Suddenly, the policeman who was walking with me grabbed my shoulder and pointed. He knew everyone in the small town.
“Dr. Aziz!” I shouted.
“Nandu!” He waved to me.
I ran to him. I did not waste a second telling him about Kanchi. “Nandu, drive me to my house so I can fetch my medical kit and some antibiotics.”
We sped back to Dr. Aziz’s house, navigating around people and cows lying in the street. Dr. Aziz returned in less than a minute, carrying his medical kit. He climbed back in the Land Rover. Just as we were about to leave, his kind, elderly father came out and offered us lemons to take back. I took them and held them in my lap—their strong yellow color gave me hope for Kanchi.
We dropped the border guard back at the checkpoint and thanked him. On the return, I had never driven so fast in a vehicle before. The leaves of forest trees became a green blur out the window. I kept thinking about Kanchi, about how much courage she showed from the moment we first found her tied together to the two sisters. I tried to tell myself, if anyone has the strength to hang on, it is her. It was hard to believe she was only ten years old.
We made it back to the stable before nightfall. When we pulled up in the twilight, none of us could believe our eyes. Surrounding Subba-sahib’s bungalow was a herd of elephants. When we approached, they parted for us to pass through the door. I could see that two of them had their trunks sticking through the open window, trying to sniff Kanchi. It was the little jumbo, Laxmi Kali, and the wild female squeezed in next to her that had had its leg freed from the snare.
Hira Prashad stood just outside the circle of elephants. He was agitated. The threat from the Maroons was over and he was King of the Borderlands again. But there was nothing in his power to make Kanchi well. There were so few people he allowed to approach him, let alone sit on his back. Kanchi was one of the few.
I tried to reassure my elephant with kuchis. But he ignored them. “We will do everything to help her, Hira Prashad,” I said. “Dr. Aziz is very skilled. We must hope that Kanchi comes back to us, like the tiger.”
Rita pulled me aside. “Nandu, the elephants came up to the bungalow without a word. I hope your doctor can help. It feels like the elephants are already mourning her. I tried to push their trunks away from blocking the window, but Laxmi Kali would not leave nor would the wild female.”
“They see Kanchi as part of their family,” I said. I aspired to be a bridge between the wild and the human, but Kanchi had come to it naturally, without even trying.
Dr. Aziz sat by Kanchi’s bedside for hours. Kabita and Jayanti were also immovable from her side. Dr. Aziz gave Kanchi three injections of antibiotics. I knew from Dilly that in Nepali mountain cultures like Jumla, people hold to the belief that a needle injection from a real doctor can cure anything.
“Now we just have to wait, Nandu,” Jayanti said.
My father motioned me to his private grove, where we prayed together. Later the Baba joined us.
I said all of my prayers to Ban Devi. My father was deep in a trance and so was the Baba. I heard myself say quietly but out loud, “If Kanchi dies, I will never pray to anybody again.”
I kept saying to myself, I have already lost my mother, Devi Kali, I cannot lose Kanchi. Nor could Kabita and Jayanti, or Rita. They are sisters now. And what would happen to poor Laxmi Kali? The little jumbo’s heart would break to lose her best friend in the world. And the wild elephant herd had lost their bull. The jungle had lost Pradhan and twenty-four other rhinos.
The elephants from our stable and their wild friends also stayed by the bungalow, unwilling to eat or move. I slept in my hammock on the veranda of the barracks so I could be close by if help was needed. Dr. Aziz and Father Autry took turns watching over Kanchi. There was not a single person who was not part of the vigil. Even the drivers took turns checking in on her.
Sometimes in the Borderlands it goes from night to day in seconds. But sometimes, like this day, the dawn sky hangs so low that the morning takes ages to arrive. I walked over to the bungalow in this heavy morning light.
“There is no change, Nandu,” Dr. Aziz said. He looked worried.
“Maybe that is a good thing?” I said, half question, half hope.
