Chained (12 page)

Then I know I have to walk away. As long as I am with Nandita, she has no reason to call out to anyone. Sadness fills me up at the thought of leaving her alone and afraid. I hate feeling that I’m abandoning her, but this is the only way she’ll blast that squeaky trumpet that will call her family to her.

Nandita reaches her trunk to the tree above us and struggles to grab a branch. I hold the limb down while she pulls a mango from the branch and drops it into her mouth.

As she chews the mango I take the end of her trunk into my hands and blow into it.

“Remember me,” I tell her, then I turn and run.

Something behind me snaps a branch and rustles the leaves. I glance back to see what it is, then fall to the ground when Nandita bumps into me. The chilly dampness of the forest floor seeps through the seat of my pants.

“Nandita, what are you doing? Stay here and wait for your herd.”

She reaches out her trunk and touches my nose as I push myself off the ground.

If only I could make her understand. With one hand on her back, I lead her to the banyan tree. How can I leave her here alone and go back to my village? She’s small for an elephant and in danger of a tiger attack. But I cannot take her with me. The desert is too dry for her. At daybreak we will follow the river until we find her family. Nandita lies next to me as I lean against the tree.

To help keep Nandita warm, I gather leaves into my shirttail and pour them onto her back. Most of them slide off, so they don’t make much of a blanket. I hope the leaves that do cover her will give her some warmth. From all around, I scoop leaves toward us to shield us from the cold. I huddle close to Nandita.

I shut my eyes and think of all the things a person should have with him if he decides to escape into the forest with a young elephant in the wintertime. Blankets. An ax to chop down leafy branches. I could use them to make a shelter, or we could lie under a pile of them to keep warm. Food. We have fruit here in the forest, and Nandita has plenty of leaves to eat, but a bowl of rice would taste good to me right now. And samosas. Mango pickle, straight from the cooking pot. A piece of roti. The steam would warm my hands as I held it. While it was still hot, I would pour on the buttermilk.

A torch. I could make a fire if I brought a torch with me. Or even some matches. I fall asleep thinking of the clay stove in our village courtyard, how warm it is to sit near in the wintertime. On the coldest days I would hold my hands against the sides of the stove and move them away only when I felt like they would burn.

Sometimes, just before I wake up, I forget where I am. As I float through that mist between asleep and awake, I think I’m back at home and Chanda is well. I cling to that moment for as long as I can. At times the remembering is like a stab or a bite, when all at once I realize where I am and all I’m missing. But sometimes the truth settles onto me like dew on a forest leaf, giving me time to feel the roughness of the straw and hear the sounds that do not belong to the desert before I think, Oh yes, I am here, at the circus near the forest. Not at home. And maybe Chanda is all right but maybe she is not.

“I’m awake,” I say aloud, because it feels like someone is shaking me to wake me up. When I pry my eyes open I still feel the shaking, but no one is here. I touch Nandita’s back, where my head rested until a moment ago. Her body shivers as she sleeps.

I stand and pick up her chain.

“Come on, Nandita,” I say through chattering teeth. She looks up at me when I try to rouse her, then lays her head back down.

“No, we have to go back.” I shake her harder. If anything bad happens to her it will be all my fault. I loop the chain around her neck, then pull it as I walk a few steps.

What will I do if she won’t stand up? The only one at the circus I trust is Ne Min, but even if I found his house and woke him, I don’t know how he could help. Maybe Nandita would listen to him, but it would take him so long to get here. Walking all this way in the cold would be hard on him, too. Then I would be responsible for a sick old man and a freezing cold elephant.

Again I take a step back and pull the chain. With a groan Nandita finally stands. I lead her out of the forest to the place that holds us captive, but it is the only place that will keep us safe tonight.

I never thought I would be so relieved to get back to the circus grounds. I close the gate behind us and run ahead of Nandita to grab our blankets from the stable. I rush back to her and put one blanket on her head and one on her back. She follows me into the cook shed and lies down on the floor while I light a fire. I’m so cold I want to crawl right into the oven.

Before we go back to sleep I make a bottle of milk for Nandita.

