A Circle of Elephants

by Eric Dinerstein

  We kept alert until we were about an hour away from Clear Lake. Kanchi’s legs gave out and she became too tired to walk. I put her on my back and carried her, but our pace slowed. Finally, we reached the edge of the poachers’ camp and the wagon stopped. The men were talking and jumped off the buckboard. The others greeted them with bottles of liquor.

  “Kanchi, they will drink all night and fall asleep. Maybe we can steal their guns.” But Kanchi had already fallen asleep on my back. We moved behind some bushes and crouched out of view. Within seconds my eyes shut, too.

  We woke to the bright morning sun in our eyes. Standing above us was the bearded Maroon. In his hand was a long knife. Kanchi tried to run, but the men grabbed her by her long braid. They tied our hands and legs and we were hauled into the camp. Kanchi squeezed my wrist and held on tight.

  Our only hope now was that Subba-sahib would arrive soon with the police. I was so angry that I had allowed Kanchi to follow the wagon with me. I had put her in such danger.

  An hour later, we were hunched down with our backs to each other, a tree sapling between us. They bound us with another set of ropes, hand and foot. I sat facing the men while Kanchi looked out at the rocky hillside above the camp. I was glad she had a less scary view and perhaps could not overhear the men, who sat around their campfire, debating what to do with us. There was no sign of the boy who I had caught setting snares. Perhaps they had sent him back to India, back to his family.

  Eye Patch spoke first. His gravelly voice spooked me.

  “I want to strangle that one first,” he said, pointing at me. “He is dead for taking my eye out a year ago. Then he stole that girl and two others from me.”

  The long-bearded man, the fake fisherman who was clearly the leader of the poachers in this gang, the one who had driven the wagon, said nothing.

  “Then I will strangle her. She got away twice from me. Not a third time.”

  The other six men stared into the fire. I think they were afraid of Eye Patch. I squeezed Kanchi’s fingers.

  Eye Patch stood up and started toward us. I prepared to lunge at him with my feet and kick him in the head when he got close.

  “Wait, brother,” said the long-bearded Maroon. “I have a better plan. We can use these two.”

  Eye Patch turned around.

  “Here is what we will do. We will send the master of the elephant stable a letter written by this boy. We will offer an exchange. The boy for that tusker’s ivory. They give us the ivory, we release the girl. The boy crosses the Indian border with us. Once we sell the ivory, we release the boy. Then we head home with enough money for each of us to buy a palace in Bihar.”

  “What if they are already on the way?” asked the headman who had confronted the Baba and accompanied Long Beard to Gularia. The other men nodded. “Better to leave now. We have all the money we need from the rhinos and tusker. Let us divide the money and leave these two here.”

  Long Beard whipped out his pistol. “Anyone who leaves now will be hunted and shot.”

  The headman raised his hands in submission.

  “Those of you who stay will earn an extra ten thousand rupees each when we get the ivory from that tusker. Now, we must move north of the lake. From there we can see anyone approaching.”

  The men nodded and raised their drinks. They made a toast to Long Beard.

  “That tusker nearly trampled me,” Eye Patch said. “I will be happy to see him gone.” He raised his mug to me and then spat on the ground. When they had enough drink, the men took us to the new camp. I hoped our scent was strong enough for Hira Prashad to track us.

  The wailing of peacocks and whinnying sound of woodpeckers in the trees above me woke me from sleep. One of the poachers untied all but one leg and handed us mugs of tea and some stale biscuits. Then he told us we could pee where we were sitting. Behind me, I could hear Kanchi sniff to keep from crying.

  Long Beard walked up to me holding a lined notebook and a pen. He untied my hands.

  “You will write to your Subba-sahib,” he said. Then he started dictating the letter. When he got to the part about my father poisoning Hira Prashad for his tusks, it was too much.

  “I will not write this,” I said.

  “Then we will cut off your friend’s nose, and then an ear,” snarled Eye Patch.

