And why else should I find myself now having my future told to me at a Rajput wedding?
"You are Jupiter," he said. Of all the gods in the pantheon, Jupiter is the one I fancy most. A lovely name, Jupiter, like cream and honey in the mouth. And a sense of great distance and closeness at the same time. He was a rainmaker, and I have definitely made my share of rain. I rained all over the Southern Hemisphere in unprecedented quantities. Then he was famous for his thunder, which is appropriate too for a god on a motorcycle, and (if it's fair to mix him up a bit with Zeus) then I like the idea of appearing in all those disguises. I have been changing my shape quite often as well. All in all I would quite like to be Jupiter, if it is not too late...
"You are Jupiter," he said, and for a flash I was, "but for seven years you have been having conflict with Mars." Of course. It was a misunderstanding. He was talking about the planet.
"This troubling influence will go on for two more years." His grip on my hand remained firm and convincing, and I did not resist. I wanted it to be important.
"During these two years, you will have two accidents. They will not be major accidents, but they will not be minor either." Really, I thought, that's stretching my credulity a bit. I hardly need a fortuneteller to predict accidents, with ten thousand miles still to ride. But he did say two. Not major? Not minor?
"After this period, when you are no longer influenced by Mars, it will be well. You will have great success and happiness."
Ted Simon Jupiter's Travels p 421-2