“We arrived too quickly for them to make off with the tiger,” Dilly said. “But too late to catch them, again!”
“Subba-sahib, he is still breathing!” I shouted, seeing a faint rise and fall in the fur along the tiger’s ribs. “We must save him! Please!”
“We cannot put the tiger on an elephant’s back. Even if it is too weak to move, the elephants will not permit us,” my father said. “We must fetch Doctor-sahib to tranquilize the tiger and remove the bullet here. Dilly, drive Man Kali to get Doctor-sahib. Tell the men to have ready one of the empty crates left behind the stable. Tell them to transport the crate to the shed behind the warden’s office. After Doctor-sahib has treated him we will place the tiger in the crate there.”
While we waited, the tiger tried twice to rise but was held back by the snare. The tiger had been shot in the left shoulder and blood trickled down his leg. The snare wound cut deep into his paw. His moans made me shudder in despair.
After thirty minutes that felt like hours, Dilly returned with Doctor-sahib clutching his leather medical bag in his lap. The two bounced up and down on the trotting Man Kali.
Quickly, the veterinarian darted the tiger using a blowgun. I had never seen this device before. It looked like a long straw. Soon the tiger was unconscious, and Doctor-sahib set to work.
“The dose I gave him should keep him sedated long enough to remove the bullet and get him to the warden’s compound. We must move him quickly, though, once I am finished.
“Nandu, hold this clamp,” Doctor-sahib ordered. This time I did not flinch or feel sick. “Fortunately, the tiger was moving, or they were bad shots. The bullet missed his heart by six inches.”
He pulled out the slug with his forceps and began cleaning the wound. I held the cotton swabs and thought of the Baba. Where was he? Maybe it was better he was not here to see.
In a few minutes the wound was sewn up. We removed the snare and treated the area where the wire had cut the flesh. I helped the drivers tie the tiger’s paws together, holding his forelegs. Touching the tiger again reminded me of when Rita and I had put our hands on his beating heart the last time we had helped the Baba’s tiger. I moved my hand to his heart again. His pulse was slow.
The oxcart arrived from the stable. We had to release the scared oxen before we loaded the tiger or they would spook by his smell. Ramji herded them back to camp while Dilly and I took their place. I thought this must have been the first time ever a tiger was pulled in an oxcart by two humans.
ehind the warden’s compound under a tall shed with open sides, I crawled into the crate that would be the tiger’s home while he recuperated. A leopard had been in it before. It was roomy for a smaller cat, but it would be a tight fit for the tiger. Before we lifted the Baba’s tiger from the cart, I swept the crate clean and wiped the concrete floor with alcohol to sterilize it the best that I could. When the Baba’s tiger woke, he would realize that he was trapped again, first by a snare and then pushed into a crate barely longer than he was. He would have to spend at least a week in this prison. I could no longer bear thinking about animals in chains and cages.
We carefully transferred the unconscious tiger into the leopard crate. It took all four of us to lift him, but again Indra’s strength saved the day. The tiger remained sedated, but he would wake up soon and probably be very angry.
“You need time to heal before going back into the wild,” I whispered to him from outside the crate.
My father described the scene in the Bheri Valley to the warden and Ganesh Lal, who this time immediately headed back inside his office to file his report. With twenty-four more dead rhinos and a tiger wounded probably by the same poachers, he could not keep this from Kathmandu and the king any longer.
I was sitting outside the warden’s office under a silk cotton tree when I felt something brush softly against my shoulder. I expected it was a bird, but when I looked it was the Baba. His wrinkled forehead was peaked like a mountain, questioning the fate of his tiger. I stood up and took his hand.
“I will take you to your tiger, Baba,” I said. “He is alive.”
I led the Baba to the garden, where the tiger’s crate sat under the shed. The tiger was still groggy but coming back to consciousness. He gave a low growl that to me sounded like he was unhappy to be confined but happy to see the Baba. My holy friend sank to his knees, closed his eyes, and prayed. I waited until the Baba was finished and had seated himself cross-legged next to the tiger’s crate. The Baba counted one, two, three with his fingers, followed by a shrug.
