I was on my way back to meet Indra to take Hira Prashad out to graze, when I heard my father call to me. I waited for him near the gazebo.
“Nandu, I have thought hard about this matter and prayed for guidance from Ban Devi. I am afraid you will not like this, but we must inform the police about the girls from Jumla. They were sold into captivity. That is the truth, whether the parents were aware of it or not.”
I shook my head. “Subba-sahib, please, they—”
“I am sorry, Nandu. These girls are too young to be on their own without their families.”
“Father, they are no different from me, when you found me by the Clear Lake. Their mother is dead and their stepfather sold them for sacks of rice. They were supposed to go to India to work in a factory in Lucknow, until we rescued them. The Maroon smuggling them into India was threatening to kill them if they tried to escape.”
“That Maroon may come back for them.”
“I do not think so. The last we saw him, he had tumbled into the river, after Hira Prashad chased him over the edge of a high ridge above it.”
“Good. But the police should pursue the man nonetheless.”
As much as I wanted the police to investigate the Maroon, I did not trust them after my stay in the jail in Gularia. They did not listen to children.
“But the police will take the girls back to Jumla! You heard what Kanchi said. They would only be traded again for more rice!”
This made my father pause. Whenever he paused, I knew I had a window of opportunity to persuade him of my point of view.
“What if we tell the police that they came down from Jumla with their relatives to sell their baskets full of tangerines in the bazaar? That their relatives told them to wait and, for some reason we do not know, left them behind?”
“I do not think the police would believe that, Nandu. Besides, it is a lie.”
We were interrupted by three shrieking girls being chased by three baby elephants, two rhinos, and a spotted deer fawn. They stopped in the middle of the camp out of breath. The little jumbos moved in, nudging and pushing them not to stop. The girls reached out and hugged them gently.
“It looks like the calves have accepted their extra caretakers,” I said.
Rita came up to them, with her mother. “Subba-sahib,” she said. “You can see that these girls are more caring for the little jumbos than those mahouts from Kanchanpur.”
“And you need all the help you can get. Rita, you have done a fine job. Do you think you can teach these girls to do what you do?”
“Oh yes, Subba-sahib!”
“Rita, these little jumbos are far too young to learn the first thing about being a working elephant. The calves need all the attention we can give, even more than what the mahouts provide who are assigned to them. These calves are babies and need constant supervision so they don’t get into trouble. We will put the girls on a two-week probation. If they do well, maybe they can stay, and we will pay them.”
Later that afternoon, I headed over with Hira Prashad to the Baba’s temple to drop off his monthly load of firewood by myself. No need to bring Indra for a short trip away from the grasslands where we’d seen wild elephant tracks. Along the trail, I did see the familiar footprints of the large male tiger, the one we had saved from the villagers. He was back in his territory. The Baba must be so pleased to have his neighbor return.
As we approached, the Baba was standing outside his hut. He had extrasensory powers and always knew we were coming before we appeared.
Since the release of his tiger, he had retreated back to silence, so I was surprised to hear him speak.
“Put down your load, Hira Prashad, and let Nandu share some tea with me.” He walked up to my elephant and fed him the stalk of sugarcane he always brought for my tusker.
“Baba, your tiger is back. I am so pleased.”
The Baba nodded, his face smiling.
The jungle was at peace again, even if we still worried about the new tusker and the return of the Maroon. But Kalomutu was in prison. The Maroons were finished. What could one Maroon do against all of us?
The Baba poured tea while I told him about our encounter with the Maroon with the one eye, the one I had struck with a rock fired from my slingshot on the Gularia Road. I told him about the girls from Jumla who thought they were headed to a factory in Lucknow.
“My dear friend, these girls were not sold to work in a factory. Do you remember that I once owned one? That was a lie that Maroon told.”
I nodded. I remembered the Baba’s story. And his secret I carried about children dying in a fire that took place in his factory and the responsibility he felt for their deaths.
