The Death of Vishnu

hiding everywhere.
    He reaches the landing of the Asranis and Pathaks. There are more ants here, he sees them thread across the floor. Bits of food move along the line, like light along a string of bulbs. Vishnu follows the line to a corner of the landing, and sees a piece of cheese hidden there. The ants are swarming all over it with their black bodies, breaking off tiny chunks and carrying them away. As it becomes lighter, they try to move the whole piece; Vishnu sees it rock and twist a little. Then, like an enormous trophy being carried in a victory procession, it is hoisted off the ground, and borne unsteadily through the air.
    Vishnu remembers his battles with the ants. How many times has he woken on his landing, to see the lines swarming over his blanket, his possessions, himself. He remembers the box of sweets he bought for Padmini. He has wrapped it in plastic, and buried it deep in his pile of belongings, hoping the ants will not discover it. But by morning, they are swarming all over it. He sets the box in the sun and waits for the light to drive them out, then presses their bodies one by one into the ground with his thumb. Before giving the box to Padmini, he examines every sweet, and carefully pinches the remaining ants out.
    The first thing he remembers Padmini saying upon opening the box is “Look, an ant.” She pulls a piece of barfi out, and there, sprinting across the silver leaf coating, is the tiny black insect. Vishnu feels the guilt rise to his face, and waits for Padmini to throw the box down. But she is amused. She flips the barfi upside down as the ant reaches an edge, then watches it race across the top to the other side, before flipping it again. Finally, she tires of the ant and flicks its body into the air. She puts the piece into her mouth and takes out another. “Any more, my little darlings?” she says.
    Vishnu wonders how many ants he has killed. All those bodies he has crushed, did they all have voices? He lifts his foot to clear the ants on the landing, then stops. His animosity has vanished, he will not bring it down. He watches the cheese move along the thread, it is almost at the door of the kitchen now.
    Voices come through the door. Mrs. Asrani and Mrs. Pathak are discussing his body. How curious, he thinks, when he is right outside, listening to them. How surprised they will be when they see him standing there.
    It is Mrs. Asrani who comes out first. She looks straight at him, but does not see him. Mrs. Pathak is right behind her, carrying her cup of tea as well. Her gaze falls upon the ants, her eyes widen at the sight of the cheese. “Damn ants,” she cries, and kicks the cheese across the landing. She lifts her sandal and brings it down repeatedly on the convoy.
    The screams are so loud that Vishnu covers his ears. He thinks of children run over by cars, families crushed by buildings, people burnt alive. He covers his ears to keep the agony out, but the screams claw them apart and burrow into his brain.

    T HE LAST RAYS of evening light are filtering through the window when Vishnu sees the image. A man is standing over his body on the landing down below. He kneels besides him, and pulls back the sheet. With one hand, the man touches Vishnu’s cheek; with the other, he presses the forehead and brushes the wisps of hair off the eyes. Fingertips trace across Vishnu’s lips, then down his chin, and to his chest, where they rub against his heart.
    The man has his eyes closed. His neck is arched, head tilted upwards, lips reciting silent words. Vishnu has seen this silhouette before, he knows he should recognize the crouching figure.
    The man’s eyes open. Their whiteness reaches through the dark. They are large and milky, staring up through the air, through the ceiling, through the stone, at some point outside in the sky. Vishnu looks at them and is unsure if they are filled with reverence or fear.
    The eyes blink, the fingers caress the tufts of chest hair, the lips open and close. Soft words float slowly up from the upturned face. Vishnu sees the gray hair, sees the bulbous nose, sees the pockmarks on the cheeks. Recognition floods in finally. He peers down at Mr. Jalal on the landing, crouching next to his body, staring up through the darkness towards heaven.

C HAPTER F IVE
    M R . J ALAL READ from his book.
    The eyes. Surdas’s eyes.
    The two fountains of sight.
    It would have to be the eyes, Surdas decided.
    The eyes are the windows to the world, and to the