“You are wondering how long the tiger will stay in this cage?” I asked.
The Baba nodded. I was almost as good as Father Autry!
“It will be . . .” The Baba stopped me and pointed to the tiger. Of course, he meant for me to tell the tiger, so he might be less agitated.
“Great King of the Jungle,” I addressed the tiger. “You will not be here longer than a week. You must rest while your deep wound heals. You must have medicine so it heals properly and never bothers you again.”
I looked at the Baba, who smiled and rested his hand on his heart and then on mine. Last, he held his hand next to the cage, as if to touch the tiger’s heart.
“We are family,” I said.
The tiger opened his giant mouth in a yawn and relaxed onto his side.
All week the Baba sat there, never leaving the tiger’s side. I brought him tea and crackers and that was all he would take. Father Autry bought fresh buffalo meat twice a day from the bazaar for the tiger’s meals, which helped him grow stronger by the day. Doctor-sahib filled the meat with pills of antibiotics.
“What a powerful constitution this tiger has, Baba,” said my father, who had come to visit from the stable. “He will be back hunting deer in a few days. We have searched and removed snares from the forest from here to your temple. There were over a hundred hidden in the undergrowth. I hope our drivers found them all, but I cannot be certain.”
The Baba nodded softly and continued chanting his prayers for the tiger’s full recovery.
Three days later, Doctor-sahib declared that the tiger was strong enough to leave his crate. The Baba’s prayers had no doubt speeded his recovery. To return the tiger to the wild, we would have to sedate him again. Doctor-sahib used his blowgun, but with a milder dose. Then Dilly, Indra, and I carried him in the oxcart back to the Baba’s temple, with a parade of followers: Father Autry, the Baba, my father, Rita, and Kanchi. Jayanti and Kabita had stayed behind with Maila.
We kept a watchful eye on the sleeping tiger to be sure he came to no harm. Within the hour, he raised his head once, twice, then finally rose to his feet and sauntered off into the jungle.
I walked the Baba back to his temple, before I would catch up with my friends who were heading back on the elephants. The Baba’s eyes appeared moist. Then his face relaxed, and his eyes met mine. I tried to read his thoughts.
“Wait,” I said. I went into the hut where the Baba slept and retrieved his chalkboard. When I came back I looked into his eyes again. They were softer but still intense.
“You are thanking me for helping to save your tiger a second time.”
The Baba nodded.
“But there is more to do. Next time, the tiger may not survive.”
The Baba raised his eyebrows and nodded sort of sideways, as if I had interpreted his thoughts in an interesting way. Then he took the chalkboard and drew a picture of his tiger on one side and on the other side some huts meant to be a village. Then he drew a picture of a boy in the middle. Me. Under the drawing he wrote: Nandu, the bridge.
I hugged the Baba, repeating the words back to him. I am the bridge. Then a deep inner voice joined the conversation. I do not know if it was Ban Devi or another god or just part of my own self, but I knew in that moment that I must be the protector of all animals. I must act and not count on anyone else.
I stood barefoot next to Hira Prashad feeding him his kuchis by hand. The cool earth against my soles was calming.
This way, too, I could feel the vibrations of the elephants’ deepest sounds, as they stood receiving their kuchis at the end of a long work-day. I did not want to chain my elephants at night anymore. I had to come up with a solution that would keep them safe but also let them have their dignity. I was the bridge, as the Baba had told me. I would find a way.
My tusker seemed at peace, though, even with all the activity swirling round us. He focused on his treats, and if I hesitated, he banged his trunk against the ground for more. He had eaten half of his twenty-five kuchis in just a few minutes.
“Number thirteen, Hira Prashad.” I reached out to hand it to him. But instead of taking it from me, he spread his ears wide and lifted his trunk. No sound came out, but I was sure I felt the air move around us. Hira Prashad left the kuchi in my hand and started off down the trail into the jungle. He had never done that before. It was like he had read my mind about wanting him to be free.