The truth was, ever since midnight, I had started to mourn her loss, by myself. I could not sleep and so I relived all my time with Kanchi, from the moment Hira Prashad rescued her from the back of the wagon to a few days ago, when she, Indra, Hira Prashad, and I set off to put a stop to the poachers. I remembered the song she had made up after we were captured and she was scared, the one she sang to cheer us both up. The one about the girl who is lost and crying in a mountain valley near Jumla and her elephant finds her and carries her home. I hoped that in the next life my Devi Kali would find Kanchi and take care of her like my elephant mother took care of me. I had never met anyone like Kanchi, someone I knew for such a short time but who had affected me so much. She was fearless, but this typhoid had struck her down.
The clouds broke into a morning rain shower that drenched the Borderlands. As the day wore on, the rain came down harder and harder, but still the elephants would not move from their circle around the bungalow.
My father motioned for me to come over to him. He was standing outside in the pouring rain. “Nandu, go in and pay your last respects. I do not think it will be long now.”
I entered the bungalow and stood at the bottom of the cot looking up at her. I had forgotten how small she was lying on the large cot. Even over the past two days, in her illness she seemed to be growing smaller as the typhoid took hold of her, trying to drag her into the earth.
I left to keep from breaking down in front of the girls and Indra, who sat on the edge of the cot. When I passed my father, I whispered, “We will bury her next to Devi Kali.”
The afternoon wore on. I decided to make myself useful and so I began shucking the outer husk of the pomegranates. When I had filled a bowl with the seeds and red flesh, I brought them over to the bungalow. I expected to see the others file out at any moment.
I was making my way through the circle of elephants when I felt something familiar—a sense of the air vibrating. I could feel it around me. The elephants had started to rumble, and not just any rumble, but the happiest one they make, like when they slip into the river for their daily bath.
They knew it before we did. I rushed into the bungalow.
Kanchi opened her eyes. Her fever had broken.
ith the care of her adopted sisters, and all of us, including Laxmi Kali (who rarely left Kanchi’s side), Kanchi recovered quickly. She had joined me to place lemongrass on Devi Kali’s grave, when I noticed the fruits in the giant fig tree by the banks of the Belgadi north of our stable had begun to ripen. The langur monkeys alerted us to them. We picked some fresh figs off the ground and walked back to the stable, where we fed them to Hira Prashad. My great tusker now lived at the stable only part-time. He was part of the wild herd, too, and would be gone for days at a time.
When he had finished the figs, Hira Prashad began to walk down to the Belgadi River south of our stable. I followed to see him join his other herd. He rumbled to them where they were splashing in the river, and they left the water to join him. I kept my distance, but watched them turn around to head right through the center of camp. They had not been back since Kanchi’s illness.
My father, too, did nothing but sit and watch from his spot in the gazebo. Our elephants standing inside their enclosure started to rumble loudly. Prem Kali led them to the metal gate. After the capture of the poachers, I talked to my father and convinced him that we no longer needed to shackle the elephants’ legs with chains and treat them like prisoners. A wire fence with three strands proved enough to keep them in the corral at night. Subba-sahib gave the order for the drivers to open the gate. The stable elephants joined their wild cousins and headed off. It was not until they were nearly at Devi Kali’s gravesite that I realized Hira Prashad was leading them under the fig tree.
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p; Rita and I slipped through the rumbling herds and raced to climb it. We started to shake branches and cut the clumps of fruit to feed the happy elephants squeaking with delight below us. Soon Kanchi, Indra, and my father were there to watch, too. Kanchi shouted, “Come down, Nandu, we have to feed the little jumbos. Their trunks are too clumsy to pick up these figs.”
Looking down on the elephants rumbling and reaching for their fruits, I felt something grab me inside. I used to think that my favorite view of the world was overlooking the Great Sand Bar River and gazing from my elephant’s back to the waves of grass blowing in the breeze. Now I realized that the best view was right here, looking down on all the elephants, my friends, my family.
I will never know the God who made this world—Animist, the Buddhist, the Hindu, the Muslim, or my tutor’s God—so I thanked them all.
We humans like to think that we are above animals, smarter and more clever, but we are animals, too. When I look at my fellow human animals, I don’t understand what makes some of us do what we do: the poachers, the villagers who would have speared the Baba’s tiger, the fathers of Kabita and Jayanti and of Kanchi. But when I remember that we are all animals, trying to make our way in the world, I understand a little bit. And that little bit of understanding can give way to a greater understanding. I believe this is how horrible things can be stopped, reversed, forgiven. Tomorrow, we can always start again, take a new path.