The flames glow in the darkness and melt the chill on our skin. Soon I hear Nandita’s soft snoring, but as exhausted as I am, I cannot sleep. I set the empty bottle on the counter, then pick up a small piece of wood from the woodpile next to the stove and begin carving.
For you, Chanda, for whenever I see you again.

Just as I smooth out the ears, Nandita turns her head to me and opens her eyes. She reaches out her trunk and curls it around the newly carved figure. She lays her head back down and falls asleep again, holding on to the wooden Ganesh like a child with a new doll.

“All right, Nandita.” I laugh. “You keep that one. I’ll make something else for Chanda.” I yawn and lie down next to her, and the two of us sleep on the floor in the warmth of the fire.

I wake to the sounds of a rattling truck engine.

“Wake up, Nandita! Back to the stable—hurry!” I scramble to grab our blankets and rush Nandita to the stable as Timir parks his truck. Ne Min is just getting here, too—I spot him walking up the path from his house. I don’t think he sees me.

On my way back to the cook shed I hear the angry voice of Timir.

“Look at this mess! Wood chips all over the floor! Didn’t you and the boy clean up last night?”

“Yes, I am sorry,” answers Ne Min. “I should have swept again after he brought in firewood. I’ll do it now.”

“Never mind, start breakfast.” He sees me when he turns to leave. “You have work to do,” he says as he brushes past me.

“Ne Min, I’m sorry about the wood chips,” I say when Timir is out of sight. “I will tell him—”

“Shhh.” He slips my pocketknife into my shirt pocket. “Such a cold night, wasn’t it? A good night for a fire.”

18

An elephant separated from its herd will try to find its way back.

—From
Care of Jungle Elephants
by Tin San Bo

The days start to grow warmer and longer, and for the first time in months, I count the marks on the stable wall. When I reach one hundred, I carve a long line on the wall to mark my place so it will be easier to count next time. I count the row of marks beyond the long line and realize I’ve been here almost half a year.

My hair falls into my eyes as I stand, and my fingers get stuck in the tangles when I try to brush it back with my hands. It’s grown past my shoulders now and is always in my face as I work. At home Amma would cut our hair with her sewing scissors then throw the hair outside into the wind. In a shrub near our home I once found a bird’s nest with black hair woven in with the twigs and brown leaves.

In the supply shed I find a pair of shears. With one hand I gather my hair, then with the other I reach the shears back and snip the hair off.

Outside, the wind blows toward my home. I hold up the handful of hair and release it to a gust of wind and watch it fly away. I dream that the wind is strong enough to carry it all the way to my village, where it will help make a nest for a bird. And Amma will see the wavy black hair woven into the nest and know that I am all right.

Again I plan our escape. This time I will be ready. I will not endanger Nandita this time by leaving on impulse. One evening after her bath, I place an empty iodine bottle under the straw in the stable. The bottle is large but light and has a lid to hold the water inside after I fill it. Near the forests there will be plenty of water, but rivers and streams will be hard to find once I enter the desert.

My pocketknife is with me always. When it’s time to leave I’ll have to grab the ax on our way to the property fence. Nandita barely fit through the wooden gate last time, and she’s grown since then. But if I chop away at the fence post next to the metal gate, I’ll be able to free the gate from the chain that holds it closed.

Each day as I work and each night as I sleep, I dream of home. I imagine feeling dry sand again and seeing smoke pour from our courtyard stove in my village. I dream of the baking roti and of the buttermilk calming its steam. And my mother’s whole-face smile.

I long to hear the mooing of our cow, play ball with Raj, and even look forward to seeing a camel again. Most of all, I need to know if Chanda is all right.

*   *   *

One morning I throw off my blanket and sit up in a panic when I realize it was the sunrise that woke me, not Nandita. I slept all night long. She always needs a bottle of milk during the night, but she did not wake up.

I reach over and touch Nandita’s head. She opens one eye and looks at me, then closes it and starts snoring again. I sigh with relief, then laugh.

“No bottle at night anymore?” I say. “I guess you’re growing up, Nandita.”

