The Love Detective (42 page)

‘. . . and it turns out I’m a Manglik!’

I look at her blankly. ‘A
what?
’

‘It’s to do with the position of Mars in your chart. It’s called Mangal Dosha, and it will bring terrible luck to the marriage.’ Her eyes well up and Shine holds her closer.

‘Oh come on, you can’t believe that superstitious nonsense,’ I scoff, but even as I’m saying it, I’m remembering how my sister wouldn’t let me put the umbrella up in my room in Goa.

‘I told her not to worry,’ reassures Shine, ‘that he was a silly old man and we would be fine, but she wouldn’t listen—’

‘Vedic astrology is very important in our culture,’ interrupts Aisha, reproving her brother. ‘For a woman, to be a Manglik is very dangerous. Amy is right not to ignore this.’

‘Hush, sister!’ retorts Shine, crossly. ‘You are scaring Amy. Plus there has never been any scientific evidence to support such claims. It’s just superstition.’

‘Maybe, but many believe it can bring troubles to a marriage. Some say it can lead to separation and divorce, or even worse.’

Hearing all this, I suddenly realise this is serious. This isn’t just some silly superstition. My mind flashes back to the night in the desert, listening to Mohan talking about mysticism and the heavens. Whether you believe it or not, for Amy and Shine this is a real problem.

‘Shine could even die,’ whispers Amy, hugging him tighter.

Looking at her scared expression, I feel my mind working overtime. Up until this point I’ve been doing everything to stop this wedding, but now, seeing how much in love she and Shine are, I want to do everything to make it happen.

‘We must help them,’ I say to Aisha, firmly.

‘What?’ She looks at me, shocked.

‘There must be a way to fix this, surely?’

‘I cannot say. You would need to consult with a priest or an astrologer,’ she says unhelpfully, and I get the distinct impression that even if she does know something, she isn’t going to tell me. She doesn’t want to help try and fix this; after all, she likes the fact that something is preventing her brother marrying my sister.

‘What did the astrologer say?’ I look at Shine, but he shakes his head.

‘He wasn’t a good astrologer. He didn’t try to help us, only scare us.’ He wraps his arm tighter around my sister. ‘Amy was so upset we left Udaipur immediately. I didn’t know where to go, so I brought her here to my uncle’s house. It was here we met with Aisha—’

‘But I don’t understand,’ interrupts Amy, frowning. ‘I thought you’d be pleased we can’t get married.’

‘I was wrong,’ I say simply.

‘Wrong?’ she echoes, in disbelief.

I can’t help but smile ruefully. ‘I know, it’s hard for a big sister to admit to her little sister that she was wrong, but you were right . . .’ I break off and think about Sam, about Jack and about everything that’s happened. ‘I thought happy-ever-afters were for fairy tales, that believing in love was a mistake, that you’d only get your heart broken, like I did, and I wanted to stop that from happening. I wanted to protect you. But then something happened . . .’ I break off, thinking of this journey I’ve been on, of all the people and places I’ve seen, of all I’ve experienced and learned.

‘What happened?’ prompts Amy quietly.

‘India,’ I reply, and as I say it out loud for the first time, I realise it’s true. ‘I closed my heart to love but India forced it wide open again.’

My gaze flicks across the faces of Aisha, Shine and Amy, all listening to me intently; but instead of feeling self-conscious, I feel emboldened.

‘Yes, it doesn’t always work out, but you guys had the courage to go for it. To take the risk. Because in love there are no guarantees. There is no insurance that we won’t get our hearts broken.’ My mind flashes back to the hotel room in Udaipur, and I feel a sickening twist in my heart as I think about Jack. ‘But we must never give up on love,’ I say, quietly but firmly.

As I finish speaking, my eyes meet Amy’s.

‘Thank you,’ she says quietly.

‘What? For being a pain-in-the-ass big sister?’ I smile and, grabbing my bag, I turn to leave.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m not sure yet, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’ And, feeling a wave of determination, I leave them staring after me and stride purposely across the courtyard and out into the city.

