by Lynne Kelly
“She’ll understand perfectly once we start pulling,” says Sharad. “Here.” He hands me the chains.
“What do I do with these?”
“Do I have to explain everything? Get back down there and wrap one chain around the elephant’s neck and another around its leg, then connect them with the other chain.”
And then what? Nandita is young, but I do not think we’re strong enough to pull her anywhere she doesn’t want to go. I descend the steps and pat Nandita on the head.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here soon.” I wrap the chain around her neck and click the latch closed around one of the links. I do the same with the leg chain. When I’m done Sharad hands me a long chain to connect to the chain around her neck.
I climb out of the trap again and notice Sharad looping the other end of the long chain around the bumper of the truck. He orders a workman into the driver’s seat.
“Are you sure this will work?” I ask.
“Of course it will work!” Sharad says. “We’ll drive the truck to pull her, and she’ll climb out.”
“But do you think the bumper…”
“Now drive!” he yells. The wheels spin and fling mud into the air. The noise of the struggling engine drowns out Nandita’s protests as the chain pulls her body. The engine quiets, and the driver leans his head out the window.
“It’s not working!” he calls.
Sharad steps behind the truck. “Try it again,” he shouts, then turns toward the trap.
“Sharad,” I say, “you’re right behind…” My warning is lost in the noise of the spinning wheels and the roaring engine. With a thunk the bumper breaks free and the truck charges forward. The bumper smacks into Sharad. He lands facedown in the mud.
I run to check on Nandita. “Are you all right?” I ask her. She trumpets and grumbles at me.
“Well, I’m not all right, in case you were wondering!” yells Sharad. “Get over here and help me up!”
I walk to him and hold out my hand. He grabs it and rolls his round body toward me, then groans as he heaves himself up from the ground. Leaves cling to the mud that covers his face and body. It is hard not to laugh—he looks like a giant angry bird.
He storms to the truck and kicks it, then inspects the damage where it struck a tree. Glass from a shattered headlight dots the crumpled front bumper. He uncoils the chain and tosses the bumper into the back, then opens the truck’s cab. As he walks back to the trap, the sunlight reflects off the shiny object he clutches in his hand.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s an elephant hook.”
Now that Sharad stands closer, I see the instrument more clearly. The large metal hook curves to a sharp point at the end. I look to Sharad, the question I’m afraid to ask stuck in my throat. What is it for?
“Get back down there with the elephant while we pull on the chain. If she doesn’t want to move, a good whack with this will convince her.”
I pretend I don’t see him holding the hook out to me and hurry down the block staircase. Nandita leans against the wall of the trap.
“Come on—we have to get you out of here!”
Nandita shuffles forward. “That’s it, keep going,” I encourage her. She bumps into the bottom step. The chain pulls and I push. Nandita lifts her foot and places it on the wooden block. Step by step, with me pushing behind her, she climbs the staircase.
Once Nandita is out, she pushes past Sharad and starts to run into the woods.
“Get back here!” Sharad yanks on the chain and the workmen grab Nandita. She cries out like she did when she fell into the trap. Sharad lets most of the chain drag along the ground so he can hold Nandita close.
“Get the tailgate!” Sharad orders me. I run to the truck and drop the tailgate to the ground to make a ramp.
Nandita sways as she walks to the river. She places her trunk into the water and fills it like a huge straw, then pours the water into her mouth.
Sharad jerks the chain. “Come on!” he grumbles.
The ramp creaks when Nandita steps onto it. She stumbles into the truck, and I crawl in behind her. Both of us jump when Sharad slams the tailgate shut.
“Don’t worry,” I say as I pet her head. “Someday I will set you free. I’ll be your family until then. I know it won’t be the same, but I’ll take good care of you. I won’t leave here without you, I promise.”
And I mean it, too, but I don’t feel any better. I feel like a mosquito promising to take back its bite.
12
The elephant calf depends on its mother’s care for three to five years.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
At the circus grounds, Sharad pulls up to the side of the property fence that has a metal gate. The truck fits through this gate easily because it’s much wider than the wooden ones behind the cook shed and near the arena. I sit up in the truck bed to peek through the cab’s window. A chain loops through the gate’s handle and around the fence post next to it. Sharad opens a padlock to release the chain, then pushes the gate open. After climbing back into the cab he drives through the gate and stops next to the arena. One workman jumps out of the truck and waves his hands to guide Sharad through the arena gate, while the other runs back to close the metal gate.
The chain around Nandita’s neck drags on the bed of straw as she paces the length of the truck. Sharad parks inside the arena and comes around to the back of the truck.
He releases the tailgate, then holds out his hand. “Give me the chain. Help me get her out of there, then report to the office for your instructions.”
I hand the end of the chain to Sharad. It rattles against the tailgate as Sharad runs to a thick wooden pole in the ground and latches the chain to it. The workmen approach the truck and Nandita cowers in a corner. She leans away from the men who pull the chain. I stand behind her as I did in the trap.
“Come on, you didn’t want in here and now you don’t want out.” I try to push her out of the truck, and pray that Sharad won’t find a reason to use the hook.
