The Bridge Home

by Padma Venkatraman

  “What, and give up our palace above the silver river?” Arul said.

  “Don’t worry, he’s scared of me.” Muthu flexed his scrawny arms. “See how much muscle I have?”

  And with you and Kutti and the boys close at hand—and the waste mart man far away—it felt silly to worry.

  * * *

  • • •

  Later that night, I was falling asleep to the patter of light rain when a volley of barks interrupted the peace. I peered out of our tent.

  Kutti was standing by the entrance with his back arched.

  “What’s wrong?” came Arul’s sleepy voice.

  A man cursed, and another man yelled something back. I recognized one of the voices. The waste mart man had found us.

  Arul lifted the towel separating our tents. “Quick,” he said. “Run.”

  “Rukku.” I shook you awake. “Get up!”

  Muthu and I each took one of your hands and pulled you out of the tent. We began to hobble across the rain-slicked bridge.

  “Rrruuukkku,” I heard the waste mart man drawl as he and the other man stumbled toward us, “I’ve found you.”

  “Our money!” Muthu gasped. “I’ve got to go back for it.”

  “We can get it later!” Arul shoved Muthu forward. “Keep going!”

  We stumbled on, but Arul stopped to fling a chunk of concrete at the men. Snarling, Kutti hurled himself in their direction. I heard a yowl of pain. Kutti or one of the men?

  When we reached the road, Kutti and Arul raced up to join us.

  “You two hide,” Arul whispered. “We’ll lead them away.”

  In the dim glow of a streetlamp, I saw Muthu’s and Arul’s bare heels thumping along the dark road ahead. Then the boys slowed down, running in full view, hoping to lure the men after them.

  The two of us turned in to a side street, and we stiffened against a wall in the shadows. I tried not to think of anything except the feel of your hand, bony but strong, in mine.

  We were lucky. The men hurtled down the other road, after the boys.

  You slouched over Kutti and mewed like a lost kitten. An occasional car whooshed by.

  At last, Arul and Muthu arrived, panting.

  “Come on,” Arul said. “We’ve got to find a better hiding place.”

  You wouldn’t budge, though the boys whispered encouragements.

  “Rukku,” I urged. “Please. We have to go just a little bit farther.”

  Slowly, you straightened up, like a snail coming out of its shell, and let us haul you along.

  We sped down a quiet stretch of road where huge trees loomed over us.

  “Here.” Arul stopped by a long wall. “Come on.”

  Arul climbed atop the wall and leaned down.

  “Rukku first.” I struggled to lift you as high as I could, and Arul pulled you over the wall. I heard you land with a faint thump.

  Kutti’s sharp eyes had discovered a hole, and he was scuffling through it.

  Muthu clambered over the wall with Arul’s help, and then it was my turn.

  The wet wall gleamed in the faint moonlight. I slipped a few times but finally scaled it and plummeted into bushy undergrowth on the other side.

  It was when Arul thudded down next to me that I noticed we were in a graveyard.

  22

  THE GRAVEYARD

  I looked around the graveyard but couldn’t find you. “Where’s Rukku?”

  “She couldn’t have gone far.” Arul glanced nervously into the shadows. “Kutti’s disappeared, too—he must be with her.”

  “We have to find them.” My voice came out all panicky. I had a vision of a ghost swallowing you whole. “Let’s split up and search.”

  Something rustled the branches of a tree.

  “I am not scared,” Muthu announced in a thin voice. “I am not scared . . .”

  We walked a few feet farther into the graveyard, and suddenly you popped out right in front of us, from where you must have curled up—on top of a grave.

  Muthu squealed.

  “Quiet, you fool,” Arul said. “It’s just Rukku!”

  “I know,” Muthu claimed, though his voice was all shaky. “I was just pretending to be scared. For fun.”

  You curled up in a tight ball again, and I threw my arms around you.

  Kutti sat nearby, his ears pricked up.

  “You should be scared of those living men on the bridge, Muthu,” Arul said. “Not scared of these dead ones.”

