The houses were at the edge of the city, squat and thatched, mud walls covered with cow dung cakes drying in the sun. They belonged to the sweepers who worked in the city, hauling garbage and night-soil on donkeys and hand carts. The wives of the sweepers also worked; they swept the streets and sidewalks, and cleaned the latrines in those very respectable houses where their males were not allowed inside. The children of the sweepers stayed home and looked after the family swine and chickens. The existence of these sweepers went largely unnoticed by ordinary citizens except when, once in a while, the sweepers failed to turn up at their jobs. That always caused a commotion. Like the year they went on a strike for a raise in their wages. It outraged the respectable citizens no end. Dirt and filth piled up everywhere, in the houses as well as the streets. The citizens gave in after only three days. And the sweepers, did they suffer during that period? Not any more than usual, not at least for any lack of sanitary services. Close to their homes outside the city were the fields -- wheat fields, lentil fields, sugar-cane fields -- and occasional moss-covered ponds. They had always gone into those fields to relieve themselves, and they continued to do so. They never had any use for that brick and stucco latrine which a thoughtful municipal corporation had built for them at the edge of their colony. They could see no sense in using the place only to have to clean it themselves afterward. The latrine stayed unused for what it was since the day it was ceremoniously opened by the local alderman. Now it served as a playground for the sweeper children; and late at night, specially in winter, young lovers used it for their secret trysts. Also, every once in a while a man would come by and post the corporation's notices on its walls. Come election time the alderman would also visit the colony; he never failed to express his amazement at the exemplary cleanliness of the sweepers' latrine.

A bit away from the houses and on a barren patch by the fields was an old pipal tree. It had few branches, and scarcely any leaves. In the harsh glare of the sun, it gave neither shade nor shelter. But, summer or winter, rain or shine, there were always a few vultures sitting on its highest branch. Huge and hideous birds, hunched in their silent greed for carrion. That too -- the disposal of the city's dead cattle -- was the sweepers' job, and a comparably more profitable one. They always received a little money from the bereaved owner, and then the skin was theirs to cure and sell. The vultures' share was the meat, and there were always a few of them on the pipal tree to claim that share. Sometimes they would despair of waiting and fly away to enormous heights in the sky, majestic on their powerful wings, only to come sweeping down in long circular glides the moment some putrefying carcass was thrown under the tree.

The wide metalled road which went past the sweepers' houses and the barren patch linked the city with the metropolis only twenty miles away. It was always full of traffic, more so at commuting hours. In the morning, going to the city, people would avert their eyes in disgust at the sight of the naked and filthy children chasing their swine and the lumbering red-necked birds tearing at some pink and white mess. But in the evening, the low houses would be swallowed by darkness, only a few faint spots of light showing here and there, and the pipal tree would be a black silhouette against the starry sky. The passengers would look out at the dark scene, and let out a sigh of relief: Home at last.

Today, as usual, several vultures were sitting on the tree. A few had been there already at dawn; more came sweeping down as the sun arose. When Ramu came out of his hut and saw the eager crowd on the tree, he gave a rueful smile. He knew what the birds were waiting for -- his donkey. It had been ill for some time with a wound on its back that had festered and finally poisoned its entire body. The previous night Ramu had tied it to a peg in front of his house; it lay there now, cold and stiff, with flies crawling in and out of its grimacing jaws. In the very first glow of dawn the vultures had spied the body and greedily taken seats on the pipal tree. A few bold ones had even tried to sneak over to the carcass but were discouraged by the presence of the children. They had then gone back and settled down to wait with the rest, patient and watchful. They knew they would eventually have their feast.

For just a few moments Ramu stood at his door, watching the flies and wasps buzzing over the donkey, then he slowly walked over and untied the rope, making sure to tuck it carefully under the fold of his dhoti for some future use. Catching hold of the donkey's hind legs he then started dragging the carcass across the stubby ground. It wasn't easy, for the ground was full of pebbles and scrub, and the donkey was heavy in death. Ramu cursed and swore; the children ran behind him, laughing and shouting; even some of his neighbours came out to see what was going on. The vultures, too, saw Ramu struggle toward the pipal tree, and shifted eagerly on their perch. One after another, they flew down to the ground and, instead of scurrying away as he drew near, shuffled around Ramu expectantly in a semi-circle. After dropping his burden near the tree Ramu had gone back barely a few feet before the vultures were tugging and straining at the donkey's entrails. Soon they were joined by crows, who kept hopping around on the ground and over the carcass, staying out of the way of the larger birds. Sometimes a few would fly away, then return to pick up tiny morsels and fragments dropped by the vultures. The vultures didn't mind the crows, and the crows were not scared of the vultures. They showed each other a respect and consideration that came naturally. By now the traffic on the highway was in full swing; buses, cars, and scooters were hurrying by in an unceasing stream. The people riding in them noticed the swarm of birds toiling under the tree, and turned their faces away in disgust.

Suddenly there was a terrible crashing sound; two cars collided, then turned over, causing many more behind them to come to screeching halts. A gasoline tank exploded. Car doors banged open and shut. People came running to save the two drivers, but they could only pull out two charred bodies which they laid out on the grass by the road. Most of the sweepers too had come running at the sound of the crash, and now one of them was despatched to the police station. The traffic found a detour around the burning wreckage and slowly started nudging its way forward. Soon only the sweepers were left behind, to watch over the bodies and wait for the police.

The birds had scattered at the sound of the explosion. The crows streaked off, cawing in terror, to hide in the tall-standing sugarcane. The vultures rose more slowly and awkwardly, their huge wings noisily slashing the air, and flew around in circles, casting shadows over the scene below. Then they noticed the two dead bodies and their circles narrowed. One by one they started coming down. Feet out, wings half-gathered, they floated down to come to lumbering halts a little distance away from the sweepers. The latter looked familiar. The vultures came closer, waddling forward in a half-circle, wings hunched, necks rolling from side to side, making low cries of delight.

When the sweepers saw the birds they shouted and waved their hands to scare them away, but the birds were not scared. They were merely somewhat surprised at this unexpected behaviour. Some of the birds slowed down; a few stopped, quizzically arching their necks as if their feelings had been hurt. The sweepers started cursing them; they loudly swore to do terrible things to the birds' mothers and sisters; some even picked up stones and started throwing them at the vultures. It was a sudden attack, never even suspected by the birds. Well known people had suddenly turned into deadly strangers -- into enemies, full of hatred and murder. The birds lumbered around in confusion as they tried to flee. In their surprise they seemed to have forgotten the use of their wings; instead of flying away, they hopped and scuttled around tufts of coarse grass, trying to avoid the stones. They stumbled, and bumped into each other in their frantic retreat. Finally somehow they reached the safety of the old pipal tree, quite beyond the range of the sweepers' stones. One by one the vultures turned their backs on the people and what they were guarding, and resumed their interrupted meal. Soon the crows came out of hiding and joined them. In their quiet and peaceful enjoyment the birds took no notice of the police who soon arrived and carried away the two bodies.