The truck rocks and creaks as Nandita finally moves forward then down the ramp. I follow her out. She backs away from Sharad as he approaches. He slams the tailgate shut and Nandita darts across the arena. She runs as far as the chain reaches, then falls to the ground when the chain jerks her back. The workmen laugh.
Nandita stands up, pulls and struggles against the chain, then runs the other way until the chain stops her again. She calls out with a trumpet blast and wraps her trunk around the chain and pulls. I want to run to her and help, but I only stand and watch her wrestle to break free. The chain does not break. It digs into her neck as she fights and fights. Still the chain does not break. Finally she gives up and lies down in the dirt. The chain lies on the ground next to her.
Come on, you can do it.
I wish she’d stand up, or at least sit up and fight the chain again. Anything to show she hasn’t given up so soon.
But Nandita stays on the ground, and I turn to report to Timir’s office.
Timir is sitting in his desk chair with his back to me, so he doesn’t see me in the doorway. It looks like he’s staring at the case of knives mounted on the wall. The knives have matching ivory handles like his cane, but the blades are all different. Some have long, thin blades that end with a sharp point, and one wide blade has an edge like a row of tiger teeth. Another blade is curved with a smooth edge.
With one hand I hold the stone in my pocket, and with the other I knock softly on the open door.
Timir spins his chair to face me. “Good, I was about to call you.”
I step through the doorway. From behind his desk he picks up a folded blanket. I catch it when he throws it to me, and I run my hands over the fabric. It’s not very soft, but it will be more comfortable than the bed of straw in the stable. Now I’ll be able to lie down on one blanket and cover up with another. On cold nights I will wrap myself up like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“Thank you,�
� I say to Timir. “I have been wanting an extra blanket. And it’s huge!”
“It’s for the elephant, idiot,” he says. “Make sure she stays covered during the night. And when she gets hungry, you will find the powdered milk and the bottles in the cook shed.”
“How will I know when she’s hungry if I am sleeping?” I ask.
“She’ll let you know.”
I try to picture myself feeding a bottle of milk to an elephant. While I’m wondering if Nandita will stand in place long enough to drink a bottle of milk, I realize Timir is still giving me instructions.
“… twice a day. There’s a shovel and a pitchfork in the stable.”
Pitchfork? Do what twice a day? I’m afraid to ask. I will have to figure it out later.
“Whenever Sharad brings in a truckload of new hay, stack the bales next to the stable. You can use the wheelbarrow to move them. The metal bucket hanging on the trough is for hauling in water from the spring. When the trough is empty, fill it again.”
Through the office window I glance at the water trough. In my head I try to count how many trips to the spring and back it will take to fill it. I wonder how fast Nandita will empty it.
“Give her a bath in the spring every evening,” Timir continues. “Keep hold of her chain when you lead her around. We can’t have her wandering like she’s free to go where she wants. She needs to know you’re in charge. I think that’s enough instructions for now. Any questions?”
Yes, a thousand. I do not dare ask anything else.
“All right, then,” Timir says. “You’ve had it easy so far, with no elephant here. It is time to end this vacation of yours and start working off your family’s debt to me.”
Start? In my mind I scratch out the seven marks on the stable wall I thought I had earned.
“Now get to work,” Timir says.
It takes five trips to the spring to fill the water trough. I head back to the arena, where Sharad is leading Nandita around, holding her chain close. He pulls the chain back when she tries to run from him.
* * *
After washing the lunch dishes, Ne Min hands me a glass bottle about the size of my arm, filled with milk. “The elephant will be ready for lunch, too,” he says.
“Don’t take too long,” Sharad says when he sees me approaching the arena with the milk. “She needs to get back to work.” He pulls a cloth from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face, then leaves me alone with Nandita.
She notices the milk as soon as I open the gate. She reaches for the bottle, but I pull back in time to hang on to it.
The rubber top of the bottle looks like part of a cow’s udder, so I hold it over Nandita’s head for her to drink as she would from her mother. She grabs the bottle with her trunk. The milk dribbles onto the ground as she tries to feed herself. She spins away when I try to take it back. I chase her around the arena, hoping to get her to drink the milk before it all spills. I wonder if it will be this exhausting to feed her every time.
I lead her out of the arena, through the trees and toward the stable to let her get some hay and water. When Nandita dashes toward the trough, I fall to the ground and the chain slips from my hand. She fills her trunk with as much water as it takes me to collect in one trip to the spring. She pours some of the water into her mouth, but saves some to spray onto her back and at me.
“You’ll have more water for drinking if you stop playing around with it!” I watch the water sink into the ground.
But Nandita doesn’t seem to know I am scolding her. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of that smile she always wore in the forest.
I grip her chain tightly when it’s time to lead her back to the arena, but Nandita runs toward the trees, dragging me behind her. She stops and reaches for a mango branch, but I jump up in time to grab the fruit first. Nandita squeaks and reaches for the mango with her trunk.
“Not so fast,” I tell her as I back away. “You’re going to have to follow me to get this.”
