A Circle of Elephants

by Eric Dinerstein

  “Nandu, I recognized that voice,” said Dilly. “It was him, that Maroon last year on the Gularia Road. He was the one who told us to give up our gold and cash or be killed. I remember that voice, like spilling gravel.”

  Yes, of course, he was the one I hit in the eye with the rock fired from my slingshot. I took his eye out. That is why he was wearing the patch.

  “Dilly, he recognized us, too.”

  “Yes, and thankfully, this time we had Hira Prashad.”

  “Come on, Nandu, we need to free the girls.”

  “You go. Let me look after Hira Prashad for a moment. I will join you.”

  Hira Prashad stood at the cliff looking downriver as if he were guarding against the Maroon’s return from down below. I put my hand on the front of my tusker’s quivering trunk but no sound came out, at least not one I could hear.

  “How did you know this Maroon carried captives in the back of his wagon? Did you smell their fear? Did you hear them?”

  Hira Prashad’s mind was elsewhere. He rumbled angrily, his ears held wide and his trunk sampling the air, trying to pick up any scent of the Maroon. He swung his head back and forth in defiance. Hira Prashad could have stepped on Eye Patch and killed him, but he let him go. I wonder if he, too, had second thoughts. My tusker turned his massive head to focus on the river below. We stayed for a while until he was satisfied the Maroon was gone.

  ira Prashad and Man Kali stood on either side of the three girls like they were elephant calves, protecting them. Man Kali rumbled deeply to Hira Prashad, who answered, then raised his trunk into the air, as if checking for any further signs of trouble.

  The girls’ skinny wrists and ankles were red and raw from the chafing ropes.

  “Where did you come from?” Dilly asked, even though it was obvious. We could see from the way they were dressed and from their jewelry that the girls were from Jumla.

  None of them answered. I moved closer to offer them some food.

  “Are you hungry?”

  From my satchel I handed them part of our lunch, some boiled rice and raisins I had wrapped in sal leaves. The girls hesitated; only the littlest one, about age ten, took the leaves and gave some to the other two.

  “Where were you going?” asked Indra. No reply. The girls did not even look at him. They might never have been outside Jumla, or seen an elephant, until now.

  “Please do not send us back,” said the youngest, looking directly at me. She then ventured to touch Hira Prashad’s trunk before I could warn her that he did not like to be approached by strangers. She patted and rubbed his skin, and my elephant graciously let her. The other girls seemed scared, but this one was fearless.

  “We should not wait around here,” Dilly said. “I guess we will take them back to the stable.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “They can wash up and eat properly, and Subba-sahib can give them salve for their cuts.” I turned back to the girls, who were throwing the empty sal leaves to the side of the road. “Where did you come from today?” I tried again.

  The oldest one finally spoke. She pointed north and said, “We came from Chisapani this morning. The man who led us down the mountain trail from Jumla put us in this wagon he had waiting at the bazaar. He told us to make no noise or he would toss us into the river. He was taking us to India to find work in a factory.”

  I did not know what to say.

  Dilly focused on the practical details. “We will let the horse free. He will find his way back to Chisapani on his own. The wagon we will push into the river. Come on, Indra.”

  Indra put all of his anger into his task. While Dilly freed the horse, Indra arranged the elephants in front of the wagon and hauled it out of the rut. Then alone Indra pushed the wagon to the edge of the overhang. He shouted at the river below and sent the wagon flying off the cliff.

  The two older girls looked scared and sad. One seemed about thirteen, my age, and the other eleven, but it was hard to tell with Jumlis. Life is harder in the mountains, and the cold dry air of their high villages makes people look much older than they are.

  Dilly commanded Man Kali to kneel, and he showed them how to sit on the saddle. Indra gently lifted the little one and put her in front of him behind Hira Prashad’s ears. Dilly and I walked in front the whole way to Thakurdwara.

  Taking care of the girls distracted me from what we had experienced. We spoke out of earshot of them.

  “Dilly, the Maroons escaped from the Birganj jail during the earthquake.”

