The Girl Who Stole an Elephant

by Nizrana Farook

  “It’s strange, but nobody’s sure.” Aunty crinkled her brow as she folded up the skirt on her lap. “Some people mention a dark, reedy boy. Some say he was plump, and ran with a limp.”

  The two boys stealing rice cakes! They’d run away too, and each might have been mistaken as the jewel thief.

  “A guard at the palace has even got it into his head that it was a girl,” said Aunty. “Around twelve years old, medium-brown complexion, hair in a long plait, tall.”

  “Oh.” Chaya studied her mottled reflection on the panelling of the window. “That could be anyone. Even me, for example.”

  Aunty laughed. “True. Nobody believes him, of course. A girl!”

  “What’s the trouble they’re expecting today then, Aunty?”

  “General Siri and his men have been marching through the surrounding villages trying to … persuade people to give up the thief. This morning it’s our turn, unfortunately.”

  Chaya blanched at the sound of General Siri’s persuading. “How long are they going to do that for? If no one confesses they’ll have to give up surely?”

  “Give up! The King has enemies who’d be glad to see him toppled. You know how paranoid he is about his position. This is huge, someone getting into the palace like that. He’s not going to let it go.”

  Chaya’s mouth suddenly felt parched. She poured out a tumbler of water from the clay pitcher.

  “What’s the matter?” said Aunty. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  Chaya looked down. The sight of the food made her feel sick. “I’m just not hungry.” She pushed her plate away.

  Aunty tutted but said nothing.

  “I should get going,” Chaya said.

  “Chaya, you’ve hardly eaten. There’s still time before school. Finish your breakfast.”

  “I want to go and see Neel first.” She got up and swung her satchel on to her shoulder.

  “That boy Neelan, doesn’t he have enough work to do without you always dropping in? My brother spoils you, letting you run around like a wild thing. Other girls of twelve have even stopped going to school by now.”

  “See you later, Aunty.” Chaya hurried past before she could say any more, and hotfooted it out of the house.

  Something was wrong in Nirissa.

  Where was everyone? The lanes were quiet as Chaya made her way to the workshop. No sounds of ekel brooms sweeping out front yards, no metal buckets clanking into wells or the gush of water pouring over bathers.

  Shouts echoed in the distance. Chaya ran down the pebbly paths towards them, her satchel slapping against her leg. A dense knot of people blocked the view.

  Chaya pushed her way to the front.

  The King’s men were here.

  They were outside one of the little houses. The front door was open and the family’s possessions had been thrown outside. Chaya recognised the house. It was Bala’s, from school.

  A soldier tossed a small sack of rice out of the house, spilling the contents on the ground over a heap of reed mats, pillows, and clothes spotted with lentils. A woman threw herself on the rice, sobbing, and tried to scoop it up with her hands.

  No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

  General Siri was standing by his horse, dressed in his high-shouldered purple jacket, an embossed-leather dagger sheath strung at his side. Father was next to him and they seemed to be arguing, Father jabbing his arm towards Bala’s house. General Siri sighed and turned away.

  “You’ll all be next,” he yelled at the silent crowd. “All of you. Unless you give up the thief.”

  A whisper passed through the mass of people, and Chaya slipped away. Out of sight of the villagers, and Father, and Bala’s family’s pain. She leaned against a wattle and daub wall, grinding her head into its roughness.

  All this suffering in her village. It was her fault.

  A boy’s voice screamed. “It wasn’t me! It really wasn’t.”

  Chaya squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sound of Bala’s screaming. She wiped the sweat off her face. She had to do something.

  There was a movement in front of her. A small girl was studying Chaya, thumb in mouth. It was Bala’s little sister.

  “I’m sorry,” Chaya whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’ll put it right, I promise.”

  The child glanced round, wondering if Chaya was talking to her.

  Chaya stumbled away from the noise and the crowds towards the edge of the village. She broke into a run and bolted down the paths, branches scraping at her arms and snagging on her skirt. She couldn’t let this happen. It had to stop.

