“Kaala Baba?”
“Yes. You should meet him! He’s amazing!”
I looked at Mamta incredulously. She had always been the one in our group to scoff at sadhus and
babas and the ‘fools’ who swore by them. Maybe her mindset had changed during her seven years as a
makeup artiste in the Hindi film industry. Bollywood was known to be superstitious after all.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mamta went on, tucking a couple of loose strands of hair behind an
ear. “Kaala Baba is unlike any other Baba. He was hanging around our film set. He asked me if I had
a question. I told him I was fed up with the film line and was seriously considering moving back
home to Pune. He did some calculations and then told me to stay put, because in exactly three days my
life would turn around. And guess what? I got two assignments to do bridal makeup in Dubai. That’s a
new career and a lot of money!”
“Kaala Baba as in Black Baba?” I asked, amused. “Does this guy do black magic or something?”
“No,” she said, taking on a serious tone. “It’s because he has a black tongue. Everything he says
comes true.”
“How is that possible? He can’t possibly be right every single time.”
“Our production controller, Mayank, told me that there are other stories too. He gives accurate
readings.”
The waiter arrived and placed two cappuccinos on the table between us. We were sitting by the
poolside at Otters Club in Bandra, having this nonsensical discussion. Despite the slight chill in the
air, kids were happily frolicking at the shallow end while dodging serious swimmers taking relentless
laps up and down the entire length of the pool.
The waiter placed his pad in front of me. I signed off the order and handed him my membership card.
He tucked both in his pocket and sped off with the empty tray.
“Brij, you need to meet him.” Mamta emptied a packet of Splenda into her cup as she continued.
“Things haven’t been going well for you. He’s like a philosopher. He puts things in perspective. He
tells you both the good and the bad. You’ll find him really interesting.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
In my mind, all these babas were charlatans who built an aura and reputation around themselves to
elicit more money by playing on the superstitions of unsuspecting fools. And I was no fool. Every
now and then, the press was exposing a self-proclaimed baba. A couple of babas were even in jail.
“Look at what’s happened to you,” she said, taking on a reprimanding tone. “You don’t come out with
the gang anymore. It’s been three months since I’ve seen you!”
It had also been there months since my fiancée broke off our engagement. Right after, I got laid off
from my corporate job and had been unsuccessful in procuring gainful employment since then. To top
it off, my father and I weren’t on talking terms. My sister was to blame for that. There was always
awkwardness between father and son, but things got worse after my mother died a decade ago.
Instead of stepping into my mother’s shoes and bridging the gap between father and son, my conniving
sister had turned the situation to her advantage; she had even managed to get my father’s will changed
in her favor.
“Does Kaala Baba charge?” I asked.
“Of course, you have to pay him. Nothing that is free can be of any value. Whatever he asks for.”
I knew it. He was a fraud.
“Just meet him,” Mamta went on. “You never know what could come out of it. Say yes and mean it. ”
I said yes and meant it. Now I was really curious to meet this Kaala Baba who had won the favor of
an agnostic and new-age person like Mamta.
Mamta picked up her phone and leafed through her address book. “He was hanging out on set today.
He’s probably still there. Let me call Mayank. Kaala Baba doesn’t carry a phone.”
She hit a few keys and held her phone to her ear. As she started talking to Mayank, an old squash
partner waved me over from three tables away. When I returned ten minutes later, Mamta was still on
the phone, listening. She held up a finger apologetically and soon after, ended the call.
“All done!” she said, with a triumphant smile. “Kaala Baba will meet you tomorrow at 5 p.m. on Juhu
Beach. You have to go in through the Greenfields Estate entrance. It’s just opposite Juhu Post Office.
You’ll find Kaala Baba as soon as you hit the beach. And you can ask him only one question. He
switches off after that.”
“Thanks, Mamta,” I said warmly. I appreciated that she was concerned about my wellbeing. And I
wasn’t going to disappoint her. I would meet Kaala Baba just for the heck of it. After all, what did I
have to lose?
“How will I recognize him?” I asked.
“You can’t miss him. Trust me.”
***
Next evening, I alighted from the cab at the sharply curving street outside Juhu Post Office and had to
wait for a break in the cars whizzing past, appearing around the blind bend from both sides. Once I
crossed, I headed through the gates of Greenfields Estate and walked down the cobbled lane that
snaked toward Juhu Beach. On either side were plush bungalows and apartment buildings,
interspersed with swaying palm trees.
