There are flocks of people walk­ing in and around Bir Hospital, one of the busiest in the coun­try. These are not just patients and their visitors, but also those looking for a palmist, in the hope of getting a peek into their future.

 

As a child, I was fascinated by palmistry. The idea of someone looking at my palm and somehow foretelling my future was too good to be true. But I took it seriously. I clearly remember two things a palmist had told me in 2010: I would soon be leaving Nepal for my higher studies and I would get married at 25. The thought of getting mar­ried at 25 was exciting then, but now that I am 23, I don’t see myself getting married in two years. But the palmist’s first prophesy was fulfilled. It seemed impossible at the time that I would leave Nepal soon, but two years down the line, I did end up in Bangladesh for an undergraduate degree.

 

Now that I am older, I am skeptical about palmistry. My first thought is, “Why do palmists sit around pre­dicting others’ future when they could have looked into their own future and changed it for the bet­ter?” Additionally, even though the palmist foretold those two specific things, other things he said were vague: “You will always be there for your family”, “You have a great future”, and “You should not trust people easily”. Unsure about his predictive power, I once again hit the streets to find out more about palmistry.

 

Under the overhead bridge in front of Bir Hospital is a small room with two palmists—Keshav Prasad Poudel, 79, and Dilliram Koirala, 71. They claim to have read numer­ous palms under that bridge in the past 15 years. Currently, they charge between Rs 150 to Rs 250 for reading a palm. They say they learned palm­istry from family members.

 

I ask Poudel what he can predict. “Everything,” he replies. I then ask him when I will die. “That’s an easy one,” he says, and explains that if he says I will die within a year, I might come back to question his knowledge after a year, but if he says I will die in the next 20 years, I will probably forget what he said by then. I nod.

 

I want to talk to other palmists before going back to him. So I approach Bharat Subedi, 75, who is sitting on the sidewalk in front of the hospital. He claims to have learned palmistry at the age of sev­en, when a palmist took him to a dark place in Sundarijal and taught him for seven months. When I ask him how I can believe what he says, he shows me a newspaper cutting. It’s an article about him from April 2015, entitled ‘Ma doctor ko doctor hoon’ (“I am the doctor of doctors”). He charges Rs 330 for a session, for which he uses rice. (I did not see oth­er palmists doing so.) Subedi divides the rice into three parts, each of which requires Rs 100 on top. (Another Rs 30 goes straight into his pocket.) Subedi claims the number of his “customers” has grown over the years.

 

As I head toward Shahid Gate, I see around eight palmists, all sitting close to each other. I approach one and he tells me they all came to Kathmandu 23 years ago from South India, where they learned palmistry. Tripadi baba, 38, accepts the money I hand him.

 

I show him my palm. He speaks hastily as if he is reciting a man­tra. And although he talks to me in Nepali, he has a strong accent, which makes it hard for me to understand. He asks my age and predicts I would get married at 25! He goes on to say things like I have a bright career and a future of Laxmi, the goddess of wealth. As I am about to leave, he warns me not to go to other palm­ists, as they might make false predic­tions (like I have a bad future), which would upset me.

 

Finally, I go back to Poudel. He asks the date and time of my birth, and does some calculation with the numbers. Then he looks at my palm and says I am going to get married soon. I wonder why they have to start with my marriage! I tell him I have no intention of get­ting married before 30. He hesitates slightly but tells me he sees a sign that I would get married earlier. When I ask him for a specific age, he says 28. He predicts I would go abroad within the next eight months and advises me to worship Saturn on Saturdays to placate him. He adds that I have a bright career and I will live a healthy life until I die at 75.

 

Poudel says people who are in deep trouble and looking for some solace usually get their palms read. Earlier, Subedi had said, “Even doc­tors can’t cure a troubled heart. There are many people who have problems related to life, relation­ships, money, etc. and I am here to guide them.” And Bir Hospital seems to be the right place for it, as there are countless people visiting it from all over the country.