The Elephant Chaser's Daughter

by Shilpa Raj

  As the men started to hammer down the coffin’s lid, I let go of Grandmother and pushed through the crowd to the coffin. ‘Stop!’ I cried out. ‘Please, let me touch her one last time. One last time.’ I felt an unconquerable need to connect with her—something I hadn’t done in recent years. The men ignored me.

  Devya screamed and threw herself beside me, begging them to open the lid. ‘Open it! Please open it!’ We were both shouting and pleading, but the men’s grip on the lid was tight. My mother joined us, sobbing uncontrollably, her arms flailing about, stopping just short of attacking the men. Finally, Uncle Naresh, who was standing closest to me, firmly asked the men to stop hammering, and they proceeded to lift the lid up just a little. Just enough. I slipped my hand through the opening and touched something soft and cold. Was it her face? Her hand? It felt so unfamiliar.

  The hammering finally ended with one last, determined blow, and the coffin was sealed shut. There was no eulogy, no words uttered in praise of my beloved sister. Instead, two young boys quickly lowered themselves into the grave to receive the coffin and set it in place. I wanted to move forward to catch sight of it down there, but people had already begun throwing mud inside. Two elderly women filled Grandmother’s small, cupped palms with soil and stayed by her side as she emptied it into the pit in one slow, lifeless motion. I scooped up less than a handful in each palm and flung it forward. Aunt Rani whispered to me to throw three handfuls. I obeyed, then lay my head on her shoulder and wept.

  I was burying my little sister with the soil on which we had run around as little children after Sunday church service. There was so much innocence in her then, and now there was so much none of us knew about her. She was laid to rest without honor and with no one to speak for her. My sorrow at her ending was simply unbearable. I was gripped by the feeling that I couldn’t go forward with my own life. I was already at my funeral.

  ‘Light the candles,’ Grandmother whispered into my ear, wiping away her tears. Then my brother held out a plastic bag before me, filled with small, pale red roses. Seeing my blank expression, he instructed softly, ‘Throw them in.’

  Large-winged birds from the heavens hovered above, watching us part with my sister below. In the distance, the forest rustled—the sound of the wind through the branches offered Kavya’s most eloquent requiem. As in life, she had in death wandered into an unknown land. I wanted to know how she had died and where she was now. The afterlife suddenly mattered terribly.

  I looked up to see Appa leaning against a tree, half-hidden in the shadows, all by himself, weeping. His shoulders shook with every sob and he occasionally wiped his nose on the cuffs of his sleeves. He looked so pitiable that I felt sad for him, even though I was not prepared to absolve him for his absence from my sister’s life—for the indifference he had shown towards her in recent years. Did he weep like this over his sister’s unexplained death as well, years ago? Was our family history destined to repeat itself?

  The crowd soon began to disperse. Darkness had set in all around us and Grandmother called to me to come away from the grave. Aunt Rani dragged me through the tall, wild grass, keeping a firm grip on my hand to keep me from running back to touch the soil over the grave. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave Kavya.

  ‘Aunt Rani, how will I know in the morning which grave is hers?’ I cried, realizing that I couldn’t even tell where we were in the graveyard. She didn’t answer.

  Incense burned on the fresh mound, and a small fire was lit by its side. I wanted to wait for the flames to die, but Aunt Rani wouldn’t let me. Everyone was moving away.

  Once outside the graveyard, I found Ms. Denny and the driver waiting to take me to Shanti Bhavan. She informed me that DG had telephoned with clear instructions not to let me stay back home after the burial, out of fear for my safety. ‘Darling, don’t be afraid of anything. We are with you,’ DG had said when he called me earlier from America. I was too choked with tears to answer him.

  ‘Shilpa, say goodbye to your brother,’ Grandmother said, her voice breaking.

  I could see Francis was terribly distressed. Before his tall, broad frame, I often felt small, but now he looked weak and broken. ‘Study well,’ I whispered to him. ‘Be a good boy.’