Two hundred meters later, I was in a public park dotted with benches and early evening walkers. A
few seconds later, I was pushing the heavy metal gate that opened out to the beach. I had descended
just one of the three steps when I spotted him .
Dressed in a loose orange kurta and pajamas splattered with Om signs, Kaala Baba had his hands
outstretched and was twirling rhythmically, going round and round, like a planet orbiting the sun. He
had a free-flowing beard and long hair, characteristic of your stereotypical baba. People looked at
him in amusement and walked by, some even stopping briefly to take a picture. But Kaala Baba’s
head was turned to one side, concentrating on one upstretched hand as he continued his graceful
dance.
I stood a couple of feet away gazing at this revolving mystic, wondering if he was actually on drugs.
Such free-spirited activities happen on the beaches of Goa, rarely Mumbai.
Kaala Baba suddenly fell down on his knees. A spray of sand splashed upward as his face and
outstretched hands hit the beach. He remained in that prostrate position for a few minutes and then
sprung upward to his full frame, which was lean and bony. He was in his late forties, but his serene
expression took a decade off his face.
“Kaala Baba?” I asked at my politest best.
He turned to look at me. His eyes bore a piercing gaze that looked through you, rather than at you.
He sat down cross-legged on the sand and patted the space next to him. I followed suit and waited
patiently as Kaala Baba stared into the murky waters.
“I’m Brij, Mamta’s friend.”
He nodded and adjusted himself to face me. I did the same. From a distance, we probably looked like
yoga partners.
He looked through me for a couple of seconds more before he spoke. His voice was gentle yet firm.
“What is your question?”
“Is it true that you call yourself Kaala Baba because you have a black tongue? Does everything you
say really come true?” I blurted out.
He smiled. “You have to understand it is not a name I have given myself. I do not know because I do
not always know what happens to all the people I speak to. I am never in one place long enough and
there is no way for anyone to get in touch with me… I am sure that is not your question. Is something
troubling you?”
He said it with so much concern that I found myself instantly opening up to him. I told him about the
dysfunctional atmosphere at home after my mother passed away, about my breakup with my fiancée,
my career troubles, and the other things going wrong in my life. He listened patiently, not averting his
intense gaze even once.
“I want to know why things are always going wrong in my life. Will I ever get a break?” I asked at the
end of it all.
He nodded thoughtfully and pulled a backpack out from behind him. He sifted through it and quickly
produced a notebook, a pen, and another book full of numbers and columns.
“Tell me your full name, date, time, and place of birth,” he said.
I gave him the details and he set to work, scribbling on his pad while referring to the book of
numbers. This activity went on for a good ten minutes, during which he created a large uneven
rectangle, further divided into different imperfect shapes filled with numbers. His second chart was
of the same form, but he filled it in with just a few numbers.
He did a few calculations. I couldn’t understand any of it. Confusion seeped into his face as he turned
pages several times, looking back and forth at the two charts he had created. Minutes later, he looked
up and directed his signature piercing gaze at me, actually through me, once again.
“I do not understand this,” he said, tentatively. “Do you have any illness?”
“No,” I responded, perplexed. “I’m in perfect health. Why?”
“This doesn’t make sense. There is no reading after 28 days.”
“But doesn’t every person’s astrological chart have houses or planets…”
“This is a numerological chart. It is an ancient science that has passed down centuries through
generations of my tribe. You will not find it in any University.”
“Kaala Baba, I do not understand what you’re trying to say about my future,” I said, steering him back
to the topic.
“Do you fear death?” he asked, in a sudden change of tone.
I felt goose-bumps pop up all over my arms. I was still skeptical of this mysterious baba, but now, for
the first time, I felt uneasy in his presence.
“What?” I asked in disbelief, my brow furrowing in irritation.
His intense expression relaxed into a benign smile. “It’s a simple question. We humans are not aware
of our own mortality and this is a question we seldom ask ourselves. How you feel about death?”
I decided to turn the question back at him and see where this went. “You are the learned one, Kaala
Baba. I would like to know what you think of death.”
