FICTION

Bridge Over Chaos

Fiction By Mandira Pattnaik
Illustrations by Cicada Audette-Diaz

What time was it? Matri felt a jolt. It was already time to set out for work, for the job she loved—almost revered. She craned her neck through the two-by-two-foot window of her room. The opening let in a slice of the outside into her crammed private space at the Old Refugee Colony quarters. An eagle made concentric circles against the clear blue sky. It was only nine in the morning, but already the tropical sun, all caustic wrath, blazed down. 

Lately, she was always losing track of time while staring at life's many motions—the loops birds made in the sky, her nieces' and nephews' dancing, or the unceasing traffic in Kolkata's streets. But it was good to daydream; it rounded out time's rough edges.

The adjoining room was shared by Matri’s brother, his wife, and their four children—two boys and two girls. It was a mercy that the children were now in school. Their constant shouting and bickering exhausted Matri. Not that she didn’t love them. She often brought them two-rupee lozenges on her way home in the evenings and sometimes treated them to street-food, clandestinely of course, from the perennially bustling Bagmari Market around the corner from their home. 

Years ago, the refugee colony had been abandoned post office quarters. Matri, her family, and hundreds of others had fled East Bengal in the dead of the night, escaping the horrors of the killings at the height of the riots. She remembered how, under cover of darkness, they came on foot, not even the moon to stand witness. All six of them—father, mother, their four children. Matri, then Matriyee, endearingly named by her grandmother back in the village, was nine-years-old and the eldest. The people on this side of the border had been kind and helpful, first arranging their stay next to the Jute Mill Bridge and then here.

Matri thought of her mother who died soon after. She remembered very little of her, only the toil that began after her death. Overnight, she’d had to become a mother to her three siblings. She didn’t have time to mourn. She didn’t  know where  they’d get their next meal.

Father worked hard, doing cleaning jobs by day, and carrying head-loads at the junkyard by night. Yet, his earnings hardly sufficed for five hungry mouths. Sometimes, they’d sit staring at the door late into the night, waiting for their father to bring home food, but he’d come home empty-handed and they’d simply lie down, their stomachs like woks on which their hunger danced.

The youngest sister couldn’t survive the ordeal. Matri tried hard to save her. But the three-year-old just couldn’t cope. She died in her arms. The little girl’s sunken cheeks, watery eyes, and bony hands haunted Matri for years. She always felt guilty for it. 

Later, her brothers, aged eight and seven, took up odd jobs at tea shops and an ironsmith’s, and they didn’t have to starve again.

* * *

Matri sighed, smiling, amused by her own wandering mind. 

The bus would arrive at nine-thirty. Opening her purse, she counted the coins. Just enough to make the journey to and fro. Madam might pay her today. Then, she’d be able to visit her brother Loke, his wife, and their children—a boy and a girl—at Belghoria. This purse—a green-and-gold brocade one with silver clasps—was Loke’s first purchase with his first proper salary at the Town Planner’s office (all hard labor, but a job nevertheless). Matri had cried seeing his pride and how much it meant to him.

With last-minute pins and tucks to the handloom sari over her matronly body, and powdering her unassuming nose, Matri left the room. Her gray hair, parted in the middle of a small forehead, fell into a long, thin braid down her back. 

Dhanu’s wife Geeta was washing clothes at the tap by the roadside. She flashed a toothy smile.

“Will you be back by tea-time, Didi? I’m making malpuas!”

“Can’t be sure. If Madam allows me my pay today. . . .” Her voice trailed off. 

Geeta nodded as though she understood the unsaid. 

* * *

A rickety bus, tilted to one side like a drunken elephant, swiveled from the middle of the road to where Matri had been standing. It surprised Matri that it managed to do so without trampling her. She boarded the bus, which was already spilling over with people, and made her way to the Ladies’ seats. There was just space enough for her two feet to stand in front of a row of sitting women. She pulled her purse to her bosom and clutched it tightly. One had to be careful of snatchers. (There was hardly any money in it, of course, but the thieves didn’t know that! And it was the purse that was precious.)

The bus reached New Colony in a half-hour, and Matri hurried to leap off just before it drove on. Each day she successfully deboarded, she considered herself lucky. She could easily have been carried away to another stop, unable to alight because of the crowd.

Walking briskly, she reached her employer’s home on First Avenue, an imposing house with dark paneling and stark white European columns. 

The young woman whom Madam had recently engaged as a help opened the door. Matri took the stairs on her right and went directly to Lily’s room.

