Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  After watching Mukunda leave, heart clenched, I entered the temple to join the chanting. Tears ran freely down my cheeks. Destiny was fulfilled. We had acknowledged each other. Now we could both go on with our lives.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fire

  The May festival passed slowly, with its whirlwind of unusual entertainment. The singing of Baghdadi Dakaka women and the performance of lyrical ragas filled the air between chants. Every afternoon, we assembled in the courtyard to watch and listen to groups of musicians plucking the kanuns, drumming the tablas, and shaking a tambourine called daff. Sometimes a vina player would execute elaborate pieces, fingers flying lightly on the strings of the long-necked gourd.

  It seemed that every other day a wedding took place, with a groom on a richly harnessed horse, cars heaped with flower garlands, sweet‑smelling sacred fires, and delicious foods. To my dismay, each time a radiant bride smiled to the man of her life, I secretly envied her. How long would thoughts of Mukunda disturb my peace? I wouldn't want an impossible love to motivate my future vows of celibacy. It wouldn't be right.

  As the end of May drew close, however, the Brahmin priests left and the white tents on the lawn disappeared. Besides swamis and Bhramacharyas, the ashram population dwindled to a few old timers. After all the fuss, I gladly returned to a peaceful routine.

  Something else had changed, something intangible but heavy and threatening, the nature of the air itself. In the clear sky, small isolated clouds appeared, floating on a humid breeze that blew from a slightly different direction. The gardens, the land, even the scurrying insects seemed suspended in wait. I felt the same way... Waiting for what?

  I entered the dorm with an armful or laundry I had just collected from the line on the roof.

  Kora brushed her long blonde hair before going to bed. "I hope he's a good dancer," she prattled on. "And I'll have to tell him to dress up a little. He can afford designer clothes. I should take him shopping, but he's so busy, I haven't seen him in two weeks." She sighed. "Nobody's perfect, I suppose."

  "Stop criticizing the man," I snapped, dropping the dry clothes on the bed. "He's too good for the likes of you." The constant flaunting of her impending wedding tried me to the limit, a painful reminder of a love that could never be.

  "And why should you care?" Kora turned her drifting gaze on me.

  Heat crept up my face. "I just do." I turned my back and started folding the white cotton clothes to set them on the shelf. I wasn't going to lie or retreat. I didn't fear Kora and had done nothing to be ashamed of.

  "I bet you'd like to be the one marrying him." I could feel Kora's gaze like a hot spot on my spine.

  Her insight made me cringe. I controlled my anger and turned to face her across the short expanse of empty beds. "I'm not planning on marrying anyone. I'm here to renounce the world."

  "Do you think I didn't see the way you looked at him in the courtyard the first day he came?" Kora smiled, but her eyes flashed dangerously.

  "What about it?" I remembered how elated I had felt during my long conversations with Mukunda in the tea-shack across the street. I slowed down while folding a white shirt, realizing that I had been wearing it on that magic night. I would cherish the memory forever, along with that of my brother.

  "Do you really believe you have the slightest chance with a man like that?" Kora laughed.

  It might have been easier than she thought, but I held my peace. She'd never know how close I'd come to snatching her man.

  "It takes more skills than you'll ever possess to catch such a fish." She dotted then massaged cream onto her flawless face.

  "Men are not fish," I protested, raising my voice in the silence of the empty dorm. "You treat them like a commodity. You won't get away with it forever. I'd like to be there when reality hits."

  "Fabienne, you are so naive!" Kora's condescending tone cut deep. "You have such childish illusions about life. When I want something, I take it. When I'm finished with it, I throw it away." She stashed away the vanity case and brushed a speck off her dress.

  "I know... Like you did with Chad." I folded the last piece of clean laundry. "Have you noticed how gloomy he's become lately? The poor soul looks devastated. Although you see him every day, I bet you don't even care."

  She sat on her bed and smiled. "You're right, I don't. Why should I? He's not my business anymore. He'll get over it."

  "I sure hope so." I sat on the edge of my bed. Suddenly, I realized that Kora didn't see the pain she inflicted on other people. How could I make her understand? "You are responsible for your actions, just like everyone else, you know? Some day, in this life or in the next, your karma will catch up with you and you'll suffer the consequences. It'll be too late for regrets then."