He took a deep breath and turned to gaze at the sea. In a sudden motion, he turned back and infiltrated
my senses again with that piercing look.
“I believe that there is no such thing as death. This concept of beginning and end is a limitation of the
human mind. The world was always there and always will be. In the same way, the soul is always
there and always will be. The soul never dies.”
I had heard that humbug before. But I maintained a straight face as he went on.
“Death is more traumatic to the soul than it is to the human body.”
“Then what becomes of the soul after it leaves the body?” I asked with mock seriousness. “Does it
wander around as a ghost?”
It was meant as humor, but he didn’t break into a smile. “Yes, it takes time for the soul to adjust to the
afterlife. There is trauma when the soul transcends worlds. Sometimes, the soul hovers around till it
can accept the death of its human form. In that state, you can call souls ghosts.”
“Do you see ghosts?”
“Sometimes, I do,” he said, in a serious tone. Then he immediately broke into a chuckle and
continued. “Even if we don’t see ghosts, we do sense the presence of dead people. We may see our
deceased ones in our dreams, that is the most common way. Sometimes, when we are thinking of a
dead person a sole feather appears fluttering in front of us, the deceased person’s way of reminding us
of their presence.”
He took on a solemn tone. “Does this answer your question?”
“No, it doesn’t,” I stated, more harshly then I should have. I didn’t like this beating around the bush.
“My question was this. Why do bad things keep happening in my life? Why do the only people who
are supposed to care about me keep abandoning me? Why do I lose the people I love?”
“You will get the answers 28 days from today.”
“28 days? What’s going to happen in 28 days?” I asked, my brows furrowed in irritation.
“That is all I can tell you,” he said in a note of finality.
“Are you not telling me because of your black tongue? I can handle it.”
He started to get up. I caught his arm. I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily and leave me
hanging. He seemed to take no offence and gently sat back down.
“Kaala Baba, you have to tell me what you see,” I said, irately. This man was testing my patience.
“I don’t see anything,” he said, shaking his head. “It is what I read from your charts. There is nothing
to read beyond 28 days.”
“Are you saying that I’m going to die?” I asked incredulously, appalled at the nerve of this guy. Why
was he trying to antagonize me with such cryptic nonsense? How can any chart, astrology or
numerology, predict the exact day of someone’s death?
“Please understand whatever you can from what I have told you,” Kaala Baba explained. “I am just
the medium. Your destiny is already written.”
“Am I going to die?” I persisted.
He took a deep breath and turned toward the persistent waves, following them with his eyes.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “It is in your chart. ”
“But you have created that chart,” I countered.
“So that is why your close ones have abandoned you,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “They
will feel the pain of your loss, but they will be able to cope with it.”
“So you’re telling me that I’m going to die 28 days from today?” I said, louder this time.
“Yes,” he said, getting up, pulling his knapsack over his shoulder. “You will see the sunset 28 days
from now but not the sunrise of the next day.”
“And what if I am alive to see the sunrise 29 days from now?” I said challengingly.
“Like I said,” he said calmly. “The soul never dies…”
“Kaala Baba,” I cut in, a determination seeping into my voice. “I will meet you here on the sunrise of
the 29th day from now and prove you wrong.” I brought out my phone and pulled up the calendar.
“That’s January 4th .”
“I will be traveling…”
“I expected you to say that,” I scoffed. “Not so confident about your readings anymore, Kaala Baba?”
He folded his hands in a namaste. “I will be here on January 4th at 6 a.m. Don’t be upset.” He looked
upward into the sky and added. “It’s all destiny.”
Whatever, I wanted to say. Instead, I asked, “How much do I owe you?”
“For such readings, no charge.”
***
I was determined not to let Kaala Baba’s words bother me. But then when I thought about it, why
hadn’t he charged me? Was this just his way of amusing himself? To play upon someone’s fear only to
have a good laugh about it later on?
I didn’t doubt that there were some babas who had actual powers. But Kaala Baba was definitely not
one of them. I was now hell-bent on calling out this fake baba and proving him wrong.
Mamta called to find out about my reading with the bizarre baba. I made something up, about some
positive news coming my way in three months. I didn’t see any point in burdening her with the morbid
nonsense that Kaala Baba had told me. In my mind, if I didn’t believe it myself, why should I
unnecessarily worry her? I decided to call her only after I met Kaala Baba on the 4th and then prove to
her what a fraud he was.