Little Lily ran to her and jumped into her arms. The four-year-old girl, Madam’s only grandchild, was everyone’s darling. Matri had been her governess nearly her entire life. Lily’s sickly mother confined herself to her room most days, so the little girl bonded with Matri like a baby to its mother. They were inseparable. She often said,

“I love my Mummy, but Matri is my real mother.”

Madam and Lily’s parents chided her.

“You ought to call her Nanny, dear!”

But little Lily persisted, she called Matri ‘Ma’ and her own mother ‘Mamma’, which embarrassed Matri no end, but her ears longed to hear ‘Ma’ all the same! There was no one in the world to call her by that name and none had done so before either, though she’d been mother to her siblings for years.

Matri picked up her Lily and kissed her. Lily returned the kisses with just as much fervor. Then she tugged Matri towards the nursery to show her the new toy that her Pa had brought last evening.

Matri didn’t know what she’d do when Lily began school and she’d no longer be needed. The thought horrified her, though she’d faced such ruptures many times before. 

* * *

When her brothers had grown old enough to take care of themselves, Matri cooked their food at daybreak, closing the window in the room lest some cat messed up the meal, and then went door-to-door, asking if someone had work for a girl like her. Back then, people in her part of the city were poor and nobody could afford the extra help. So, day by day, she ventured further and further out.

 After days of futile searching, someone finally agreed to hire her. The job was to care for a two-month-old infant whose mother had to return to her nurse’s job at the hospital. 

* * *

For twenty rupees, which was a lot those days, Matri cradled and fed the tiny human for ten hours a day. Matri, herself very young, felt nervous with such a tiny life in her hands. Even today, when she thinks of those days, she wonders how she managed. Maybe she had employed all her maternal instincts, all her experiences with her siblings into bringing that baby up till she was two. 

Later, as she switched jobs, she’d earn more money, but by some strange trap of fate, she was always hired to care for newborns or young children. Each time, she was full of love and care. She cuddled them, fed them, and put them to sleep as if they were her own. Every time she was asked to leave, every time her services were no longer required, she left a small piece of her heart with the child. 

Matri invested herself in her vocation so much that, somewhere along the way, she forgot she had a life of her own. When it was too late for her to have children of her own, she consoled herself that this was the life God had meant for her. She enjoyed the company of children and, in some strange way, found her little sister in each of them. 

Matri had justified it all to herself; it was so much better earning something and being independent!

Meanwhile, Loke had married and left. Father had contracted a sudden fever and passed away in just three days. Dhanu had married Geeta, the girl next door. Soon their household had become noisy with life and laughter.

* * *

Lily pulled at Matri’s sari and demanded attention. She had lined her toys in a long string from the door to the balcony on the opposite side. 

“Choo—Choo—train! Choo—Choo—train!” 

The little girl was jumping and clapping vigorously, elated by her feat. Matri joined in the fun.

When it was time for the little girl’s bath, she said,

“Ma, please, I want Teddy to bathe with me.”

Matri was distracted, but Lily persisted,

“Ma! Just for today, pl-ea-se!”

She pulled at Matri’s plump cheeks. 

“Alright! Alright! But we must hurry. We want to have hot lunch with Lily’s favorite fish, don’t we?”

Lily was pliable after that. She loved all kinds of fish. With minimum fuss, she put on her red frock.

They trotted down the stairs.

“Fish… fish… fish,” Lily sang to an improvised melody.

She kept skipping and jumping even after lunch, making each waking moment count, falling asleep only when she was too tired to keep her eyelids from closing involuntarily. When such was the case, she slid into Matri’s lap and played with her big round earrings until she fell asleep. Matri carried her and laid the limp body down on her bed. Then she trudged wearily downstairs for her mid-day meal.

* * *

The house was quiet. Madam and the rest of the family were having their afternoon siesta. 

 Joey, the cook, was sitting on the kitchen floor waiting for Matri, so they could have lunch together, however late it might be. Matri was grateful for that. She didn’t like to be alone.

* * *

When Madam was around, Joey was all ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and ‘No, ma’am, I’ll do it at once!’ Behind her back, she complained openly: ‘The pay isn’t just’, ‘Madam’s unfair! When the gardener asked for leave, she granted her seven days and when I asked for just four days to visit my daughter, she refused! How can she?’ Matri merely listened. In all the households she’d worked in, she carefully maintained a distance from the regular servants, limiting herself to the children under her care, their tantrums, and antics. She listened to kids’ gibberish with utmost attention as if they contained answers to life’s problems! Beyond that, she was indifferent, however much the fellow servants prodded her.

Joey was in a particularly jovial mood today. She teased Matri:

“How can you be so prim and proper all the time? Don’t you bicker and shout?”

