The Death of Vishnu, by Manil Suri, is one of those novels that sticks with you long after you finish it. The protagonist of the story is Vishnu, the “odd-job man” for an apartment block in Bombay. As the story opens, Vishnu lays dying on the landing of the staircase. Suri pulls you into the story with a hard tug, catching you up like a swift current:
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 lives of the apartment dwellers unfold around him as Vishnu lays, semi-conscious, and still somewhat aware of the goings-on: the secret meetings of Kavita and Salim, whose parents don’t want them to get married; the petty arguments of Mrs. Pathak and Mrs. Asrani, who share the building’s first-floor kitchen. In between episodes of the apartment dwellers’ lives, Suri details what thoughts pass through Vishnu’s mind as he lies on the stairs.
Vishnu was not always the poor odd-job man for the apartment. His life was rich and full as we see from his reminiscences of his lost love, Padmina. We also see Vishnu as a boy, comforted by his mother who tells him he truly is the god, Vishnu. The passage where his mother comforts him after his drunk father drops a hot pot of bhang on his head is lovely and tender:
“Vishnu the fearless, Vishnu the merciful,” his mother continues, “the Ganges flows from the feet of my little Vishnu. One day his Lakshmi will descend into his life, and Garuda the eagle will appear to fly them to Vaikuntha.”
Vishnu pictures himself with his mother riding the giant eagle above the clouds. In the distance lies their private paradise of Vaikuntha, gold spires glitter in the sun.
“You are Vishnu,” his mother tells him, “keeper of the universe, keeper of the sun. What would be the world without you?”
This novel shows humanity at its best and at its worst as tenants make efforts to leave food and drink for Vishnu, yet never actually stop to check to see if he is still alive. No one wants to be bothered with the cost that would be incurred if they were to actually call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. No one wants to be troubled with the cost of a burial.
Suri’s biographical note may surprise you: he is a professor of mathematics at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. But don’t judge a writer by his full-time profession. Suri’s association with the numerical world does not diminish his ability to engage a reader with his prose.
295 pages.
