The Elephant Chaser's Daughter Read online

  At last the night fell silent. I knew for certain that everyone was asleep. I sat up, trying to muster courage, preparing to move to the next room where Uncle Naresh was lying. My legs felt weak struck by a sudden fear, but I needed to be sure of him. I craved intimacy with him, to let him touch my body and make me feel special. I needed a sign from him that he still loved me and not the girl my grandparents had chosen for him. After all, I was prepared to marry him.

  The sound of my own breathing broke the silence. Kavya shifted in her sleep. I waited a minute, careful to make sure she didn’t sense an abrupt emptiness beside her. Still terrified, I made my way over the pillow and across the mat.

  Knowing old people’s sleep to be as fragile as thin glass, I looked in my grandparents’ direction. I saw no movement, so assured myself they hadn’t heard me. I bent down and, with shaking hands, tried to remove the anklets that clinked as I walked. But untying them in the darkness turned out to be impossible. I stood up and tiptoed slowly ahead, counting each step and making sure I didn’t bump into anything.

  I slipped into the next room where my uncle was sleeping. It was gently illuminated by a tiny bulb over the portrait of Jesus. I could vaguely make out Naresh lying on his stomach. I didn’t know what it would be like being alone with him in his bed.

  I made my way to his cot and sat down beside him, remaining still for a moment to catch my breath before gently touching his feet to rouse him from sleep. Opening his eyes with a baffled expression, he sat up. Even in the near darkness, I could see his surprised look. We stared at each other, afraid. Then he whispered, ‘Go back.’

  I didn’t move. I wanted to obey and not obey at the same time.

  He gestured for me to leave. ‘You are not in my heart,’ he said softly, placing his hand on his chest and shaking his head. The sound of his heavy breathing echoed in my ears.

  I didn’t want to believe him. He is lying, I thought. I was sure of it. I lay down on one side of the cot. In a moment he turned his back to me. Silence was broken only by the sound of our breathing. Will he push me out? Doesn’t he want me?

  Suddenly he turned to me and kissed me. I put my arms around his neck. His tongue pried my mouth open. Gently pressing my shoulders down, he rolled onto me. I had expected his weight to crush me, but it did not. I was overjoyed that he wanted me and didn’t think about what might happen next.

  His lips stayed on mine as his hand softly sought my body in the dark. He lifted my salwar top and bra, and caressed my breasts. My anklets clinked against each other once, freezing me again, but the sensation of his touch overwhelmed me.

  I closed my eyes and held my breath as his lips trailed downward. He kissed the hollow of my neck, and then the wide gap between my small breasts. The sensation was intoxicating.

  He stopped.

  I tensed as his fingers slid down to remove the string knot fastening my salwar pant. No man had ever touched me there, and I realized in that moment I couldn’t allow him to either. Despite the overpowering sensation and the intense anticipation I felt, a feeling of guilt consumed me, turning my body numb. I secured the knot with one hand, refusing to let him loosen it, and held his hand tightly with the other.

  I could tell he was aroused and wanted more. He tried to free his hand from my grip, but I clamped down tighter. I knew it was wrong to go further. He pulled his hand away and sat up on the edge of the cot.

  In the dim light, I could see him removing his pants. I quickly adjusted the bra over my breasts and pulled my salwar top down. Fully clothed and fully covered, I felt safer. And then he climbed on top of me again. I closed my eyes and held him tight against my body, not letting him move and not wanting to let go. Though afraid, a part of me was happy to feel how badly he needed me.

  I let him remain on top of me and that was all I was going to allow him. I assured myself there was nothing wrong with what I had done. After all, Uncle Naresh was the one my family had initially chosen for me to marry, and no one would object to our intimacy.

  But then he began again to try to push my hand away, struggling to untie the knot to my pant string. I struggled to resist him.

  Suddenly, a small boy appeared at the doorway, crying. A relative living nearby had left her two-year-old son Dinesh with my grandmother that night. Each time her husband returned home drunk, she would bring the child to us where he would be safe from the inevitable violence in her home.