“Nandu, they were sold to be at the service of men. That is the hard truth.”
I struggled to put into words what was in my head. “Baba, when the villagers were about to kill your tiger, you said that if it happened, you would accept it as fate. You would forgive their ignorance. But I cannot forgive them.”
“Why not, Nandu?” rasped the Baba.
“Those men were from the same village robbed by the Maroons. We captured the Maroons and returned to those villagers their precious jewels and cash. But that was all forgotten. They stood against us, even when we explained the truth. I could never trust them. They would even turn over the Jumlis to the police if they would gain from it. I will never accept their ignorance.”
“Nandu, acceptance of the world does not mean you join in their ignorance. You and Dilly and Indra and Hira Prashad saved the girls from a fate worse than drowning. That death is only once. What the girls were facing, where they were headed, is to die a little every day.”
I nodded.
“My dear friend, there is evil and extreme cruelty in this world. Not everywhere, but I am afraid you know too much about it at such a young age.”
I did not respond. The Baba closed his eyes and mumbled some prayers. He had the power to see things, like my father. A few minutes later he opened them again.
“Nandu, I believe this Maroon is full of vengeance, much of which is focused on you. You must watch out for his return.”
n a previous life, the Jumli girls must have been elephants, or elephant drivers. I cannot otherwise explain how quickly they took to their new roles as assistant caretakers of the little jumbos. They sang to them and fed them their treats. They learned from the drivers how to make kuchis, tiny ones, just for the young calves’ small mouths. After the calves rolled in the dirt, something they wanted to do as often as possible, Kanchi would slap the fine dust off them with a piece of burlap cloth. Kabita and Jayanti tossed them sticks and balls, and the baby elephants threw them back.
All three girls wore their hair in a thick dark braid that slid back and forth over the backs of their blouses. Jayanti was the quiet one, but you could tell how smart she was. She was the first to learn to read and write under Tulsi’s instruction. I thought of asking her to accompany me to my lessons with Father Autry, because I knew she would soon hold her own. She mostly cared for Shanti Kali, the jumbo who liked to try to tug on Jayanti’s long braid.
“Owww, you are hurting me,” Jayanti would say, pretending. Then she would laugh and kiss the little jumbo on her forehead.
Kabita was the talkative one and made me laugh with her funny comments. She even made Subba-sahib laugh, and that is hard to do.
“Subba-sahib, look at this naughty Mina Kali. She never wants to take a nap.”
“How can she, Kabita, when you play with her nonstop?” He laughed.
Then there was Kanchi. If girls could be allowed to become mahouts, she would have excelled. She was a natural around animals and totally unafraid of the elephants. And somehow they respected the shortest person in camp. Maybe because Hira Prashad dropped his ears forward for her to grab them so he could lift her with his trunk over his head. I thought I was the only one he allowed to mount this way.
I decided that morning to allow Kanchi to accompany me and Hira Prashad to Clear Lake to sho
w her where I was found. I was going to leave a gift for the dhole who protected me.
Kanchi was the first to spot the dhole on the trail to Clear Lake. “They are so beautiful, Nandu. We have them in Jumla, too.”
We had stopped at Clear Lake for Hira Prashad to drink and for us to stretch our legs. I told Kanchi my whole story.
“You are so lucky to have been brought to the stable, Nandu. To live with all these animals is a dream come true. If you had not found us with Hira Prashad, we would be inside a factory now somewhere in India and not by this beautiful lake.”
I thought of what the Baba had told me about the true fate the girls would have faced, a life far worse than a factory. But I stayed silent, reaching over to smack Kanchi on the arm. A large horsefly had landed and was about to feast. Then five more landed and another bit me on the arm.
Without speaking, we both climbed up onto Hira Prashad to get away from the swarm of flies. Hira Prashad was as happy to move away as we were.
On our way back to camp, my elephant suddenly thumped his trunk down and let out a low roar. Something had deeply upset him. A rifle shot made him start to run. I thought the poachers had returned.
