Stay calm, Nandu, I could hear my father say. Sometimes while you are worrying, things work out for themselves.
“Elephant trainers will tell you, Conservator-sahib, that you do not even try to teach young elephants their commands until they reach six years of age,” my father explained in a patient voice. “These elephants are not yet two. They are like infants. What they need are staff to stay with them and keep them out of trouble, like extra minders. Is that not so, Doctor-sahib?”
“He is right, Conservator-sahib. The only thing these young elephants can do at this age is make mischief. Look how they respond to these girls!”
The little jumbos stuck out their trunks, begging for more sugarcane from their caretakers. Mr. Rijal turned his gaze back to my father. I could sense another frightened bird fluttering before the words even left his mouth.
“You are the officer in charge of His Majesty’s Royal Breeding Center, Subba-sahib, not an orphanage.”
The girls kept their heads down so no one would see the tears that I knew had sprung up in their eyes.
Yes, you fool, my father is running an orphanage.
My father sensed my anger rising and he put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. “These young girls have lost their mother and father, Conservator-sahib. They are staying with their aunt Tulsi, the mother of our driver Dil Bahadur and Rita over here—they are all the girls have left for family.”
We get rid of Watermelon Belly, and he is reincarnated as Boney Face. What did we do to deserve such karma?
Boney Face shook his head. He turned and walked to his jeep without saying good-bye. The warden signaled to the driver that they were leaving. My anger had been replaced by astonishment. It was the first time I had heard my father tell a lie. Yet I had never felt so proud of him. I put my hand on his, which was still resting on my shoulder.
That night, there was no singing from the cookhouse. I had grown so used to the girls’ voices that the camp became suddenly quiet and sad. I stopped by for a visit. When I entered, Kabita and Jayanti dropped their heads. They worked at night on a loom Tulsi had borrowed, weaving wool by kerosene lamps, which only pierced the darkness here and there. But I could still see their tear-streaked faces.
Kanchi spoke. “Please ask Subba-sahib not to send us away, Nandu.”
“Do not worry. Subba-sahib knows you belong here with us. He said what he did today, about Tulsi being your aunt, to be sure that no one can take you away. I have never known him to speak anything but the truth. He must believe your fate is to live here, with us.”
Kanchi smiled an enormous smile, and both Kabita and Jayanti raised their faces. Each girl beamed so brightly it felt like daylight breaking in the night. It was the smile of knowing that you are cared for and you belong. I know this feeling deep within me, to have been orphaned and alone, and then all of a sudden you find a home when and where you least expect it. Only a month ago, Kabita and Jayanti were weaving blankets in the cold dry mountain air of Jumla, and Kanchi was playing with her baby goat. None of them had any idea they would be sold into another life. Yet that cruel plan had been interrupted, by fate: by Dilly dragging me to see a Hindi cinema in Bichia, by his decision to take the rough track by the river rather than our usual route, and by Hira Prashad’s sense.
How life can change in a moment. Is that fate or chance?
ira Prashad’s chains seemed twice as heavy to me now. Ever since I had seen the wild elephant’s tracks before the monsoon, I wondered, why does that large bull run free and my tusker is chained? I began to apologize every night I set the choker chain around his right front leg and again every morning when I awoke to release his shackles and take him to graze and drink by the river.
How could I chain my brother? There must be another way.
Indra nodded toward the grove, where a thin stream of incense curled out above it like a snake. “Wait here, Indra,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I had a good idea that my father was praying for insight—for which of our pressing issues, I did not know. He had been restless since the conservator-sahib’s visit. He even suggested that we had “no time for Tihar,” the second-biggest holiday of the year.
When I entered the grove, several candles burned in a large triangle. My father was bowed in prayer to Ban Devi in the center. Incense wafted around him. Suddenly his eyes shot open and looked at me. My father, the shaman, did not look peaceful in his trance, as usual. His teeth were clenched, and his gaze cut through me.