  She flew out of the village and through the paddy fields. Up ahead she could see movement inside the workshop. Neel was there already.

  “Neel!” Chaya shouted as she sprinted up. “Neel, I have to give them back.”

  She held her aching side and halted at the doorway, doubled up and panting.

  Neel was standing very stiffly, glaring at her. There were people in the workshop. Customers.

  Neel’s master, Kumar the carpenter, was with them. He turned to Chaya, frowning slightly, before going back to his customers.

  They were a finely dressed merchant and a girl around Chaya’s age, probably his daughter. Chaya gawped at their flowing, silken clothes.

  “It is perfect,” said the merchant, bending over a small cabinet. He spoke his words slowly, Chaya’s language sounding strange on his tongue.

  Chaya turned back to Neel. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. What’s wrong? she mouthed. Neel’s eyes darted to the girl.

  “I’ll bring it to you as soon as it’s done,” said the carpenter. “I’m glad you’re satisfied with how it’s going.”

  The merchant nodded and smiled. Thankfully, it looked like they were leaving. The girl turned around.

  She was carrying something in her hands.

  Chaya gasped. She clutched Neel, whose arm was hot and clammy.

  “We will take this,” said the girl.

  She held up a box. It was carved with a two-headed bird, carrying a snake in its claws.

  The box seemed to mock Chaya from the girl’s hands. She felt like snatching it off her right there and then.

  The merchant frowned at the two-headed bird on the lid. “That’s an odd-looking carving. Choose something else, Nour.”

  Chaya sprang at Nour and gripped the box, her hands tight on the smooth, varnished wood. “Your father’s right, this one’s really ugly. Look, there are nicer boxes over there.”

  But Nour wouldn’t let go, holding on in spite of Chaya’s efforts. “Sorry,” she said, her voice soft and firm at the same time. “I like this one.”

  “Actually, that box is someone else’s,” said Neel. “I’ve already promised it. I have to deliver it later today.”

  The carpenter stared at Neel. “You taking orders for me now, boy? Keep your mouth shut.” He swiped his hand to make Neel step away.

  “It’s a shame you like this particular one, though,” said Chaya, still holding tight. “It has a, er, defect.”

  “That’s true,” said Neel, nodding from where he had retreated to behind a mahogany cabinet. “The little drawer keeps getting stuck.”

  “Oh, we don’t want it then,” said the merchant.

  “Yes, we do, Father.” Nour tugged at the box. “I like it.”

  “Not to worry then,” said Chaya. “It’s easily fixable. Neel will work on it and bring it to you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t mind really,” said Nour, taking a hand off to slide the drawer open and shut repeatedly. It looked like it was gliding on oil.

  “But I insist,” said Neel. “That’s not accept—”

  “Neelan!” said the carpenter. “Enough. What’s the meaning of this? Know your place, boy. Miss Chaya, you’d better leave. And you, boy, another word from you…” He glared at Neel.

  Chaya backed out of the workshop, feeling Nour’s eyes boring into her all the way. She hesitated in the doorway.

  The merchant’s expression
furrowed as he looked from the carpenter to Neel to Chaya. “Nour, why not take something else? Look, this one has a lotus flower. It looks much nicer.”

  Chaya nodded to herself. Yes, put your foot down, Nour’s father. What a spoilt child that Nour was.

  “But this one’s nicer, I like the pattern. And it’s also…” Nour’s eyes darted to Chaya, and there was a faint smirk on her face. “It’s also heavier than the others.” She turned back to the carpenter. “We’ll take it.”

  Chaya watched from behind a clump of papaya trees. A breeze whistled through the trees, blowing wisps of hair into her eyes and whipping at her plait. She had retreated from the workshop but watched, hands on head, as her precious jewels were being taken away.

  The merchant stepped outside. Nour followed behind, her floaty red gown swishing through the green of the paddy field. They threaded their way along the path, Nour holding the box like a prize in her hands.

  She wouldn’t work it out, would she? Neel’s handiwork had to be too clever for her. The thought of the jewels being discovered was too much to bear.

