What is to happen will happen

Lifetimes ago, under a banyan tree in the village of Hasnapur, an astrologer cupped his ears - his satellite dish to the stars - and foretold my windowhood and exile. I was only seven then, fast and venturesome, scabrous-armed from leaves and thorns.
"No!" I shouted. "You're a crazy old man. You don't know what my future holds!"
"Suit yourself," the astrologer cackled. "What is to happen will happen." Then he chucked me hard on the head.
I fell. My teeth cut into my tongue. A twig sticking out of the bundle of firewood I'd scavenged punched a starshaped wound into my forehead. I lay still. The astrologer reentered his trance. I was nothing, a speck in the solar system. Bad times were on their way. I was helpless, doomed. The star bled.
"I don't believe you," I whispered.

Mukherjee, Bharati. Jasmine. Fawcett Crest, 1989. ISBN: 0449219232.