by Lynne Kelly
After he catches his breath, Sharad announces, “Now for the last event of the show…” He ignores the disappointed groan from the audience and rolls a ball out from underneath the wooden box. Some children in the audience jump up from their seats and stand close to the fence when they see the ball.
Sharad sets up a sawhorse on either side of the arena. The one on the far side has a flat elephant-shaped piece of wood nailed to it.
He drops the ball to the ground and dribbles it from side to side with his feet, then passes it to Nandita. The crowd cheers for her as she runs with the ball in front of her toward the sawhorse marked with the wooden elephant. Sharad runs alongside her. I don’t know if Nandita really means to run the ball into the goal. Maybe Sharad just trained her to run to the sawhorse, and the ball is propelled forward by the force of the lumbering elephant behind it.
When she is close to her goal, Nandita stops running. She walks up to the ball when it comes to a rest, then kicks it so it rolls under the sawhorse. The audience laughs and applauds for the first point of the game. Sharad gives her two pieces of fruit, then retrieves the ball. Nandita runs next to him as he kicks the ball across the arena. The audience claps when Sharad kicks the ball into his goal, but not as loudly as they did for Nandita.
After they each score one more point, Sharad again passes the ball to Nandita. The crowd grows noisier as she approaches her goal. Just before Nandita can kick the ball into her goal, Sharad steals the ball from her. A disappointed “Awwww!” rises from the crowd when Sharad makes a long kick across the arena to score another point for himself.
Nandita walks, head down, to the center of the arena. Perhaps she is just disappointed about missing out on more treats, but she seems sadder than that, as if she somehow knows she lost the game. Sharad picks up the ball from his goal, then joins Nandita.
“Not a bad player for a little elephant.” He pats her head. “Thank you all for coming to the show. Please come again, for you will enjoy—”
Nandita’s trunk knocks the ball out from under Sharad’s arm. She steps behind the ball and runs again toward her goal. The audience stands up to cheer when she scores another point.
She jogs back to the center of the arena. Sharad tries to smile but looks sick to his stomach as he and Nandita both take a bow.
We wave goodbye to our departing visitors until the last vehicle drives out of sight. Then Sharad rips the palm leaves from the elephant hook and turns toward the arena. Timir grabs his arm after his first step.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To teach that elephant a lesson,” says Sharad.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. That was perfect.”
“What? She ruined the show—she made a fool out of me!”
“What she made is a lot of money for us. The crowd loved it. Some of them will come back, and they’ll tell others to come. And when they do, you will perform the show the same way you did today.”
* * *
After cleaning the arena, I go to Timir’s office like he asked. He was so happy about the show, I have some hope that he will not punish me too harshly for not picking up the branch. I hear voices as I approach the office, so I wait outside the door while Timir talks to Sharad.
“People were asking for elephant rides,” says Timir. “How soon can we offer that?”
“I’ll have to train her, and she’s too small to carry an adult yet,” says Sharad.
“Get the boy to help you then.”
“Maybe when she knows her other tricks better. Right now there isn’t time—”
“Your father could have done it,” says Timir. “Too bad he’s not around.”
Sharad says nothing, and the shuffling of papers tells me that Timir has turned back to the work on his desk.
Sharad clears his throat and speaks again, but his voice is so quiet I have to lean closer to the doorway to hear him.
“I suppose I could find some time to practice,” he says. “About the boy, though—I’d rather not work with him.”
With Timir’s next words, I shiver as if facing a gust of wind on a rainy night.
“You might as well get used to him. He’s here to stay.”
17
On cold nights, elephants huddle close to their young to keep them warm.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
It is near the end of winter, and my hopes have faded like the sun.
People spread word about the funny elephant show, like Timir said they would. Nandita performs three times a week, each time to a full audience. Still, Timir isn’t happy—the show’s success has made him greedier instead of satisfied. He adds extra shows to the schedule, and we are all overworked. Nandita especially.