  I jumped up.

  Panicked, my uncle hissed, ‘Go, quickly.’

  I was certain my grandparents would wake up to the sound of the little boy crying for his mother. I straightened my salwar, fearing the boy might have seen something he shouldn’t have.

  ‘I want my amma,’ the little boy wailed sleepily. I rushed to pick him up in my arms. My heart raced in fear but I tried to calm myself with the thought that if anyone were to wake up to see me in my uncle’s room they would think that I had awakened to comfort Dinesh. To my surprise, however, no one even noticed. I couldn’t understand how Grandmother wouldn’t have heard the child’s cry, and wondered if they were only pretending to be asleep.

  I carried the boy outdoors, deciding to drop him off at his house, a few yards away. All was quiet outside except for a group of men who had gathered to purchase liquor outside Ann-Mary’s shop. I snuck through the shadows on the road, hastily crossing the gutter to get to the boy’s one-room hut and banging on the door to wake his parents. I didn’t wait to answer their questions. I left the boy with them, stepped into the darkness of the night, and ran. Re-entering Uncle Naresh’s part of the house, I stopped by his cot, trying to decide whether I should go back to him.

  I could still feel the sensation of his urgent touch. I stood still, watching him.

  He was fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach as though nothing had happened.

  In a moment, I retreated. Walking on my toes like a thief, I reached my spot on the mat next to Kavya and quickly lay there almost lifeless. I couldn’t control the pounding of my heart.

  So much had happened in such a short time. I grew worried that my grandparents would shout at me for taking the boy home without informing them, so I woke Grandmother up and whispered, ‘I took Dinesh to his house. He was crying for his mother.’

  Grandmother rose, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and surveyed the room. The disturbance awakened Grandfather as well. Both went over to Uncle Naresh’s room to make sure the little boy was not there.

  ‘I took him home,’ I repeated.

  ‘Who asked you to leave the house at this hour?’ Grandmother asked sharply.

  My uncle appeared to be fast asleep, but I could tell he was pretending.

  I was about to return to my room when Grandfather bent down to pick up something. ‘Whose chain is this?’ he asked, holding up an anklet that had been lying near Uncle Naresh’s feet. My hand sprang to my left ankle; it was bare. Trying to be casual, I answered, ‘It’s mine, Thatha.’ I prayed Grandmother had not noticed the nervous quiver in my voice. ‘Kavya and I were sitting on the cot earlier. It must have fallen off then.’

  Not waiting for my grandparents to question me further, I quickly turned around and returned to my place on the floor. With my back to my grandparents, I pretended to fall into a deep sleep.

  Come daylight, my eyes burned and my head ached. My innocence seemed lost forever, and I dreaded to see myself in the mirror. The pleasure I experienced in the night quickly mutated into crippling guilt and fear.

  Unable to bear the suspicious looks Grandmother was casting my way, I quickly folded the mat, picked up the pillow, stacked them near the door, and rushed outside. I was just about to reach the road when the very last person I wanted to see came running after me.

  ‘Well, girl, what happened last night?’ Uncle Naresh teased. His words made me feel dirty, and I couldn’t look at him. I hurried away towards my mother’s house. He wanted me badly, I was sure, and suddenly there was an excruciating, half-formed thought in my head that that was probably all I had wanted
to know. I was certain that I didn’t want him that way anymore.

  It was strange to see that everything around me was the same as always when I felt that everything had changed. The milk boy was already on his usual morning rounds. A man was herding his cows towards the fields. A little girl was sitting on her doorstep waiting for her mother to walk her to the woods that served as the toilet. Ann-Mary stood outside her house, her seven-month-old daughter nestled against her sagging breasts. Her first daughter, now old enough to walk on her own, was playing near her mother’s feet. I remembered the sight of the men gathered around her house the night before. There she was, once a schoolgirl, then a street urchin dancing for men, now an unwed mother feeding her children by selling alcohol to drunkards. Suddenly, it hit me that I too could end up like her—bulging belly visible above her sari, two daughters to care for with very little money at hand, and no one to turn to but gawking drunkards.