I thought of the lonely elephant calling to the humpback whales. I pictured him so clearly now, standing on the mountain ridge, calling out to his animal family, trumpeting loudly, mourning his loss, warning of risk, asking for understanding.
At last, I answered his call. “We heard you. You can rest now. We will defend you. We will defend you all.”
bhanti—a kind of mint plant from which a healing powder is made
Bichia—the border town on the Indian side from the Borderlands and the largest bazaar
Borderlands, the—the low flat land (elevation around six hundred feet) along the border between Nepal and India at the base of the Himalayas; where this story takes place. There are three officials of different ranks who are assigned to the Borderlands:
forest conservator-sahib—Mr. Rijal, who oversees all of the forests of western Nepal
warden-sahib—Mr. Dhungel, who is the chief warden or wildlife officer for the Borderlands reserve and reports to Mr. Rijal
game scout—“Ganesh Lal,” an assistant to Mr. Dhungel
Budghar—the headman in a Tharu village
caste system—In Nepal, people are divided into castes or ranks, with the Hindu Brahmins as highest caste and Tharus and Tamangs of low caste or status; elephant drivers are almost always of low caste; level of education also often follows caste
chapatti—flat bread, often eaten in place of rice
daju—literally older brother, but a term that can be used affectionately for any boy who is familiar and older than you
dhole—another common name for the Asiatic wild dog; a wild canid that hunts in packs and is common in the Borderlands
didi—literally older sister, but a term that can be used affectionately for any girl who is familiar and older than you
Diwali—also called Tihar in Nepal, the festival of light, the most important festival of the year for Hindus
driver—each elephant in the stable has three drivers:
phanit—the head driver
pachuwa—the second-in-command of the elephant
mahout—the entry-level driver
gharial—an ancient endangered member of the crocodile family, now found only in the Borderlands and a few other places
Gurkhas—the name of the Nepali army regiment recruited by the British
Kali—the last name of every female elephant; Kali refers to a female life-form and also a flower blossom
kuchi—the Nepali word for elephant treats consisting of unhusked rice, rock salt, and crude sugar wrapped in leaves or elephant grass
kukhri—the traditional curved knife used by Nepali men and made famous by the British Gurkha soldiers
lungis—a long piece of cotton wrapped around the waist and legs, like a sarong
namaste—the traditional greeting among Nepalis, meaning literally “I bow to the God in you”
Prashad (also Prasad)—the last name of male elephants
pudinah—another kind of mint plant from which a healing powder is made
puja—a ceremony of worship
raksi—the home-distilled rice wine of the Borderlands
Raute—the name of the last wandering tribe of hunter-gatherers in Nepal (pronounced Rauté)
rupee—the name of the currency in Nepal
sadhu—the Nepali name for a Hindu holy man
sahib—similar to “sir,” the word that Nepali and Indians attach to titles or names to show respect (for example, one might refer to a teacher as teacher-sahib)
sal—the most common tree of lowland Nepal and North India
samosa—a triangular, deep-fried turnover filled with vegetables and spices
sel roti—the special bread eaten during Diwali
shaman—a person with special powers who can engage spirits, use magic, and foretell the future
Subba-sahib (pronounced Sooba-saheb) —title given to the officer in charge of an elephant stable
Tharu—the indigenous people of the Borderlands
Tihar—the five-day Hindu festival of light, typically falling after the rice harvest
tika—in the Hindu religion a mark of colored dye placed as a blessing in the middle of the forehead
topi—the traditional hat worn by most Nepali men and all government officials
tusker—a bull elephant that sports huge ivory
Common Elephant Commands Used by the Drivers
agat—forward
beit—kneel down
chhi—let alone; drop
hikh—attack; close in sideways
kun—dig with your trunk
meil—get up
pasar—kneel over to one side
raa—stand squarely and stop what you are doing
When I was a young boy growing up in New Jersey, tigers, rhinos, and elephants were my favorite animals, but they lived only in my imagination. I encountered them firsthand when I joined the Peace Corps in 1975 and landed in Nepal. My job was to census tigers and other wildlife, on foot—no elephants to ride or a Hira Prashad to protect me. Over the ensuing decades my career as a wildlife biologist took me all over the world and far from my roots in the Borderlands jungles. Writing novels about a young Nepali elephant driver would have to wait.