“Raa!” I shouted, but Hira Prashad barely stopped. We were racing back to the stable. The whole time I could hear Hira Prashad emitting an angry rumble.
“What’s wrong?” yelled Kanchi, clearly frightened, but hanging on to the saddle bravely.
“I don’t know, but Hira Prashad knows something we don’t!” I replied. “Hang on tightly!”
When we entered camp, we saw a smashed cot in a heap near the cookhouse. Bundles of grass piled up for the afternoon feed lay scattered across the courtyard. My father approached holding his rifle in his one good arm. Next to him was the government vet, who had come to check on the little jumbos. He came every month now that we had so many to look after.
“Nandu, we had a visit from the giant tusker. He stormed through camp, but fortunately all the elephants and the calves were grazing by the river. He smashed the cot in anger. I think he was looking for the three calves from Kanchanpur because he stayed and turned around several times by their tethering poles.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“Fortunately, no. Ramji threw a burning log from the fire pit at him. When he would not leave, I fired a shot over his head. He ran into the forest. I tracked him for a while but he is gone.”
“Is it true what they say about his size?”
“He is bigger than Hira Prashad, Nandu, and his tusks are a foot longer,” my father said.
“They are the biggest I have ever seen,” said the vet.
“Are Jayanti and Kabita safe?”
“Yes, they are down by the river with Rita. They are learning how to bathe the little ones. Come, let us go and watch. I do not think the male will come back through camp for a good long while.”
Walking alongside us was one of the oldest drivers from Kanchanpur, who drove Punti Kali. His name was Narayan.
“Narayan, does the Subba-sahib of Kanchanpur or any of you drivers know which tusker bred Punti Kali or the other three females now here?” asked my father.
“No, Subba-sahib. When the females were ready to breed we let them out into the jungle. The palace told us to do this. If we had kept them close to the stable we might have seen the male who bred them. One of our drivers said that they saw a giant male with big tusks approach Punti Kali, but the driver was a drunk so no one believed him. Subba-sahib, we heard reports of this massive tusker like you did. But I did not believe there could be a tusker bigger than Hira Prashad. Now I have seen him with my own eyes.”
“I believe we now know who fathered the three calves from Kanchanpur. I think he has come to check on them,” my father said.
“He will challenge Hira Prashad,” I said, fearful that this tusker could endanger not only my elephant but our little jumbos.
“We will protect our elephants and our calves,” my father said resolutely.
But I could not shake the feeling that there was an imminent threat to our happiness, whether it was this mysterious tusker or the Maroon who would never forget me.
hat can be a more humble treat than a fistful of unhusked rice mixed with lumps of rock salt and dried molasses and wrapped in the coarse leaves of elephant grass? But to my Hira Prashad and the other elephants and even the little rhinos, these were the tastiest of morsels.
“Hira Prashad, do you dream about kuchis when you sleep?” I asked. He banged his trunk on the ground and then lifted it, exposing his wide mouth for me to stuff in another kuchi.
Hira Prashad stopped begging and began to rumble. He held his ears out straight. I rubbed his trunk, unsure of what he was trying to tell me. “Is this a warning, my friend?” I asked him, still waiting for the day when I would be able to communicate with him as easily as I did with Dilly or Rita.
Minutes later, I heard the sound of a car engine. It was the conservator-sahib, his driver, and Doctor-sahib, the veterinarian. This was what Hira Prashad was telling me.
“What is he up to now?” I whispered to Hira Prashad. He flapped his ear with enough force that it snapped, like a white sheet drying in the wind.
I knew the conservator-sahib lived in eastern Nepal. Why would he be coming so early and just before Tihar, the holiest festival of the year? I walked over to join my father, who had emerged from his gazebo to greet the visitors. As they approached, my father nodded to both men.
“Conservator-sahib. What brings you here so close to Tihar?”
“Duty calls, Subba-sahib. Mine and yours. Have you heard the latest news from Kathmandu?”