  What are you doing with your life, Shilpa? I couldn’t muster the strength to answer.

  I didn’t know myself any more. All I wanted was to return to school and re-enter a world where there was always hope for redemption even for a sinner like me. Here, it was a comfortless existence, an illusion.

  The men outnumbered the women among the small groups of families moving in a slow march towards the towering hills in the distance. The women carried on their heads bulging bundles containing a few items of clothing and cooked food wrapped in paper. They walked behind their husbands and other male members of the family who took the lead. An unusual silence and a strange sense of solidarity surrounded them. I watched in awe as their figures soon turned into one blurry silhouette, making their way towards whatever they were in search of, guided by an unknown power.

  Amazed, I asked Aunt Maria where the groups were headed. She explained that this was a pilgrimage the villagers made every year to a holy site in Northern Karnataka where, hundreds of years ago, a poor farmer digging in his fields stumbled upon a statue of Mother Mary. After the discovery, the deity is said to have appeared to him in a dream and instructed him to construct a church on the site. Since then, Christians from all across South India flock to this place in the months of April and May to seek the goddess’s blessings, make offerings, and pray for miracles. Some say those prayers come true.

  ‘The journey is always difficult but our faith keeps us going,’ Grandmother interjected, referring to the four days and nights of heat and rain the pilgrims endured as they travelled on foot through rough, dry terrain and thickly forested areas where there was always a danger of being attacked by wild animals. ‘Your grandfather and I made the trip together in the first year of our marriage. When your mother was suffering with appendicitis, your grandfather went to that church and prayed to Our Lady. Otherwise, your mother would have died,’ Grandmother said, her voice suddenly choked.

  Until this moment I had not had a very clearly formed belief in the existence of invisible powers, but now, something about the rigid piousness of the people of my village made me wonder. Grandmother said that all her happiness in life came from blessings she received from that pilgrimage. She had wanted to make the journey again, but was forced to stay home and look after her young children.

  I had been avoiding Grandmother since that night with Uncle Naresh, but now the desire to connect with her and seek her affection filled me again. ‘Who is going from our family this year?’ I asked.

  ‘Your grandfather and Naresh Mama will be leaving with another group tomorrow,’ she replied.

  The thought that Uncle Naresh was also going made me pause. I wanted to avoid him but I too wished to go. ‘May I go with them, Grandmother?’ I asked. This sacred adventure was something I wanted to experience but I had no point of reference, no idea what it would be like. It reminded me of the trips to the zoo we had taken during my childhood days at school.

  Grandmother scowled at me. ‘You’re not used to sleeping in forests at night or walking long distances in the hot sun.’

  ‘I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Shilpa, you aren’t strong like us. You get a cold with the slightest change in the weather and you complain each time the food has a little extra chili powder in it. Do you really think you can tolerate this journey?’

  I remained silent as her words hit a deep chord. Yes, she was right. I lacked the toughness and the innate resilience that every other member of the family possessed. I felt threatened by their strength and my undeniable vulnerability. The thought that I wasn’t prepared for a life in the village scared me; for a moment, running away from home seemed the only option left.

  Early the next morning, Grandfather and Uncle Naresh bid us goodbye at the wooden doorstep to the house. It made me nervous to picture them trekking through forests and running into wild boars, angry elephants, and poisonous snakes. Grandfather chuckled and said I was being dramatic. Grandmother handed them a bundle each containing all the food supplies and clothing they would need, and drew the sign of the cross on their foreheads.

  ‘Please pray for me,’ I whispered, giving Grandfather a tight hug and not telling him what I wanted him to pray for, knowing that he would not wish the same for me. I longed to return to Shanti Bhavan, to see Sheena and my classmates once again, and to feel at peace.

  Grandfather kissed my cheek and nodded that he would. ‘I will pray for the happiness of the entire family,’ he said.

