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Dying
Vishnu
Not wanting
to arouse Vishnu in case he hadn't died yet, Mrs. Asrani tiptoed down
to the third step above the landing on which he lived, teakettle in hand.
Vishnu lay sprawled on the stone, his figure aligned with the curve of
the stairs. The laces of a pair of sneakers twined around the fingers
of one hand; the other lay outstretched, as if trying to pull his body
up the next step. During the night, Mrs. Asrani noted with distress, Vishnu
had not only thrown up, but also soiled himself. she had warned her neighbour,
Mrs. Pathak, not to feed Vishnu when he was so sick, but did that woman
ever listen: She tried not to look at the large stain spreading through
the worn material of Vishnu's khaki pants, the ones that her husband had
give tim last Divali. What a mess-the jamadarni would have to be brought
in to clean up such a mess, and it would not be free, either, someone
would have to pay. Her large frame heaving against the sari in which it
was swaddled, Mrs Asrani peered at Vishnu from the safety of the third
step and vowed it would not be her.
A more immediate
problem had to be dealt with first-what to do about the cup of tea she
brought Vishnu every morning? On the one hand, it was obvious that Vishnu
did not have much need for tea right now. Even yesterday, he had barely
stiffed when she had filled his plastic cup, and she had felt a flutter
of resentment at not having received her usual salaam in return. On the
other hand, giving tea to a dying man was surely a very propitious thing
to do. Since she had taken this daily task upon herself, it would be foolish
to stop now, when at most a few more cups could possibly be required.
Besides, who knew what sort of repercussions would rain down upon her
if she failed to fulfil this daily ritual?
Pressing
the edge of her sari against her nose to keep out the smell, Mrs. Asrani
descended gingerly to the landing. Using the scrap of brown paper she
had brought along for the purpose, she fished out the cup from the small
pile of belongings near Vishnu's head, taking care to always keep the
paper between her fingers and the cup, so as not to infect herself with
whatever he had. She placed the cup on the step above the landing and
poured tea from the kettle. Hating the idea of good tea being wasted,
she hesitated when the cup was half full, but only for a second, filling
it to its usual level to fulfill her pledge. Then she ascended the steps
and surveyed her handiwork. The cup lay steaming where she had left it-but
now Vishnu looked like he was stretching out across the landing to reach
it...
Vishnu lay
sprawled on the stone, aligned with the curve of the stairs.
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Forget
endology, writes INDIA TODAY Senior Editor S. Prasannarajan. Celebrate
2001, celebrate the future in 