After each performance, Sharad calls me to help train Nandita to give rides. She’s gotten better these past few weeks, but it took a long time for her to get used to having someone on her back. When I first climbed on she ran in circles until I fell off. She allows me to stay on now, but it’s still a bumpy ride.
Sharad throws a blanket onto Nandita’s back and secures it with a rope, then commands her to kneel onto her front legs. I climb up and hang on to the rope as she walks around the arena. When she speeds up to a jog I have to lean forward, ignoring the scratchiness of her hair on my face, and cling to her neck so I don’t fall off.
Sometimes I have to drag her to the spring for her bath, and it’s harder to wake her each morning. I would do anything to help her, if only I knew what that was.
Nandita seems nervous, too. She startles easily when she hears a loud noise, and rocks herself back and forth in the arena. A circular rut is worn into the ground where she paces around the wooden post.
One thing is better: my chores have become easier as the months have passed. When I haul water from the spring, the tub seems lighter every day. I fill it just as high as before, but I travel faster and no longer have to stop and rest on my way back to the cook shed. Chopping wood is easier, too. My arms have grown larger, and the ax is not heavy in my hands like it was when I first arrived. My hands are now tough with calluses. “You are growing like a bamboo stalk after a monsoon,” Ne Min tells me. I wish he were right. I feel like Timir will always tower over me.
I wonder how I will ever get home, and what I will find when I get there. My stomach bunches into a giant knot when I think about how long I’ll have to wait before I see my family again.
Thoughts of escape are with me every day. Sometimes during a show I think, Just run away. Leave the stable at night and don’t stop walking until you’re home. Then I argue with myself, But I promised I’d work here.
And what did Timir promise? Adventure! One year of service, when he never meant to let me go.
Another day I might be filling the water bucket at the spring, and the voice that is braver than I am jumps in again: What about now? If I walked away now, how soon before they’d notice I was gone?
But what would happen to my family? I’m working to pay Timir back for Chanda’s medicine and hospital stay.
And what would happen to Nandita? I promised I wouldn’t leave here without her.
Late at night I lie awake in the stable, my head throbbing. Long after I forget the reason Timir hit me again, the pain still lingers. With my fingers I trace the shape that the handle of Timir’s cane left on my forehead. I’ve done enough for him. When the time is right I will go. But when will that be?
I take the stone from my pocket. Once I asked Baba how the stone ever got out of the river where it tumbled around for so long. He didn’t know the answer to that.
* * *
Then one evening just after everyone has left and there’s still a little light in the sky, I stop fighting with myself. Instead of pushing aside the thoughts of leaving, I ignore the reasons to stay. I lead Nandita past the arena to the property fence and the large wooden gate. We’d leave through the wide metal gate if only it weren’t closed with a thick chain and padlock. Maybe Nandita can fit through this
one.
I walk through the gate ahead of Nandita. She pauses and looks at the gap left by the open gate like she’s not sure she’ll be able to pass through it. I’m not sure either, but we don’t have another way out.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” I tug Nandita’s chain to coax her forward.
The fence creaks and groans as she squeezes through the gate. Flecks of bark, scraped free from the wooden posts, drift to the grass. A tight fit, but Nandita makes it. We’re outside the circus grounds.
We run along the fence line until we reach the path that leads to the river. Our first stop will be the forest where I last saw her family. They must wonder how she’s doing. Will they still be there? I don’t know if elephant herds move around or if they keep their homes in one place. But there’s nowhere else to take Nandita.
Which way will I go after I leave her in the forest? I stop to look around, then close my eyes to think. I remember the blinding sunlight the morning Timir drove me away from my home.
When I open my eyes, I find the last orange glow of the sunset. My home will be that way.
We continue walking toward the river. Now and then I glance at the place the sun sets each night, at times pointing to it, so I will not lose it as the sky grows dark.
