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Goolbai had been forewarned by her trusted family astrologer that her only son Homi’s life was in imminent danger. Goolbai fervently pleaded with Homi not to report for an Air India flight, as senior purser. Homi ignored his mother’s repeated entreaties but, at the last minute, he relented and missed the flight. The next morning, on January 1, 1978, Goolbai woke up to read in the newspapers that the flight had indeed crashed near Bombay and there were no survivors. She rushed into Homi’s bedroom, only to discover that her son had succumbed to a massive cardiac attack. Homi’s post mortem estimated his time of death within minutes of the crash. This is a true story, with names changed. The astrologer died a year later.

 

 

 

Parsi households in Gujarat were avid believers in astrology. Within a week of a child’s birth, a rather preliminary horoscope, called Janam chitthi (literally, a birth note), would be cast to determine if the child’s pagloo (entry) was auspicious for the father (mother, those days, did not matter). Around navjote, a detailed horoscope would be cast indicating the position of the planets, Sun, Moon, Rahu and Ketu (the last two being imaginary nodes of the Moon accorded planetary status in Hindu astrology) in the 12 houses of the Zodiac. Myopic eyes would then pour over dusty almanacs to assess the strength of a planet in a house, as determined by the exact time and place of birth. The periods and sub-periods of the planets over the entire lifetime would be worked out including the dreaded ‘sadesati panoti’ (a seven-and-a-half year period relating to the placement of Saturn). It was believed that if you were the only son, there was a good chance of losing your father during a sadesati, . The permutations and combinations were infinite — benefics and malefics; planets in square, trine and conjunction to each other; the exotic ‘parivartan yoga’, where planets were lords of each other’s houses, the wealth bestowing ‘gaj kesari yoga’ and a thousand other such yogas. For a pittance, the family astrologer (rarely, a Parsi) would laboriously collate; all of which can be done now, literally in two minutes, and free of cost, on your smartphone or Ipad.
It was an era of arranged marriages and the Kaajwali (matchmaker) would first demand the candidate’s horoscope. A strong Manglik (position of Mars in certain houses) would ‘swallow’ (kill) the spouse, unless the spouse too was a Manglik. Your marketability shot up, if you had a non-Manglik horoscope. Horoscope matching before matrimony was almost mandatory amongst the Parsis then.
Gradually, the liberals began to dismiss astrology as unZoroastrian. How can a religion which advocates Vohuman (the right mind) and free will believe that birth, death and marriage are predestined? they argued. They were wrong. Perhaps, Zarathushtra founded astrology, say several respected scholars. According to the Roman historian Pompeius, our prophet was the founder of the science of foretelling the future from the stars. He was the ultimate Magi.
The Qisse-i Sanjan refers to Zoroastrian high priests consulting astrological charts to determine the safest pathway for Zoroastrians fleeing Iran. Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh speaks of Persian kings consulting the priest-astrologers about the future of their first born son. The ninth century Zoroastrian text, Dinkard refers to ‘star-readers’ foretelling events from a horoscope. Of course, the most famous Zoroastrian astrologer was Jamasp, prime minister of King Vishtasp and one of the first disciples of the Prophet. He wrote the Jamasp Namah or Jamaspi, a Nostradamus like collation of predictions of things to come in the centuries ahead (The English translation by Dr Jivanji Jamshedji Modi is quite fascinating). However, his predictions end abruptly in 1917 — the year in which the Bombay High Court framed the Scheme of Election of the trustees of the Bombay Parsi Punchayet. One apocryphal story about Jamasp, is, that the great astrologer, perhaps finding it too horrific to pen what he foresaw, passed away in shock.
In the early part of the last century, Parsis from Gujarat consulted Hareshwar Joshi who also had the Gaikwads of Baroda as his clients. His grandson, late Dr Vasant Kumar Pandit, a Rajya Sabha Member of Parliament, and a renowned astrologer was quite popular amongst Bombay Parsis in the 1970s and ’80s. Behram Pithavala and Ervad Eruchsha Karkaria were both serious students of the subject, only as a passion. The style of operating of these yesteryear astrologers was quite different from the lighthearted predictions of the likeable Bejon Daruwalla who delivers them in his inimitable, breathless style on television. Of course, the bylanes of Bombay had quite a few Parsi astrologers (one old gentleman called Tehmpton, who stayed all his life at the Petit Sanatorium, but accurately predicted when his clients would acquire a residential flat; and a middle aged spinster at Tardeo, who voluntarily phoned us to warn that we ought not to cross the street ahead of any red vehicle including a fire brigade-no-bumbo, during a particular fortnight).
It is erroneously believed that since Zoroastrianism emphasizes a final day of judgement for all souls, there is no place in it for reincarnation and karma. Astrology makes little sense, if you dismiss repeated rebirths. If it is true that one’s entire life is predetermined by past karma then your free will kicks in only to determine how you react to your life situation, which, in turn, will decide the fate of your future incarnations. As the above mentioned Tehmpton had explained to us, if you were destined to live up to 90, you may booze to your heart’s delight and survive (which he did too). However, for the sin of abusing your body, you may get cirrhosis of the liver in your next incarnation, even though you may then be a teetotaler.
There were Parsis obsessed with astrology who would not leave or enter the house during ‘Rahu- kaal’ (a period of 90 minutes each day, during which commencement of any new venture would invite misfortune). The Jam-e-Jamshed, years ago, commissioned one Swayamjyoti Maharaj — a Jesus look alike — for his weekly forecasts according to the Moon sign (position of the moon in the horoscope). He was a hit amongst the Masoor- paav Parsis, who revered him [‘we have stopped eating Dhansak on Sunday, as our Swayamjyoti Maharaj has said that Rusi’s Sun is debilitated, and would be pleased (that is, the Sun, not Swayamjyoti Maharaj)if we remained vegetarian’]. Unlike the Hindus, few Parsis got pooja (prayer rituals) performed for propitiating a malefic planet; though we recollect a Parsi collegemate who released a tiny serpent made out of silver in some river near Nasik to relieve herself of the ill effects of Kaalsarp dosha (serpentine defect of having all your seven planets sandwiched between Rahu and Ketu in your horoscope), and successfully shed her spinster status, soon thereafter.
Like our dramatically declining numbers (only 57,241 in India in 2011; current estimate 55,000), the belief in astrology has considerably diminished. The Ilm-e-Khshnoomists (a Zoroastrian occult group who are ardent believers in reincarnation, vegetarianism and astrology, inspired by the late Behramshah Shroff) — confidently predict a second coming of the Lord — Saoshyant — who will revitalize our faith and community. It is all written in the Zoroastrian cosmology, they assert. For once, let us hope that the Khshnoomists have got it right.