Till then, I decided to play safe. Just in case.
I made it a point to walk only on sidewalks, carefully cross the road instead of sprinting across, keep
a safe distance from construction sites, and other such precautions. Even though our cook was trusted
and had been with us for years, I would make her taste the food before I ate it. She acquiesced
without protest as she was used to my father’s unreasonable demands about food and probably
figured that it was only natural for the son to exhibit similar traits.
Two weeks had passed and I felt no sense of danger. Then one evening, while I was seated in Joggers’
Park on Carter Road, a coconut came crashing down and missed my head by centimeters. I was
stunned in shock and a deep sense of paranoia set in.
I rushed back home and decided to stay put till January 4th . That incident had shaken me to the core
and I now deemed it safer to stay indoors. I even skipped the Christmas bash with Mamta and the
gang, feigning a migraine.
January 4th was barely days away and I began to feel calmer as the hours went by. But then on New
Year morning, I woke up with a high fever.
Hours later, a cold and cough set in, followed by joint pain. I began to feel weaker and a doctor was
called in. He said that it was just a mild viral and would subside soon. He left after giving me a
prescription and assured me there was nothing to worry about.
But still, I was worried. Was Kaala Baba’s black tongue taking effect? Despite my best precautions,
had death finally hunted me down?
I forcibly brushed all those thoughts aside and decided to focus on the doctor’s advice. I took the
medicines religiously, used pain relievers for the joint pain and kept myself hydrated. I was
determined to battle this out and stay alive.
By the appointed day, my efforts and willpower had paid off. I woke up in the dark predawn of the 4th
morning, the only remaining symptoms of my virus being a mild pain in my finger joints.
I took a cab to Juhu Beach and alighted at the curved bend outside Juhu Post Office. I paid the cab and
started crossing the empty street. Suddenly, a silver Mercedes came speeding around the blind curve,
and hurtled straight at me. Every muscle in my body froze as I was momentarily blinded by the
brilliant glare of headlights. By some miracle, I barely managed to step out of the way just in time. I
was shaking with relief and had a good mind to give the driver an earful, but dawn was on the verge
of breaking into day and I was more determined than ever now to watch the sunrise with Kaala Baba.
I sprinted through the gates of the colony, down the cobbled path, through the public garden and onto
the beach. Kaala Baba was standing a few paces away from the water, with his eyes closed and head
turned upward. As if suddenly sensing my presence, he opened his eyes and turned toward me.
However, this time he was not looking through me, but at me.
“The sun is just about to rise,” I said, with a victorious smile. “And I’m here, Kaala Baba!”
“Yes, you are,” he smiled.
“I am alive on the 29th day,” I said in a taunting manner. “You said I wouldn’t live to see this day’s
sunrise. And here it is.”
The sun was making its appearance over the horizon, enveloping the beach in a mesmerizing pale
orange hue. We stood for a while in silence, admiring the glorious sight.
“So, do you accept your mistake, Kaala Baba?”
He broke into a smile and nodded.
“A-ha!” I said, pointing my finger towards his chest. “You’re a fake baba. Your charts are all bogus.
And you have no black tongue.”
He bowed apologetically with his hands folded in a namaste. In the distance, a group of Krishna
devotees in saffron robes came singing and dancing in our direction. Kaala Baba’s calm visage took
on an expression of delight. He ran off in their direction and joined the Krishnas. I stood there for a
while, watching the retreating dancing figures fade into the distance, and then headed back
triumphantly.
Kaala Baba’s morbid prediction had certainly spooked me. Now, with that tension abated, my other
problems didn’t seem to matter anymore. It felt like a new lease of life. I felt light, I felt rejuvenated.
There was a huge commotion on the street outside Juhu Post Office. A cop was administering a
breathalyzer test to a man. A second man was leaning against a silver Mercedes, holding his head in
despair. A body draped from head to toe was being carried away on a stretcher. A very familiar
mobile phone was in a plastic bag, in the gloved hands of another uniform.
A stray dog appeared by my side and started barking at me. The shock was yet to set in, but two things
were clear.
Kaala Baba did indeed have a black tongue.
And he hadn’t been joking when he said he could see ghosts; for I had become one.