“Nandu, I have had a vision that is everything I had hoped to never see. We must act quickly. You, Indra, and Dilly must go with your elephants up to the Chisapani guard post and, if necessary, north to the Bheri River Valley. Let us hope that you find our rhinos safe. Prepare to leave tomorrow.”
“But why not Ramji and some of the older drivers?” I asked.
“Because I trust you.” My father’s expression seemed so sad that I did not press further. A part of me glowed that he believed in us, the youngest in the stable. Maybe he did see me in his place, someday, and not just because of his gout.
I left to tell Dilly and Indra. Then I borrowed Dilly’s bicycle to go tell Father Autry that I would miss my lesson. When I told him the news, Father Autry asked if there was room for one more.
“I don’t want to be a burden, Nandu, but there is a species of fern that is supposed to grow in the Bheri Valley that I would like to add to my collection.” My tutor’s passion was the study of ferns.
“We would be honored to have you, Father-sahib. You will be another pair of eyes for us, too.”
My father was happy for Father Autry to travel with us as well. He trusted us, but having Father Autry along gave him more peace of mind. I know he preferred to come himself, but his gout made it hard for him to walk even from the gazebo to his bungalow.
We left at dawn and by late afternoon we reached the Chisapani guard post at the mouth of the gorge. We found only one guard on duty. When we asked where the others were, he nodded across the river at the raksi stall. He said they would probably be back before dark, when the old boatman made his last trip across the Great Sand Bar River for the night. A dugout boat full of tipsy guards would be dangerous passengers. Most Nepalis do not know how to swim.
We spent the night at the guard post, camped on the veranda, but the other guards never returned. In the morning, we decided not to wait for them. We would head up the ridge and into the Bheri Valley on our own. By noon, we were halfway up the trail. Hira Prashad seemed to be enjoying the trek himself. Elephants are wonderful climbers and can scale steep hillsides with their round, flat feet.
“Nandu. Have I ever told you the story of Hannibal crossing the Alps with his warrior elephants?” asked Father Autry.
“I have heard of Hannibal,” I said. “But not this story.”
“The general Hannibal from Carthage commanded a large army of elephants, Nandu. They crossed the Alps for a surprise attack on the Roman Empire.”
“Did they win?”
“Only a few elephants survived the harsh climb, I’m afraid. But Hannibal’s army did defeat the Romans.”
“I am glad our elephants are not used this way now, Father-sahib. They are such kind and gentle beings. It hurts me to think of them to be used as killers.” A part of me felt our use was wrong, too. At least, on this day they were working to help us protect their fellow wild creatures, the rhinos.
We reached the top of the ridge and paused to enjoy the view and have a drink of water from our canteens. We started our descent to the Bheri Valley, climbing down the mountain and keeping our eyes open on the outcrop of rocks.
“Eureka!” Father Autry had sighted what he thought was his spleenwort fern.
I tried to be happy for him, but I think Father Autry could sense I was still upset. He could read my mood like Hira Prashad. I could not shake the thought of elephants killing enemy soldiers and being killed in battle. The image of the villager about to spear the Baba’s tiger came back to me. Why do people tame
some wild animals but then kill them the moment they behave as is in their nature? People make no attempt to understand animals, only to control them.
The sun was sinking over the sal forest when we reached the first guard post at the entrance to the Bheri Valley. I had expected the three guards stationed there to be waiting for us, especially since we had arrived on elephants, easily seen at a distance. I jumped off Hira Prashad and clambered up the steps of the post and looked around. It was empty.
Dilly held his hand over the fire pit. “Nandu, no one has burned wood here for days.”
Now we knew that what we feared was, in fact, the truth. Nobody was protecting the rhinos.
We dismounted and made camp for the night. In the morning we would go out and search. Indra and Dilly started to cook a curry made from dried strips of goat meat and bitter melon we had brought as a special treat to share with the guards.
After dinner, Father Autry told us stories about his life growing up on a farm in Arkansas. When he was twelve years old, he had a donkey named Socrates. “Donkeys are very smart,” he said, “especially my Socrates. Sometimes I would sing to my donkey and he would pretend to like it.”
