A Circle of Elephants

by Eric Dinerstein

  I scanned the grasslands, looking out for the old elephant again, but all I saw were billowing waves of tall grass. The cotton tops swayed and undulated. I fell into a trance watching it.

  “Don’t you wish you could see that old mother elephant and her calf again, Hira Prashad?” I asked. “I think if we saw that calf again, I would be able to tell if she was Devi Kali in her next life.”

  Hira Prashad rumbled softly back to me, as if to say our mother.

  “Forgive me, if that is not what you said. I understand just a little of everything you say.”

  When I talk to Hira Prashad, I feel he is the only one who truly knows me. And even if I do not understand his rumbling fully, I feel it through my bones and muscles, right into my heart. We speak our own language.

  I felt calm again and we headed home, which meant we still had two hours of quiet time together. We went to the river, then onto the path that wound its way through the dense floodplain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pack of dhole—the wild dogs of the Borderlands. I had not seen them in months. Their coats glowed red against the emerald-green grass. I recognized the leader with his black tail and waved to him. The others dashed for cover, but he stayed standing where two trails crossed. He scratched his paw in the sand, as if to mark the spot, and then trotted off.

  I pressed my left foot gently against the back of Hira Prashad’s ear so that we could go to the spot. I hopped down to get a close look at the signal my old friend had given me. The path back to the stable was clean, aside from our prints. But on the path that crossed it were the footprints of a giant elephant, larger than the ones left by Hira Prashad. The track was fresh. Hira Prashad rumbled loudly.

  “I know, I know, an elephant has been here,” I said to Hira Prashad. “But the footprint is far too large to be one of ours.”

  I grabbed a long blade of kush grass and curled it around the edge of the mystery elephant’s front footprint, then tied it off to make a circle. I carefully folded it in my satchel to show my father when I returned to the stable.

  We followed the trail of the wild elephant for a few hundred feet to where it dropped into a ravine. The banks of the gully exposed a natural salt lick. All around were the tracks of spotted deer and rhesus monkeys coming to chew on the salt deposit. In one spot, it looked like the giant elephant had pushed his tusks right into the bare walls of the mineral lick to reveal more salt. The holes he left were impressive. I could not wait to get back to tell my father that this time the village gossip was true.

  There was a tusker in our jungle, and he was even larger than Hira Prashad.

  ven before the black drongos roosting in the silk cotton tree began to chirp, the pots inside the cookhouse started to clang. I stumbled over to talk to Rita, who was arranging and rearranging pots of milk on the stove to feed her charges. The chill in my bones from rising so early never seemed to leave me all day.

  “Rita, you will wake the stable and Ban Devi with the noise you are making. Let the elephants rest for another hour. Even the peacocks and the red jungle fowl are only half-awake.”

  She ignored my joke. We had both been busy from sunup to sundown since the elephants arrived from Kanchanpur almost four months ago. Then we had been shaken by nearly losing the Baba’s tiger. We barely had a chance to talk about the little jumbos. I watched her stirring and warming the milk, testing it with her finger and talking to herself.

  She looked over at me. “I have no time for you now, Nandu. The little jumbos need their vitamins, and I have hungry animals to feed. The lazy drivers from Kanchanpur do not help me at all. They sit and play cards all day. If I do not get an early start . . .”

  “Then let me help you,” I said. I grabbed a bottle.

  “No, you will be in the way. I have my system.”

  “Forgive me, Subba-sahib,” I said, joking.

  She started to laugh. “Okay, you can help. Hold these nursing bottles while I pour in the milk. Be careful you do not make me spill any.”

  “Me make you spill it? That is a good one. Since you are pouring, I think you are the one to keep from spilling it.”

  We were both quiet, watching the warm, frothy formula fill each bottle.

  “I know that I get cranky at times, Nandu. It is just . . . I feel that if these calves do not grow well, I will have failed in my duty.”