  "I'll deal with that when it happens, if it happens. Because I believe in reincarnation doesn't mean I also believe in karma." Instead of preparing for bed, Kora grabbed her purse from the shelf.

  "You'd act differently if you understood. You can't cheat karma. I hope you realize that before it's too late." I rose and changed into an oversized T-shirt.

  "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." She made for the door.

  "So you think." I didn’t ask where she was going. It was almost curfew and I knew she needed a last cigarette. I lit a stick of incense, enjoying its fragrant smoke, then switched off the light and went to bed.

  *****

  In the middle of the night, I awoke, smelling smoke, heart thumping at the nightmarish memory of a jungle fire. Elephants trumpeted in panic! Instantly, I was wide-awake. I sat up on the bed. The smoke and the trumpeting didn't stop.

  Kora turned in her sleep.

  "Kora, wake up," I called, "I smell fire."

  I pivoted, swung my legs over the side, opened the mosquito netting, and grabbed a pair of cotton pants. Still tightening the strings at the waist, I rushed out the door, barefoot.

  An ominous glow releasing black, acrid smoke gleamed at the far end of the gardens. Leaving Kora to sleep, as I saw no immediate danger, I ran in the direction of the commotion, oblivious to the sharp gravel biting the soles of my feet. A few others joined me on the path, also running in the direction of the fire. As I neared the bend, almost out of breath, a bellow made me jump. Shankar! Peering into the darkness, barely slowing down, I glimpsed a huge shape looming among the trees. I shivered. How did the elephant get loose? I kept running toward the illumination.

  Around the bend in the path, I felt intense heat on my face. Deafening cracking noises filled my ears. I halted before huge flames, fed by the breeze. They leapt high over the tin roof of the elephant's shed, licking the lower branches of the banyan tree. The blaze seemed concentrated in the area of Chad's room, cornered between Shankar's empty shed and the godowns containing bales of hay.

  "Chad!" I screamed, frantic. "Is he inside?" I asked of a nearby silhouette.

  "Don't know," a strong voice answered above the roar of the inferno. I recognized the shaved head of Swami Satiananda who had greeted me upon my arrival. He thrust an empty plastic pail into my hands.

  "Where's the water?" I yelled.

  "The fire blocks the faucet of Shankar's shed. There's one in the outhouse and a watering spigot at the corner of the lawn." He pointed me in the direction.

  "Can't we use a hose?" My voice sounded hoarse.

  Swamiji shook his head. "Not enough pressure."

  I understood. It was still dry season. Imitating the few others already there, I covered my mouth and nose with a wet scarf someone handed me, then I filled the pail and started running back and forth, throwing buckets full of water on the walls and roof of Chad's room. Our attempts at dousing the fire seemed futile, considering the enormity of the blaze and the limited water supply, but we had to do something.

  As more ashramites joined the effort and more pails became available, we organized a chain. One of the tallest, I ended up in the forefront where the heat struck the hardest. Through smoke and flames, I strained to peer in
side the burning shack, still hoping that Chad had escaped. But where would he be if he had?

  With a sinister snap, a flaming bough plummeted down from the overhead banyan tree, crushing the red-hot roof and sending sparks in every direction. I stepped back, one arm raised to protect my face, then wiped my sweaty forehead with a dirty sleeve. The flames raged so high that we had to back up before resuming the task at hand.

  Eyes itching, nose running, face burning, clothes sticky with sweat, throat parched from the smoke, we fought relentlessly as the flames devoured the structures. At regular intervals, someone walked up the line with a ladle and drinking water to splash our faces and ease our thirst. Villagers came to help with a horse-drawn water cistern. Around dawn, the fire finally slowed, burning itself out. Only then were we able to put it out.

  Black ruins had replaced the island of buildings. At least our efforts had prevented the disaster from spreading to the neighboring trees and nearby cottages. As soon as it seemed safe enough, I carefully ventured into the smoldering wreckage. Two free-standing walls still popped and cracked. The steaming rubble burnt my bare feet, but I had to see for myself.

