by Lynne Kelly
“A heatstroke. Go get some water,” he tells me as Ne Min joins him at Nandita’s side. “As much as you can carry. And some burlap bags. Hurry!”
I rush to the fence and scramble over it, then glance back at Nandita when my feet hit the ground on the other side. On my way to the water trough, I take just a moment to look behind me and watch everything I had hoped for drive away.
23
Elephants spend eighteen to twenty hours a day foraging for food.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
My arms are shaking, but I don’t know if it is from fear or work. Back and forth I have carried the metal bucket from the trough and poured water over Nandita’s body.
A few people from the audience stand around the arena fence, watching. Others have left, holding the hands of their crying children. Some have entered the arena to help care for Nandita. From the supply shed I grabbed empty rice and flour bags, and we have soaked them in cold water to lay over Nandita’s body. Timir paces alongside Nandita and yells at us, “Do something!” and “How could you let this happen?”
I want to run. I want to be far away from here, the gasping crowd, Timir, the heat. Nandita, the elephant I failed to protect. I have to get out of here. Now.
Slowly I back away from Nandita and look around. Everyone is focused on her. They won’t notice if I slip away.
I hurry to the stable. What should I take with me? I grab the empty iodine bottle from under the straw and one of my Ganesh figures. The carvings of elephants I leave on the floor. As I glance around for anything else I might need, the palm leaf that Ne Min nailed to the wall catches my eye. May those frightened cease to be afraid, and may those bound, be free. I reach for it, then stop when I see Ne Min in the doorway.
“Do you think if you run away you will forget her?” He steps into the stable. “She is a part of you now, and you are a part of her. She will be with you always, no matter if you are here, or home, or the farthest place you could ever run.”
Ne Min’s dark brown eyes show the pain that they had when he first treated Nandita’s hook wounds. “You have good memories of her now, but they will be forever shadowed by your abandonment. You are the one who cares for her most. You are the one she needs.”
“Ne Min, I can’t do this anymore. What use am I now? I’ve been her keeper all this time, and look at her. She is better off without me, and I don’t want to be here when she—” I stop and turn away. “Please just let me go, and don’t tell anyone I am leaving.”
“No,” he says. “Nandita still has a chance. I know what to do, but I cannot do it myself. If you leave now you are killing her, and you will not forgive yourself. Ever.”
I gaze at the Ganesh carving in my hand, the first one I made here, that sits lopsided in the straw, that is still my favorite. Remover of obstacles …
My father used to tell me that sometimes we get help clearing obstacles from our path, and sometimes they are placed in our way. Later, when we are wiser and stronger, we may look back and feel thankful for what we had to overcome. Will I ever be thankful for anything that has happened to me? If only Baba had not died, and if Chanda had not been so sick, if we were not so poor …
I never would have met Nandita. How many people can say they have had an elephant for a best friend?
And I never would have met Ne Min. He stands next to me in the stable, quietly watching, knowing already what I will do, but knowing I have to decide for myself.
I set the Ganesh figure back in the corner of the stable. Underneath his right side I pile up some straw so he will not tip over.
“What do I need to do?”
“Nandita needs shade, but she will not be able to walk on her own yet. Gather some bamboo stalks and the biggest palm leaves you can. Help Sharad build a shelter over her.”
“Will she be all right?” I remember asking Amma the same thing, the last time I saw Chanda.
“I don’t know,” says Ne Min. I hear an echo of Amma’s voice adding, “All we can do is pray.” And I will pray, but the not-knowing that gnaws at my stomach is the worst feeling of all.
* * *
After I talk to Sharad, I take the ax from the woodshed and hurry to a clump of bamboo. The stalks I chop have to be taller than Nandita. By the time I return to the arena with six long poles of bamboo, the audience members have left. Timir has retreated to his office. Ne Min sits next to Nandita with his hand on her forehead.