  I wrote him a note that I knew my father would not be able to read. Maybe he would ask Father Autry to read it, too. I did not think these Maroons could understand Devanagari script, so I wrote, Please bring something to treat insect bites. The horseflies here are thick, in small print. My father and the other elephant drivers knew that the worst place for horseflies in the jungle was at the base of the hills next to Clear Lake. A horsefly landed on my bound arm and bit hard. I had never been so thankful for them. If this worked, I would tell Subba-sahib we must do a special puja to offer thanks to horseflies.

  Long Beard grabbed the notebook, and looked over my handwriting. He appeared to be reading the note several times. The more he pondered the more I realized he probably could not read twenty words. My gamble had worked.

  Long Beard tied my hands back together. I twisted around to make eye contact with Kanchi before he lashed my back to the tree. I had only had a glimpse of the hillside before I was thrust down on the ground, but I saw a flash of red in the dense bushes. My dhole.

  Long Beard sent two of the village poachers to walk to Thakurdwara. They were to steal into our stable in the middle of the night and leave the message tacked to my father’s bungalow door. It would take them about three hours fast-walking each way.

  While they discussed their horrible plan, I took a closer look at the line of rifles and guns. There were six that looked like army rifles, and two shotguns. I hoped that the police would arrive well armed or with a platoon of Gurkhas. Against the tree were coils and coils of wire snares. There must have been hundreds of them. And next to the pile of pistols were three axes covered in dried blood. I did not want to think of how the blood got there. But I knew.

  The afternoon wore on and the birds quieted down.

  “What do we do if they do not come?” asked Eye Patch.

  “They will come for these two. You can count on that. It may take them a day or two after they poison the elephant for it to die.”

  The sun was sinking through the sal forests. I was facing east and I could not see it. Maybe I had seen my last sunset in this life. I thought about how much I loved my father and Hira Prashad. I prayed to Ban Devi, and then to Lord Buddha, and even to Father Autry’s God, to any god listening now: Please let my father know how much I loved him. Save Hira Prashad.

  And please save Kanchi and me.

  he rising sun warmed us, as its rays filtered through the forest around Clear Lake. The poachers had thrown a thin blanket over Kanchi and me. It was not thick enough to keep us from shivering through the cool night. Kanchi and I pressed our backs against each other where they touched at the side of the sapling.

  Trying to stay warm all night and exhaustion kept me from thinking about the decision facing my father when he found my letter tacked to the door of his bungalow. The two poachers sent to deliver the note had still not returned. Maybe our drivers had spotted their shadows moving across the stable to reach my father’s bungalow and captured them? Maybe Hira Prashad heard their footsteps, slipped his chains, and crushed them like one of Hannibal’s elephants would.

  I could not bear to think of the look on my father’s face. How angry he must have been at me and Indra for going off like this and taking Kanchi with us. Several times in the night I woke to hear her softly half crying, half singing a song she made up about a young girl from Jumla who is lost in the mountains and rescued by an elephant.

  There was a scrambling sound on the rocky hilltop above us. I heard a dhole whistle and whine as loud as if he was next to me. The rest of the pack picked up the call and joined in. The whistling and yowling seemed to echo off the green wall of forest around Clear Lake, waking the few poachers who were
still in their sleeping bags.

  “Damn dogs!” shouted Eye Patch. I watched the one-eyed Maroon pick up his rifle and aim it at the rocky hills behind me. I heard two shots and panicked. Kanchi grabbed my hand.

  I could not see it, but I sensed the air moving in waves around us. I knew this feeling from standing next to our elephants. Right then, behind me, I heard Hira Prashad’s familiar rumble, answered by the rumble of what sounded like an army—of elephants.

  The Maroons were surrounded by a circle of elephants. Some had drivers sitting on them, our men, but others had none. It was the wild herd. They had mixed with our elephants to rescue us. The poachers from the village fell on their knees. Long Beard raced over to me with Eye Patch. The bearded Maroon and his one-eyed henchman cut Kanchi and me loose from the tree.

  My father got off his elephant with Dilly. In Dilly’s hand was my father’s old shotgun.

  “You will give us safe passage out of here if you want these captives returned to you alive,” yelled Long Beard.

  My legs were free but numb from sitting so long. Long Beard gripped his hand across my chest, holding me like a shield. Eye Patch grabbed Kanchi and held her in front of him.

