The Death of Vishnu

an instant, her own breast had throbbed with his longing, and she had felt an urge to sweep him into her arms and squeeze his ache away. To reach through his timidity, to coax out the tenderness caged inside, and feel its warm presence nuzzle against her face.
    “Look at her, can’t even eat anything,” her mother said, bringing out the ice cream. “What’s the matter, can’t stop thinking about you-know-who?” Mrs. Asrani beamed, radiating goodwill at everyone at the table.
    Somewhere the lights were dimming, and a movie was starting up. Her parents and his parents hugging each other as she said yes. Anita and the rest of her girlfriends giggling as the henna was put on her hands. People lining up along the sands at Juhu to watch the wedding procession arrive. Trumpets and trombones gleaming as the band played a song from Bobby . No, Sachcha Jhootha . No, Do Raaste . No…she’d have to think about the music.
    Pran arriving on a mare, just like the groom at Anita’s wedding. Riding it all the way to the entrance of the Holiday Inn. Or maybe, the Kotwanis having insisted, it was the Oberoi instead, and Anita was green with envy. Shyamu eating too many laddoos and sadly having to be led away before the ceremony. The groom blushing even more than the bride as the priest started the prayers.
    But just then, a reel from a different movie seemed to get mixed in. There she was again, all dressed up as a bride, but now it was Salim, not Pran, next to her. And they weren’t at the Oberoi, or even the Holiday Inn—they were at Victoria Terminus, sitting in a train. The whistle blew, the train began to move, and slowly they drew out of the station. The streets started passing by, the houses illuminated silently by the mercury lights, the vendors rolling their carts through the empty markets, the stations deserted at this time of night. Salim’s arms encircled her body, his face drew next to hers, and together they looked through the window, at the city they had lived in all their life.
    Then suddenly it was the first movie again, and she was sitting on their petal-strewn bed in the bridal suite of the Oberoi. She felt her gunghat being lifted up, and looked down at her henna-stained feet, then allowed her vision to rise to Pran’s face. Except it wasn’t his eyes she saw, but Salim’s. That mischievous, leering look she knew so well, those lips which always seemed ready to kiss. Salim’s mouth pressed against hers, and she smelled the spicy fragrance of his skin, tasted the toothpaste freshness of his tongue. The petals floated away, the room trembled and dissolved around them, and the sky began to lighten through the window. She found herself snug against Salim in a railway berth, a blanket wrapped tightly around their bodies. Dawn raced along with them, breaking in a thin orange line across the fields outside. She closed her eyes against Salim’s chest and let the train rock her back to sleep.
    “So what did you think, beti?” her mother asked, interrupting her romantic-dawn-in-the-train scene. Kavita felt a hand stroke her hair lightly, questioningly. “Do you think we should go forward with it?”
    “Really, Aruna, there should be some limit—give the poor child a chance to breathe at least,” her father said.
    “You stay out of this, jee. Lots of breathing you’ve let her do. Even the people down the street have been hearing her breathing.” Then, seeing Kavita’s expression, Mrs. Asrani quickly softened her tone. “All I’m saying is that if we like him, we shouldn’t delay. What if tomorrow some other girl turns his head—engineers don’t grow on trees, you know. Especially not Voltas.”
    “I say we show her around some more,” Shyamu announced, licking the last of his ice cream. “And get pista flavor next time.”
    Should she say yes? Should she agree to marry Pran? What about Salim? What about the money she had withdrawn from the bank? Even if she were to put it back now, how would she explain it on the monthly statement? Besides, it was nine-thirty already, and Salim would be waiting for her on the terrace at midnight.
    The movie had been rewound to their wedding night again. Except this time, as she and Pran were being wed, Salim was singing a sad song, alone, on the terrace. Looking across the bay, calling to his love, reminding her of the promises they had made to each other. His eyes, so full of playfulness usually, now so empty and far away.
    No, this was too sad, she