  He was right. The living posed a greater threat. Yet my skin still felt clammy, and my throat dry.

  “Can’t believe you wanted to run back just to get our money,” Arul scolded Muthu. “You might have ended up in a graveyard.”

  “I did end up in a graveyard,” Muthu retorted.

  “Dead in a graveyard,” Arul said.

  “Those men couldn’t squish an ant dead,” Muthu said. “They were too muddled to aim their blows properly.”

  You whimpered, and I stroked your back. For days, you’d been so much surer of yourself. Now your fists were clenched tight, like they used to be when Appa was angry.

  You were silent for what felt like forever. Then you whispered, “Go back? Bridge?”

  “We have to stay here now. We had to run away from those men, like we ran away from Appa.”

  “Amma,” you whispered.

  “I miss her, too. But we’re together.”

  Squeezing my hand tight, you buried your face in Kutti’s fur.

  “It’s good we moved,” Arul said. “See what flat beds we have here, Rukku? Nice and cool.”

  “Beds?” You patted your grave, tentatively, like you were considering his words. “Nice? Cool?”

  “That’s right.” I forced myself to sound as bright as possible.

  “High-class hotel we’re staying in,” Muthu piped up. “But despite the super beds, I’ll climb that big banyan tree over there and sleep somewhere up in the branches.”

  “Oh, up where the ghosts live?” Arul said. “I’ve heard ghosts usually hide in banyan tree branches.”

  “Or right here on the grass.” Muthu stretched himself out.

  “The grass is wet,” I said. “You’ll catch cold.”

  “Pick out your very own grave, Muthu.” Arul spread his hands expansively. “So many to choose from.”

  The drizzle had stopped, and the moon was peeping out from behind the clouds.

  “Come, Rukku,” Arul continued, “let’s show Muthu what to do.” He took you by the hand and led you around, making a big show of touching each grave, like he was testing them for smoothness.

  Muthu stopped at the grave closest to the one Arul chose.

  Arul peered through the darkness until he could make out the inscription on the grave marker. “So, Muthu is going to sleep above Mr. Vincent’s remains. Thank you, Mr. Vincent. Now, your turn, Rukku. Which one do you want?”

  You chose another one close by and lay back. I sat beside you and smoothed your brow.

  You shivered for a long time, whether from fear or being wet by the cool drizzle, I wasn’t sure. When you finally grew still, I thought you’d fallen asleep. But then you said, “Story?”

  “Story,” Muthu agreed.

  “Story,” Arul echoed.

  “Once upon a time,” I said, “two sisters and two brothers lived in a magical land.”

  “About time you added us,” Muthu said. I could hear a smile in his voice.

  23

  WEDDING BREAKFAST

  When I finally woke, I couldn’t tell what the hour was, because the sky was overcast. The drone of bloodthirsty mosquitoes had woken me several times during the night, and my arms itched with bites. Trying not to scratch at them, I got up and stretched.

  “Wake up, sleepyheads!” Arul called to me and Muthu.
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  You and Arul were already exploring the far corner of the graveyard, where the grass looked as unkempt as the boys’ hair. Not that ours was in a much better state.

  “What a good place to hide,” I said. The inscriptions had worn off many of the grave markers, and most looked like they hadn’t been tended in years. The high wall teetered in some places, but mostly it hid us from view of the road. “Lonelier and more neglected than our bridge.”

  “What are we going to do for breakfast?” Muthu yawned. “I’m hungry.”

  “Hungry,” you agreed.

  “You’ll be delighted to hear,” Arul announced, “we’ve been invited to a wedding breakfast.”

  “Wedding?” I said.

  “Yes. I forgot all about that wedding, boss.” Muthu winked at Arul, and then he wound an imaginary turban on his head. “Is my turban on straight?”

  “Yes, but it’s not as fancy as mine,” Arul said.

  “Dum, dum, dum.” Muthu started marching, beating on an imaginary drum. “You want to join the wedding procession, Rukku?”