*   *   *

Ne Min isn’t in the cook shed when I place the water tub on the stove, so I sit down to work on a wooden elephant I’ve been carving. I don’t expect to be as good as my father yet, but after all this time and practice, my skills should have improved more. This figure is better than many I have done—it is smooth and even, and anyone looking at it will be able to tell that it’s an elephant. But still, something is wrong, something is missing …

Ne Min shuffles into the cook shed and leans over the table to see my work. “That looks like it was carved by someone who has never seen an elephant,” he says. “Maybe by someone who has seen an elephant only in a picture. Do you ever see them standing so still?”

“No, but, Ne Min—this is a block of wood. Of course it is still.”

He crosses the cook shed to the stove. “And that is why it looks only like an elephant-shaped block of wood. You are thinking of them as carvings with no life. When you focus instead on the living, moving animal, your work will show that.”

I close my eyes and think about the first time I saw the elephants.
Stomping through the forest, playing in the river, spraying water from their trunks—those always-moving trunks, reaching for mangoes, ripping down branches …

When I open my eyes I look at the carving in my hand. Lifeless. Ne Min is right, certainly there has never been an elephant that stood so still. Not just still but straight, as if planted in the ground. And the trunk—it lies there like a dead snake. Maybe if I add some curves to it later it will look more like it’s moving. I fold the blade of my knife into the handle and drop it into my pocket with the wooden elephant.

After breakfast Timir and Sharad talk at the table while I wash the dishes with Ne Min.

“I’m going to town tomorrow morning,” says Timir. “I will be here in the afternoon. But start working on some new tricks with the elephant.”

Without Timir around, Sharad will not bother showing up for work very early. If I leave, it will be a long time before anyone notices.
Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow, before the sunrise, we will leave.
Only when Ne Min nudges me do I realize I have paused in my dishwashing. I sit frozen in place, holding a plate and dishcloth over the water. I glance at Timir as I continue my chores and notice his glare. I smile at him.
Fine, stare all you want. I’m washing your breakfast dishes for the last time.

That afternoon Ne Min appears at the stable door as I am cleaning.

“I went home to get a gift for you,” he says. He holds out a colorful cloth bag.

I prop my pitchfork against a wall. “A gift? Why?”

“I’ve had this for a long time. I do not need it anymore.” He hands the bag to me. I run my fingers over the designs of red, purple, and blue stitched into the canvas fabric. The edges of the black handle are frayed, and the seam along the bottom has been restitched with different colors of thread. The bag looks old and worn but strong.

“Maybe you could make use of it,” he says. “It is still good and can carry many things, if you ever need something like that.”

“Thank you, Ne Min.” I cannot look him in the eye, but I step forward to hug him. I wish I could talk to him more, find out how he knows so much, why he is so good with Nandita, and what makes him so sad. I inhale the smell of cinnamon and pepper and those spices I never knew before I met him. I breathe them in deep so the scents will tie him to my memory.

*   *   *

After dinner I fly out of the cook shed as soon as I finish cleaning. I can’t wait to get through my chores and pack my things in the bag Ne Min gave me. I slow down when I see Timir standing outside his office with Sharad. Casually I walk to the stable and keep my eyes on the ground.

I loop the chain around Nandita’s neck to lead her to the spring for one last bath. Her ears flap as she dashes out of the stable. She seems to know something important is going to happen.

“One more night, Nandita,” I tell her. Tomorrow we will be free.

I close the stable door behind us and wonder what my family and neighbors are having for dinner. Chanda will save a bit of her food for Raj if she is there.

We take only a few steps before Timir’s voice stops us.

“Wait,” he says. “Something for the elephant.”

Nandita stiffens, her ears flat against her head.

I turn to see Timir and Sharad walking toward us. Sharad carries two metal shackles, joined by a thick chain. He kneels down to place the cuffs around Nandita’s front legs. With one snap of the shackles he locks away any hope we had of escaping.

19

An elephant will sacrifice its own well-being for the good of the herd.

—From
Care of Jungle Elephants
by Tin San Bo