“Yes. You should meet him! He’s amazing!”
I looked at Mamta incredulously. She had always been the one in our group to scoff at sadhus and
babas and the ‘fools’ who swore by them. Maybe her mindset had changed during her seven years as a
makeup artiste in the Hindi film industry. Bollywood was known to be superstitious after all.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mamta went on, tucking a couple of loose strands of hair behind an
ear. “Kaala Baba is unlike any other Baba. He was hanging around our film set. He asked me if I had
a question. I told him I was fed up with the film line and was seriously considering moving back
home to Pune. He did some calculations and then told me to stay put, because in exactly three days my
life would turn around. And guess what? I got two assignments to do bridal makeup in Dubai. That’s a
new career and a lot of money!”
“Kaala Baba as in Black Baba?” I asked, amused. “Does this guy do black magic or something?”
“No,” she said, taking on a serious tone. “It’s because he has a black tongue. Everything he says
comes true.”
“How is that possible? He can’t possibly be right every single time.”
“Our production controller, Mayank, told me that there are other stories too. He gives accurate
readings.”
The waiter arrived and placed two cappuccinos on the table between us. We were sitting by the
poolside at Otters Club in Bandra, having this nonsensical discussion. Despite the slight chill in the
air, kids were happily frolicking at the shallow end while dodging serious swimmers taking relentless
laps up and down the entire length of the pool.
The waiter placed his pad in front of me. I signed off the order and handed him my membership card.
He tucked both in his pocket and sped off with the empty tray.
“Brij, you need to meet him.” Mamta emptied a packet of Splenda into her cup as she continued.
“Things haven’t been going well for you. He’s like a philosopher. He puts things in perspective. He
tells you both the good and the bad. You’ll find him really interesting.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
In my mind, all these babas were charlatans who built an aura and reputation around themselves to
elicit more money by playing on the superstitions of unsuspecting fools. And I was no fool. Every
now and then, the press was exposing a self-proclaimed baba. A couple of babas were even in jail.
“Look at what’s happened to you,” she said, taking on a reprimanding tone. “You don’t come out with
the gang anymore. It’s been three months since I’ve seen you!”
It had also been there months since my fiancée broke off our engagement. Right after, I got laid off
from my corporate job and had been unsuccessful in procuring gainful employment since then. To top
it off, my father and I weren’t on talking terms. My sister was to blame for that. There was always
awkwardness between father and son, but things got worse after my mother died a decade ago.
Instead of stepping into my mother’s shoes and bridging the gap between father and son, my conniving
sister had turned the situation to her advantage; she had even managed to get my father’s will changed
in her favor.
“Does Kaala Baba charge?” I asked.
“Of course, you have to pay him. Nothing that is free can be of any value. Whatever he asks for.”
I knew it. He was a fraud.
“Just meet him,” Mamta went on. “You never know what could come out of it. Say yes and mean it. ”
I said yes and meant it. Now I was really curious to meet this Kaala Baba who had won the favor of
an agnostic and new-age person like Mamta.
Mamta picked up her phone and leafed through her address book. “He was hanging out on set today.
He’s probably still there. Let me call Mayank. Kaala Baba doesn’t carry a phone.”
She hit a few keys and held her phone to her ear. As she started talking to Mayank, an old squash
partner waved me over from three tables away. When I returned ten minutes later, Mamta was still on
the phone, listening. She held up a finger apologetically and soon after, ended the call.
“All done!” she said, with a triumphant smile. “Kaala Baba will meet you tomorrow at 5 p.m. on Juhu
Beach. You have to go in through the Greenfields Estate entrance. It’s just opposite Juhu Post Office.
You’ll find Kaala Baba as soon as you hit the beach. And you can ask him only one question. He
switches off after that.”
“Thanks, Mamta,” I said warmly. I appreciated that she was concerned about my wellbeing. And I
wasn’t going to disappoint her. I would meet Kaala Baba just for the heck of it. After all, what did I
have to lose?
“How will I recognize him?” I asked.
“You can’t miss him. Trust me.”
***
Next evening, I alighted from the cab at the sharply curving street outside Juhu Post Office and had to
wait for a break in the cars whizzing past, appearing around the blind bend from both sides. Once I
crossed, I headed through the gates of Greenfields Estate and walked down the cobbled lane that
snaked toward Juhu Beach. On either side were plush bungalows and apartment buildings,
interspersed with swaying palm trees.