  Through dissipating smoke, in the pale light of dawn, I beheld a desolate scene. Broken glass, scorched debris and ashes littered the blackened concrete. A metal picture frame still showed half of Kora's smile. A heavy ring with black keys lay among the ashes, near the metal spout of a jerry can, the body of which lay several feet away. An empty whisky bottle had partially melted out of shape. I winced at what little was left of the collapsed wooden bed and incinerated mattress, and I recoiled at the nondescript, charred remains crumpled upon it. I could only assume the body was human. I had to turn away.

  So Chad had died after all. Had he been drunk?

  On the concrete slab of the destroyed shed, Shankar's heavy chains remained attached to the tethers, unbroken. Someone had freed the elephant. Chad?

  Was it an accident? A murder? No. Most likely a suicide. The grim scenario unfolded in my head. I imagined Chad, drunk and disconsolate, making up his mind, taking the heavy keys from the hook. He would have gone to Shankar's shed, said farewell to the elephant, his only friend, and let him go, even chased him away to make sure he remained at a safe distance. Back in his room, Chad would have thrown or dropped the keys to the floor, splashed walls and furniture with gas from the lawnmower's jerry can, laid down, finished the bottle, then cracked a match, immolating himself in protest like a bonze, making a last desperate statement.

  I thought of my brother taken into death against his will. Why did so many young men have to die? Such a tragic waste…

  "Do you have the guts for this?" Swami Satiananda had followed me in, his orange robe grayed and rumpled. The shaved scalp showed a shadow of growth. In dirty hands he held a white length of silk. "Everyone else chickened out," he said. "I need help to remove the body."

  Not trusting myself to speak, I simply bowed.

  Swamiji smiled. "Watch your feet, there's glass."

  As I did, I noticed the black residue covering our feet. He wore no shoes either.

  "Let’s spread the cloth on the side of the bed," Swamiji suggested. "Then we'll turn the board over to drop him on the cloth." The monk seemed calm and collected, as if nothing could mar his inner serenity, not even death as horrible as this.

  The maneuver worked, but somehow the body stuck and we had to peel it off the bed board. It smelled sweet and spicy, like gingerbread. I steeled myself not to throw up.

  "Doesn't it bother you? You seem so calm..." I couldn't help but ask as we worked.

  "I used to be a firefighter back in New York. I've seen it many times, but you never get used to it. Now, it's different, though," Swamiji explained, folding the remains gently in the white silk cloth. "Death is scary only if you believe it's final." He smiled, handed me one end of the bundle. "It's a matter of perspective." He took the other end.

  As we carried Chad's remains out of the wreckage, the gathered ashramites parted respectfully to let us pass. Swamiji led the way to the garden pavilion where we deposited our charge on a litter made of two bamboo poles connected by a woven straw mat. Bhramacharyas in yellow robes entered the pavilion silently, bringing flower garlands with which they covered the wrapped body. Then they sat around it on the floor to meditate.

  I paid my respects for a few silent minutes then left the garden pavilion. I wanted to remember Chad as a vibrant youth full of promise. Chanting from the temple drifted through the gardens. After the nightmare, peace claimed its rights. Life went on. I breathed deeply.

  "Thanks for your precious help." Beside me, Swamiji smiled warmly.

  "You're welcome." I smiled back.

  "It takes a lot of courage and endurance to fight a fire all night like you did. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about." He bowed respectfully, turned around, and left before I could acknowledge the compliment.

  Suddenly I felt alone, sad, dirty, exhausted and ready to collapse. On my way to the dorm, I saw Kora in pink and silver finery, walking toward Shankar tethered beneath a tall cedar. The elephant bellowed in greeting. Ignoring the powerful smell, I pushed aside my innate fear of elephants and made straight for her.

  "Jeez, Honey, you look a fright," Kora greeted me, a spark of amusement lighting her green gaze. "Your face is red, your eyes bloodshot, and you smell like a fleece-picker’s bar."

  "How dare you make fun and pretend nothing's wrong!" Too angry and tired to even mind the elephant, I let my voice threaten. "You didn't even come to help."