Before the listener could answer, Joey had drawn her own conclusions.

“You don’t have a husband giving you orders, minding you all the time. That must be why you never complain!”

Matri smiled wryly. Perhaps she was right. 

* * *

After her nap, Lily was even more energetic. Matri took her to the park, where she insisted that she ride on all that there was—slide, swings, see-saw, and the rest. Matri ran around behind her. Finally, they played hide-and-seek. Lily thought of her ‘Ma’ as an overgrown kid! She wanted Matri to run and skip the way she did. Matri tried her best to keep up, and sometimes Lily clapped and encouraged her. When she fell behind, Lily frowned and admonished her!

* * *

The summer evening was warm and balmy. Both Matri and the little girl were sweaty. Lily had to be coaxed to return home.

After changing into a fresh frock, Lily agreed to have her glass of milk with her Mamma, and Matri was called in for an audience with Madam. The girl’s grandmother was sitting on a settee in the hall. Just as Matri had expected, she was counting each currency note carefully. Handing it over, she asked Matri to sit beside her. Something in her countenance suggested the inevitable.

“We’ll be forever grateful for the love and care you’ve showered on Lily.” Her voice was firm, business-like. “But now, um, how will I put it—we have decided to send her to Boarding School in Darjeeling. So. . .”

The rest was a given. Madam desisted from stating the obvious. Matri smiled liberally. For some minutes, they talked of happy and sad, hilarious and touching episodes. 

Lily of course had not been told of the upheaval approaching her tender life. They believed that she’d cry, throw a fit perhaps, but eventually relent. Matri, in her mind, did not approve of the plan. Lily was too young to be sent to boarding school. She still needed her parents, needed her home, her familiar objects, this environment. It’d be too harsh to send her away. Matri kept these thoughts to herself—she was only a governess. She quietly slipped out of the room.

* * *

Matri decided not to see Lily one last time. She wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears that were already welling up in her eyes. That would make both of them uncomfortable.

Taking her purse, asking the new servant to close the door behind, Matri left Lily’s home for the last time. 

Silent departures suited Matri much better!

* * *

An evening breeze had picked up, a balm in this tropical heat. Birds were returning to their nests. Workers scurried to take subs and buses back to their families.

Matri decided to walk to Loke’s home, a half-hour away by foot. She’d enjoy  the breeze and time to contemplate.

* * *

After walking for a while along the Ring Road, she remembered she must bring something for her brother’s kids. She looked around. Not many shops here. Those that existed were ironsmiths, car repair shops, and paan outlets. 

Awhile later, though, she came upon a shop advertising ‘Fruit Cakes’ in bright neon lights. Matri hurried towards it. Inside were a range of delicacies: apple tarts, plum cakes, strawberry cupcakes, dark forest cakes. With a month’s pay in her purse, Matri ignored the prices, considering only the joy that would light up the faces of the children when they saw her present. 

She took a long time deciding. The man behind the counter, judging by her plain attire, asked her if the prices were putting her off.  This stirred Matri to order a large chocolate cake and ask for it to be gift-wrapped. Finding out that she could afford the large cake, the man behind the counter was more respectful towards her and began chatting. He complained about the weather and said that it would be nice if it rained. Matri did not meet his eye or talk. She nodded absent mindedly and went on her way.

* * *

Loke’s wife, Savi, had been collecting raw mango slices left out to dry in a large cane basket for the pickles she made to supplement the family income.  Savi said: “Didi! After such a long time! I was half expecting you for I saw you in my dreams last night. How delightful! The children will be thrilled to see you!” 

A door covered by a heavy curtain  separated their one-room-home from the thoroughfare. Savi parted it to let Matri pass through. 

Inside, in the dim incandescence of a bulb, the two children were studying on their cot. 

“Look who’s here!” said Savi. 

The boy leaped from the cot and into his aunt’s arms. His sister followed close behind.

 “See, what I’ve brought for you!” 

The children looked at their mother, fearful of the admonishment they might receive if they didn’t behave properly.

“What are you supposed to say?” Their mother’s stern voice was like a first warning. The children said in unison,

“Thank you, aunt Matri.”

Matri smiled broadly. 

“Go back to your studies, children. Your mother will soon let you have it.”

They obeyed.

Loke’s wife went to the corner of the room which doubled as a kitchen. Stirring the tea, she continued,

“Your brother will be here soon, Didi. It’s time already. Tell me, how have you been?”

“I feel like I’ve been walking for ages. So tired. Perhaps age is getting the better of me, dear.” She managed a smile.