  The merchant passed Chaya first, talking to Nour over his shoulder in a foreign tongue. He was quite unlike his daughter, big and broad shouldered, with a swarthy face under his white turban in the style of their people. Nour tripped along after him, leaving a smell of warm sand and jasmine behind her.

  At the edge of the fields a carriage waited, and Nour got in, followed by her father. They left by the cartway skirting the village towards the King’s City. Chaya watched them go before sprinting along the river path. It was a shortcut she’d taken many times, through thorny shrubs that ripped her skirt. She’d just have to face Aunty’s wrath later.

  Stopping outside the gates into the city, Chaya crept up behind the old war bell. The trundle of wheels followed shortly after, and Nour and her father swept in through the entryway. Chaya followed at a leisurely pace, as she’d seen the carriage stop at the market and Nour get down at a lace stall. The seller measured out and bundled several lengths into fat rounds for Nour. Then she got back in the carriage and they moved on again, taking the little bridge over the lotus-speckled river to the residential part of the city.

  This was where all the big villas were, standing in gardens of shady trees thick with frangipani flowers. The carriage turned into a street and stopped at a large house at the end.

  So this was where Nour lived. More importantly, this was where the box was going to be.

  Not for long, though. Because Chaya was going to get it back.

  She smiled from her position behind the wall as Nour took the box inside.

  The next day Chaya sat on a park bench, watching the merchant’s house. The stone seat felt cool under her at this time of the morning, and a myna bird twittered on the frangipani branch overhead.

  The merchant went out soon after, striding away towards the market. But the sun was high in the sky before Nour came out. She was accompanied by a round-faced woman with a headscarf tied under her chin, who waddled down the street arm in arm with her.

  Finally! Chaya sped up the street towards the house after giving Nour a good five minutes to get away. Chaya was dressed in her usual thieving get-up – a set of ragged old clothes she kept hidden from Aunty in a drawer. It was surprising how invisible poor people were. Nobody ever noticed Chaya when she was dressed like this.

  The villa was a typical rich person’s house. Large and single-storeyed, with a verandah twice the size of Chaya’s, filled with dark, heavy furniture. One look at the house and Chaya knew this was going to be easy.

  The gate was open but there was a man watering the garden. No problem, front entrances were the most guarded part of a house anyway. Same with the back; always a gaggle of servants chatting there. She wasn’t going to enter through either of them.

  Chaya headed to the side of the house, which was partly covered by a mound of tall bushes. Just as she’d thought. This side wasn’t overlooked from the street. She stood for a minute, casually checking to see if anyone was around, then ran up and leapt on to the window ledge.

  She wasn’t going to get in through the window, oh no. People were careful with windows – that’s how thieves got in. She reached up to the roof and hooked one foot over, hauling herself up.

  The roof tiles were scorching under her bare feet as she tiptoed her way across, careful not to dislodge anything. Voices came from the back of the property. She got to the middle of the house, and there it was. The weak point of every rich man’s villa: the courtyard.

  Chaya lay flat on the roof and peered down into the house, squinting till her eyes adjusted to the light. A well-tended garden with sprays of pink bougainvillea lay at the centre, edged with thin pillars holding up the roof of the inner verandah. A servant girl cleared crockery from a small table set with a bench. No one else was in sight.

  Chaya watched the girl leave, cups and saucers clinking on a tray, then dropped down into the garden, landing lightly on the spongy grass.

  The girl was walking away down a wide corridor. Chaya rolled over and stepped behind a brass standing lamp. She heard the clinking stop, and sensed the girl turn back to look. People never noticed anything when you were still. What they did notice was movement. Chaya stood motionless, imagining the girl’s puzzled face looking in her direction. A clock ticked somewhere, counting out the seconds. The tray clinked again as the girl went on her way.

  Chaya stole out and pushed open a highly polished door set with a brass ring for a handle. Inside was a four-poster bed and rich maroon furnishings. A tapestry on the wall had a pattern like the one Neel had been working on, all geometric shapes laid out in stars and triangles. On a stand was a blue-edged length of cloth that was the turban the merchant had worn yesterday. Chaya tiptoed back out.