  I heard whistles from the rocks behind and above us. The chir pheasants had been frightened, too, and were calling in alarm. But then more whistles cut through the air. These were different sounds. Suddenly, Long Beard released his hold and dropped to the ground in front of me. He grabbed his right shoulder. A large arrow was lodged deep into his arm.

  Next Eye Patch slumped to the ground in front of Kanchi, with arrows stuck in his neck and shoulders.

  I grabbed Kanchi and held her close. Standing above the rocks was Maila, surrounded by the Raute.

  I pointed. “Look!”

  Maila waved to us, then disappeared with his family behind the boulders. Kanchi was scrambling up the rocks, trying to get one last look at her friend.

  “Kanchi, come back!”

  At the top of the boulders, she stopped. The Raute had slipped back into the jungle. She stayed there for some time, hoping Maila would return.

  Our drivers bound the arms of the poachers with ropes they had brought along.

  “Throw them into the wagon,” my father said. “The army general will be waiting at the warden’s office.”

  On our trip home, the air vibrated victoriously from the crush of elephants around us. The wild herd shadowed our journey, and now that we had arrived at camp, they hovered at the edge of the forest, rumbling back and forth.

  Kabita, Jayanti, and Rita ran to greet us, their little jumbos prancing along with them, squealing in delight.

  “Kanchi! Nandu!” they yelled in relief.

  The girls hugged one another and then me and then the elephants. There were arms and ears and trunks everywhere.

  Father Autry and the Baba stopped by to greet us. Instead of shaking my hand, Father Autry did something he had never done before. He grabbed me in his arms and picked me up in a bear hug. And then he did the same to Kanchi. He did not say anything but pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

  Happiness pulsed through me. Hira Prashad was unharmed, the poachers were in custody of the police, and Kanchi was safe. And Maila had not left us. He had saved us.

  he brotherhood I felt between Dilly and me, or Indra and me, is special, but I never chained them to a tethering pole. I decided I would no longer chain my tusker, either. He had saved me once again and now Kanchi. I stroked his trunk and fed him extra kuchis I had made that morning. There was nothing much more to do. The army had come and arrested Mr. Dhungel, the warden, and taken him back to Kathmandu in chains, along with the Python, Long Beard, Eye Patch, and hill tribesmen who had threatened the Baba’s tiger. I was not there to watch, but as I looked at the empty crate behind the warden’s office, I wished these men could have been thrown in Baba’s tiger’s pen to be transported back. They deserved no less.

  My father and I walked over to the office, where the conservator-sahib was waiting for us.

  To our surprise, sitting behind the warden’s desk was Ganesh Lal. “Subba-sahib, Ganesh Lal has agreed to stay on as a temporary replacement until the palace sends us a new warden,” said Mr. Rijal proudly.

  “But I saw you! I saw you at the house in Gularia where the poachers delivered the rhino horns and the ivory,” I said.

  “Nandu, you saw an undercover agent crack the worst gang of smugglers in all of Nepal,” said the conservator-sahib. “We call him Ganesh Lal, but that is not his real name. The palace sent him to us once our intelligence service learned about a poaching gang that included two of the old Maroons and the Python. We transferred the warden here on purpose. He was being watched, too. We could not tell either of you about Ganesh-sahib’s mission.”

  “I am sorry I could not share my secret. And I am sorry we could not prevent more of the poaching. You lost these wonderful animals. It will not happen again,” said Ganesh Lal.

  That was only the second time I had ever heard him speak. My mouth hung wide open, and then I did something I never thought I would do. I bowed to Ganesh Lal or whatever his name was. My father, who never bows to anybody but the king and queen, did the same.

  My gaze wandered over to the wall where the photos hung of the now disgraced Dhungel-sahib bowing before the king to receive his medal. He had been arrested so quickly, before he could flee, that no one had yet taken them down.

  Mr. Rijal noticed me staring and laughed. I liked him again. His incompetence was all a ruse to trick Dhungel the dung beetle into thinking no one was watching. The same for Ganesh Lal.

