“She is rambunctious and cute. I bet she can get away with anything,” said Dilly.
Baghu continued with introductions. “This middle-size one with the long tail is Mina Kali. She is very shy. But watch this.” He scratched Mina Kali’s chin and she squealed with delight. “That one over there, the smallest calf, is called Shanti Kali. She is curious but very gentle.” She was over sniffing the Ancient Babies. Shanti Kali’s mother swung her trunk and snorted, telling her baby to take care. But the calf stayed with the rhinos, trying to get them to play.
“Nandu, she seems more interested in our Ancient Babies than with the other two little jumbos.” Rita laughed. “That is what we will call all three of them, our little jumbos,” she said.
Finally, our little jumbos followed their mothers to the bathing spot, with Hira Prashad taking up the rear. Hira Prashad immediately moved downstream from the calves where he could respond to any danger. He was relishing his role as leader, I could tell. He was always the last one to drag out of the river at bathing time, but now he wasn’t even tempted to bathe until the others had finished.
There was no need to worry. The little jumbos were allowed to splash and roll about only in the shallowest eddy, where the water rose barely to their bellies. One of the new drivers started furiously scrubbing Mina Kali with a scrub made from the loofah, the dried wild cucumber vine. But soon Shanti Kali was pushing Mina out of the way to have the driver to herself. Their trunks were so clumsy at this age, but they tried to wrap them around his legs. Then Laxmi Kali joined in. Indra and I cooed to them and, with the help of the new drivers, rubbed the young calves with the sponges. Their mothers looked on calmly. Only when the mahouts led the three calves out of the water, with the mothers following, did Hira Prashad roll onto his side for his own rubdown. At least this is one benefit our elephants have over their wild relatives.
An hour later, Rita, Dilly, Indra, and I were standing at the gate with the other members of camp, ready to greet the new conservator. I found myself repeating silently, “Let him be better than the last one. Let him be smart and a friend to us and the elephants.”
A cloud of dust rose in a thin diagonal line from the road. A car was arriving. It was rare to see a car out here on the western edge of the Borderlands.
How different the new forest conservator-sahib was from his predecessor, a heavy man I called Watermelon Belly. This new one stepped out of the jeep and looked like he had left half of himself in the front seat. He was very tall and thin. His bony face protruded from under his topi, the small, multicolored cap all Nepali officials wear.
“So, the elephants arrived from Kanchanpur safe and sound?” he asked my father in a pleasant voice. The forest conservator-sahib’s name was Mr. Rijal. I liked him better already.
My father and Baghu, the leaders of each stable, stepped forward. Baghu was a gentle, dark-skinned man, even stockier than my father and fifteen years his junior. Baghu nodded his head in the direction of the conservator-sahib and made the namaste gesture with his hands. My father smiled, but he did not lower his head or bring his hands together, or utter namaste. He only bowed before the king and queen. Baghu stepped back to let my father to do the talking.
“Welcome, Conservator-sahib. Baghu-sahib has brought us three splendid female elephants and their calves from the king’s stable. And our pregnant elephant, Punti Kali, looks like she will bear a fine calf in a few months’ time. Our breeding center, now stocked with young elephants, is ready for your inspection.”
I turned around to see all the drivers lined up in their green uniforms over by the tethering posts. Watching from the fire pit area were our real guests of honor—or at least to me. Father Autry wore a dark sport jacket that contrasted strongly with his pale pink skin and white hair. He was carrying his camera and assorted lenses to document the ceremony. Next to him was the Baba, wrapped in saffron robes. He had dyed his long beard with henna again just for this occasion, and twisted his shoulder-length hair into braids. He had painted his face white and red and wore a necklace of thick red Rudraksha seeds typical of sadhus. The Hindu ascetic could not have looked more different from the Jesuit priest, but they loved to be in each other’s company and converse about the world in chalk on the Baba’s tablet. I waved to both of them, and they waved back.
Our new elephants were released from their tethering posts and brought forward. Hira Prashad rumbled loudly. I could see he was not happy about the conservator-sahib approaching the calves.