  “Yes, and all five of them were recaptured the next day. What are you driving at?”

  “Dilly, when the Maroons raided Mohanpur last year, and you arrived with Subba-sahib and Ramji in the nick of time, there were seven of them, plus Kalomutu and a younger boy with them who ran off. Kalomutu is now in prison, and the five that fled the jailbreak in Birganj are now back behind bars. That still leaves three.”

  “No, I would say one Maroon and a boy. I doubt we will ever see Eye Patch show his face around here again. And who knows, I’ll bet he couldn’t swim. Maybe he drowned on his way down the river to India.”

  I wished I could be as certain about life as Dilly.

  Unfortunately, Dilly’s day at the Hindi cinema floated downriver with the wagon, but it seemed he had already forgotten about it. Whenever there was a crisis, there was no better person to have around. Ever since Indra had been made mahout of Hira Prashad, I spent more time with Indra and less with Dilly. But even though Dilly was six years older than me, and Indra was closer in age, today it was like nothing had changed; Dilly and I were brothers again, reading each other’s mind. Just like me and Hira Prashad.

  We had a two-hour march back home. Dilly started singing an old mountain tribe song, about a herder who had lost his favorite sheep during a snowstorm but found it again, sheltered under a rock. The littlest girl knew it, too, and she started to sing along.

  As we walked along the dirt road, our moods lifted and we began to kick up the brilliant red leaves of the kamno trees that had blown to the ground, carried by the fresh late-September breeze. So many questions swirled in my mind. Why would these girls leave their home alone? How could they have worked in a factory in India without their parents? Where were they to live?

  My father was standing talking to Rita when we entered camp. “Subba-sahib, we have some guests who need your help. They have rope burns on their wrists and ankles. And I think they are very hungry.”

  The elephants dropped their knees to the ground, and Indra handed the youngest girl off to me. I held her arm, as she had trouble regaining her footing. Two hours on the elephants had made the girls’ legs go numb.

  Each girl gestured namaste to my father, and he nodded. He signaled for Indra to bring them something to sit on while he looked at their wounds. Indra came running back carrying three heavy sal chairs.

  “Nandu, cut some fresh papaya and pick up my medicine bag. And grab some honey from the cookhouse to mix with my powders.”

  My father was the most skilled medicine man in the Borderlands, and I loved to watch him work. He washed the girls’ wounds in warm water and dried them with clean gauze that we used for the elephants when they developed saddle sores. He mixed together the powder from the dried leaves of the bhanti and pudinah plants.

  “Come, girls, this will cool the burning.” I brought him the papaya and honey and he mixed it all in a bowl. Then he spread it on their rope wounds and wrapped them in gauze. Once their wounds were tended to, they sat back in their chairs and drank the lemon tea that Rita and Tulsi had brought them.

  “Tulsi, Rita, stay with our guests. I want to talk for a moment with Nandu and Dilly. Indra, take Hira Prashad to graze, but stay close to the other elephants.”

  Indra bowed and left. Dilly and I followed my father back to the gazebo, where he liked to have important conversations. When we were all seated on the schoolhouse chairs, he said, “Tell me everything that happened.”

  I looked at Dilly, who nodded to me and spoke first. “S
ubba-sahib, we found them on the road in the back of a wagon headed to India. They were hungry and scared so we brought them here.”

  “Why were their wrists tied together?”

  “The wagon driver had been paid to deliver them to India to work in a factory.”

  Dilly was not getting to the point, so I jumped in. “Subba-sahib, the driver was the Maroon. The one that I shot in the eye with my slingshot on the Gularia Road.”

  My father leaned forward, hands on his knees, his face creased in concern. “Go on, Nandu.”

  “Except now he wears an eye patch. He came at us, but Hira Prashad chased him off. He jumped over the bank and into the river. That is the last we saw of him.”

  “There must be more to this story. The Maroon driving them would not bind their wrists and then run away unless there was something illegal here. In the meantime, we must figure out what to do with them. For the night, ask Tulsi to make room for them in her hut. You boys will bring the extra cots. Tomorrow, we will figure out a plan.”

