Even though the heat is like a wet blanket, when they told me Mother had died, I shivered with fear. Now we are totally alone. This impersonal, concrete bridge, is nothing to us. Even though it's home. Father went off years ago.
Now the children look at me. The traffic roars past seeing nothing. Brown dogs fight among the rubble. A cow is eating coconut waste. Nothing is changed. Everything is changed.
My brother and two sisters. How can I feed them? I am only fourteen. I have no job. Sometimes we can steal a little. Or beg a little. But we only get a few rupees - we are always hungry. Kumar makes good money begging, but his uncle cut off his hand so he could. I'd hate that.
Little Kuilmary is scratching again, and Nagarajan coughing all the time. What can I do? Mary brings our few clothes from the river. They smell of sewage. She spreads them across the concrete to dry. I weep. I can't help it.
Aunty says she has a friend who might give me work. I wash my face and comb my hair, and walk across the city to her little shop. Her friend is classy - she wears a bright sari and gold. Lots of gold. Rich! She stares at me for a long time. It makes me prickle. 'Yes, yes. When she is cleaned up, she will do.' I am told to call her Mother. But she isn't my mother, so I won't!
'Don't you want work?' she says. I go with her. She has cold eyes.
We sweat through the noise and crush to the railway station. My new mother buys two tickets.
'Where are we going? I can't leave my family!'
Suddenly her grip is like iron on my wrist. 'Please!' I cry. But we board the train. 'What will you do?' she shouts above the travel-roar, 'Let them die? I give you work. And pretty clothes. You are pretty, you will earn plenty of money. Then your family can be living in a house instead of under that filthy bridge.' The other passengers are staring at us. For the second time today, I cry.
All night we are travelling. Madurai is dusty and crowded. I follow my 'mother' like a dog. Need is my leash. There is a shout. A policeman shouts. Suddenly 'Mother' runs and is gone. I am alone among the people
and traffic and cows and noise and dust. Very, very alone.
'Come with me,' the policeman says. Where else? I have no choice. But he smiles. His car is very comfortable. We come to a house - like a school, clean and cool. Other girls are here. Everyone is very friendly. They ask many questions. When they ask about my family I break down, 'Please help them. Please!'
I am given food, and a real shower with taps! And clean
clothes! Then we drive back home in a minibus. It belongs to a rescue home for wayward girls, they tell me. And they say there is a home waiting for the children too! A real house, with walls and doors, and enough to eat.
We are two days on the road, but my family is there, waiting. They have huge hungry eyes, like dogs.
I run and hug them. 'It’s alright! We are going to be alright!' And we are all laughing and crying together. •