“Raaa!” I shouted, and he stopped rumbling immediately.
The conservator-sahib, Mr. Rijal, walked up to Mina Kali’s mother, whose name was Ratna Kali, and slapped her on the butt. She ignored him. Then he inspected Shanti Kali’s mother, Bina Kali, who stood scratching herself with a piece of wood held in her trunk. Punti Kali rumbled deeply enough to make the new official think twice about approaching her. Like my father, these elephants were taking a wait-and-see attitude toward him.
“Come look at these young calves, Conservator-sahib,” my father said.
“Yes, I am anxious to meet them,” he said. “His Majesty will be pleased with the new center and the elephants.” Mr. Dhungel walked five steps behind his boss, and Ganesh Lal walked five steps behind the dung beetle, the warden who was his boss. That is how it is in Nepal. We see rank everywhere, and must respect it.
Mina and Shanti Kali took a few steps toward the conservator-sahib to reach the tiny kuchis he held out for them. Then Laxmi Kali took one step back and went straight for Mr. Rijal and head-butted him. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. I threw my hands over Rita’s mouth before she could let out a laugh. The other drivers looked away or scuffed the earth with their bare feet to keep from doing the same.
“Charming, yes, but feisty, too, especially this Laxmi Kali,” said my father as he and Baghu helped Mr. Rijal to his feet. But rather than berate my father like Watermelon Belly would have done, the official laughed and brushed off his trousers.
“Now, Subba-sahib, how will you manage this increase of seven elephants? You realize I cannot grant you more funds from my budget to hire new staff. You must make do with what you have.”
“We will manage, Conservator-sahib. Baghu-sahib will transfer over ten men to our stable, and he will cover their wages and ration. For the calves, we have a volunteer to help the drivers look after them.”
“A volunteer? This is unusual. And who is this person? Does he have any special experience tending to young elephants?”
“Rita, step forward!” my father called to her.
I could see her trembling and then, just like that, regain control.
For the first time, the official seemed annoyed. “You assign a young girl to look after two-year-old elephants? Subba-sahib, this is an elephant stable, not a school.”
I winced, but my father showed not even a flicker of anger.
“Conservator-sahib, this is an elephant breeding center, His Majesty’s Royal Elephant Breeding Center. And we need someone with the patience and devotion to care for them. Rita has raised our two rhino calves, and they respond to her like puppies. She will do the same for the young elephants. I assure you, she is most capable.”
My face flushed with happiness for Rita. Hers must have been on fire when she heard the praise from Subba-sahib.
The three calves suddenly rushed over to Rita and began grabbing her closed fists with the tips of their trunks to release the tiny kuchis. “As you can see,” my father continued, “Mina, Laxmi, and Shanti Kali seem to have made up their minds about her.”
“Very well, then, Rita,” the conservator-sahib said firmly but not unkindly. “The king expects a lot from you. These three calves are national treasures.”
Rita bowed deeply. Mr. Rijal turned away and motioned my father to walk with him back to his car. Apparently, he could not stay for the feast and the singing and dancing afterward. We could not hear what they were saying, but after the jeep roared off, my father returned to us, his face tight and no
longer smiling.
“What is it, Subba-sahib?” I asked.
“Nandu, Dilly, you see our honored guests standing there, Father-sahib and the Baba, and no one has offered them a chair or masala tea. What kind of hosts are we?” We raced to grab chairs for them, and I bowed to both of my friends.
“Thank you, Nandu, but before we sit down the Baba and I are here to perform a very important ceremony—the blessing of the new elephants,” said Father Autry.
The Baba nodded, then grabbed his ash pot and filled it from the fire. He mixed it with some colored dyes in sections on his puja tray in preparation for making the tika marks on the heads of the elephants while he silently prayed for their good health.
I heard Father Autry say to the sadhu, “Dear Baba, I am afraid my religion does not have a specific prayer for the blessing of young elephants. I will have to fashion something, I suppose.”
