repeat this astrology nonsense, I will throw you out of my house. Maybe that’s what your Baba ji wants. “Have you lost it?”
“Have I? As if I don’t know what’s cooking between you and him.”
“How dare you…”
And a slap made her statement hang in there.
Rupesh stomped out of his chawl.
The phone rang again. She disconnected it again with a tear tear-stained finger.
The phone rang again, and she disconnected it again.
Sobbing, she put the phone on mute mode and slumped on the sofa.
The phone kept ringing repeatedly, but now it is in silent mode.
The phone’s cracked screen came to life again, but this time, it was a message from Harish Ji.
“I read his chart again—some miscalculation on my side. Shani is getting over it starting tomorrow, not after three months. Today is the toughest day for him, and he has to stay off the street as the chances of an accident are high. If he survives, the next five years will be a golden period. Please call when you read this.”