My father shook his head. We had no source for news. The batteries in Ramji’s shortwave radio had died, and we had not yet made it back to the Bichia bazaar.
Mr. Rijal, the forest conservator-sahib, continued, “You know that Kalomutu was put away in prison forever. Now his gang of Maroons that had escaped from the Birganj jail during the earthquake were sentenced to life imprisonment, too.”
Ramji, who was the most superstitious of the drivers, was sitting nearby and spat into the fire. “Kalomutu’s body may be in jail but the evil spirit within him will move on to another living soul on the outside,” he said. Ramji always had the darkest interpretation of things.
I was surprised that my father did not tell Mr. Rijal about the one-eyed Maroon. I wondered if his silence was to protect the three girls from being sent back to Jumla.
“Ramji, the Maroons are finished, I tell you,” said the conservator-sahib. “I have read Mr. Dhungel’s report. The warden and Ganesh Lal have concluded that the rhino poachers were either rogue poachers or part of another gang. They had nothing to do with the Maroons who are all in jail in Kathmandu. Let us focus now on the raising of these calves. I will go pick up the warden and when we finish our paperwork we will return for our monthly inspection of our new elephants.”
My father could not speak. Mr. Rijal must have read Subba-sahib’s thoughts, or my father the shaman allowed him to do so.
“But I see, Subba-sahib, you are concerned still about our rhinos. I will talk to Mr. Dhungel and Ganesh Lal. We will see if we can bring more guards to the Borderlands.”
My father used the moment of his departure to speak up again. “Doctor-sahib, you must reason with the palace and this new conservator-sahib who knows nothing about the Borderlands. We need more armed guards stationed not just here, but at Chisapani and the Bheri Valley. I fear the rhinos are still at risk.”
“Subba-sahib, I share your concerns. But it will be hard to convince the palace. The northern Borderlands are now a national park. Besides, there are two guard posts, one here and one up at the gorge of the Great Sand Bar River at Chisapani. The two ranger units can cover the fifteen miles in between. That is what Mr. Dhungel will tell his boss, the conservator.”
“It may be a national park but in name only. Do you think Dhungel-sahib ever strays from his office? If he does, it is to walk a few steps to buy betel nut
in the nearby tea stall. And this Ganesh Lal. I have seen him out in the jungle only twice, and for just a few days. How much evidence could he have gathered?”
The doctor-sahib smiled.
My father went on. He was growing upset, which is rare for him to express in front of others. “Those guard posts do not have enough men to protect the area. The few who are stationed there in Chisapani are drunk on raksi half the time. Their rifles are ancient, and they are only allotted a few bullets. There will be no protection for those rhinos if poachers return. There are fifty rhinos between here and Chisapani along the Great Sand Bar River. But this summer at our count at the wallows we could find only forty. And those rhinos that live in the Bheri Valley to the north are in grave danger.”
“I will see what I can do, Subba-sahib. You have information we do not have in Kathmandu.”
The conservator-sahib came back in the jeep with Mr. Dhungel and Ganesh Lal. Maybe he would listen to my father about his concern for the park’s rhinos after the inspection of the elephants.
“Conservator-sahib, Warden-sahib, come look at how well the young calves are doing,” said my father.
He motioned to Rita, who put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The three little jumbos came rushing over, followed by the rhino calves. The warden jumped behind my father, faster than I have ever seen him move. The little jumbos were not sure about the new guests and quickly ran back to Rita, Kanchi, Jayanti, and Kabita. The girls handed out sugarcane to calm the jumbos and the Ancient Babies.
“And who are these girls, Subba-sahib? Where did they come from?” said the conservator-sahib.
“They help look after the calves. Our new drivers are too busy caring for the three mother elephants and Punti Kali to watch the little ones all day, too.”
“Are you daft? Young girls cannot train elephant calves!”
I had not seen this insult coming. My heart began to race. But my father let the conservator’s words fly over his head like a frightened bird.
A Circle of Elephants Page 10