The Baba smiled back and gestured that they should start. Two calves were brought forward, Rita walking between them and a hand on each of their backs, stroking them.
They approached the Baba and Father Autry, and Laxmi Kali reached out her trunk and knocked the ash from the Baba’s hands. The sadhu laughed silently, and we all joined him. He picked up the pot and began applying stripes of red and black to their foreheads. He prayed, and Father Autry joined him, reading a prayer in Latin.
Meanwhile, off in the forest by his shrine, my father and Baghu sacrificed chickens to Ban Devi and asked for her protection of our calves and for the health of Punti Kali.
When they returned, Dilly said to me, “Nandu, these elephants will surely live a long life with all the gods they have watching over them—at least three by my count. Now if you will just say a few Tibetan Buddhist prayers, we can make it complete!” He punched me in the arm, and I punched him back.
Dilly liked to tease me about my mysterious heritage. When Subba-sahib found me in the jungle, I was wearing a thin red thread around my neck, a necklace worn by those of the Buddhist faith. I still do not know the fate of my birth parents, or how I came to be wandering alone in the jungle. The story I was told was that when I was two years old, I was under the protection of a pack of dhole, the wild dogs of the Borderlands. I survived until found by my father and Devi Kali.
For the next few hours we feasted on chicken curry, roasted goat curry, and duck curry, poured over mountains of rice. Father Autry opened a special bottle of French brandy in honor of our elephants and offered some to my father and a few of the other drivers who were brave enough to try it.
“May I propose a toast to the little jumbos? And to their devoted minder, Rita.” Father Autry lifted his glass, as did the others. I had never seen Rita so happy, her face glowing and her white teeth flashing an enormous smile.
Later my father took me, Dilly, the warden, and Father Autry aside to tell us what the conservator-sahib had told him in private. “Nandu, Kalomutu has been sentenced to life in prison. I believe that is the end of the Maroons. The poachers who came after Pradhan are a different group, the conservator-sahib said. We will find them and bring them to the same justice that we brought to Kalomutu.”
“The villagers are watching for the men in blue canvas sneakers,” Mr. Dhungel added. “They are from across the border and will be easily spotted if they return. Ganesh Lal is our contact with the anti-poaching network we have set up.” Ganesh Lal, who stood several feet behind the warden, gave me another half smile.
My thoughts went back to the man and the boy by the river and how they eyed Hira Prashad. I thought they were in awe of him, but maybe they wanted to kill him. I knew something was wrong when I saw their shoes, but even my father, a shaman, had not sensed their darkness. We were naïve, but we would not make the same mistake again.
he rains failed to arrive. The monsoon season normally begins in mid-June and lasts until the first of September. We walk through mud for three months and swim through clouds of mosquitoes. But this year, June was too dry for the biting bugs. The leeches that would cling to wet leaves and drop on us had vanished. I had never lived through a year without a monsoon. The earth began to crack and the forest wilted under the hot sun. Every creature was waiting for rain. Some of the more superstitious drivers blamed the earthquake. Phirta, the most superstitious of all, said it was the start of the end of the world.
Subba-sahib was still concerned about the fate of the fifty rhinos living in the Borderlands, not just because of the poaching of Pradhan but how the rhino calves born this year would cope with the drought. Before Father Autry had left for America in mid-June, I had shared with him and Subba-sahib an idea—how we could use the drought and the need for rhinos to be immersed in their wallows in the forest as an easy way to keep track of them.
I repeated to Subba-sahib what I had learned. “Father Autry said that in the monsoon season, when the days are so hot and humid, the rhinos must avoid heat stress or they will die. Their large bodies warm up so quickly, but they cannot shed enough heat through sweating or panting or going under the shade of a tree when the air is so humid and hot. They must seek water to cool off.”
“Father-sahib has taught you a great deal,” he replied.
“Yes, but here is my idea. Father-sahib taught me that our rhinos can wallow up to eight hours a day in the monsoon. They are like hippos.”
“Like hippos.” Subba-sahib laughed.