Sharad takes the bamboo from me, and I run to the palm trees. I swing the ax at the base of leaf after leaf, then fill my arms with as many as I can carry. Back in the arena, I place the leaves in a pile next to Nandita.
With a stick I dig a hole for the bamboo stalks, in four corners around Nandita’s body. After Sharad places the end of each stalk into a hole, I fill in the dirt and pack it tightly. We will tie the two remaining stalks across the tops of the upright poles, so I grab the ladder from the supply shed. I hold each bamboo stalk in place as Sharad ties them with twine to the ones we placed in the ground.
“Now the roof,” he says. “Chop some more stalks to lay across the top.” I return to the trees and cut down an armful of bamboo. Sharad hands me the bamboo as I stand on the ladder so I can lay it across the poles to make the roof of the shelter. Maybe I’m seeing a bit of the goodness Ne Min was talking about that has been buried inside Sharad for so long.
While we work, I glance at Nandita to see if she looks any better. She is breathing easier, and her eyes are open but still cloudy. I pause in building the shelter to run to the spring for more water to keep her cool.
When bamboo stalks cross the top of the shelter from end to end, I cover them with palm leaves. Finally, Nandita is in the shade. From the stable I grab her wooden Ganesh and set it next to her so she can hold it in her trunk while she sleeps. Before I let go of it I say a silent prayer for her.
Ne Min tells me this will be Nandita’s home for a few days, so I will need to haul some hay to the arena and bring her food and water. He has not asked me to sleep here with her but I will. If this is Nandita’s home for now, it is also mine.
Sharad will lose two weeks’ pay, and Timir added three months to my service. “Maybe you will remember to take better care of that animal,” he’d said.
During the hottest part of the afternoon I pour water over Nandita’s body. I keep a full bucket of water next to her, so when she is thirsty she only has to reach her trunk in and pour the water into her mouth. Much of the water spills on the ground while she lies on her side, but that evening she is able to hold her head up.
The next day, though, she doesn’t seem to be any better. Ne Min told me that a strong, healthy elephant would probably recover, but Nandita hasn’t been healthy lately. If I were strong enough to carry her to the cool water of the spring, I would do it.
Even though I sleep outside with her now, I stop by the stable each night to carve a new mark on the wall. When will I get to go home? I imagine the marks stretching out in an endless row, to some faraway place that means never.
I bring Nandita mangoes and the pods from the tamarind tree, but she does not eat.
After my evening chores I go to the arena to check on her. I find Ne Min sitting next to her as he carves a block of wood. From my pocket I take a new elephant I have been working on and sit across from him.
“What are you making?” I ask. “I’ve never seen you carve before.”
“I talked to Timir. When Nandita is strong enough, he will allow her to wander the grounds on her own more.”
The thought of Timir listening to someone surprises me so much I can’t speak. I wait for Ne Min to continue.
“Walking around to find some of her own food will be good for her. She knows what she should be eating, what she needs. If she eats better, her recovery will be quick. And the exercise will help. She will not move fast wearing shackles, but I told him I would make her a bell, so we can listen and find her if she wanders too far.”
I take out my pocketkni
fe and begin working on the elephant figure as Ne Min smooths out his block of wood. When it is round like a tree branch, he whittles away at the center of it until it is hollowed out. He sets it on the ground like an upside-down cup, then carves a hole through it from one side to the other.
Next he carves two sticklike pieces with a hole through the top of each one. He threads a piece of thick twine through all three parts so that the sticks hang on either side of the cuplike piece. He closes his eyes and shakes the bell, listening to the clip-clop-clip sound the sticks make against the cup.
“Some elephants”—he laughs a little—“some of the smart ones, are mischievous.” With the point of his knife he carves designs into the bell, and round letters like those on the palm leaf on my wall. “They clog their bell with mud to block its sound, if they wish to hide from you. Then you will have to search longer, but you will find her, and she will come to you.”