Two hundred meters later, I was in a public park dotted with benches and early evening walkers. A
few seconds later, I was pushing the heavy metal gate that opened out to the beach. I had descended
just one of the three steps when I spotted him .
Dressed in a loose orange kurta and pajamas splattered with Om signs, Kaala Baba had his hands
outstretched and was twirling rhythmically, going round and round, like a planet orbiting the sun. He
had a free-flowing beard and long hair, characteristic of your stereotypical baba. People looked at
him in amusement and walked by, some even stopping briefly to take a picture. But Kaala Baba’s
head was turned to one side, concentrating on one upstretched hand as he continued his graceful
dance.
I stood a couple of feet away gazing at this revolving mystic, wondering if he was actually on drugs.
Such free-spirited activities happen on the beaches of Goa, rarely Mumbai.
Kaala Baba suddenly fell down on his knees. A spray of sand splashed upward as his face and
outstretched hands hit the beach. He remained in that prostrate position for a few minutes and then
sprung upward to his full frame, which was lean and bony. He was in his late forties, but his serene
expression took a decade off his face.
“Kaala Baba?” I asked at my politest best.
He turned to look at me. His eyes bore a piercing gaze that looked through you, rather than at you.
He sat down cross-legged on the sand and patted the space next to him. I followed suit and waited
patiently as Kaala Baba stared into the murky waters.
“I’m Brij, Mamta’s friend.”
He nodded and adjusted himself to face me. I did the same. From a distance, we probably looked like
yoga partners.
He looked through me for a couple of seconds more before he spoke. His voice was gentle yet firm.
“What is your question?”
“Is it true that you call yourself Kaala Baba because you have a black tongue? Does everything you
say really come true?” I blurted out.
He smiled. “You have to understand it is not a name I have given myself. I do not know because I do
not always know what happens to all the people I speak to. I am never in one place long enough and
there is no way for anyone to get in touch with me… I am sure that is not your question. Is something
troubling you?”
He said it with so much concern that I found myself instantly opening up to him. I told him about the
dysfunctional atmosphere at home after my mother passed away, about my breakup with my fiancée,
my career troubles, and the other things going wrong in my life. He listened patiently, not averting his
intense gaze even once.
“I want to know why things are always going wrong in my life. Will I ever get a break?” I asked at the
end of it all.
He nodded thoughtfully and pulled a backpack out from behind him. He sifted through it and quickly
produced a notebook, a pen, and another book full of numbers and columns.
“Tell me your full name, date, time, and place of birth,” he said.
I gave him the details and he set to work, scribbling on his pad while referring to the book of
numbers. This activity went on for a good ten minutes, during which he created a large uneven
rectangle, further divided into different imperfect shapes filled with numbers. His second chart was
of the same form, but he filled it in with just a few numbers.
He did a few calculations. I couldn’t understand any of it. Confusion seeped into his face as he turned
pages several times, looking back and forth at the two charts he had created. Minutes later, he looked
up and directed his signature piercing gaze at me, actually through me, once again.
“I do not understand this,” he said, tentatively. “Do you have any illness?”
“No,” I responded, perplexed. “I’m in perfect health. Why?”
“This doesn’t make sense. There is no reading after 28 days.”
“But doesn’t every person’s astrological chart have houses or planets…”
“This is a numerological chart. It is an ancient science that has passed down centuries through
generations of my tribe. You will not find it in any University.”
“Kaala Baba, I do not understand what you’re trying to say about my future,” I said, steering him back
to the topic.
“Do you fear death?” he asked, in a sudden change of tone.
I felt goose-bumps pop up all over my arms. I was still skeptical of this mysterious baba, but now, for
the first time, I felt uneasy in his presence.
“What?” I asked in disbelief, my brow furrowing in irritation.
His intense expression relaxed into a benign smile. “It’s a simple question. We humans are not aware
of our own mortality and this is a question we seldom ask ourselves. How you feel about death?”
I decided to turn the question back at him and see where this went. “You are the learned one, Kaala
Baba. I would like to know what you think of death.”
