A Maid’s Tale: Poverty, Kindness and Dignity

Story of a poor maid to whom life was unkind. Yet she was profoundly human, kind, honest, dignified and above all she had a golden heart.

It was an early morning in July. The sky was dark grey with torrential rain falling. Outside, perhaps the road had an ankle dip sheet of rainwater splashing down. The monsoon rain was in full fury, forcing everyone to stay indoors. At least that was a solid excuse to remain in bed; for as long as Bob could.

The doorbell rang. Is it for real? Who can come so early in the midst of such heavy rain? May be it is imaginary, so Bob tended to turn over, trying to fall asleep again. The bell rang again. Bob could not ignore it this time, so he came downstairs to unlock and open the door. It was Mary, the part-time maid, half drenched although she carried an old umbrella, which could provide no real protection against such a torrential rain. “Come in” Bob said half-heartedly. Mary gave an apologetic look. “I’m late”, she said. Bob wondered, what was there to be apologetic! Despite the disabling rain, Mary wanted to remain punctual, such was her nature! She had a bony face, was unusually tall, dark complexioned and she was flat footed. Not an interesting figure to behold.

Mary has been a part-time maid in the Smith household to do the cleaning of the house, doing the dishes, tidying up the kitchen and washing clothes since many years. It takes good three hours and a half of hard work, seven days a week, come rain or shine. Yet, Mary could not think of being absent. The thought of Bob’s mother doing the chores by herself in case she becomes absent is a thought Mary cannot put up with. In a household of six people — Bob’s parents and his three siblings, she is the only domestic help, earning only four hundred bucks a month for all the back-breaking work she does. She has had no insurance, hardly any paid leave and no one pays for her medical expenses, in case she gets sick. She lives in a nearby slum in a one-room tenement with her husband. Poverty has been a constant companion in her life but it has not affected her demeanour.

Mary’s husband Ken works as a car mechanic. But he is not employed. He is a road-side mechanic, who usually waits near a gas station, where he fixes a flat tyre or start a stalled car or fixes a faulty brake, when someone is in need of a car mechanic. There is no regular or assured salary. Some days he makes reasonably good money, while other days there is hardly anything worth mentioning. With Mary’s meagre salary, they just manage to make both ends meet. Like Mary, Ken had no unemployment insurance, nor any social safety. It is a hard life, in every sense.

Mary had a daughter, whom Bob had not seen. When Bob was in the middle school, Mary’s daughter was a frail twelve year old girl. She used to play in the slum neighbourhood with other children who could not afford to go to school. One day, she had fever and persistent cough. In poor families like Mary’s, no one goes to a Doctor’s clinic for such minor illnesses. In a week’s time, the fever went away but the coughing remained. After about a fortnight, fever returned and Mary was concerned. She was taken to a local para-medic, who once worked as a Doctor’s assistant. He gave some pills to overcome the fever but it did not work really. There was intermittent fever and coughing. In two months she lost weight and she was finally taken to a government hospital; her blood test revealed that she had tuberculosis.

Unlike now, during the seventies, medicine for tuberculosis was not dispensed freely by the Government’s TB Eradication programme. Government hospitals often ran out of stock of medicine and poor Mary and Ken were unable to afford costly medicines. So the medication was erratic and there was hardly enough nutritious diet for the stricken girl. Bob’s mother was sympathetic and she sometimes offered some milk and eggs for the girl but it was not a daily contribution. The girl’s condition started to deteriorate. Mary and Ken watched helplessly. In two years, she was reduced to skin and bones; she finally died during the winter in her mother’s arms. Mary was devastated, losing her only child.

She resumed working after about a week’s time. In poverty, mourning beyond a week is unaffordable and Mary was no exception. Bob noticed, not irregularly, that she wept silently when no one was around. Her eyes were often red from sleep deprivation. How can a mother sleep in the same bed, where just weeks ago her sick and frail daughter struggled with her illness? Bob felt very sad, yet little he could do to comfort Mary or do anything meaningful for her. One thing that struck Bob was that Mary continued to do all the work and never really complained or talked about her loss. She was no ordinary person, thought Bob.

Seven years passed by. Bob had finished school, joined the university and graduated. On his day of graduation at the University, Mary brought a small bowl of porridge, when she came to work in the morning. She had made it herself for Bob and that is all she could afford with her meagre income. Bob felt overwhelmed. This was no ordinary porridge; it seemed more wonderful than any delicacy from a Michelin-starred restaurant. It was not a professional creation; it was a creation of a kind and pure heart with outpouring of motherly love which had remained unfulfilled for years towards her lost child. Her affection had turned gently and silently towards Bob, who did not know it yet. It was a day he could never forget in his life.

