The Death of Vishnu

want, but you’ll never get rid of the dirt on your face!”
    “Thief, thief! I’ll teach you, you thief!” Mrs. Asrani turned to the kitty party ladies, who had filled up plates and come out to watch the fight. “Hai, all you women, with the dal sticking to your fingers and to your face. It’s fried in stolen ghee, all of it—now how do you like the taste?”
    “No!” Mrs. Jaiswal gasped, quick to draw upon her thespian grounding. She allowed her shocked fingers to release the toxic plate, and watched wide-eyed as it shattered with a satisfying crash, sending lentils bouncing everywhere. Mrs. Mirchandani tried doing the same, but inexpertly toppled her plate inwards instead, depositing cubes of cheese in her sari, some of which she only found (and ate) at home, later.
    Mrs. Pathak lunged at Mrs. Asrani, but was stopped by the ambulancewalla, who positioned himself between the two women. “No more!” he screamed. “How many hours the driver is waiting on the road for you. You don’t have the only sick person in Bombay, you know. Two hundred and thirty-five rupees, right now! Or I’m calling the police. On all of you.” He slapped his palms on his knees for emphasis.
    “On all of us?” Mrs. Jaiswal exclaimed, from behind him. “What rot! We don’t even live here! I’ve had enough of this tamasha—come, ladies, let’s go.”
    But the ambulancewalla spread his hands out and blocked the head of the stairs. “First I want my money. Nobody can go until I get my money.”
    Instinctively, Mrs. Jaiswal advanced to challenge him, but Mrs. Mirchandani held her back. “He’s holding us hostage, Sheila!” she gasped. She turned around, her face flushed, and explained the situation sadly to the others: “Mrs. Pathak hasn’t paid him, so he’s holding us all hostage.”
    “Pay him at once, Usha!” Mrs. Jaiswal commanded.
    “ I pay him? You pay him, you cheat! Stealing everyone’s money, week after week, stuffing your black purse—you think no one can see? Let’s have a look—all of us, what’s in that purse of yours—what special good-luck charm, for you only, Lakshmi has bestowed—even the ambulancewalla wants to see—” Mrs. Pathak grabbed a strap and tried to snatch the purse out from under Mrs. Jaiswal’s arm, but the strap broke and came loose in her hand. Mrs. Pathak stared at it, bewildered. All the fight seemed to go out of her.
    “How dare you!” Mrs. Jaiswal hissed, as she pulled the strap back out of Mrs. Pathak’s limp hand. “How dare you!” she repeated, and Mrs. Pathak flinched, as if expecting Mrs. Jaiswal to strike her with it. But all Mrs. Jaiswal did was to open her purse and fold the strap into one of the compartments.
    “For your information, I have nothing to hide in my purse,” Mrs. Jaiswal said, and held open the compartment for everyone to see. Mrs. Mirchandani extended a hand to feel inside, but was stopped by a withering look from Mrs. Jaiswal. Mrs. Ganesh was curious about the other compartments, but decided not to say anything.
    “ Now can we go?” Mrs. Jaiswal said, and the women nodded in unison. The ambulancewalla started to say again that he wouldn’t let them pass, but sheepishly lowered his arms as Mrs. Jaiswal approached with her entourage.
    “Why won’t anyone pay me?” he moaned, as they filed past him down the steps.
    Mrs. Pathak spotted a piece of cheese that had been flattened under Mrs. Jaiswal’s sandal, and picked it up. She looked at it in her palm, as she would an injured bird that needed nursing back to health. “Pay him,” she said tonelessly to Mr. Pathak, pressing the cheese with her fingers to coax it into a cube.
    “Listen to your wife only, and pay me,” the ambulancewalla chimed in.
    Mr. Pathak looked sternly through his glasses at Mr. Asrani, who started shifting uncomfortably.
    “Actually,” Mr. Asrani mumbled, his face reddening as he stared at his wife’s feet. “Actually, Mr. Pathak asked me to help him call the ambulance.” He looked up to gauge her reaction, then quickly lowered his eyes. “How could I refuse only, he asked me when I was on my way to the temple. So I had to give my name, too.” His voice choked, as if he had just discovered a remnant of biscuit lodged in his throat.
    Wordlessly, Mrs. Asrani went back into her flat. She reemerged moments later, and put some bills and a fifty-paisa coin in the ambulancewalla’s hand. “Here’s our share of the money,” she said, not looking at the