storyVer1

Its early morning and we’re just going to sleep when the chowkidar rushes in to wake us, shouting, "Sahib, Hathi, Hathi, Hathi, HATHI, HATHI.....", he’s stuck on the last word and looks surprised his lips haven’t stopped moving. I run barefoot, sliding on the slick red floor, picking up bits of loose tobacco and dirt. The cool floor has a hint of warmth from the sunlight streaming in through the netting that makes up the walls of the verandah. It lets the “atmosphere” in while keeping the mosquitoes out. It’s too bright out here. The sun washes out the lighter shades around me. I imagine cotton clouds, blue skies; a prefect tropical morning. I do not look at the sky to confirm. A throbbing in my head informs me that I am not prepared for this.

The elephant is on the other side of the barbed fence that divides Rahul’s bungalow from the workers huts. He is big, old, wrinkled, and scarred. His skin looks like worn leather. He is the color of ash - like a ghost elephant. His skin is worn out and patches of the thick faded, worn grey are replaced by smooth baby pink new skin - skin that hangs loosely all over his body. One ear has a long tear right through its center. He has stumps where there should have been cream colored ivory.
"He’s been tamed.”
"Bastard that did it should have his teeth pulled out."
"It’s better this way, or some motherfucker would have surely killed it."

The chowkidar wrings his hands, his eyes are bulging. It seems like he is talking more to himself than us.  Machines have replaced the elephant’s jobs. The elephant handlers are out of logging jobs and can barely feed themselves. How can they feed the elephants? But why has the elephant been beaten? Mahouts are known to treat their elephants as part of their families.  It’s not business it’s tradition. Elephants have remained in the same families, seen great-grandfathers die and grandson’s become grandfathers. Elephants are more than family to them. They are treated as forms of Ganesh, the elephant god, doted and worshipped by the mahouts. It’s more than just a story, in his voice is a plea, can’t the sahibs do something? Rahul has a terrible headache from a few sleepless nights of drinking and the chowkidar’s narrative isn’t helping so he is sent off to make lots of chai and asked not to forget the biscuits.

On the other side of the fence is another world. People stand in line to fill up water for cooking and bathing have abandoned their bright multicolored gaudy plastic buckets, brass and steel pots. A man with
soap on his body runs to his house. We hear the shutting down of doors and windows. It’s like one of those shootout scenes in Westerns, thin, insect like scurrying brown people replace the rolling tumbleweed.

The elephant walks up to the blue door of the first hut (all huts have blue doors and white walls) like an old saint begging for alms. They are ignoring him hoping the madman will get tired and leave.
The front wall of the hut has turned black and there is an up and down movement of light and shadow. THUNK. A door is tossed aside like a broken toy followed by a crash. What was a house is now a pile of dirt. 4 thin brown people scurry through the dust and wreckage like insects running from water. The elephant finishes their monthly ration in a minute.

The chowkidar is reciting prayers to GANESH-THE ELEPHANT GOD saying that the creature is not an elephant but a god and we got to pray.
I laugh.
But the chowkidar is right
the elephant is not an elephant....he's.......
                       ...going to the next house and the next like a
tax collector and everyone seems to have realized what to do. They’re throwing out all their food out of the windows and huddling together and praying.
Some boys have started enjoying it and are cheering the elephant on.
The elephant goes for the banana trees and the boys jump and shout.
The elephant goes to one of the flowing water taps and drinks.
He sits down and surveys his territory.
Blows his own trumpet.
Shakes his tail, flaps his ears. Waits for the elephant handler to come close
and raises his trunk....
up yours.

Runs lopsidedly into the forest.

We are too excited to sleep. We drink OLD MONK XXX rum with coffee toasts, laugh and chatter. We celebrate an entertaining morning.


People come over from the other side of the fence and say they are glad we are fine.
Rahul wonders why the elephant did not attack our bungalow when we had more food than all those people combined. Rahul’s younger brother goes to take a shower with his girlfriend. We order breakfast, sunny side eggs and toast, baked beans and chopped liver. We drink some beer.

The chowkidar wants all the credit for our escape claims we were saved because of his prayers.