Mary continued to work in the household with the same punctuality, sincerity and sheer hard work. Gradually and slowly, her grief seemed to diminish with time. Or perhaps she accepted it as fate — no one would ever know what went inside a grieving mother’s heart. Outwardly there was calm and signs of normalcy which seemed to indicate acceptance.

Meanwhile Bob got a job in the adjacent city across the river. His office was located right on the Strand. So it was quite convenient for him to take the ferry service and take a ten minute walk to office. He was relieved to avoid the notorious city traffic and over-crowded bus rides. The daily ferry ride was not only comfortable, it was simply enjoyable during the hot summer months. Many passengers preferred to ride on the front deck, making it rather risky. One morning there was some arguments among two passengers jostling for the standing space for which there was quite a competition. During the argument, one hot-headed guy pushed his young fellow passenger, so much so that he was thrown into water; the ferry had just started then. Quickly the boatman jumped and rescued the fallen victim from relatively shallow water. A serious accident was averted.

After work, Bob went to meet one of his friends at a nearby restaurant. While he enjoyed the evening with his friend, it delayed his return home by about an hour. When he arrived, he was surprised to see Mary sitting on the front porch of the house. Why so? Mary worked only in the morning half, what made her sit outside? The moment she saw Bob approaching, she was delighted but started crying. As Bob came near, she stood up like a spring and just held Bob in her sinewy trembling arms, tears rolling down her eyes. Bob was dumbfounded.

When things calmed down a bit, it transpired that the news of the averted ferry accident reached Mary during mid-morning. There was some confusion; one version had it that a young chap drowned while the other version indicated one was saved. In utter confusion, she literally came running to Bob’s mother to enquire whether Bob was in that ferry and if he had reached office safely. With word of mouth going around it was unclear what exactly happened. What was clear that it happened almost coincident with Bob’s time of ride and that drove Mary into panic. During the seventies, there were no mobile phones and after some effort, Bob’s family could contact him. Yet, Mary would not go back home until she had seen Bob in person; so she waited outside for nearly seven hours until late into the evening. She refused to have lunch and had told Bob’s mother that it was okay with her. Mary had lost her only child but she could not lose Bob!

Two years later, one day Mary had nearly finished her work. It was mid-morning when there was someone knocking at the door. It was an unknown person, enquiring if Mary was still here. On enquiry, the caller told that Ken had met with an accident and must be taken to the hospital. Mary went running, gripped with fear and anxiety. Ken was repairing a broken axle of a truck, lying down under the stalled truck. Half of his body was out. A speeding car hit him and smashed his two outstretched legs. He was brought ‘dead’ to the hospital.

Mary was inconsolable. She lost her husband, the last remaining person of her small family. Her neighbours of the slum cremated Ken raising money from neighbours with their meagre personal contributions. The hitting car could not be traced. No one took its registration number. There was no court case. She received no compensation.

Mary was now a widow with no income, no family and no support. She had little choice, so she continued to work. For mere sustenance, she had to take up another work in the afternoon.

Bob got married the next year. Mary brought a present for the bride but she would not give it under the gaze of the guests and family members. So she waited quietly at a corner until everyone took leave. She came rather hesitantly and took out a small packet which she had tucked away in her waist. She opened it — it was an old fashioned silver necklace, which she had got polished.

She whispered to Bob, “Please… put it around the neck of the beautiful bride”. In answer to Bob’s questioning eyes, she told him that it was Ken’s gift to her during her wedding night. That was all poor Ken could afford for his bride on his wedding. She kept it as her most cherished belonging.

Bob did it gently, as he was told.

It was her last remaining piece of jewellery.

Mary was unable to work when she reached the age of sixty four. Without work, she would have been forced to live on charity. By this time Bob had migrated to the big city and had a comfortable job. When the news reached him, he immediately arranged for a monthly pension for Mary and diligently continued it until she died at the age of seventy.

Life was very unkind to Mary but despite her crippling poverty, she lived and died with dignity, leaving a golden heart.

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If you like this story, you are invited to read a dozen plus stories in my first book of fiction, “The Autumn Leaves: Stories of Myriad Hues”, available on Amazon; The eBook costs $3.99, while the paperback costs $9.99