He took a deep breath and turned to gaze at the sea. In a sudden motion, he turned back and infiltrated
my senses again with that piercing look.
“I believe that there is no such thing as death. This concept of beginning and end is a limitation of the
human mind. The world was always there and always will be. In the same way, the soul is always
there and always will be. The soul never dies.”
I had heard that humbug before. But I maintained a straight face as he went on.
“Death is more traumatic to the soul than it is to the human body.”
“Then what becomes of the soul after it leaves the body?” I asked with mock seriousness. “Does it
wander around as a ghost?”
It was meant as humor, but he didn’t break into a smile. “Yes, it takes time for the soul to adjust to the
afterlife. There is trauma when the soul transcends worlds. Sometimes, the soul hovers around till it
can accept the death of its human form. In that state, you can call souls ghosts.”
“Do you see ghosts?”
“Sometimes, I do,” he said, in a serious tone. Then he immediately broke into a chuckle and
continued. “Even if we don’t see ghosts, we do sense the presence of dead people. We may see our
deceased ones in our dreams, that is the most common way. Sometimes, when we are thinking of a
dead person a sole feather appears fluttering in front of us, the deceased person’s way of reminding us
of their presence.”
He took on a solemn tone. “Does this answer your question?”
“No, it doesn’t,” I stated, more harshly then I should have. I didn’t like this beating around the bush.
“My question was this. Why do bad things keep happening in my life? Why do the only people who
are supposed to care about me keep abandoning me? Why do I lose the people I love?”
“You will get the answers 28 days from today.”
“28 days? What’s going to happen in 28 days?” I asked, my brows furrowed in irritation.
“That is all I can tell you,” he said in a note of finality.
“Are you not telling me because of your black tongue? I can handle it.”
He started to get up. I caught his arm. I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily and leave me
hanging. He seemed to take no offence and gently sat back down.
“Kaala Baba, you have to tell me what you see,” I said, irately. This man was testing my patience.
“I don’t see anything,” he said, shaking his head. “It is what I read from your charts. There is nothing
to read beyond 28 days.”
“Are you saying that I’m going to die?” I asked incredulously, appalled at the nerve of this guy. Why
was he trying to antagonize me with such cryptic nonsense? How can any chart, astrology or
numerology, predict the exact day of someone’s death?
“Please understand whatever you can from what I have told you,” Kaala Baba explained. “I am just
the medium. Your destiny is already written.”
“Am I going to die?” I persisted.
He took a deep breath and turned toward the persistent waves, following them with his eyes.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “It is in your chart. ”
“But you have created that chart,” I countered.
“So that is why your close ones have abandoned you,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “They
will feel the pain of your loss, but they will be able to cope with it.”
“So you’re telling me that I’m going to die 28 days from today?” I said, louder this time.
“Yes,” he said, getting up, pulling his knapsack over his shoulder. “You will see the sunset 28 days
from now but not the sunrise of the next day.”
“And what if I am alive to see the sunrise 29 days from now?” I said challengingly.
“Like I said,” he said calmly. “The soul never dies…”
“Kaala Baba,” I cut in, a determination seeping into my voice. “I will meet you here on the sunrise of
the 29th day from now and prove you wrong.” I brought out my phone and pulled up the calendar.
“That’s January 4th .”
“I will be traveling…”
“I expected you to say that,” I scoffed. “Not so confident about your readings anymore, Kaala Baba?”
He folded his hands in a namaste. “I will be here on January 4th at 6 a.m. Don’t be upset.” He looked
upward into the sky and added. “It’s all destiny.”
Whatever, I wanted to say. Instead, I asked, “How much do I owe you?”
“For such readings, no charge.”
***
I was determined not to let Kaala Baba’s words bother me. But then when I thought about it, why
hadn’t he charged me? Was this just his way of amusing himself? To play upon someone’s fear only to
have a good laugh about it later on?
I didn’t doubt that there were some babas who had actual powers. But Kaala Baba was definitely not
one of them. I was now hell-bent on calling out this fake baba and proving him wrong.
Mamta called to find out about my reading with the bizarre baba. I made something up, about some
positive news coming my way in three months. I didn’t see any point in burdening her with the morbid
nonsense that Kaala Baba had told me. In my mind, if I didn’t believe it myself, why should I
unnecessarily worry her? I decided to call her only after I met Kaala Baba on the 4th and then prove to
her what a fraud he was.