Chapter 38

Saying that, I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.

Plunged into the bustling maze of streets, I pause for a moment on a corner to try and gather my thoughts. Doubts start to mushroom. Actually, maybe I’ve been a bit impulsive. I mean, it’s all very well wanting to save the day – big sister to the rescue and all that – but the truth of the matter is I don’t know the first thing about astrology, Vedic or otherwise. Or having your charts read. Or horoscopes.

Other than that my star sign is Taurus and I always seem to be ‘due for a surprise’ near the date of my birthday, it’s all a complete mystery to me.

A bit like love.

As the thought strikes, I feel a renewed hope. Because I suddenly realise it doesn’t matter that I’m not an expert in astrology. What matters is love. The love between Amy and Shine. That’s what fascinates me and drives me; that’s what’s important. Like I said, I’m a bit of a love detective because I’m always looking for answers. And there has to be an answer to the question of how Amy and Shine can be together, I think determinedly. There just
has
to be a way to solve this mystery.

First, however, I need a coffee.

Setting off in no particular direction, I head down one of the busy streets towards a large clock tower. I barely slept last night and it’s all starting to catch up with me. I feel exhausted, both physically and emotionally. My mind trails off. Alone, memories of last night are starting to resurface and I have to force thoughts of Jack to the back of my mind. It’s over, I remind myself sharply. It was over before it even began. I’m never going to see him, or think about him, ever again. I can’t.
I won’t
.

Across the street I spot a small, hand-painted sign advertising ‘Real Espresso’, hanging outside a small doorway. It’s not Starbucks, but it’ll do. Dodging the stream of rickshaws and mopeds, I make it to the other side and enter up a narrow staircase that opens out at the top into a small café. It’s obviously a backpacker favourite, as there are quite a few lounging around inside and out on the wooden veranda, clutching their dog-eared guidebooks and drinking coffee, whilst in the corner is the requisite computer on which to check Facebook.

‘Hi, I’d like a cappuccino please,’ I say to the girl working behind the counter.

‘Anything to eat?’ she asks, passing me a menu.

I cast a dutiful eye over it, but I’ve no appetite. I haven’t eaten for hours, but just the thought of food makes my stomach churn. ‘No thanks, just the coffee.’

‘OK, please take a seat, I’ll bring it over,’ she smiles.

There’s a small rattan sofa near the window, and it’s empty. I sit down gratefully and glance abstractedly around at the other tourists, at a couple sitting together in the corner, chatting and smiling, affectionate,
happy
. I watch them, feeling oddly detached. It’s hard to imagine that I was so happy just a few hours ago. It’s strange, but I don’t even feel upset or angry any more, I’m just numb. Everything feels unreal. Like none of it really happened.

A stash of well-worn magazines is lying on the table and I pick one up and start flicking through. It’s like an Indian version of
Grazia
, filled with lots of photographs of celebrities, most of whom I don’t recognise. I glance absently at the pictures, whilst my mind focuses back on Amy. I don’t have any bright ideas yet – to be honest I’m still trying to digest this whole new turn of events. Until a few moments ago I’d never even
heard
of Mangal Dosha or being a Manglik, and I still don’t fully understand it. However, it does sound pretty scary, almost like some kind of curse.

In which case, there must be a way to lift it. I mean, maybe there’s some kind of spell, or magic potion . . .

Er hello, Earth calling Ruby
. What on earth are you talking about?
Spells and magic potions?
What is this
, Harry Potter
?

Feeling suddenly ridiculous, I glance around at the other customers and say a silent thank you that no one can actually read my mind. I’ve often thought that before, when I start daydreaming about all kinds of strange things whilst I’m sitting on the bus or the Tube, but this time people would think I really was completely gaga.