  For the rest of the afternoon and evening, the girls from Jumla never left my side. Rita was busy with Nani, the Ancient Babies, and the little jumbos. That was fine by me, except I had to go for my weekly visit to talk to Devi Kali. I always brought Hira Prashad along, too.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I told the girls, who had finally told us their names.

  “We will come with you,” the oldest girl said, no longer so scared. Her name was Kabita. I did not want all the girls to come along, but I was happy that they were starting to talk to us more.

  I should be welcoming; I remembered my horrible night in the jail after I was accused of killing the other Maroon. The kindness of my friends and family was the only thoughts that comforted me. And these girls had no family to rely on. No one.

  “Okay,” I said. “We will walk with my elephant. He always comes with me.” I did not explain why.

  The five of us left, walking past the stable and out on the trail to the bridge, just past Gobrela village. On the other side of the bridge stood the giant mohwa tree, beneath which my Devi Kali was buried near the banks of the Belgadi River. Across the way stood a large fig tree.

  We stood by the grave in silence. I placed lemongrass on it. The youngest girl found more lemongrass near the river and started to pull some stalks. She walked back and added them to my pile.

  Hira Prashad helped, too. He reached down and picked up some tussocks of lemongrass in his trunk and shook the clods of dirt clinging to the roots. He placed them at my feet and stood back. Was he saying, She was my mother, too? I placed Hira Prashad’s gift with the rest of the lemongrass on Devi Kali’s grave.

  The girls stood quietly, watching, and I explained.

  “Here is where my elephant is buried, the one I rode before Hira Prashad. Her name was Devi Kali. I mean, it is still Devi Kali. She was like a mother to me, except even kinder and gentler. It was she who first found me in the jungle by Clear Lake, when I was only two.”

  I told them my whole story. They listened in silence, except for the middle one, who had not said a word since we met. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to weep. But I had to finish my story. “If she had not heard or smelled me in the tall grass, the hyenas would have carried me off. I am so grateful to Devi Kali. I miss her every day.”

  “At least she loved you like a mother should love her child. Our mother is dead, too, and our stepfather sold us to that man with the eye patch for ten sacks of rice,” the tearful one said.

  We were quiet for a moment, then the oldest girl, Kabita, spoke. “Nandu, Jayanti is my younger sister. I am thirteen and she is twelve.”

  “Thirteen is my age, too,” I said. “Excuse me. I did not mean to interrupt!”

  Kabita smiled. Then the little one, who was called Kanchi, stepped forward. “I am ten, but I am not their sister. I am on my own. We are all from the same village in Jumla. That man with one eye spoke with our fathers.”

  Kabita picked up her story. “That one-eyed man driving the wagon had promised our families that he would take us to a factory in Lucknow. Then he would collect our wages and bring the cash back to Jumla, minus his fee for arranging work and transporting us to India.”

  “How could your fathers sell you to him?”

  “There is famine in Jumla. By sending us away, there are fewer mouths to feed. Plus we would be able to bring in more money from India. That is what our stepfather said when we left.”

  I did not say what I knew to be true. Their stepfather had sold them permanently to the Maroon. There would be no back-and-forth with money.

  Kanchi spoke again. She did not hold back. “You have met this horrible man before, Nandu. I heard you say.”

  “Yes, I have. I will tell you that story some other time.”

  I could not imagine why people abandon their children to the world. I had long forgiven my parents. I believed that they must have had a good reason for leaving me by Clear Lake. But these men were never to be trusted. How could they sell their own children for rice, even in a famine?

  Kanchi spoke up. “Nandu, your beautiful elephant-mother saved you. Just like Hira Prashad saved us when he ripped the canvas cover off the wagon. How did he know to do that? Did you tell him?”

  I shook my head. “I think he sensed you were in danger. I cannot explain it. Elephants are wise in ways we do not understand.”