The farther we walk and the darker and colder it gets, the more I wish I had a better plan. When I exhale I see my breath in front of me, white like smoke. I am running to the wilderness with nothing except the clothes I wear, a pocketknife, and a trained elephant on a chain.
Now what? We’re at the river where Nandita used to come with her herd. If they were here before, they’ve already left for the evening. Maybe they’re close enough to hear Nandita if she calls to them, but how can I make her do that?
I unlatch her chain and drop it to the ground.
“Go on,” I tell her. “Go look for your family.”
Nandita touches my face with her trunk. I kiss her forehead and wrap my arms around her neck.
“Goodbye, Nandita.” When I pet her head, the bristles of reddish-brown hair tickle my hand. “You are free now. Both of us are. Remember your friend Indurekha, who looks like moonlight through the clouds? You will play in the river tomorrow like you used to.”
Then I know I have to walk away. As long as I am with Nandita, she has no reason to call out to anyone. Sadness fills me up at the thought of leaving her alone and afraid. I hate feeling that I’m abandoning her, but this is the only way she’ll blast that squeaky trumpet that will call her family to her.
Nandita reaches her trunk to the tree above us and struggles to grab a branch. I hold the limb down while she pulls a mango from the branch and drops it into her mouth.
As she chews the mango I take the end of her trunk into my hands and blow into it.
“Remember me,” I tell her, then I turn and run.
Something behind me snaps a branch and rustles the leaves. I glance back to see what it is, then fall to the ground when Nandita bumps into me. The chilly dampness of the forest floor seeps through the seat of my pants.
“Nandita, what are you doing? Stay here and wait for your herd.”
She reaches out her trunk and touches my nose as I push myself off the ground.
If only I could make her understand. With one hand on her back, I lead her to the banyan tree. How can I leave her here alone and go back to my village? She’s small for an elephant and in danger of a tiger attack. But I cannot take her with me. The desert is too dry for her. At daybreak we will follow the river until we find her family. Nandita lies next to me as I lean against the tree.
To help keep Nandita warm, I gather leaves into my shirttail and pour them onto her back. Most of them slide off, so they don’t make much of a blanket. I hope the leaves that do cover her will give her some warmth. From all around, I scoop leaves toward us to shield us from the cold. I huddle close to Nandita.
I shut my eyes and think of all the things a person should have with him if he decides to escape into the forest with a young elephant in the wintertime. Blankets. An ax to chop down leafy branches. I could use them to make a shelter, or we could lie under a pile of them to keep warm. Food. We have fruit here in the forest, and Nandita has plenty of leaves to eat, but a bowl of rice would taste good to me right now. And samosas. Mango pickle, straight from the cooking pot. A piece of roti. The steam would warm my hands as I held it. While it was still hot, I would pour on the buttermilk.
A torch. I could make a fire if I brought a torch with me. Or even some matches. I fall asleep thinking of the clay stove in our village courtyard, how warm it is to sit near in the wintertime. On the coldest days I would hold my hands against the sides of the stove and move them away only when I felt like they would burn.
Sometimes, just before I wake up, I forget where I am. As I float through that mist between asleep and awake, I think I’m back at home and Chanda is well. I cling to that moment for as long as I can. At times the remembering is like a stab or a bite, when all at once I realize where I am and all I’m missing. But sometimes the truth settles onto me like dew on a forest leaf, giving me time to feel the roughness of the straw and hear the sounds that do not belong to the desert before I think, Oh yes, I am here, at the circus near the forest. Not at home. And maybe Chanda is all right but maybe she is not.
“I’m awake,” I say aloud, because it feels like someone is shaking me to wake me up. When I pry my eyes open I still feel the shaking, but no one is here. I touch Nandita’s back, where my head rested until a moment ago. Her body shivers as she sleeps.
I stand and pick up her chain.
“Come on, Nandita,” I say through chattering teeth. She looks up at me when I try to rouse her, then lays her head back down.