  I didn’t ask the boys what they were up to, because I was thrilled to see you return his smile, like your confidence and courage were resurging.

  “Dum, dum, dum.” You walked alongside Muthu. “Dum, dum, dum.”

  Arul followed, playing an imaginary pipe.

  We’d lost our home, but you three were still cheerful, and I tried to forget my worries and be content with that.

  * * *

  • • •

  “It’s as large as my fairy-tale palace!” I gazed at the wedding hall from a nearby hill, where we’d stopped to rest. “Just the sight of it’s worth that long walk!”

  We could see over a low white wall and right into the pillared room where a newlywed couple sat cross-legged opposite the priests. The bride wore so many jewels, she looked like one of the trees strung with strands of twinkling lights in the surrounding garden.

  “Rich people,” Muthu said. “They’ve stuck lights on the trees even though it’s daytime.”

  The music in the hall rose to a crescendo, the beat of drums and the whine of the nadhaswaram so loud, we could catch the sound.

  “Why do they play that silly pipe when people get married?” Muthu said. “It sounds like a frog with a sore throat.”

  “Pretty.” You hummed, slightly off-key. “Pretty.”

  “Right.” Arul smiled at you. “Stay quiet, Muthu, you uncultured brat. Rukku and I are enjoying the concert.”

  The crowd of guests stood and showered the couple with rose petals. “Perfect timing,” Arul said. “They’ll move to the dining room next. It’s around the back. Come on.”

  As guests lined up to congratulate the couple, we walked downhill and around the hall to the back, where the open windows allowed us a glimpse of long tables on which banana leaf plates had been laid out. Servers came in bearing huge pots of steaming food.

  “Ah, what a spread!” Muthu sounded entranced.

  I was more impressed by how much the guests didn’t eat, as the servers cleared away banana leaves still piled high with food.

  “Here comes our feast,” Muthu said as a man came and stuffed some bags into the dumpster outside the back gate of the wedding hall.

  When he was gone, Muthu skipped over to the dumpster and shooed away a couple of bedraggled crows that were hovering above it. He lifted out an untouched, unpeeled banana and waved it triumphantly in the air. Then another. And another.

  He handed them all to you.

  Arul joined him, and the boys discovered even more: golden laddu balls, some half eaten, some barely touched. I couldn’t imagine throwing away a sweet—just wasting the whole thing. Actually I couldn’t even imagine wasting one bite of such a mouthwatering delicacy.

  Ignoring the dirt caking my fingernails, trying to forget that these were a stranger’s leftovers, I stuck a sweet in my mouth.

  “So good,” Arul mumbled with his mouth full. “Try some, Rukku.” We were all so hungry that Arul had forgotten about praying.

  “Yech,” you said.

  “Laddus aren’t your favorite? Want to try a different sweet?” Muthu picked off the bits of rice and vegetables that were stuck to a ball of syrupy gulab jamun and handed it to you. “You’ll like this. Smells of rose petals.”

  “Sweet?” You sniffed suspiciously at the dark, sticky ball and then nibbled at it as daintily as a princess, while the rest of us hungrily cleaned off one leaf plate after another.

  “Look, Rukku.” Muthu motioned at the cloud of flies that hovered around us. “Our meals are so delicious that uninvited guests always visit.”

  A skinny cow ambled over. Kutti barked at it.

  “Shhup!” you said to Kutti, placing a finger across your lips.

  “As I was saying,” Muthu said. “Uninvited guests—coming in all sizes!”

  The cow edged away, but you rolled up one of the empty banana leaves and held it out to the cow.

  It started chewing placidly. You leaned against the cow’s side and crooned to it.

  24

  BELIEVING AND IMAGINING

  “That was some feast.” Muthu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now I feel ready for anything.”

  “Good,” Arul said. “We should go and see what’s left—if anything—of our stuff.”

  “Captain Rukku”—Muthu saluted you—“let’s march to the bridge and see what we can salvage.”