As I listen to him, I carve behind one of the elephant’s legs to make it look like it is bending a knee to step forward.
“You will become accustomed to the sound of her bell and be able to find her.”
He stands up and ties the bell around Nandita’s neck. I want to show him my elephant figure and ask if he thinks it is coming to life yet. But he walks away without saying good night.
* * *
Three days after Nandita’s heatstroke, I return from the spring and laugh when I see her. She is standing next to what is left of the shelter, chewing on the bamboo poles. I wonder if when she woke up she thought a tree had grown right around her, like I used to think my home grew out of the ground.
Nandita’s coarse red hair scratches my face when I hug her, but I don’t care. “You had me so worried!” I tell her. For the first time since her collapse, I allow myself to cry.
She is wobbly on her feet, but I decide to take her to the spring. I lead her slowly out of the arena. The bell swings on Nandita’s neck and makes its clip-clop sound as we walk.
Nandita almost runs the last few steps to the spring, then flops into the water. She rolls in the mud of the spring bed and sighs.
On the way back from the spring, I let her walk ahead of me to see where she will go. I follow her, and she finds a tree I’ve never seen before. The thick branches hang heavy with fruit the size of footballs. But it smells awful—like rotting onions—so I cannot believe Nandita would want to eat from this tree.
She wraps her trunk around a fruit and pulls it from a branch. It is so large, I’m not sure how she will eat it, but she places it whole into her mouth and bites down. As she chews I see the orange fruit inside her mouth, and its smell is sweeter. From a low branch I grab a fruit with both hands and pull. I place it on a flat stone and slice into it with my knife. The juice runs onto the green bumpy skin. The smell reminds me of bananas and something else—pineapple, maybe. I bite into it and realize that, again, Ne Min was right. Nandita knows where the good food is.
On the way back to the stable, Nandita follows me and taps my shoulder with her trunk like she did the night we tried to run away. I look around and pretend not to know who touched me. Nandita looks like she is laughing.
At lunch, I am so excited about Nandita’s progress that I blurt out the good news to Ne Min without thinking. I should have waited until we were alone so Timir would not overhear me.
“All right then, she’s better,” says Timir. “We can start the show again soon.”
“Not yet,” warns Ne Min. “She is getting better, and she will live, but next time she may not be so lucky. It is too soon.”
“Another week should be enough,” Timir says, “She will be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” says Ne Min. “She needs more rest, or she will be injured again, and what use will she be to you then?”
Sharad clears his throat. “Maybe he’s right. Until we know it’s safe for her to work—”
“That’s enough!” Timir says. “I’m telling you, the elephant will be fine. We have wasted too much time watching her sleep.”
I clutch the stone in my pocket and finally speak up. “But you know Ne Min knows what he is talking about. He was right about—”
“I do not care to listen to the advice of an elephant killer,” says Timir. “And neither should you.”
No one says a word, no one moves, no one seems to breathe as we wait for what Ne Min will say. He must be furious. For Timir to suggest—
But Ne Min’s face does not show anger, or denial, or even surprise. I am not sure what I’m seeing. He says nothing. Why won’t he defend himself? His hands shake and he looks at the ground as he walks to the door. He glances up for just a moment as he passes me. Right before he looks away I see it.
Ne Min looks like Chanda did when she lied about taking two pieces of bread at dinner. He looks like Amma when she had to leave me at home alone to go work. So I recognize it, but still it does not make sense to me.
What I see in Ne Min’s eyes is guilt.
24
Elephants communicate in ways we cannot hear.
—From Care of Jungle Elephants by Tin San Bo
The next night Nandita rolls in the dirt near the stable while I carve a new elephant out of mango wood.
I keep glancing toward the cook shed, waiting for Ne Min to walk out. There must be some explanation for Timir calling him an elephant killer, but I cannot imagine what it is. Ne Min would never harm an elephant.
After breakfast I started to bring it up, but he interrupted. “How is Nandita? Should I check on her?”