A Circle of Elephants focuses on two powerful, opposing themes, one I wish to promote and the other I am devoted to stopping. The first is the awe young people hold for wild animals and a deep desire to protect them from harm. The second is the incredible cruelty shown by a small minority of people who kill rhinos, tigers, elephants, and many other species of wildlife for profit. This novel is staged in the past, at a time when the poaching of rhinos and tigers still occurred in Nepal. Today, however, Nepal is a world leader in wildlife protection—barely any tigers, rhinos, or elephants have been poached during recent years. Government officers, park rangers, and the people of Nepal deserve tremendous credit for stopping this scourge.
I had to look elsewhere for inspiration, where the struggle to protect wildlife is most dire. I wrote much of the second draft of this novel while working on the western edge of Africa’s most iconic wildlife park, the Serengeti. Here, the world’s greatest animal migration takes place every year when millions of wildebeest, zebra, and Cape buffalo follow the rains over the grassy plains from northern Tanzania to southern Kenya and back again. I was there to introduce a new kind of technology to help prevent the poaching that threatens one of the natural wonders of the world. Before dawn I would wake to write and sometimes, in the quiet, I could hear the yapping of hyenas and the moan of lions, the voices of wildness. It is the same thrill
that runs through me when I hear the wild elephants trumpet in the jungles of my beloved Borderlands.
The commitment of a few dedicated individuals—like those portrayed in this novel and in real life—can make all the difference against what seems like overwhelming odds. We have to speak up like Nandu, Kanchi, and Subba-sahib to save these magnificent animals who have no voice in their own futures.
Eric Dinerstein
This novel is set in the jungles that were once called the Royal Karnali-Bardia Wildlife Reserve (now Bardia National Park). I would like to acknowledge the Peace Corps for placing me there and the staff, especially the late Gagan Singh, for their support. Five years of research on tigers and rhinos and riding elephants in Chitwan informed this book. I want to thank the Smithsonian Tiger Ecology Project for sponsoring my work and the education and company offered by our outstanding trackers and elephant drivers—Vishnu Lama, Harka Man Lama, Bul Bahadur Lama, Man Bahadur Lama, Ram Kumar Aryal, Man Singh, and Keshav Giri, Gyan Bahadur Tharu, Bir Bahadur Lama, Phirta Tharu, Brij Lal Tharu, Pashupat Tharu, Badri Tharu, Ram Raj Tharu, Arjun Kumal, Maila Kumal, Ram Bahadur Gurung, and Ram Ji Tharu. Hemanta Mishra—my former boss, colleague, and a founding father of Nepali wildlife conservation—shared his insights about the people and the wildlife of his country and made excellent comments on a late draft. Katya and Amelia Gonzalez influenced the creation of Kanchi as a character in the novel.
Without the wonderful support of Steve D’Esposito and my colleagues at Resolve, Inc., especially Nathan Hahn, Steve Gulick, and Sanjiv Fernando, I would not be able to advance my mission to protect endangered wildlife or find time to write this novel. Nancy Sherman, Paige Grant, John Lehmkuhl, Pat Emmert, Holly Dinerstein, Trishna Gurung, Anup Joshi, and Shubash Lohani were close readers and editors. Annie Bruno edited several drafts of this book and was an invaluable source of ideas and insights into local color and the characters. She helped shape this novel and I am indebted. My agent, Richard Abate, has been an enthusiastic supporter of my efforts to introduce Nandu’s world to a wide audience. Best of all, he found me the perfect editor for middle-grade fiction, Tracey Keevan at Disney Hyperion, who shares my love of animals and passion for wildlife conservation. I am in awe of her extraordinary editing talent and so thankful for the time she devoted to bringing this story to life. Finally, I would like to thank another close reader, my wife, Ute, whose sharp eyes and patience made all the difference.
A Circle of Elephants Page 17