  I wished that I could have shared my secret with them, that Hira Prashad was the son of my mother, Devi Kali. But then I thought of the secret my father shared with me, the one nobody but Ramji knows. And then I thought of the secrets shared with me by the Baba, and Father Autry. And my own private story of killing a Maroon in self-defense. Now the girls had shared with me things not to be repeated, about being sold for sacks of rice.

  The five of us, standing before Devi Kali’s grave, all had something deeply in common. Hira Prashad was sold away from his mother, just as the girls had been sold by their stepfather and father. I had lost my parents, and the only mother I knew, as all of us had, learning at the youngest age that the world can be a harsh place, and family can grow from things other than blood.

  I knelt down and put my hand on Devi Kali’s grave. It is family just the same, I told her. Perhaps stronger because we have the gift of knowing great loss and receiving great love all the same.

  Kabita knew I needed a moment alone with my tusker. She linked arms with Jayanti and Kanchi and led them back toward camp. When they were out of sight, I bowed at my mother’s grave. We had performed this ritual enough together that the moment Hira Prashad saw me kneel, he did the same.

  he fields bordering the elephant stable had become a carpet of golden-yellow against the dark green jungle. The mustard was in its October bloom. The fields must be the same color in Jumla, too, because I awoke to hear Jayanti singing about the sun shining on the fields and the bright yellow mustard turning golden. I walked into the cookhouse to find Rita and the Jumlis tending the fire and mixing powdered milk.

  They burst into a Nepali folk song about a rooster waking everyone up. Rita had already made herself a friend to these girls, who needed a friend so badly.

  “Oh no, our singing has wakened the snoring Nandu,” Rita said.

  “I do not snore!” I said, falling for Rita’s teasing.

  The Jumlis, all three of them, suddenly bowed. I looked around to see that my father had entered the room. Rita quickly handed him a steaming mug of tea.

  “Such lovely songs,” he said. “I thought there was a shama that had flown into the cookhouse.” The girls smiled. My father was referring to the most beautiful singer in the forest, the bird we call the white-rumped shama.

  “Rita, it looks like you have plenty of help now with the feeding of your young animals,” my father said. “I was going to step in, but now I see there is no need.”

  “Thank you, Subba-sahib, but yes, it is as if Ban Devi has given us exactly what we needed.”

  “We are all grateful,” said my father. �
�Though the girls may not be able to stay. They may want to return to their families.”

  “No!” cried Kanchi, the youngest and boldest. “We cannot return. Our families are not there. And if they are, they would only sell us again!”

  My father raised his eyebrows, then rested his hand gently on Kanchi’s head. “Then you will all stay until we get more information.”

  Rita called out for the rhino babies to come for their milk. The Jumlis were surprised to see rhinos careen into the cookhouse begging for their bottles by extending their curved upper lips. Next the trunks of two baby elephants appeared in the doorway, followed by a third. Kabita gasped, and she slowly moved closer to touch their waving trunks. Even the older girls were growing comfortable with our animal kingdom.

  Last but not least, Nani scooted through the maze of elephant legs to claim her rightful place at the head of the line.

  “A fawn!” Kanchi squealed with delight.

  Rita went into commander mode, handing out bottles. “Kabita, you feed Nani. Jayanti, you take Ritu. Kanchi, would you like to feed Rona? She is feisty and may try to push you around at first.”

  The youngest girl nodded. Rita had made a good call. Kanchi liked a challenge and would prove she was up to handling the rhino calf.

  “Nandu, do not just stand there. Keep the elephants occupied until the girls can attend to them.”

  My father winked at me. It made him happy to see all of us, the youngest people in camp, taking so much responsibility.

  After Nani and the rhinos had been fed, I showed our newcomers around the stable and the shed where the Ancient Babies slept at night. The barracks were empty, and I pointed out my room. Afterward, I led them down to the special grove where my father went to pray to Ban Devi. I did not expect to find him there today, standing in a trance-like state. Perhaps he was seeking guidance from the forest goddess who watches over us to help him decide the right thing to do about the girls. I motioned for them to be quiet, and we backtracked quietly to the stable.