I lay down by the fire, imagining my beloved tutor as a boy my age riding a donkey. We were about to go to sleep in our bedrolls when Hira Prashad started to rumble.
“Maybe it is one of the rhinos,” said Indra.
Dilly put out the fire. It was pitch-black. In the quiet, gunshots rang through the air. We sat in tense silence, waiting for more sounds, but we heard nothing more. It was too dark to investigate now. Too dangerous. We would have to wait until morning.
I started awake several times. Then the first thing I saw in the light of dawn was a kettle of vultures circling in the sky. A second warning. I had shivers as I began to look for Hira Prashad. It was not from the chilly air, even though I was barefoot and without a coat. It was the gnawing fear of what I knew was out there. A jungle that once felt like a place to discover beautiful creatures now began to fill me with terror in what I would find.
I told myself that perhaps it was a cow that had wandered into the reserve and died, but we were miles from the nearest village. Dilly struggled to ignite the log from last night’s fire to make tea, but it was too damp from the heavy morning dew. Overhead, another stream of vultures flapped through the mist. I could not wait to get moving.
We saddled the elephants as soon as we could find them in the grassland where we had left them for the night. We approached the valley bottom to discover a great wheel of circling birds. Hira Prashad and Man Kali raised their trunks over the reeds and led us to a small opening by the Bheri River.
The dense grass gave way to a nightmare. Hundreds of vultures were perched on the ground or along the wide branches of the silk cotton trees by the riverbank. At the base of one tree was a rhino bleeding from its head. I was hoping it was still alive. But I knew that no living rhino would allow two elephants to approach it from behind. The vultures had not yet touched the flesh.
“We are too late. The poachers have carried off their prize,” Father Autry said. The rhino’s horn had been cut off the beautiful creature’s face. I felt the anger and nausea rise, almost at the same time. It was the way I felt when I saw Pradhan’s face. I had to keep myself from vomiting or shouting, or both.
Dilly pointed to the bullet holes that entered the rhino’s skull and chest.
“Nandu, we should dig out one of the bullets and take it back to give to Subba-sahib. He can show it to the police,” Dilly said.
“No, Dilly, we will need to use our hand axes to remove it. Without the warden present, we would be in trouble if we touched the rhino.”
I lost the little control I had over my emotions and started to tremble. Father Autry put his hand on my shoulder and spoke softly to us. “Drivers,” he said, “when something terrible has happened, like this, our first job is to remain as calm as possible. We need to stay clearheaded and come up with a plan.”
Dilly and Indra nodded.
“Let us return to Thakurdwara and alert Subba-sahib and the warden,” Father Autry said. “He will know what to do.” By he, I knew he meant Subba-sahib, not the warden or his new assistant, Ganesh Lal, the wildlife expert.
“What evil people would do such a thing to a rhino? Where are the guards?”
Then it occurred to me. What if the guards up here were being paid off by the poachers? Why had they left their post and the rhinos unprotected?
“Do you think whoever did this is still nearby?” asked Dilly.
“They probably left quickly,” said Father Autry. “It doesn’t help that even one rhino horn sold to a smuggler is equal to a year’s wage for a poaching gang. The best we can do is to go back and bring more guards. Or maybe an army unit. We will send a message to Kathmandu, even if the warden does not.”
“Let’s hurry,” said Dilly.
I knew that Father Autry’s plan was the right one, but part of me didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and keep the vultures away from the body. I would beat them with a stick if they came close, but I knew this was pointless. The vultures were doing their jobs as scavengers. Now it was time to do ours.
“Come on, Nandu. We have poachers to catch,” said Father Autry.
“Yes, we do.”
he elephants climbed faster than I had ever seen them do before. It was like Hira Prashad and Man Kali were in a race to the top. At the peak, they were exhausted and needed to rest and graze for a few hours. Dilly and I unsaddled our elephants, then Indra walked them down the hillside to keep an eye on them while they grazed.
