by Mona Sehgal
As Broken Tusk walked away, Krishna turned around to see the birds dive into the mouth of the baobab tree. The wings of the birds that had flapped in harmony earlier seemed to be flapping at different paces. The surface of the pond was getting darker and choppy, as if someone were dimming the light at the bottom of the pond and stirring it. The mist had lost its color and was gray like the water of the pond. It rose like a funnel toward the sky. Krishna had to shut his eyes to protect them from the cloud of dust that rushed toward the watery funnel. For a few minutes, Krishna saw nothing and only heard the howling wind.
Then, in a snap, it was quiet.
Krishna opened his eyes and saw the jungle around him. The baobab tree and the pond were still there, but the birds and animals were gone. It was as if a magician just made them disappear!
Nine
A NEW DAY
Krishna and Broken Tusk walked back in silence. Krishna felt Broken Tusk’s body strain slightly at each step. The rhythmic movement gently rocked Krishna. His eyes fluttered and gradually closed.
Krishna was not sure how long he slept before a mild shake of Broken Tusk’s head woke him. He sat up alert. Broken Tusk was looking straight ahead. In the horizon, the dark night was giving way to the first glimmer of sunlight.
“It’s daybreak. I love this sight. It remains one of the most beautiful sights on earth, no matter how many times I see it,” said Broken Tusk.
Krishna gazed ahead at the flicker of light and thoughts of the previous night came flooding into his head. He thought of the Hindu god, whose flute he had heard and whose graceful form he had seen flitting among the animals at the magic pond. The statue of that deity had looked so strange at the altar in his home, but in this jungle, so far from home, it seemed so familiar and attractive.
“Krishna,” Krishna heard himself saying aloud.
“Krishna,” repeated Broken Tusk. “What a wonderful name!”
“Why does the magic hour end? Why can’t it be there all the time?” Krishna asked, mulling if he would continue to like his name once he returned home.
“If the magic hour never ended, it would not be magical anymore,” said Broken Tusk. “It would become a little boring, no? Maybe because it is so short, we jump right in and be ourselves. We can be free from expectations of others. The lion does not have to be the hunter, as everyone expects. And the zebra does not have to be the prey.”
“But eventually the lion will hunt and the zebra may become a prey,” said Krishna, starting to feel some of the magic fade already. “Will I still call myself Krishna once I return back to school and get strange looks when I explain my name?”
“That’s when the memory of the magic hour will help you.” He stopped under a large tree and reached into a small hole with his trunk.
“Take this,” said Broken Tusk, extending his trunk up to Krishna.
“What is this?” asked Krishna, taking the small white object. “Is this a stone?”
“No, it is a fragment of my broken tusk,” said the elephant. “When you start to forget the magic hour, just hold it and rub it. It will remind you of the magic hour, our friendship, and the amazing sights of the jungle.”
Krishna looked at the white object cupped in his hands. He carefully put it away in the inner pocket of his jacket. He had to show it to his brother when he went home.
They walked in silence until they reached the cottage. Krishna sat motionless for a little while. He gave a tight squeeze to Broken Tusk as tear drops trickled down his cheeks.
“I will miss you too,” said Broken Tusk, as Krishna’s tears fell on his neck. “But neither of us will be sad for long. We have so much to do and experience in our lives. I hope you remember our adventure together.”
Krishna slowly descended with his friend’s help. He held Broken Tusk’s trunk and looked at his friend through wet eyes. The elephant’s wise and gentle eyes calmed Krishna. Then the shrill chirping of birds reminded both of them that people in the lodge would be waking up soon. It was time to say goodbye.
Krishna gave Broken Tusk’s trunk a gentle squeeze and reluctantly let go. By the time Krishna climbed in through the window and turned around, his friend was gone.
Later that morning, a big white jeep was waiting under the acacia tree to take Krishna and his family to the airport. Wonder was carrying their bags and noticed how sad Krishna looked.
“I know it is hard to leave,” said Wonder. “But you may come back. And when you do, your friend will be waiting for you.”
Krishna looked at Wonder. He suddenly felt like he was looking into Broken Tusk’s eyes again.
How could that be? he thought. I must be imagining things…
“Wait!” said Krishna and put down his little backpack on the ground. He hurriedly flipped the pages of a book and pulled out a peacock feather that he had snuck in the pages a long time ago.
“This is for. . . Broken Tusk,” said Krishna, handing the feather to Wonder.
“I will make sure he gets it,” Wonder said with a smile and a wink.
Krishna smiled back. Siddhartha was right. Magic did exist, and Krishna had just experienced it.
“Kris,” called Krishna’s father from the jeep.
Krishna shook Wonder’s extended arm and ran toward the jeep.
“Krishna,” said Krishna looking at his father. “Call me Krishna.”
Krishna’s parents gave each other a puzzled look. “Of course,” said his father, “Krishna, are you all set?”
“Yes, I am ready,” said Krishna eagerly.
“Bye Krishna,” said Wonder, waiving as the jeep started to move. “Keep your eyes open, for you never know what you may encounter!”
Krishna waved goodbye from the jeep, as it turned around the acacia tree one last time.
***