"How much dowry will she bring?" Baldev, a tall, thin young man with pink turban and tied black beard, questioned.

An emaciated old astrologer, wearing a white cotton dhoti, scratched his bald head, and said, "You paid me ten rupees to ask one question. I studied your stars and told you that you will get a beautiful wife within two years. Now you're asking another question, and for that I have to study the charts again. Place ten rupees on the charts."

Baldev hesitated for a few seconds and then took out a ten rupee bill and laid it on the archaic paper. It was a typical sultry Indian summer day, and the burning incense failed to mute the powerful odor of the freshly painted cow dung on the walls and floor. The astrologer readjusted his crossed legs and threw the dice over the lunar charts. After studying their location, the astrologer smiled and said, "The stars do promise a mountain of dowry."

At this Baldev's face was covered with smiles and a chuckle escaped his pursed lips. He, however, wanted to confirm the statement and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Young man, the stars never tell a lie," the astrologer announced.

"Two years is a long time to wait," Baldev mumbled. "Is there any method to speed up the process?"

The astrologer adjusted his sacred thread and said, "If you daily recite a mantra, the stars will reduce the period."

"Can you give me that mantra?"

"Yes, but it will cost you twenty rupees," the astrologer smirked.

Baldev held his breath. With great trepidation, he searched his pockets and paid the money. The astrologer wrote a few lines on a paper, swirled it over a burning incense pot, and gave it to Baldev who read aloud the lines to make sure about their proper pronunciation, and the astrologer nodded with a smile.

Baldev bowed with folded hands and left. He had spent forty rupees, which were more than his one week's earning. But he was bubbling with joy, since this tiny investment was going to make him very rich.

The astrologer thanked the Goddess Laxmi (wealth) for sending bride-seekers. His predictions brought good results for several young men, and for those who failed, he blamed them for not properly reciting the mantras.

As Baldev cycled back home, he was feeling ecstatic. After entering his cluttered room, he perched on a cane chair and spread the newspaper on a battered wooden table in front of him. He recited the mantra ten times and began ticking each item on the Matrimonial Advertisement page. Finally, he circled one entry. He noted down the telephone number, went to the public phone, and had a long conversation with the party.

He felt he had made a good impression, since the party wanted to meet him. At this stage he didn't want to show great enthusiasm, because this might hurt his chances. Therefore he told them that he was very busy with some urgent cases and would be available after twenty days, on September 17. The party chose to come at ten in the morning, and he gave the address of the bungalow which actually belonged to his friend.

He had told a bunch of lies and didn't have the money to stage his show. He decided to beg his father.

He took hold of his creaky bicycle and shot toward Thati Village. When he entered the narrow mud road, barking, stray dogs chased the tail of dust, generated by the tires of his cycle. He was in a different world, dreaming of travelling in a chauffeur driven limo with a gorgeous wife seated next to him and was not bothered by the noise and dust. He opened the large wooden gate in the six-foot-high mud wall, slipped in, and banged shut the gate, cutting off the snarling dogs. Perspiration had soaked his beard and the edges of his turban. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and rushed toward the banyan tree, under which an old man, with white flowing beard, was taking his noon siesta on a string cot.

"Sat Sri Akal (Sikh greeting), Dad"

The Father raised his head, blinked, and said, "Why are you missing the courts?"

"I don't have any case today."

"You started your practice six months ago. I thought you might be having hundreds of murder cases."

Baldev's hand wrestled with his mustache; he sighed, and said, "So far I had one murder case, and I lost it."

"What about civil suits?"

"Only two cases which didn't pay much."

The Father stared with puzzled looks. "I can't understand this; attorneys are supposed to make a lot of money."

"Too many attorneys; courts are flooded with them. I can't even pay the rent of my stall."

"Then come here and help me; I can use another farmhand."

"Your work is too hard. After spending many years in college, leading a sedate life, it's tough for me to plow the fields."

"You have no other choice; I can't spare money for you. I supported you in college for eight years. You have two degrees and should start paying me back. I have to take care of your younger brothers and sisters."

Baldev became reticent and drummed his fingers on his thigh. After a few minutes he sighed and said, "All right, if I fail to establish myself in one month, I'll move to the village, help you in the morning, and then cycle to the courts."

"I'm glad you're talking some sense. Our neighbor cycles to Amritsar and teaches there, and you can accompany him."

Baldev had placated his father and began working on his next move. He touched his father's knees with folded hands and pleaded, "Dad, can I borrow five hundred rupees?"