  He nodded, forlorn. I took his hand and said, ‘Don’t worry. I am there for you.’

  ‘You also study well and don’t be crying all the time,’ he replied. There was a wealth of love in his words even though we knew little about each other. He looked lost and lonely and I knew well I could never give him the companionship he had known with Kavya.

  I found comfort on my grandmother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t cry now,’ she said, soothing me. ‘Don’t cry. It was her fate. She was meant to go and she went.’

  ‘If I had gone instead of her, wouldn’t you have been less sad?’ I asked, tears flowing.

  Grandmother gasped, her face contorted with shock. ‘What a thing to say! How can you say that? Didn’t I bring you up also?’

  ‘No. Kavya was the one you loved more. She was your daughter, your favorite,’ I said, suddenly heedless and angry at everyone. I knew this to be true, though I couldn’t blame her. Kavya had been living with her all those years. I had only passed through.

  Appa moved forward to hug me, something he hadn’t done in years. I stiffened, feeling awkward in his arms. ‘I have only two children now,’ he sobbed, no longer trying to control his tears, and pulling me to him in desperation. I couldn’t respond. I didn’t have any words to comfort him, and I wasn’t prepared for it yet.

  ‘Appa, can you take me to the place where Kavya was with those men who used her?’ I needed to learn the truth about what had happened to her, but knew this was in every way dangerous.

  Appa raised his brows in surprise and answered me with deliberate silence.

  ‘Please, Appa. I need to know what happened. I can’t live with this.’

  Grandmother stepped close to me and listened, not saying a word.

  ‘I already lost one daughter. I can’t lose you too,’ Appa replied, the sadness in his eyes belying the anger in his tone.

  I had earlier asked my uncles to take me, but they too rejected my request without giving any reason. I could not bear not knowing how my sister died. How could we find closure without uncovering how and why it happened? To this day, the circumstances of Kavya’s death remain a mystery. It seems no one truly wants to understand, no one explains—at least not to me—what really took place.

  As I turned towards the jeep waiting to take me back to the school, an elderly relative whispered, ‘Don’t come back to this village. Study well and become something. There is nothing here for you.’

  I nodded. I felt he was right. At least for now, I could not be a part of this village. The people my family represents—the village poor—are integral to a culture that is accustomed to what had happened. The hardships Kavya faced in her short life, and her sudden death, are not uncommon. There are millions of girls like her among the lower castes—butterflies without wings—growing up in families troubled by domestic violence and danger. In a society bound by traditions, there is no escape for them.

  Women in these families have little or no control over their destinies; they suffer innumerable cruelties and lead lives regulated strictly by men. This way of life is not something I am prepared to accept as a natural order.

  Kavya’s short life was like the intertwining patterns of rangoli she taught me to draw upon the sand, and now she had vanished into the earth. The thought that she could have gone to college, become a teacher or a doctor, travelled the world, and fallen in love with a man who would be a caring partner to her, if only she had had the opportunity I received, added to my crushing guilt and sadness. I sought comfort in Grandmother’s words: It was her fate.

  I liked being Kavya’s sister. Now that she is gone, do I stop being her sister? No matter what, love doesn’t die with death, I consoled myself. Despite her leaving me, there is still the possibility of connecting with her in some way,
I thought. Inescapably, Rabindranath Tagore’s words I had read in school came to my mind: ‘Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.’ I want to believe that life outlives death. Through me, she will live on.

  After exchanging hugs and kisses with my loved ones, I stepped into the vehicle, struggling to pull the door shut. Once again, I was leaving my village just the way I had fifteen years before. I turned to look back, not wanting to lose sight of the fire devouring the camphor, flowers, and candles. As the jeep took a sharp turn, the dark tree branches and the hill shadows hid their glow from my sight.