  “They are the picture of health,” I said. “You could not be a better mother to them if you weighed three tons and walked around on all fours!” This made Rita’s dark eyes flash at me in good humor, but she did not laugh. There was no way she was going to spill a drop.

  The sun had pushed its way above the mist. October was right around the corner, when the heavy morning fog would start. I liked the fog, even if it did make it harder to see the path as we rode the elephants out for their morning feeding. Riding high on Hira Prashad through the thick clouds of mist was like sailing a great boat out to sea.

  Rita suddenly yodeled, triggering a stampede of tiny hooves. The two young rhinos that slept in a shed behind the cookhouse came galloping in, followed by the little jumbos, who did everything the rhinos did. Even though they got enough milk from their mothers, they still hoped for a handout with the other babies, which Rita usually supplied with a banana or a small kuchi. Nani was already there by Rita’s side, waiting for her bottle, hopping up and down.

  “Here, Nandu, you take the bottle for Nani. I will feed Ritu and Rona. The little jumbos will have to show their manners and wait for the rhinos to finish.”

  “Let me help you two,” my father said, limping over from the gazebo, where he took his morning tea. His gout was acting up with the start of the morning fog season. He grabbed a bottle and made a bleating sound like a mother rhino. The two baby rhinos came trotting over to him.

  “Ritu, you go to Rita. Rona, stay with me,” my father said, just as if he were talking to anyone else on his staff. The rhinos obeyed, just like we do.

  Rita and I looked at each other and stifled our giggles. But I could see how worn-out she was. My father noticed it, too, I am sure. He does not miss anything at our stable.

  “Subba-sahib, the little jumbos and the Ancient Babies are already so strong,” I said.

  “These are beautiful elephants and such healthy rhinos. You are performing a valuable job, Rita,” my father said. “But where are those lazy drivers to help you?”

  Rita nodded over to the barracks, where the drivers were no doubt curled up on their cots, still under their quilts.

  “I will find you more help, but until then Nandu will assist you. Nandu, let Indra take Hira Prashad to graze in the morning. You are assigned to help Rita mind the little jumbos while the rhinos get their morning milk. It is too much for her to manage each day.”

  “Yes, Subba-sahib. I am happy to help. Will you come with me now, before Hira Prashad takes off with Indra? I have something to show you.”

  “Is he developing a saddle sore, Nandu?”

  “No, it is something I saw yesterday. Come see.”

  We walked slowly over to Hira Prashad. Indra had already climbed up on his back, ready to take him out to graze. “Indra, have Hira Prashad step into the fine dust over here,” I said. Hira Prashad walked over to where I pointed, his massive tusks glistening with dew in the morning light.

  The piece of kush grass that I had used to measure the footprint of the wild elephant was still folded up in my shirt pocket. With my father watching closely, I spread it on the ground, making a circle next to the footprint of my tusker.

  “What is this, Nandu?”

  “When I was coming back from the river with Hira Prashad, we came to the crossroads in the grassland, just up from the trail to the Great Sand Bar River. This is the footprint I found. It could be the giant male we have heard rumors about. After I measured it, we followed the tracks to the mineral lick. The male had shoved his tusks deep into the soft bank to reach the salt. The holes he left are wider than what Hira Prashad could make.”

  “Nandu, run
and get my measuring tape.”

  I brought the tape back, and we laid it carefully around the edge of Hira Prashad’s footprint. “Sixty-three inches,” I read.

  “Now, Nandu, you can do this in your head. Multiply that times two and we will know the height of Hira Prashad at the shoulder.”

  “Ten feet six inches, Subba-sahib.”

  We set the measuring tape around the edge of the mystery elephant’s footprint. “Sixty-six inches,” I said. My Father let out a low whistle. “Subba-sahib, he is a giant, eleven feet at the shoulder.”

  “Nandu, this is the biggest tusker I have seen in my life, or have yet to see. Let us hope he was just passing through the Borderlands. He must stay clear of our breeding center. Males will fight among themselves over who has the right to tend the females. This is serious.”

