The Death of Vishnu

if the dupatta was still there, was horrified to see her son kissing it, and absorbing God knew what type of germs into his mouth. She came running out, just as Shyamu, still shouting, “Run, Salim, run, Kavita,” deployed his newly acquired grenade launcher at his sister, and blew her up into bits by smashing two of the empty ghee tins into her. Perhaps he underestimated the force of the grenades, because Kavita the belle literally did fly to pieces, losing her head and showering rice all over Rajan, Shyamu, Mrs. Pathak, and the landing.
    When Mrs. Asrani was awoken from her already troubled unscheduled morning nap, she found first of all that her best Basmati rice was lying scattered all over the floor outside the kitchen. She also found that Shyamu had, in an effort to explain his game to Mrs. Pathak, told her not only that the dupatta belonged to Kavita, but also that his sister was missing, and had probably run away with Salim.
    “Did you get any news yet?” Mrs. Pathak asked, her voice oozing with sympathy that barely concealed the titillation.
    “What news? There’s no need for news. Don’t believe everything Shyamu is saying. Kavita’s just gone to visit a friend.”
    “Yes, it must be. Mr. Jalal says that Salim too has gone to visit a friend. I wonder what it all means.” Mrs. Pathak slipped in her little lie to see what Mrs. Asrani’s reaction would be. She was not disappointed.
    “Mr. Jalal told you that? When did he say it?” Mrs. Asrani’s jaw was set in a grim line.
    “Well, Mr. Jalal was saying all sorts of things this morning. Something about a walnut, and that Vishnu was an incarnation of God come down to earth. Who knows what all he said—he was quite incoherent. And then wearing that dupatta—do you know he even tried to attack me?”
    “Yes, yes, but what did he say about Salim?”
    “Something about visiting a friend,” Mrs. Pathak said vaguely. “He was saying two hundred things, though—you should have heard him. It’s as if he’d really seen something. We led him upstairs, and my husband asked him, Mr. Jalal, you’re a Muslim, how strange that you are talking to us about our Hindu gods. And you know what he said—he said if people like us didn’t realize when a god came down, they needed someone like him to open their eyes. Imagine—Mr. Jalal, a prophet.”
    “And you said he was wearing Kavita’s dupatta?”
    “He had it wrapped around his head.”
    “How strange, how very strange.”
    “If there’s anything I can do, I know what a difficult time this must be for you, if there’s anything …”
    But Mrs. Asrani was already turning back towards her flat, trying to decide which she would do first, gather up the rice or give Shyamu his beating.
    Years later, when you are still young, when this union has produced a little one,
    Together we’ll look back and sing, about this, the first night of our union.
    The actual night only came a week later. By then, Vinod had reconciled himself to the fact that his wife clacked her teeth in her sleep. When he mentioned this to her, she complained that he snored every night, and that that was much worse than her clacking, which was due to a misalignment in her mouth, and which only occurred on some nights, and which wasn’t as loud or as hard to adjust to as snoring, anyway.
    The monsoons had been delayed again that year, and the heat had been building up night after night in their room. Vinod took off his shirt, hesitated, then took off his pants as well. “It’s so hot,” he explained apologetically, as he got into bed. “Too hot for my pajama suit.” Sheetal, who was wearing a nightie, didn’t say anything. “Why don’t you take your nightie off as well,” Vinod suggested.
    “What, and be naked?”
    “You’ll be much cooler.”
    Sheetal was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but don’t look,” she whispered.
    Vinod felt her get out of bed. She returned in a moment, and drew the sheet up to her neck.
    “What’s the point if you’re going to cover yourself with a sheet? You’ll sweat even more than in a nightie.”
    “I have to put something on. I’m completely naked otherwise. You have your underclothes on.”
    “Okay, I’ll take them off.”
    Vinod took off his undershirt as Sheetal watched. He rubbed the cotton cloth over the hair on his chest to soak up the sweat, then threw it into a corner of the room.
    “You’re still not naked. What about those?” Sheetal pointed her chin at his