“Dilly, Hira Prashad is running off!” I yelled. “Follow me on Man Kali, and bring some ropes. And tell Subba-sahib. Hira Prashad senses trouble!”
I ran down the familiar trail, and before long I could see Hira Prashad’s back. I had to keep running to keep him in view. I chased after him for a long time until I was out of breath. Finally, he slowed enough that I could catch up and speak to him.
“Hira Prashad, please stop. It is too dangerous to be walking alone in this jungle. It is too dangerous for me, too. At least let me ride on your back.”
I could see the elephants from the stable hustling up the trail by the dust they had stirred up. They would be here in several minutes.
Instead of waiting, Hira Prashad took off again heading straight for the Lalmati grassland.
“Raaa!” I shouted, but he ignored my command. I wanted to follow him, but I waited for my father and Dilly. Other drivers had come, too. I climbed aboard Jun Kali, our fastest elephant. We moved so quickly as if the forest was flying by on either side of us.
Our five elephants finally reached the lower end of Lalmati. In the center of the grassland, Hira Prashad stood with his back toward us. Next to him was the herd of wild elephants. They had formed a tight circle. It was too dangerous to approach on foot. We waited for the herd to break apart so we could see what drew Hira Prashad to their side.
“Subba-sahib, maybe Hira Prashad’s rival has moved away from the Great Sand Bar River,” I whispered.
My father simply stared ahead. He was not my father now but the shaman. I had lost him to his murmuring trance. The sun was setting, and the trees in the distance were turning into a dark scalloped silhouette.
A black cutout veered through the sky. A vulture swooped low into a tree followed by another and another.
My father gave a hand signal for the other elephants to stay back. On my father’s command, he and I and the driver of Jun Kali would approach the herd. We moved cautiously at first, but soon we realized the herd was not interested in us. The wild females next to Hira Prashad were in mourning.
I stood up on Jun Kali to look over the circle of elephants. In the middle was the body of a large elephant I did not recognize. I could only see the hind end. One of them had passed. The elephants were in mourning, I was sure of it. Hira Prashad stepped to the side to let us in. I thought of my Devi Kali. Maybe it was an old female gone to join her.
But it was not an old female. In the center of the circle was Hira Prashad’s rival. The great wild tusker. His beautiful ivory tusks were gone. Hacked off his face with an ax. I had never seen anything as gruesome.
We quickly retreated and my father relayed the horrible news. I hung my head. This nightmare would not end. I worried it never would. I could not bridge this divide between the human and the wild. No one could.
“We must head back to the stable,” my father said.
“But Hira Prashad. We cannot leave him here,” I said.
“It is too dangerous for you to try to mount him now. We have to hope that he returns on his own. I cannot help him either. He is between worlds.”
My eyes filled with tears. I could not leave my brother out here to be slaughtered, but he had a right to be an elephant. To think like an elephant. To live like an elephant. I could not stand in his way. I could not make him safe only for my sake.
had listened for Hira Prashad far into the night, but all I heard was the empty chunk-chunk-chunk of the nightjars and the hooting of a forest owl. A leopard passed by camp and made its sawing-wood sound. I knew it was hopeless, I would be up all night.
By morning, by some miracle, Hira Prashad had returned. Even though he was not chained to his tethering post, he stood next to it, calmly as ever.
I ran to him. My tusker bowed his head, and I climbed up over his head by grabbing the tips of his ears in my hands and stepping on his trunk while he lifted me over his head, just as I had with his mother, our mother, Devi Kali, when I was a boy. I lay down on the length of his back and let myself cry all the tears I’d held back: for the rhinos, for the tiger, for the great wild tusker. Hira Prashad raised his trunk over his head and snorted, smelling my tears. The air from his breathing ruffled my hair. “Thank you, brother,” I said, patting his great head.
Across the worn grass, on the other side of my father’s gazebo, Rita and her crew had finished feeding their charges. Kabita, Jayanti, and Kanchi were brushing the little jumbos. Maila was scratching the baby rhinos under their chins while they waited their turn with the brush. He would get his cast removed today and run like a healthy boy again. There were a few happy things to look forward to in this bleak time.
