The Astrologer

The father of a young woman died two days ago. The Proprietor of a hotel adopted the woman when she was four years old because the father was unable to care for her due to the death of his wife. Today, the Proprietor and I met with the local Astrologer to determine (based on the exact time of death) when the body should be cremated and what the deceased’s next incarnation will be. This is conventional Bhutanese custom.

The afternoon sun is hot. The Proprietor and I head down to the soccer field where we will meet the Astrologer. While young men play soccer, sleeping dogs waken and amble to areas of the field that promise less disruption. One comes over and settles down next to us. Alongside the bamboo fence we lay down a grass mat and frame it with stones to secure it against the pervasive afternoon wind.
With a bag slung over one shoulder and a cane ploughing into the earth at his feet, the Astrologer raises himself from the car that delivers him. He is cheerful, as is the brother of the deceased who accompanies him. Everyone settles down on the mat while the driver lays out tea and cookies. From his bag the Astrologer removes two books: a Tibetan almanac and a much older astrology text written on long thin pages.

The Proprietor offers a small gift of domo which is received with enthusiasm; the Astrologer is addicted to chewing betel nut as are many Bhutanese folk. Within minutes, red juice is forming in the corners of his mouth. Using the weight of his swollen knuckles—as brown as his gho—he arrests the wind’s assault on his books. We wait and watch as countless pages are turned. The dog wriggles on his back. The brother of the deceased takes notes. The Proprietor shields his face from the wind and the sun.

They speak in Dzongkha and my imagination begins to wander. The deceased drank—apparently, he drank a lot. I imagine his spirit has stumbled over to the soccer pitch to hear what will become of him. The dog moves closer to me and grinds his back into the dusty, dry grass, then stops his sunny satisfaction and gazes at me. This dog could be someone’s still born infant, tripped up in the cycle of birth and rebirth. Or someone's grandmother. The dog barks. The Proprietor raises his hand to shoo him off.

The Astrologer’s conclusion: Although the deceased had been a priest in a previous life he is due to return as an animal—likely a bear—because of bad karma accumulated in his most recent incarnation. More shocking to the people gathered: the cremation has to occur the following day shortly before six in the evening; a schedule that leaves the Proprietor little time for preparation and arrangements.