“No, we have to go back.” I shake her harder. If anything bad happens to her it will be all my fault. I loop the chain around her neck, then pull it as I walk a few steps.
What will I do if she won’t stand up? The only one at the circus I trust is Ne Min, but even if I found his house and woke him, I don’t know how he could help. Maybe Nandita would listen to him, but it would take him so long to get here. Walking all this way in the cold would be hard on him, too. Then I would be responsible for a sick old man and a freezing cold elephant.
Again I take a step back and pull the chain. With a groan Nandita finally stands. I lead her out of the forest to the place that holds us captive, but it is the only place that will keep us safe tonight.
I never thought I would be so relieved to get back to the circus grounds. I close the gate behind us and run ahead of Nandita to grab our blankets from the stable. I rush back to her and put one blanket on her head and one on her back. She follows me into the cook shed and lies down on the floor while I light a fire. I’m so cold I want to crawl right into the oven.
Before we go back to sleep I make a bottle of milk for Nandita.
The flames glow in the darkness and melt the chill on our skin. Soon I hear Nandita’s soft snoring, but as exhausted as I am, I cannot sleep. I set the empty bottle on the counter, then pick up a small piece of wood from the woodpile next to the stove and begin carving. For you, Chanda, for whenever I see you again.
Just as I smooth out the ears, Nandita turns her head to me and opens her eyes. She reaches out her trunk and curls it around the newly carved figure. She lays her head back down and falls asleep again, holding on to the wooden Ganesh like a child with a new doll.
“All right, Nandita.” I laugh. “You keep that one. I’ll make something else for Chanda.” I yawn and lie down next to her, and the two of us sleep on the floor in the warmth of the fire.
I wake to the sounds of a rattling truck engine.
“Wake up, Nandita! Back to the stable—hurry!” I scramble to grab our blankets and rush Nandita to the stable as Timir parks his truck. Ne Min is just getting here, too—I spot him walking up the path from his house. I don’t think he sees me.
On my way back to the cook shed I hear the angry voice of Timir.
“Look at this mess! Wood chips all over the floor! Didn’t you and the boy clean up last night?”
“Yes, I am sorry,” answers Ne Min. “I should have swept again after he brought in firewood. I’ll do it now.”
“Never mind, start breakfast.” He sees me when he turns to leave. “You have work to do,” he says as he brushes past me.
“Ne Min, I’m sorry about the wood chips,” I say when Timir is out of sight. “I will tell him—”
“Shhh.” He slips my pocketknife into my shirt pocket. “Such a cold night, wasn’t it? A good night for a fire.”
18
An elephant separated from its herd will try to find its way back.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
The days start to grow warmer and longer, and for the first time in months, I count the marks on the stable wall. When I reach one hundred, I carve a long line on the wall to mark my place so it will be easier to count next time. I count the row of marks beyond the long line and realize I’ve been here almost half a year.
My hair falls into my eyes as I stand, and my fingers get stuck in the tangles when I try to brush it back with my hands. It’s grown past my shoulders now and is always in my face as I work. At home Amma would cut our hair with her sewing scissors then throw the hair outside into the wind. In a shrub near our home I once found a bird’s nest with black hair woven in with the twigs and brown leaves.
In the supply shed I find a pair of shears. With one hand I gather my hair, then with the other I reach the shears back and snip the hair off.
Outside, the wind blows toward my home. I hold up the handful of hair and release it to a gust of wind and watch it fly away. I dream that the wind is strong enough to carry it all the way to my village, where it will help make a nest for a bird. And Amma will see the wavy black hair woven into the nest and know that I am all right.
Again I plan our escape. This time I will be ready. I will not endanger Nandita this time by leaving on impulse. One evening after her bath, I place an empty iodine bottle under the straw in the stable. The bottle is large but light and has a lid to hold the water inside after I fill it. Near the forests there will be plenty of water, but rivers and streams will be hard to find once I enter the desert.