“No,” I answered too quickly. He looked as if I’d slapped him. “I mean—she is doing much better, but of course you can check on her anytime.”
He picked up a broom and started sweeping the floor. “We need more firewood, Hastin.” I left the cook shed to collect more wood, even though a small pile was already stacked next to the stove.
I want to show him my new carvings. I’m sure he will like them. They look more like real animals now. I might be good enough to sell my wood carvings one day, like my father did. Perhaps I could even set up a table in the marketplace. I think of the wood-carver I met there and the elephant box he made with all the tiny elephants inside. A good gift for Chanda, I thought at the time.
Suddenly Nandita stops rolling in the dirt and stands up. She stares into the distance, perfectly still, her ears flat against her head, her trunk in the air. I stand next to her to see what caught her attention, but I don’t notice anything.
Then the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up. It takes my brain a moment to catch up to what my body already senses. Timir is behind us. At the last click of his cane I turn to face him. I still hold the carving in my hand. There is no time to hide it. He’ll know now that I have a knife. Certainly he won’t allow me to keep it. What will I do without Baba’s knife?
He looks down at me and holds out his hand. I place the mango wood elephant in his palm. He seems to stare right through me, as if he can see exactly what I have been thinking.
He looks at the elephant from all sides. “You hardly have time for a hobby,” he says. “But maybe we could sell something like this at the show. People may like a souvenir to take home.” He tosses the figure back to me. “Make some more of these before the next show. Perhaps you can earn a little extra money for your family.”
He turns to walk away. “But first”—he stops and looks back at me—“go to the cook shed and see that everything is put away. That cook had to go home early.”
* * *
In the days before the next show, I spend as much time carving as I can. I make elephants of all sizes, and a few Ganesh figures. I work late into the night, wondering how much the carvings will sell for and what my family will buy with the money. Some food, of course, and maybe enough cloth for Amma to make new saris for herself and Chanda. I also start making an elephant box for Chanda that I will fill with small wooden elephants. This I hide in a corner of the stable, under the straw, to take with me when I leave.
I keep interrupting my work to check on Nandita. She looks healthy—her eyes are bright and clear, and she eats more than ever. When she forages in the woods, I can hardly keep up with her despite her shackles. Luckily the clip-clop of the wooden bell leads me to her when she wanders too far ahead of me. Sometimes when she approaches me from behind, I pretend not to hear the bell or the rustling grass under her footsteps. Nandita likes to sneak up on me and tap my shoulder with her trunk. Then when I turn around she looks like she’s laughing.
* * *
We have a full crowd for Nandita’s first show after her illness. I grip the edge of the fence during the entire performance and have to keep reminding myself to breathe. Nandita kicks the last goal in the game and runs circles around Sharad, who throws down his hat and pretends to be angry. The performance is perfect.
Timir set up a table near the audience to display my wood carvings. He works behind the table, where he places the money from customers in a metal box. From the arena, where I clean up after the show, I overhear some of the buyers.
“What beautiful carvings!”
“Such detail!”
“You are a skilled wood-carver,” one man says to Timir. He buys a whole family of wooden elephants.
I imagine selling my carvings in the marketplace, just like Baba did, and bringing home presents for my family with the money I earn.
“Thank you, I do my best,” Timir answers.
I stop working and hold my pitchfork still to listen closer.
“Really, you are too modest,” says the customer. “An artisan like yourself could make a good living selling these carvings in town. You could open your own shop. Of course we love the elephant show, so we hope you’ll do no such thing.”
Timir glances at me, then looks back to the buyer. “Yes, thank you. Hope to see you again.”
When the last customer leaves, the table is bare. Every one of my carvings has sold. Timir picks up the money box. He does not look at me as he heads to his office.
I throw the pitchfork aside and storm to Timir’s office. He is so busy counting money he doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway. My hand in my pocket clutches the stone.