The Death of Vishnu

spiraling out in front of him—so few that he can almost count them—what if this is all that remains between him and the end? He imagines reaching the top and opening the door, stepping out to the terrace, and finding all the gods have vanished. All except the solitary red-and-green-decked figure, standing by the parapet. The figure turns around and beckons to him with its mace. Recognition comes with a shock—it is Yama, the god of death.
    Vishnu stares up at the terrace door. It is open a crack—is there someone behind it, peering down at him? He wonders if he should try to go back, descend to his landing, try to reclaim his body, rewind the movie of his life. Or should he keep climbing, throw open the terrace door, boldly deal with whatever lies behind? He looks down the stairs he has just ascended—they seem strangely disorienting, listing before his eyes, rolling into the dark. He has climbed too far, he has worked too hard—there can be no return.
    Perhaps the answer is to not let his mind waver, to fix it on the immortality he has been promised. Even if it does turn out to be Yama behind the door, what, really, has he lost? Does he enjoy his current existence so much that he cannot bear to give it up? Is the plot of this life so compelling that he will not exchange it for another?
    He resumes his ascent. Shutting out the sound of “God or man, god or man,” that still echoes with each step. Instead, he lets his mother’s words fill his mind.
    “One day my Vishnu will find his Lakshmi, and Garuda the eagle will appear to fly them to Vaikuntha.”
    He imagines opening the terrace door just as Garuda is alighting from the sky. The sun’s rays splash like liquid gold off Garuda’s head, they glance off his neck and sluice across his feathers. On his back, attached with strands of velvet, is the chariot in which they will be carried away.
    Garuda nuzzles Lakshmi’s head with his own, then bends so she can climb into the chariot. Lakshmi waves to Vishnu from the chariot, and he runs across the terrace to join her. But before he can get there, his path is blocked by Yama’s mace.
    “Not so fast, my friend,” Yama says, and thrusts his mace at Vishnu. Vishnu feints, he dodges, but Yama seems to be everywhere.
    “Time to rest,” Yama says, and waves the mace in Vishnu’s face. All at once, Vishnu feels his alertness begin to wane.
    “Sleep, my friend,” Yama says, his voice sounding far away.
    Vishnu knows he must keep awake, he must not fall to Yama. He looks around for the chariot, but Lakshmi and Garuda have flown away. What did his mother say, how can he bring them back, how will he get to the paradise of Vaikuntha? He concentrates on her voice again, but the words she says are not the same.
    “When the age of Kaliyuga is drawing to a close, then my little Vishnu will take a rest.”
    This is not the message he wants. He tries to retune his mother’s voice, but the signals he receives remain the same.
    “Ananta the snake will rise from the sea, and on his endless coils will my Vishnu rest his head.”
    Vishnu takes another step. He imagines the walls getting covered with scales around him, the stone turning soft and fleshy under his feet, as if it is the body of a living thing. He looks at the staircase. It is rising and dipping before him, like the coils of some fantastic being.
    “The sun will go down and the seas will die as Vishnu closes his eyes.”
    He tries to negotiate the rearing segments, but loses his balance and falls. Drowsiness moves in swiftly to overcome him.
    “Sleep will engulf my Vishnu, as time comes to an end.”
    The buckling has stopped, the stairs are uncoiling smoothly under him. His body is rocked gently by the undulations passing beneath. He turns around and looks with half-closed eyes at the door looming ahead. He tries to drag his body to it, up the three or four steps that are left.
    “For eons will he sleep on Ananta, regaining all his strength. Only opening his eyes when it is time to begin the cycle again.”
    Vishnu knows the time for the great sleep is here. He is almost at the door, separated only by two steps. He can still crawl up, he thinks, he can still look through. All he has to do is cross the threshold to attain all the powers that await. But he is so tired. The last thing he notices is an ant emerge from a crack in front of his face and begin to crawl up the step leading to the terrace. Then all sound dies down, the lights dim, and as his eyes