We walk to the arena, Nandita bumping into me the whole way while trying to take the mango. I keep it close to my chest and I turn away whenever she reaches for it. Finally we make it through the arena gate, and I hold out the mango. Nandita snatches it from my hand and runs across the arena before dropping it into her mouth. She swings her trunk and calls out a trumpet sound.
“You’re welcome,” I say, and slump against the fence to catch my breath.
* * *
When I put Nandita in the stable for the night, I decide to go to bed, too. Before I fall asleep, I take out my pocketknife. I pick out a new log and stab the knife into it, marking my first day of work that matters.
I’m so tired, the bed of straw feels almost comfortable. I have never been so tired. Nandita is not so sleepy. She groans as she paces around the stable and bangs the walls with her trunk. I try to ignore her, but she grabs my blanket with her trunk and walks away.
“Nandita, please,” I beg her, “go to sleep.” I stand and pick up her blanket. Every time I try to cover her, she walks away from me. I give up and sit on the straw, leaning against the wooden logs that make up the stable walls. Every time I doze off, Nandita’s cries and flinging trunk wake me.
“You are more annoying than a camel!” I tell her.
At last she grows tired, too, and lies down. I cover her with the blanket, then collapse onto the straw.
“Good night, Nandita.”
I dream that I am so confused about how to care for Nandita that I shovel out the river and fill the water trough with hay. Then I dream that Chanda is a new baby again, crying on her blanket.
“She is hungry, Hastin,” my mother says. “Bring her to me.” When I reach to pick up Chanda, she is gone, but I still hear her cries. Somehow I end up in the forest. Behind the river rocks and in the branches of the great banyan tree I search for her. I lift the broad green leaves of the plants on the ground, but Chanda is not there. I spin in circles, not knowing where to look next. My search becomes more frantic as Chanda’s hungry cries grow louder. But how can I hear her crying when she is so far away?
I pry my eyes open to ask Amma for help. In the darkness I look around to figure out where I am. The straw crunches under Nandita’s feet as she paces. She cries out and bangs the walls of the stable with her trunk.
“Nandita, are you hungry?” I pull myself up, then pet her on the head to calm her down. The bristles of hair tickle my palm. She stops pacing, but still I hear the cries from my dream.
I run to the cook shed and hope I can figure out how to prepare a bottle of milk. After I light the lantern I find a pail of water and a burlap bag of powdered milk on the counter. Next to the bag is the big glass bottle, over half full with water. Now, how much dry milk to put in? When I pick up a metal cup next to the bottle, I notice it’s already full of powdered milk. Silently I thank Ne Min. He must have measured everything out for me before he left.
I remove the rubber top of the bottle and pour in the powder. After I replace the top, I squeeze the end of it closed and shake the bottle back and forth to mix the powdered milk and water together.
As fast as I can I race back to the stable.
“Here, Nandita.” I hold out the bottle. “Drink your milk, then let’s get back to sleep.”
I grip the bottle tightly, but Nandita’s able to steal it from me again. Milk spills onto the straw as she tries to place the bottle in her mouth with her trunk. She lets out a squeaky cry when I take the milk from her, but quiets down once it’s in her mouth. With a few loud gulps, she empties the bottle. There is no telling how much she really drank. Milk covers her face and my own arms. Between that and what spilled on the ground, I hope she has had enough to keep her quiet for the rest of the night.
I do not bother cleaning up. Nandita lies down and I cover her with her blanket.
On my bed of straw I close my eyes and think about Raj. If Chanda isn’t home, there is no one to feed him. Maybe he’s moved on to another village, or he’s looking for food in the desert. D
oes he wonder where I am? I hope he doesn’t think I abandoned him. I wonder about Nandita’s family, too. They must have thought about her when they passed by the trap this evening.
I feel like I have not been asleep long before I am awakened again, this time by Nandita’s scream—a scream so full of fright, I am sure there must be a tiger right outside the stable door. I jump up from the bed of straw and light my lantern, then scan the stable for what could have harmed her. The light that sweeps across her face shows me she is asleep.
I remember Chanda wanting me to hold her hand after a nightmare. The bad dreams stayed away then. On a nail overhead I hang the lantern and move my blanket closer to Nandita. I lean back against the stable wall and rest my hand on her back.
Her cries quiet, but her breathing is quick, as if she is still afraid. I stay awake until the up-and-down waves of her sides slow enough to let me know the nightmares are gone for now.
13
Elephants have strong attachments to their family members.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
I wake up to the smell of elephant dung and sour milk. Somehow during the night I ended up facedown in the straw. Nandita paces around the stable. After I stand up and stretch I lean against the wall of the stable and close my eyes. Already I know I will spend the day counting the hours until bedtime.
“I’ll be back with your breakfast. Be good,” I tell Nandita as I pet her trunk. She tries to follow me out of the stable, so I crack the door open just enough to slip out.
Empty milk bottle in hand, I walk to the cook shed as I pick straw off my clothes and face. Ne Min is already preparing breakfast. He looks up from the dough he is mixing and smiles.
“You look like an old man, like me,” he says. “She will not always keep you awake at night. It will take time. She is afraid. An elephant her age, she needs her mother.”
“Do they have dreams?” I ask. “Elephants, I mean. Do they dream?”