  My father looked up at Indra atop Hira Prashad, but he did not speak right away. I could tell he was thinking through his plan. Finally, he said, “Indra, wait here for Nandu. He will join you in a few minutes.” Indra nodded. Hira Prashad raised his trunk and snorted his approval, too.

  My father and I walked back quickly to his bungalow, as quickly as my father can move. He pointed to the gun rack above his desk, and I climbed up on his chair to remove a rifle. Weakened by his gout, my father cannot risk climbing on a chair and falling off. I handed him his hunting rifle. He wanted it nearby in case the wild elephant entered our camp.

  “But we cannot kill the giant tusker.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

  “And put our elephants, their young, and everyone in our stable in grave danger? I think not,” my father said sternly.

  “But they shot Pradhan,” I said, quietly, trying to explain myself.

  “We have a responsibility to our elephants first. It has been decided long ago.”

  “Of course, Subba-sahib,” I whispered. “I know this.” I imagined the wild tusker entering our camp, and our elephants chained to their posts, unable to fight. These chains—our chains—were wrong. They were against nature. I saw it clearly now.

  “We will take no chances, Nandu. Be watchful when you are out grazing our tusker. Do not go alone anymore. I will tell the other drivers. You must always go in pairs on two elephants. You and Indra will graze Hira Prashad with Dilly and his mahout on Man Kali. Go find Dilly now and tell him.”

  “But what about Rita and the morning feeding?”

  “I will help her.”

  “But, Subba-sahib, it is not . . .” I trailed off. I did not know how to say that such work was beneath him, but it was.

  “We must all work together to make our elephant breeding center a success and prove to the king and the conservator-sahib that we can do it without additional funding. This means there is no job beneath anyone, including me.”

  “Yes, Subba-sahib,” I said, clearing my throat.

  I only wished I could be there to see the look on Rita’s face when she saw my father hobble into the cookhouse as her assistant.

  When we had finished grazing Hira Prashad that morning, I joined the other drivers, who were sitting around the campfire, sipping tea and waiting for the midday news program. Ramji held his shortwave radio in front of his face, not to miss a word. He was the only driver in camp who owned a radio. The crackles and scratching sounds at last gave way to the calm voice of the news announcer from Radio Nepal, the one station we could receive clearly out here.

  The news announcer began:

  “The lack of rain this monsoon has caused much hardship across the kingdom. Mountain communities are facing critical shortages of rice. His Majesty’s government asks those who have grown enough grain to donate or sell any remainder at a discount to relief groups based in Nepalganj. His Majesty King Birendra himself has piloted his helicopter to Jumla to deliver sacks of rice to those in need. The villagers rejoiced upon his arrival and praised His Majesty for coming to their aid.”

  My father had his leg up on a chair. It looked so swollen. I would brew him some tea from the gurji leaves to treat it.

  “The announcer does not tell us the whole story,” my father said. “With the poor monsoon in the western hills, there will be famine this year.”

  “You do not need to be an announcer to know this, Subba-sahib,” Ramji said. “You only need to look at the trail running from the hills to the Borderlands, which is clear from the far side of Thakurdwara. The Jumlis are coming down from the mountains in a steady caravan. That is a sign. They may already be starving in Jumla.”

  “Watermelon Belly will wish that he was still in the Borderlands, eating his rice palau with raisins and almonds instead of cornmeal mush with the Jumlis,” I said. The former forest conservator-sahib had tried to shut down our elephant stable. If he had had his way, there would have been no breeding center. All of our elephants would have been marched to Chitwan under his orders. The only sign of our once-proud stable in the Borderlands would be my father and me sitting by this fire.

  “We must not wish starvation on anyone,” my father reminded me. “Not even our former conservator-sahib. He has no doubt earned his karma for his ill ways.”

  Ramji continued. Once he got going on a topic, he liked to hold court. “It is usually not until November that the Jumlis come down to cross to India for work as day-laborers throughout the winter. But their wheat and barley did not grow this summer,” Ramji said, shaking his head like they were to be pitied.