  EPILOGUE

  Nearly a year has slipped away since we lost Kavya. For much of that time, I found myself alone, contemplating in the park and crying in the chapel, thinking about my little sister and how our lives turned out so differently. But no more. I have finally gained the inner strength to resume my studies in college. Ms. Denny and Ms. Jayanthashree take care of my needs, ensuring that I follow a steady routine and do well in college.

  I seldom return to Thattaguppe. Appa feels the village is unsafe for me with the two hoodlums still around. Weekend visits to Shanti Bhavan offer great comfort. I hold special English classes for those appearing for the national board examination. When DG is there he talks to me about the importance of not letting the past cripple my future. His presence gives me a sense of security and belonging, and I find reassurance and hope in his words. He is constantly striving to improve the school and to encourage us to do well in life.

  Several of my old classmates are with me in Jyoti Nivas, the girls’ college in Bangalore where I am now studying. The strong emotional bonds and trust we have in each other make up for what I miss most being away from Shanti Bhavan. I am trying to make new friends, many of whom come from affluent backgrounds. I have no difficulty adjusting to their ways. Some find me too westernized, and refer to me as ‘ABCD’—‘American Born Confused Desi’. I don’t mind being called that; I was shaped into the person I am today by my exposure to different cultures.

  Sheena and I have forgotten our old quarrels, and I am happy to see the self-reliant and confident young woman she has become. She will be graduating from college this year and has already been offered a good position at a major multinational company.

  There isn’t much peace at home. Appa frequently comes home drunk. Every time he gets angry, he accuses Amma of causing Kavya’s death. Amma works as a maid in a business executive’s home. She earns more money than before, but somehow my parents are still unable to make ends meet, having borrowed large sums at high interest. I have no influence over them and things continue to disintegrate.

  Francis is not motivated about anything since Kavya left us. He dropped out of school after failing tenth grade, and took up a job as a security guard. I try to be more of a sister to him than I was to Kavya. I can’t imagine the pain he goes through without his younger sister and closest companion. It is hard to think how he sleeps on the same cot he and Kavya shared as children, or how he walks about in the house that was once home to the three of us. Since Kavya’s funeral, I can’t get myself to set foot inside our house, and Appa and Amma have given up asking me to.

  Every time Appa and I fight, he reminds me sadly, ‘Shilpa, I lost one daughter. I have only you and your brother.’ He grieves for Kavya all the time and none of us can bring him any consolation. He frequently returns to the forest, as that is the one place he finds peace. ‘Listen to the woods. There’s magic in its music. It’s the only comfort for a heart-broken man like me,’ he once told me.

  Amma and I hardly talk about Kavya anymore. I have given up trying to get answers from her because each time I ask her questions she starts crying. She says, ‘Like the rest of them, are you also going to torture me?’ I get the feeling she is struggling with her own guilt, whatever it might be.

  Grandmother is weaker and is losing her eyesight, but she still tries to keep the family together. I have great affection towards her for all she was to me when I was a child. I worry that nobody will be there to take care of her. Her only joys are in the children of my aunts and uncles and the small troubles the little ones bring her.

  Despite all the difficulties, my family manages to keep going. Sometimes I feel bad about having found my escape, but my guilt does them no good. There is nothing I can do for them right now other than to offer words of comfort, and give them hope that I will one day be able to make their lives better. I will be there for them in the ways that I can be. I love them.

  I find myself more interested in studying child psychology than in pursuing a career in journalism, and hence, I am majoring in that in college. I recognize that my need to be close to people can be fulfilled only by caring for them individually and personally. I want to work with children who have undergone trauma and distress and find ways to help them overcome their pain. I know I possess sufficient empathy for this task, and now I must acquire the needed skills.

  I am moving forward in my life, but still have the urge to connect with my sister in ways I cannot explain. I don't know when I will see her again. Until then, I will search for little children like her who need a loving hand, a warm hug, and someone to guide them. I will be there for them. And in them I will find Kavya.