The Bridge Home: Chapters 1–12

Crinkly lines softened her stern face. “I don’t like giving up,” she said.

You always felt like a younger sister, Rukku. You looked younger, too, with your wide eyes and snub nose.

You spoke haltingly, and you hunched your shoulders, which made you seem smaller than me, though you were born a year before.

They were ashamed, she told me, ashamed and angry with her for eloping with someone from an even lower caste than the one she’d been born into.

They were ashamed, she told me, ashamed and angry with her for eloping with someone from an even lower caste than the one she’d been born into.

I inhaled the sweet scent of milk rice that wafted through our apartment.

He ripped open one of the packages and dangled a pair of bangles in front of you. But before your fingers could close over them, he jerked them away.

“How bad both our girls are at catching!” Amma’s voice was high-pitched and tense as a taut string.

She gazed at the pictures of the Gods and Goddesses smiling down serenely from our kitchen wall. As if they’d suddenly leap into life and start helping.

In front of the bus stop sign, a woman was already waiting, chewing tobacco as placidly as a cow chewing its cud.

“Aamaam,” she confirmed. Her eyes roved across my face, which was smarting with pain, and then settled on your cut lip, but she didn’t comment.

I’d never have caught up to that bus if it hadn’t been for the conductor’s shrill whistle, calling the driver to a stop.

My hand was shaking as I opened the drawstring purse at my waist, partly because I was nervous, partly from shock at how high the fare was.

“Marapachi?” You rummaged in your bag, pulled out your wooden doll, and talked to her for a while. Then you stuck her back in your bag and slumped against my shoulder.

“Come with me." His hand came down on my arm and formed a vise.

I’d never seen such an endless flood of vehicles and pedestrians.

Holding you close, I stepped into the gap between a three-wheeled rickshaw and a motorbike.

A great white cow was fording through the river of traffic, vehicles parting to let it through.

Towels, underwear, and faded saris flapped on clotheslines hung across the balconies.

Turning the corner, we found ourselves on an even narrower street, lined with shacks selling food. In one of them, a man stood behind a rickety counter.

You watched, fascinated, as he poured steaming tea from one glass tumbler into another, until a layer of froth bubbled across the rim.

“Owwa,” you echoed sulkily.

Though it was clear that the Goddess hadn’t yet showered the teashop couple with riches, she was well looked after: a fresh jasmine garland was tucked across the picture, and a lighted incense stick was placed beneath it.

Smoke billowed up from the hot oil, and Teashop Aunty turned back to the stove.

At the sound of my voice, the puppy thumped its tail. You stroked it tenderly, with just one finger.

“Come.” You stood and beckoned to the puppy. “Come, Kutti.”

We headed to the deserted bridge. Concrete lions stood on either side of what must have once been the grand entrance, and a crumbling concrete wall ran along its sides. The perfect spot to stay overnight, I decided. Probably the most secluded spot we could get in this city.

Halfway across the bridge, I saw a makeshift shelter.

Someone had made a tent with a tarpaulin.

It was beginning to get dark, but I could make out a boy marching up the bridge. He reminded me of a sunflower. Matted hair that looked like it had never met a comb stuck out like petals around a face that seemed much too large for his skinny body.

He patted Kutti tentatively.

“We have no money to spare, Rukku.”

Near the temple we found a house set in the middle of a sprawling garden.

“I just told you I’m looking for work. I can do housework and—”
“You think rich people are going to give you jobs if you wander into their compounds with a mangy dog tagging along?” the old man said.

I took your hand and walked briskly out the gate.

Something whizzed by my head. I ducked, shocked the gardener would go so far as to throw a stone just to keep up his pretense.

“Might as well eat it. It’s not big enough to share with the boys,” I mused.

We sat in the shade of a gnarled rain tree. Kutti settled his head on his forepaws and watched us.

He gave me his fruit to save for you for the next morning. Ashamed that I was too selfish and hungry to be so noble, I downed my fair share.

“When we grow up, I want to be a teacher,” I told you. This dream had flitted through my mind before.