  “You see, Nandu,” said the conservator-sahib, “this quiet gentleman, Mr. Ganesh Lal, led us in his jeep with the stolen horns all the way to Kathmandu, to the home of the ringleader in Nepal, the godfather of all poaching, and he is behind bars, too.”

  “Nandu, I could not have brought these criminals to justice if it was not for the courage shown by you and Kanchi. Where is she? I want to thank her, too,” said Ganesh, the part-time game scout.

  I raced back from the warden’s office to find her. I found Rita and Jayanti feeding the Ancient Babies and Nani. Kanchi had stayed back in the girls’ room next to the cookhouse. The girls thought she had caught a cold during the two nights we spent tied up to the tree, so I decided to let her rest. She could meet Ganesh Lal another time.

  By the afternoon, Rita came by where Dilly, Indra, and I were making kuchis. “I think there is something wrong with Kanchi.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “She cannot get out of bed except to vomit and go to the bathroom. She has a fever and a headache. Subba-sahib just went over to look at her.”

  We dropped the kuchis and rushed over. When I passed the elephants they were all standing still. They had turned toward the cookhouse with their ears spread wide.

  “Nandu, Dilly, Indra, carry Kanchi on this cot to my bungalow. I will treat her there,” said my father. Kanchi’s face looked drawn and pale. Kabita and Jayanti held on to each other.

  “I am going to get Father Autry,” I said.

  My father nodded. I think he knew that we might need something stronger for her than the plant remedies he could fix.

  I ran to my tutor’s bungalow and banged on the door. Within minutes, we were in his car with his driver and rolling back into camp.

  “Good day, Subba-sahib. Please come outside and let us talk.”

  I stood with them and listened. “What are her symptoms?”

  “Father-sahib, at first she had headaches and then stomachaches, and now she is too warm and has a rash. I fear that she has the fever.”

  “Subba-sahib, this sounds like typhoid. If so, there is no time to lose. We must get fluids into her.”

  “Subba-sahib, I think we need to go to Bichia and fetch Dr. Aziz. He will know what to do,” I said.

  My father nodded, like he knew as shaman what he could do and what he could not. “If you can bring back pomegranates, lots of them, I ca
n at least feed her the seeds and pulp and that will stop the diarrhea.”

  “Nandu, Kanchi wants to speak with you. Could you please come?” cried Rita.

  I walked in and could not believe how much worse she looked in such a short time. Her small face was pale and sweaty, and her eyes had lost their sparkle.

  I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Kanchi, please try to rest. I will be right back.” I knew that she was sinking fast. As I got up to leave, she motioned for me to come close. I put my ear next to her mouth.

  I could barely hear her words. “Nandu, if I die, please do not cremate me. Bury me next to Devi Kali.”

  I thought the scraping of rocks on the axles of Father Autry’s Land Rover were sure to break them on the road to Bichia. We decided to take a shortcut on the rougher road south to the border. We passed the spot where Dilly and I had found the oxcart holding Kanchi and the girls only four months ago: A lifetime seemed to have passed since then. But I did not have time to think about it. I looked across at Indra in the backseat with me. He was the bravest boy I knew, but even he was fighting back tears.

  Father Autry spoke in Hindi to the Indian border guards, and explained why this was such an emergency. Even though we did not have the proper permits, they waved us through. A policeman hopped in back just in case to keep an eye on us.

  “Dhan Bahadur, drive us straight to Dr. Aziz’s house.” The narrow lane made it almost impossible for the Land Rover to squeeze through.

  A boy came to the door, a servant, and said Dr. Aziz had just left to go shopping. It was market day. We jumped back into the Land Rover and headed to the open-air market, which was thronged with people. It was not only market day, but it must also have been an Indian holiday. All the shops and stores lining the streets around the market were jammed with customers. How would we ever find him? My heart began to beat faster. We purchased ten ripe pomegranates.

  “Indra, Father-sahib, I think we should fan out and look for him. We will meet back here in ten minutes,” I said. What if the servant was wrong, or Dr. Aziz had changed his mind? I headed off to where we had first met him near the stall that sold the powdered milk. It was filled with shoppers.