Till then, I decided to play safe. Just in case.
I made it a point to walk only on sidewalks, carefully cross the road instead of sprinting across, keep
a safe distance from construction sites, and other such precautions. Even though our cook was trusted
and had been with us for years, I would make her taste the food before I ate it. She acquiesced
without protest as she was used to my father’s unreasonable demands about food and probably
figured that it was only natural for the son to exhibit similar traits.
Two weeks had passed and I felt no sense of danger. Then one evening, while I was seated in Joggers’
Park on Carter Road, a coconut came crashing down and missed my head by centimeters. I was
stunned in shock and a deep sense of paranoia set in.
I rushed back home and decided to stay put till January 4th . That incident had shaken me to the core
and I now deemed it safer to stay indoors. I even skipped the Christmas bash with Mamta and the
gang, feigning a migraine.
January 4th was barely days away and I began to feel calmer as the hours went by. But then on New
Year morning, I woke up with a high fever.
Hours later, a cold and cough set in, followed by joint pain. I began to feel weaker and a doctor was
called in. He said that it was just a mild viral and would subside soon. He left after giving me a
prescription and assured me there was nothing to worry about.
But still, I was worried. Was Kaala Baba’s black tongue taking effect? Despite my best precautions,
had death finally hunted me down?
I forcibly brushed all those thoughts aside and decided to focus on the doctor’s advice. I took the
medicines religiously, used pain relievers for the joint pain and kept myself hydrated. I was
determined to battle this out and stay alive.
By the appointed day, my efforts and willpower had paid off. I woke up in the dark predawn of the 4th
morning, the only remaining symptoms of my virus being a mild pain in my finger joints.
I took a cab to Juhu Beach and alighted at the curved bend outside Juhu Post Office. I paid the cab and
started crossing the empty street. Suddenly, a silver Mercedes came speeding around the blind curve,
and hurtled straight at me. Every muscle in my body froze as I was momentarily blinded by the
brilliant glare of headlights. By some miracle, I barely managed to step out of the way just in time. I
was shaking with relief and had a good mind to give the driver an earful, but dawn was on the verge
of breaking into day and I was more determined than ever now to watch the sunrise with Kaala Baba.
I sprinted through the gates of the colony, down the cobbled path, through the public garden and onto
the beach. Kaala Baba was standing a few paces away from the water, with his eyes closed and head
turned upward. As if suddenly sensing my presence, he opened his eyes and turned toward me.
However, this time he was not looking through me, but at me.
“The sun is just about to rise,” I said, with a victorious smile. “And I’m here, Kaala Baba!”
“Yes, you are,” he smiled.
“I am alive on the 29th day,” I said in a taunting manner. “You said I wouldn’t live to see this day’s
sunrise. And here it is.”
The sun was making its appearance over the horizon, enveloping the beach in a mesmerizing pale
orange hue. We stood for a while in silence, admiring the glorious sight.
“So, do you accept your mistake, Kaala Baba?”
He broke into a smile and nodded.
“A-ha!” I said, pointing my finger towards his chest. “You’re a fake baba. Your charts are all bogus.
And you have no black tongue.”
He bowed apologetically with his hands folded in a namaste. In the distance, a group of Krishna
devotees in saffron robes came singing and dancing in our direction. Kaala Baba’s calm visage took
on an expression of delight. He ran off in their direction and joined the Krishnas. I stood there for a
while, watching the retreating dancing figures fade into the distance, and then headed back
triumphantly.
Kaala Baba’s morbid prediction had certainly spooked me. Now, with that tension abated, my other
problems didn’t seem to matter anymore. It felt like a new lease of life. I felt light, I felt rejuvenated.
There was a huge commotion on the street outside Juhu Post Office. A cop was administering a
breathalyzer test to a man. A second man was leaning against a silver Mercedes, holding his head in
despair. A body draped from head to toe was being carried away on a stretcher. A very familiar
mobile phone was in a plastic bag, in the gloved hands of another uniform.
A stray dog appeared by my side and started barking at me. The shock was yet to set in, but two things
were clear.
Kaala Baba did indeed have a black tongue.
And he hadn’t been joking when he said he could see ghosts; for I had become one.
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