“You need some rest, that’s all. Please come and stay with us for a few days.”

“You know how Dhanu is. It would upset him no end. And besides, I prefer to sleep in my own bed. And with all my work, how can I rest?”

Savi did not answer. She pretended to be busy stirring the pot. Her invitations for Matri to stay with the family had always been turned down on exactly the same pretext.

Matri looked around. Neatly framed pictures of deities adorned the walls. Curtains, sewn beautifully from old saris, hung on the windows. She smiled approvingly, delighted at the happy domesticity. Now that her brothers had established families of their own, Matri felt that the journey that had begun with the death of her mother had come to an end. Her purpose on the planet had been fulfilled.

* * *

Savi opened the wrapping of the cake. Matri would not see the ecstatic joy of the children opening the gift as she’d imagined. She felt a tad disheartened. Their mother neatly sliced the cake while the children watched in silence. 

“Such a beautiful cake! Must be worth a fortune! Why spend so much Didi?”

“For the happiness in their eyes,” said Matri even as she pulled the children to her bosom. They hugged and kissed her.

Loke came in. He was thrilled to find his sister at home. They had tea and slices of cake while laughing and reminiscing about old times. Loke caught sight of Matri’s purse. 

 “Didi, still carrying that one? See how the color has faded.”

“But I love it too much to discard it. Besides it holds, so wonderfully, everything I need to carry.”

The merrymaking continued. The children joined in, regaling the adults with tales from school, friends, their teacher.

When Matri finally stood to leave, she hadn’t mentioned that her job was gone. They said their goodbyes, hugged each other, and then she was out on the street, alone again, headed home.

* * *

Traffic was thin. The full moon shone on the serene summer night. Matri resisted the temptation to walk all the way home. Her legs exhausted, she hopped on to the first bus on the Bagmari Market route.

A half-hour later, she dragged herself off the bus and down the nearly empty pathway to the dirt tracks of the Old Refugee Colony. Just before her house, Matri spotted her youngest niece, a girl barely four, skipping and hopping with her friends. One look at Matri and she raced up to her. She took her hand and walked home with her, concerned by her aunt’s slow pace. 

The man at the lozenge shop was just about to pull down the shutters when Matri called out to him to wait. She bought a dozen.

The little girl was at her chirpy best. Red ribbons in her hair swung from side to side as she skipped ahead of Matri to show the lozenges to her siblings.

When they reached home, Geeta had a worried look on her face. 

“Didi, you’re so late, I was worried.”

“I went to Loke’s house. Hardly realized it was getting this late.”

Geeta was in a hurry. “Didi, please freshen up. Dinner is ready.”

“No, I don’t feel like eating anything. I’ll just go to bed.”

Matri was able to fend off Geeta’s persistence with some effort. A pain was lingering in her chest, but she did not mention it. She washed her face and hands at the tin drum filled with water and went straight to her room, which was awash with moonlight. She changed into her old, softened-from-many-washes cotton sari and lay on her cot, where she could see the full moon peeping through the window, as though it had come to meet her. 

Matri smiled at the thought, and took in a lungful of air. Was it the smell of Hasnahana flowers from her village in East Bengal that the breeze carried with it? Those that bloomed only at night, released the sweet perfume that reminded her of the home she was born in—and reminded her, too, of the night they escaped, and of her parents—the mother she did not have time to lament.

Matri felt thirsty. She propped herself on one elbow and took a sip of water from the glass on the side table. The pain in her chest was growing. She lay down again and listened to the voices beyond her door. 

The children spoke in hushed tones, then a little louder until they began quarreling and shouting. Then their mother rebuked them: 

“Shhh! Didi is sleeping. Keep quiet!” 

The voices would temporarily die down—then their murmurs would rise again, and the cycle would repeat. 

Geeta’s and Dhanu’s soft talk made a rainbow of concern, banter, and love.

The beauty of life! Matri smiled. She had taught them to fly. Taught Lily how to grow wings and fly. Fly in concentric circles, unhindered, smooth.

Matri closed her eyes, still smiling.

Nobody would know when she turned in her sleep and fell off the cot. 

In the morning, they discovered her curled up against herself, stiffened, her cotton sari loose, almost coiled around her, like concentric circles. Frozen flightless.

Mandira Pattnaik is an Indian writer published in The McNeese Review, Penn Review, Quarterly West, Passages North, Contrary, Watershed Review, Quarter After Eight, and Best Small Fictions Anthology (2021), among others. Her writing has secured multiple nominations for Pushcart Prize, BotN, Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, and listing in Wigleaf Top50 (2023). Visit her at mandirapattnaik.com.