“But you see, Subba-sahib, if they stay in their wallows for long periods, we can map the wallows and then visit each one, covering the whole area in the course of a day, and count the rhinos.”
“This is a brilliant idea, Nandu. You will not only replace me as Subba-sahib one day, you will replace this chief wildlife warden, too!”
I turned even redder than I normally am.
“Now go and get Dilly and Indra and two elephants and prepare for this counting expedition. We shall tell the warden what we are up to.”
Subba-sahib sent word over to the warden’s office, and an hour later, Ganesh Lal sauntered into camp. He handed my father a note from the warden.
“Nandu, Ganesh Lal will accompany you on this two-day trek. One day up to Chisapani and one day back. You will cover more than forty miles. Get your supplies ready and take your rest. Now let us say good-bye to Father-sahib, as he leaves early tomorrow to visit his family in America.”
I walked Father Autry to his bungalow, where we parted, to be reunited in seven weeks when he returned to the Borderlands.
Before dawn the next morning we were off. Indra and I rode on Hira Prashad and Dilly drove Man Kali with Ganesh Lal aboard. There were about thirty wallows we knew of in the forest between Thakurdwara and Chisapani. But most of these were around the midpoint close to the Great Sand Bar River near Lalmati.
We had passed four wallows before ten in the morning, but they were empty of rhinos and empty of water. The bottom of cracked mud was plainly visible. I was discouraged but I said to Ganesh Lal, “The next wallow coming up is the most frequently used one. Last year at this time I saw ten rhinos sharing it and sitting up to their nostrils. Only their horns and ears stuck out.”
We cautiously approached the wallow, but we might as well have charged on through. It was empty. And there was no sign of any of their funny-looking three-toed tracks leading to and from it on their trails. I looked over at Ganesh but he said nothing. I wrote some lines in my field notebook and we moved on.
I could have left my notebook back at camp. We visited all thirty wallows that we knew of and found the same result. The rhinos were gone. I was so anxious, I did not know what to do once we reached the guard post at Chisapani. Part of me wanted to return as soon as we arrived and share the news with Subba-sahib. But it was too far and the elephants were exhausted.
The two guards posted there thought we should search the floodplain of the Great Sand Bar River. Yesterday on patrol they had seen three rhinos wallowing in one of the eddies. At dinner, two topics dominated the conversation: the drought and the rhinos. One of the guards said that ca
ttle herders were bringing their livestock into the park because there was no fodder outside in the fields. And here at least there was water in the river. “The rest of the Borderlands is drying up,” he said over a dinner of rice and fish curry.
Ganesh Lal spoke for the first time. He had a deep voice. “The rhinos must be by the river. They have to drink twice a day. I am sure that is where we will find them tomorrow. Let us take our rest now.”
Ganesh Lal was right. Two miles down the floodplain from Chisapani we scared three female rhinos with young calves out of a wallow made by a small oxbow in the river where there was no current. They rumbled along the edge of the elephant grasses like tanks, huffing with each step they took. “Go back to your bathtub and cool off,” I shouted to them. Indra and Dilly laughed, but Ganesh Lal barely smiled.
Our luck had changed. The wallows in the forest may have held no water, but the pools along the river were full of rhinos. My heart swelled with happiness to see them and so many with young calves. By the time we passed the cliffs below Lalmati where the banks had caved in during the earthquake, we had counted thirty rhinos. Over the next two hours along the floodplain we found ten more.
“Last year the previous game warden counted fifty rhinos,” I said.
“But we took a different route. And maybe there are many more hiding in the tall grass,” said Dilly, who was with me last year. Even though it was a drought, the elephant grass had very deep roots. They managed to pull the water from way down in the soil and so had already reached ten feet tall. It was impossible to find the rhinos in such high grass.
We reported our findings back to Subba-sahib and the warden and they seemed reassured. Perhaps the poaching of Pradhan was just an isolated incident. The rhinos were still here in numbers, but so was the drought.
A Circle of Elephants Page 6