  I imagined Watermelon Belly’s big stomach shrinking to normal size. Despite my father’s criticism, I felt no remorse.

  Suddenly, I wanted a break from the stable. I think Dilly, who is like a brother to me, sensed this and saw his chance.

  “Nandu, a new film has arrived in the cinema hall in Bichia, very popular, I hear, about a clever smuggler who evades the police. We should go,” he urged.

  There was a lot of singing and dancing in Hindi films—too much for me, even in crime and adventure stories. “Not today, Dilly. Thanks for asking,” I said.

  “Nandu, come with me,” Dilly pressed. “Indra can graze both elephants on our side of the border, and we can stock up on powdered milk on our way back.”

  “But we cannot leave Indra alone with Hira Prashad. Subba-sahib has told us not to take the elephants out alone.” I glanced at my father, who nodded his agreement.

  Indra was not worried. “The grassland near the border is too close to the busy road that runs by the Great Sand Bar River. A wild elephant will never come so close to all the oxcarts. Go to the cinema, and you can bring back samosas for me!”

  “Yes! Done,” said Dilly, even though Indra was speaking to me.

  I looked at my father.

  “Indra might be right,” my father said. “But you must promise to be vigilant until you reach the main road.”

  “Okay,” I said, only half disappointed with this outcome. “But we must also stop for the powdered formula, and I want to also visit a friend I made last time Father-sahib and I were in Bichia. He is a doctor.”

  “Great,” said Dilly. “Maybe I can ask him to look at my knee, which aches in the fog.”

  “You are getting gout, old man, just like Subba-sahib,” I said. Dilly hit me in the head with a kuchi he pulled from his pocket.

  We were halfway to Bichia when we came upon a wooden wagon stuck in a muddy rut. The driver flicked his whip at the scrawny horse tied to the wagon, who strained against his reins but was unable to move it. We jumped off our elephants to help.

  “Indra, see if you can push the wagon out of the muck. Dilly and I will hack some thick branches to place under the wheels.”

  “Indra could lift that wagon out by himself, like the hero in the Hindi cinema,” Dilly said. Indra smiled and shook his head.

  We quickly returned with our arms loaded with branches. The wagon was still stuck in the rut. Indra walked toward us with his head down.

  “He is not friendly. He got angry with me when I offered to push from behind while the horse pulled. He called me a ra
t-eating Tharu and told me to get lost, or he would whip me, too.”

  We watched the man get down and struggle to push the wagon. He shouted curses at the horse. I hated to see him abuse his horse for his own stupidity.

  I called to the stubborn man, “Here, put these branches under the wheels, and we will rope our elephants to the front of the wagon and have them pull you out. It is too much strain on your horse.”

  Dilly called for Man Kali, and Indra steered Hira Prashad to move to the front of the wagon. Indra was still angry with the man. He kept his head down. Hira Prashad was not listening to Indra. I wondered if I should climb up and take over. Instead, Hira Prashad stepped behind the wagon. The man turned around. He was wearing a patch over his left eye and had a dark beard.

  “I told you to get away from behind the wagon. Get that elephant out of here. It will scare my horse.”

  I recognized that voice. But from where? Something started moving under the canvas covering the wagon. Then there were three of them bumping around. Maybe he was stealing wild boar piglets from the jungle, I thought. But they would be squealing by now.

  Hira Prashad grabbed the edge of the canvas with his trunk and yanked it loose. Sticking out from under the canvas were the thin legs of three girls. Their ankles were bound together. They started to shout, but their mouths were gagged and their voices muffled.

  The man drew a long knife and came straight for Dilly and me.

  “Watch out, Nandu!” Dilly shouted.

  Hira Prashad rushed in and swung his trunk around and knocked the man to the ground. He got back on his feet quickly but dropped his knife and ran. Before I could stop him, my elephant began chasing the man down the road. The smuggler’s only chance of escape was to leap into the swirling river below. We watched as he flailed in the water until he disappeared downstream.