I try to focus back on my magazine, so at least I
look
normal, but I keep wracking my brains. There must be something we can do; there must be something—

I stop dead. I’ve been turning the pages on autopilot but now suddenly my eyes home in on the photograph of a stunningly beautiful Indian woman. Underneath the picture is a caption, out of which jumps a word. ‘
Manglik
.’

What the . . . ?

‘I’m sorry for the wait.’

I’m interrupted by the waitress bringing me my cappuccino.

‘Oh, no worries, thank you,’ I fluster, looking up from the article, then add quickly, ‘Excuse me, do you know who this is?’

The girl takes one glance at the photograph and laughs. ‘Why, of course, she’s a huge Bollywood star,’ she nods. ‘She married another very big Bollywood heartthrob.’

‘She’s married?’ I gasp.

‘Yes, the wedding was very famous here in India.’ She breaks off and points to the magazine in my hands, ‘That’s a photograph from her wedding a couple of years ago. Look, see, there’s her husband.’

I glance back at the photographs, skimming the article furiously to try and glean any information, but it’s mostly about her film and charity work – though, hang on, it does mention that she got rid of this Mangal Dosha before her celebrated marriage. See! I knew there must a way to fix this.

I pause, furiously scanning the article for more information, only there isn’t any.

But how? How did she do that? It doesn’t say!

I feel a stab of frustration. Damn, how can I find out about this? Maybe there’s some expert I can talk to, or an ancient book on astrology I can read, or a specialist I can find . . .

I catch sight of the computer sitting in the corner and have a brainwave. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?

Google.

‘Is there anything else you would like?’

I turn back to the waitress. ‘Yes,’ I nod, smiling. ‘Is the computer free? I’d like to get on the Internet.’

Five minutes and a hundred rupees later, I’m sitting on a stool waiting for Internet Explorer to load. As the screen opens up, I quickly type in the actress’s name, followed by ‘Mangal Dosha, wedding, Manglik’. As I hit search, tons of stuff comes up. There are 973,000 entries for Manglik alone. I click on link after link, typing in various combinations, following different leads. Being a love detective isn’t just about being good at Google, but it sure as hell helps.

From one website about the actress I glean that: ‘
Mangal Dosha was removed by performing Kumbh Vivah before the ceremony
. . .’

Kumbh Vivah?
I feel a rustle of curiosity. Hang on, what’s that?

And so on I Google.

Quite frankly, it’s absolutely fascinating, and for the next hour or so I’m completely absorbed. Before, I’ve always been slightly contemptuous of astrology. I mean, how can some middle-aged man with a bad taste in jumpers and a daily column in a newspaper tell me what’s going to happen to me by reading my stars? But now I realise there’s far more to astrology than just daily horoscopes.

As I follow the rabbit warren of links from one website to the next, I read about all the different belief systems and astronomical phenomena, about searching for meaning in this giant cosmos, and how just because science can’t explain something, it doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Which I guess makes astrology a lot like love, I muse, reading on to the bit about Mangliks and Mangal Dosha. Aisha was telling the truth when she said it’s viewed by many as a pretty big problem, but that doesn’t mean it has to be insurmountable. I don’t know about the astrologer being a silly old man, like Shine said, but he was obviously rubbish or lazy, maybe even both. Even worse, he scared Shine and Amy and made them believe all was lost. I click onto a new page and a smile bursts out across my face – and that’s not true, look! There’s a way to fix it!

All you need to do is first perform a ceremony called a Kumbh Vivah, in which the Manglik woman ‘marries’ a banana tree or a clay pot, which can then be broken before she ties the knot with her husband. By breaking the clay pot after this ‘wedding’, the bride effectively becomes a widow and the problem has been done away with. She is now free to marry her groom, and live happily ever after . . .

I feel a burst of happy relief. I should have known. One of the things that I’ve grown to love about India is that it doesn’t matter what the problem is, whether it’s spiritual, mystical, or astrological, there’s always a practical solution for everything. No job is too big or too small. Everything can be fixed. Whether it’s my sandals, or my sister’s happy-ever-after.