I decided that day, after Indra and I had grazed Hira Prashad, that I would visit Father Autry to break the news about the wild tusker and seek his advice about how to protect Hira Prashad. When I reached my tutor’s bungalow, he came out to meet me, as if he knew I was coming.
“Nandu, I have already heard the sad news. Let us go visit the Baba.”
Along the way to the temple, I asked him, “Father-sahib, who is behind all this? How can men be so cruel?”
“These are awful men, Nandu, who kill these magnificent animals for no good reason. Only for money. But there are forces behind them, those who never get their hands dirty, who put the poachers up to this. We must find out who they are and expose them.”
There was nothing else to say. My tutor and I walked in silence until we reached the Baba’s temple. We quietly joined the Baba by his morning fire. The flames were dying, but no one added any kindling. The smoke swirled around and stung our eyes, making us wince.
I spoke up first. “Baba, are wild animals on earth just for us to abuse them?”
The Baba did not answer me. Instead he looked deep into my eyes and touched his fingers into a pouch he had tied to his waist. A colored powder came out this time. He touched the warm ash to my head, rose, and walked into his temple to pray.
I know the Baba did not think of these ashes as war paint, but that is how they seemed to me. This was war. A war to save our wildlife and our jungle. And I was ready to fight to the end.
After I grazed the elephants, Maila greeted me and motioned with his bow and arrow. I think he wanted me to go hunting with him, but I was too busy and needed to talk to my father. I did not know how to tell him I did not hunt. I motioned that I had work to do. Maila seemed to understand and headed off toward the river.
He did not return that day or evening. I got up several times in the night to look out the window for him. There was no Maila. I woke with the crowing of the red jungle fowl and I looked over at Maila’s cot. He was not there.
I found him waiting for me outside the cookhouse, smiling. Next to him was a large burlap bag with something inside it. He reached up and put his hand to my heart and mine to his. He opened the sack and dragged out what was folded up inside. It was a langur monkey, with an arrow piercing its chest.
Maila looked up at me and grinned with delight. His face changed instantly when I screamed. “No!”
Maila ran off as fast as he could,
leaving me alone with the dead langur. I was so angry I could not see how badly I had scared him. I did not care. Poachers were killing our wildlife left and right. I knew Maila meant well, but his gift was a shock.
I spent the rest of the day looking for him with Kanchi’s help.
“Kanchi, Maila did not understand why I screamed. I am sure he feels crushed.”
“Do not feel bad, Nandu. He was about to leave us anyway. He told me he was going, but he said to keep it a secret. He pointed to himself and then made a sign with his fingers, like walking away. Then he held his finger to his lips.”
“I feel so awful for shouting at him. I see he meant well.”
Kanchi grabbed my hand and said, “Nandu, he has gone off to find his own again. You gave him that chance and he was thankful. For his people, to give food, the monkey, is the greatest gift.”
By evening it was clear that he had slipped away, back into the hills.
It seemed everyone was disappearing. Hira Prashad slipped his chain (which I had loosened) that night, too, and was off into the jungle again. He was probably checking on the wild herd. But I worried about the poachers spotting him.
“He is part of two herds now,” my father said. “This makes it even harder to keep an eye on him. We may have to organize another search party.”
We were expecting a visit from the conservator-sahib that afternoon. If Hira Prashad was not here, it would be hard to explain his absence. My father would be held accountable. An hour later, there was still no sign of our tusker. We were about to head out on the elephants, when Dilly whistled sharply. I knew what that meant. Down the track to our stable, the conservator-sahib’s car made a cloud of dust. Four other passengers rode with him.
When the car pulled into camp, it stopped abruptly. We saw now that the Mr. Rijal had brought Doctor-sahib, who held the door open for an army general. Dhungel-sahib came next, and last, Ganesh Lal. News of all the poaching must have reached Kathmandu.
A Circle of Elephants Page 14