  You and Kutti led the way, and we arrived at our bridge to find it looking like a battlefield, with our belongings scattered everywhere.

  A few brightly colored shreds of cloth fluttered gaily where our tent had been. Caught on a piece of iron that stuck out of the concrete wall, a ragged T-shirt hung, limp as a flag of surrender.

  “Can’t believe they ripped up everything they got their ugly hands on,” I said.

  “That T-shirt was ripped up anyway.” Muthu shrugged. “No big loss there. And they didn’t tear up everything. Look! Our tarps are here.”

  But you were not consoled. Tears welled in your eyes. “No! No! No!”

  Kutti rubbed himself against your legs, and you crouched down and hugged him. I slumped by the bridge wall, right next to you.

  “All gone.” You stroked a frayed knot of the rope that had once held our roof together.

  “That’s not true.” Muthu bent to pick up a tiny bead that glittered near his foot. “See this? Maybe we can find some more.”

  You took the bead from him, and your face brightened slowly, like the sun peeking out from behind rain clouds. The two of you started collecting what remained of your beads, while I searched for the hollow in which I’d hidden our money. And it was there!

  “Here’s the money we saved,” I announced.

  “And here’s your book!” Arul brought it over to me and showed me how the previous night’s drizzle had left some pages stuck together.

  Damp though it was, I pressed it against my chest. It comforted me even more than the money. Parvathi Teacher’s gift felt like a piece of my dream that I could hold on to, a sign that though we’d lost so much, we’d find a way to go on.

  You came over to me, rolling a bead between your fingers, and we linked arms.

  “We can make a nice new home.” Muthu patted the tarps. “Maybe right here? That old tent was flimsy, and now we’ve got a chance to make a better one.”

  “No,” I said. “What if the men come back?”

  “Yes. The graveyard is safer,” Arul said. “No one will look for us there.”

  “But it’ll never be home!” Muthu said.

  “This wasn’t either,” Arul said.

  “Of course it was!” Muthu said. “So what if it didn’t have a fine roof or walls? It’s the best place I ever lived in. Except for Rukku and Akka’s palace.”

  “That palace is i
maginary!” Arul said. “You’ve never lived there, none of us has.”

  “Our palace is a home, inside my head,” Muthu insisted. “And those men can’t wreck it. Ever.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We will always have our palace.” I went over to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “And I promise we’ll fix up a home at the graveyard, too.”

  With my toes, I scuffed at the crumbling concrete wall of the bridge. I thought of the money we’d spent trying to make our tent cozy. Ruined though the bridge was, there was something magical about living above the shining river. Even on that bleak day, it felt more like home than the dingy apartment where we’d stayed with our parents.

  “I hate leaving, too, Muthu,” I said. “But we have no choice. And we have to find work soon. Our money won’t last long. Rukku has hardly any beads left, and we can’t risk returning to the Himalayas. It’s too close to the waste mart man’s place.”

  “We don’t have to go to the Himalayas,” Arul said. “Haven’t you noticed there are junk heaps everywhere? Plenty of other places we can work. And other waste mart men.”

  “That’s right, Akka. Don’t worry.” Muthu inhaled noisily. “This is one big sweet-smelling city. We know every neighborhood by the scent of its garbage. You’ll be an expert, too, really soon.”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered. “My life’s aim was to map the city’s dumps.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Arul said. “We can buy more beads, and you can try to make a go of Rukku’s necklace business, like you’d wanted. After all, it’s thanks to you and her that we’ve still got any money left.”

  “Yes!” I said, glad that Arul had finally agreed we needed to do more with your bead business.

  “While the two of us work at the dump, you two can get more beads,” Arul said. “But first, let’s drop our stuff off at the graveyard.”

  As we walked away, you and Muthu started playing a game, tossing a bit of concrete into the air like a ball and trying to catch it again before it fell. Kutti was following along, his nose moving up and down. I watched, glad you were staying so strong, although our lives kept going up and down, like the broken concrete bit you were tossing and catching.