The Secret Ritual by Kamlesh Acharya

The septuagenarian priest who sat cross legged on the floor of his modest house smiled heartily, amply showing his solitary upper tooth as he welcomed Rajiv and his parents. The topless priest wore only a white cotton dhoti, his hairless brown chest sagged lightly on either side of his perfectly round pot-belly as if to hold it from rolling over like football. He sat straight without any back support, a posture that came naturally to him from decades long practice of performing ceremonial Hindu prayers.

Rajiv’s family was one of his many regular clients. The priest had for years performed many ritualistic prayers in their house and the family believed that prayers conducted by him bore the desired result most of the time. They had faith that he will be able to help this time as well.

“Rajiv is not getting married,” said the concerned mother after the pleasantries were exchanged. She sat on the cot next to the priest’s wife.

“You worry too much,” said the priest, laughing her off.

“He is already thirty.” She snapped like a typical Indian mother who feels justified in worrying for a son who has yet to settle after three decades on wandering on the planet.

“Thirty! So I’m seeing him after many years.” The priest smiled at Rajiv who hesitantly nodded with a half, perfunctory smile. “He doesn’t even remember. He was very young when I met him last.”

“Please check his horoscope.” The mother handed over a small booklet to the priest who eyeballed it for a while, turned pages and made some notes.

Rajiv’s mother anxiously looked at the priest while she subconsciously wrapped the loose end of her sari around her finger. Her eyes fell on the idol of Goddess Durga behind the priest so she bowed, closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Rajiv’s father looked on but was more composed. He sat on the solitary chair in the room as his knee problem prevented him from sitting cross legged on the floor.

Rajiv who sat on the floor opposite the priest observed the sparsely furnished room. The small idol of Durga was nicely draped in a red sari brocaded in gold design and placed in the shelf dug within the wall. Packet of incense sticks, match box, cotton, metal and earthen lamps along with camphor were placed on the floor between the priest and the idol. Dhotis and shirts were hung on the hanger of the other wall behind his mother. Behind him was a small cycle for the grand children of the priest, the kids who were peeping sheepishly through the door. The room was redolent of camphor and incense.

“There is a ‘shani dasha’ (negative influence of Saturn), we will need to perform a ‘gupt vidhi’ (secret ritual) on him.”

“Sure. Anything to get him married,” assured Rajiv’s mother, smiling excitedly and believing that her son will get married after the rituals. Rajiv glared at her and gestured to her to reign in her overdrive.