The Borderlands stretched below us. From here the world looked peaceful and lush, but somewhere under that green blanket lurked poachers. I could not shake the image of the rhino surrounded by hundreds of vultures. It had been horrible to see Pradhan dead and mutilated, but this killing was even worse. Pradhan was old and would not live much longer on this earth. This rhino was a young female who may have even had calves. Her death was unholy, a sin against nature.
Even the king had agreed with me when I saved a young mother tigress from his shot during a Royal Hunt. Such a killing would be a kind of crime . . . and yet, it was all I could think of. I could not escape the image of the second dead rhino in my head. There was no room for anything else. First Pradhan, and now this new one.
We were sitting in silence, off the trail behind some boulders. “I am sorry we did not get to search for more of your ferns, Father-sahib,” I said.
“Think nothing of it. We are rightly focused on the terrible task at hand. But I thank you for mentioning it, Nandu.”
Dilly motioned to us to join him behind a boulder. He held his finger to his lips. A chill ran through me. Father Autry and I scampered next to him and heard a whistle. It sounded like a male chir pheasant calling to his females.
A group of five men approached less than a quarter mile away. The older two fanned out just below our hiding spot, clutching their homemade bows. The leader whistled again, imitating the sound of the birds. They were hunting. If these were our poachers, I saw no rifles. Had they hidden their weapons?
The group of hunters passed by without making another sound. Far behind them followed a small band of women and children moving silently. They carried their baskets and wore simple frocks and scarves on their heads. From our hiding spot, we watched until they were out of earshot.
“Raute!” Father Autry declared. “I thought they were only a legend. Do you realize we have just seen Nepal’s last remaining band of hunter-gatherers?”
“Do you think they shot the rhino and took its horn?” I asked. “I didn’t see anyone carrying a rifle.”
“No, it would not be them, Nandu,” said Dilly. “Ramji says they only hunt what they eat. They live on monkeys and ground birds. Mostly peacocks and chir pheasants I would guess.”
“I agree. These are not our rhino poachers,” said my tutor.
“They only hunt with bows and arrows, but they are deadly wit
h them,” said Dilly. “And they are excellent trackers, better than any of us. They say a Raute can sneak up to a sleeping tiger and touch its nose without ever waking it.”
“Maybe they have seen the poachers!” I said. “Perhaps we should go ask them?”
“They are long gone, Nandu,” said Dilly, “and they would disappear into the boulders if we came close. They avoid anyone who is not in their tribe.”
We sat back down and waited for Indra and the elephants. My thoughts returned to the poor rhino. I wished we had rangers with us who might be carrying a radio. It would take us so long to get a message to the king to ask for help, and he was the only person with the power to push the guards into action.
We made chapattis with tomato pickle for lunch. The sun was climbing and a half hour had passed. I got up to stretch my legs and look for Indra. When I glanced down the trail from behind the boulder I noticed a boy about my age hobbling along. He was a Raute, dressed in tattered clothes. He stopped to lean on a crutch fashioned from tree limbs. Then he took two more steps, tumbled, and let out a soft whimper as he collapsed on the trail.
I called Father Autry for help. The boy grabbed for his bow and arrows. But I was fast and kicked them away from him. Father Autry got hold of his arms and restrained him. I did not know what to do, so I put my hand on the boy’s racing heart. When it began to slow, I took one of his hands from Father Autry and put it on my chest. The boy slumped into Father Autry’s lap.
We offered the boy chapattis and tomato pickle, motioning for him to eat. But he refused to take anything. He spoke a few words we could not make out. We released him and he grabbed the chapattis, hunger overcoming fear. The boy spoke only a few words of Nepali. He kept saying, “My family. My family. You see? You see?” while pointing to my eyes and then the trail. That must have been who first passed us.
Father Autry examined his injury.
“This unfortunate boy has a broken leg,” Father Autry explained. “That is why the tribe had to leave him behind.”
A Circle of Elephants Page 11