  "Sorry, Frenchie, I don't do fires." She turned her face away, feeding Shankar sugarcane shoots.

  "Aren't you at least going to pay your respects?" My voice cracked.

  "Maybe later. Now get away from me, you're spoiling my private time with Shankar." Without looking, Kora dismissed me with a wave of her bejeweled hand.

  Grabbing her shoulder, I forced her to face me. "You better show up or I'll drag you there myself."

  Shankar lifted his trunk in defiance and trumpeted, eyes wild. Raising one eyebrow, Kora smiled smugly.

  Heart knocking against my ribs, I stepped back but didn't leave. I swallowed hard. "Did you know Chad started drinking again?"

  "Doesn't surprise me. He probably passed out. Must have imbibed past curfew, knocked the candle in his stupor... Serves him right! I hate drunks." Kora frowned and returned her attention to Shankar.

  I stepped around to face her. "He killed himself, Kora." I wanted to shake her cool attitude, show her a broader picture of life. I wanted her to understand the law of action and consequence.

  Kora shrugged. "I like the accident version better."

  "But someone unlocked Shankar's chains before the fire started. The keys were in Chad's room, so was the jerry can." I looked straight into her eyes. "It was no accident." Unbidden tears fell from my eyes.

  "All right." Kora emitted a loud sigh. "So, what can I do about it?"

  I wanted so much for Kora to see the light that I opted for harsh words. "It's too late for Chad, but think about it... Why do you think he killed himself in front of your picture?"

  "If you expect me to feel guilty, it won't work." She petted Shankar's trunk. "I'm immune to guilt."

  "That explains a lot about you, but don't think it'll last forever." My voice trembled. "Some day you'll realize what you've done, and when it happens, I'll pity you."

  "I don't need your pity, you gutless little sheep. Barnyard rules don't apply to tigers." Her silver earrings shook as she spoke.

  "So you think." I raised both hands in surrender. "I'm too tired to argue with you, but you better show up for the ceremony. I meant what I said."

  As I left, anger gnawed at my hard-won inner peace. Touching the necklace at my throat, I breathed deeply, repeating the mantra. "So’Ham, So’Ham..."

  When my thoughts finally cleared, I noticed for the first time since I arrived in India that the sun didn't shine as bright as usual. Looking at the darkening sky, I saw large billowing clo
uds rolling in from the direction of the Arabian Sea. Humidity made the shirt stick to my skin. In a matter of days, the monsoon would be upon us.

  *****

  Due to the circumstances of Chad's death and the complicated procedure of repatriating the body, the family agreed to a Hindu funeral. Only the mother, uncle, and brother flew in for the ceremony. A Brahmin priest came from Mumbai. All the ashramites were asked to attend, and to my surprise, Kora accepted without prompting. I suspected that Chad’s handsome brother had something to do with her sudden eagerness.

  We kept watch all day in the pavilion and chanted to soothe the dead man's soul. In the afternoon, the Brahmin priest poured oil in what remained of the body's mouth for purification, washed the burnt face with water, and anointed the forehead with oil and three streaks of ashes, in honor of Shiva. The tying of the two thumbs together couldn't be performed for lack of a right arm, but wet rice was symbolically placed in the mouth to nourish the body during the long journey. Then fresh flower malas were piled up on the remains, so high that the corpse totally disappeared under fragrant mounds of orange marigold, pink and red carnations, and white ginger blossoms.

  Dressed in white with flower garlands around our necks, we each lit a torch to the Brahmin's fire burning in the temple. Under a darkening sky, heavy with low, menacing clouds, the funeral procession started on foot toward the river. To the sound of strings and drums playing mournful tunes, the Brahmin priest took the lead. Mounted by Kora in white veils and pantaloons, Shankar followed in a rich harness of purple and silver, ears and trunk painted with exquisite designs. The elephant kept his head low, looking sad, as if he understood.

  On a litter with long bamboo poles carried by twelve swamis in vermilion, the deceased followed suit under his mound of flowers. Then came the family, the remaining swamis and the Bhramacharyas. I filed in with the rest of the ashramites and a few villagers along for the show.