  The next door was open, a patterned curtain fluttering across it. This was a sitting room, with low couches arranged around a big woven rug. This wasn’t the room she wanted either.

  As she brushed her way through the curtain a man walked towards her, fiddling with an incense burner. Chaya nipped back behind the curtain. She was conscious of her feet showing underneath, but stayed still to avoid the flash of movement. She stiffened as the man passed on the other side, so close she could smell the bitterness of betel on his breath. His footsteps receded towards the back of the house.

  Chaya crept out to the adjoining corridor. It led to a dining area with tall windows at the end. A delicious smell came from a tray on the sideboard near her. She lifted up the fly cover on it. There was some kind of fried sweet, coated with powdered sugar, still warm and smelling of syrup. Her mouth watered and fingers itched to pop one in her mouth.

  She dropped back the cover and crept out. She was crossing the courtyard to the rooms on the other side when she heard footsteps.

  The servant girl was back.

  Chaya shimmied up the nearest pillar. She wrapped her legs around the top of the pillar, splayed on the ceiling like a gecko, hands gripping the roof gutter for support.

  That was another thing about people. They never looked up.

  She was stretched to the maximum, her arm muscles thrumming with the strain. The servant girl was right underneath, taking her time with the crockery. She hummed a tune and laid cups and spoons daintily on a tray.

  Chink, chink.

  Chaya’s arms and hips were on fire.

  Chink, chink.

  She breathed in and out slowly, willing herself to hold on.

  Chink, chink.

  Oh, how long was the silly fool going to take?

  Chink, chink.

  She was going to fall. She couldn’t hold on any more. Her body started to sag, and she fought to grip the gutter with her sweaty fingertips.

  The servant girl left, still humming her tune.

  Chaya dropped down and leaned on the pillar, catching her breath and massaging her aching arms. There was no time to lose. She bounded up to a panelled door across the courtyard and pushed it open. The first thing that hit
her was the smell of jasmine.

  She’d found Nour’s room.

  It had a smaller four-poster bed, with a steamer trunk at the foot of it. A painting of a woman quite like Nour hung on a wall. On the dressing table were hairbrushes and scent bottles, but right in the middle was Neel’s wooden box.

  Chaya rushed over to it and snatched it up. Finally this nightmare could end. The two-headed bird etching shone softly on the varnished lid as she opened it and fiddled with the secret catch.

  A sound of cartwheels startled her as a carriage crunched to a halt outside the house. Chaya snapped the lid shut. There was no time; she had to get out. She’d open it at home. She closed the door softly behind her as she padded back to the courtyard.

  A high-pitched scream made Chaya freeze.

  The servant girl was standing at the table, her infernal tray in her hand, staring at Chaya. She had come back for a single cup that she’d left on the table, the silly idiot.

  The house stirred to attention, as voices and footsteps hurried towards them.

  “Sorry, sorry, I’m leaving,” Chaya said to the girl. She had no intention of meeting the rest of the household. She threw the box in a high arc on to the roof, where it landed with a crash, sending a tile sliding down. Chaya leapt up and grabbed on to the gutter, swinging for a moment before pulling herself up to the roof.

  She plucked the box from where it had fallen and scrammed. She slid down the rest of the roof, tiles scouring the backs of her legs. At the lip she plummeted down and landed on her feet by the side of the house. Behind her, a back gate clattered open and footsteps scuffled in Chaya’s direction.

  She ran for it. Down the city streets and through the market she went, zigzagging past mounds of ambarella fruit and cane-basket displays and sacks of cardamom and cumin. Then out of the city and past the old war bell and its crumbled-down plinth, until she was sure she wasn’t being pursued any more.

  At home, she went straight to her room to change and hide the box before Aunty saw her. She shut the door and flopped down on the bed, hugging the box to her. The thought of Nour’s face when she got home and saw the box gone made her laugh. Served Nour right for trying to mess with her!