  ‘A good idea,’ I said and thanked him.

  As I watched them walk away, little did I know my life was once again going to change in ways I had no control over.

  A week later, Appa came running into Grandmother’s hut calling my name. He had received a call from Aunty Shalini to bring me back to Shanti Bhavan that Sunday. I gasped in shock, closed my eyes tightly, and joined my palms in my lap, saying, ‘Thank you, God!’ over and over again. I was sure Grandfather had prayed for me on his pilgrimage. Was this really a miracle? Or would there be bad news waiting?

  On the day of my departure, Grandmother seemed confused, her face unusually stiff. Believing the school to be permanently closed, she had not anticipated my going. She might have been thinking what was on my mind too: Would Shanti Bhavan indeed survive or would I be sent home permanently?

  The bus sped past the church gate and the village graveyard. I put my head out the window and stared at the hills. They did not beckon to me, nor did I feel drawn to them. Everything that had happened during my long holiday seemed like a bad, ugly dream. A slight smile began to dawn as I set out upon my own pilgrimage of a very different kind.

  On the bus, Appa seemed tense. ‘Shilpa, will Shanti Bhavan be able to go on?’ he asked. I didn’t have an answer. I wanted to give us both hope, but I was just as anxious as he was.

  Back on campus, all the staff, children, and parents were instructed by Ms. Nirmala and Ms. Ruth to gather in the school building. The fact that a special assembly was being held with everyone in attendance was in itself very alarming. When the chatter settled down, Aunty Shalini announced that Dr. George had arrived from America a few days before and wanted to address us all. She said nothing about the future of Shanti Bhavan.

  Minutes later, DG walked through the main door with Mrs. Law and Mr. Jude. His footsteps, unlike before, were slow and unsteady. The parents rose immediately as a sign of respect as they always did. Embarrassed, he quickly gestured to them to sit down. Eager for the meeting to begin, everyone quickly settled down on the floor which was covered with thick hand-woven mats.

  Ignoring the large armchair placed for him in the center of the stage, DG sat down on the concrete step in front of us. ‘Hello, everyone. I am very happy to see all the parents. Hello, children.’

  ‘Hello, Dr. George,’ we answered in a lively chorus. Our voices were bright, but strained.

  From my place in the corner of the hall, I watched DG closely, looking for clues about what he was going to tell us. There was no frown, nor any glimmer of tears, to give me a sense of what he was thinking and feeling. />
  His voice sounded the same as always but something was clearly amiss. He appeared to have aged considerably since the last time I had seen him. Bright streaks of grey in his hair and dark circles under his eyes gave him a sad, withdrawn look.

  ‘I know what is on your minds. I must talk to you openly about what has transpired.’ I leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. This was the moment I had waited for all summer.

  ‘In addition to my father’s death, the past year has been difficult for other reasons,’ he said. He had been in the States looking after his ninety-seven-year-old father who had recently passed away. He explained that, during this period, global stock markets had fallen suddenly and the price of houses in America had drastically gone down. ‘I met with serious financial losses,’ he said, then paused for a few moments to let the two staff members translate what was said into Tamil and Kannada for the benefit of nervous parents. I noticed heads nodding as though in understanding.

  After waiting for the crowd to quiet down, DG continued, ‘I am finding it difficult to meet all the needs of Shanti Bhavan. The school cannot be run as before.’ My stomach knotted in fear. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he said, ‘My family has made some hard decisions.’

  I held my breath. Was DG going to announce that the school was being closed immediately and our parents were to take us home after the meeting?

  ‘You all know my eldest son, Ajit, right?’ DG asked.

  All the children answered in one voice: ‘Yes, Dr. George.’ I remembered spending time with Ajit when I was in the second grade during his short visit to Shanti Bhavan. I remember him as a big man, much taller than everyone else in the school, like the giant in Jack and the Bean Stalk.

  ‘Well, he was working on a book, but decided to stop writing and start fundraising for Shanti Bhavan. We are reaching out to possible donors—relatives, friends, and well-wishers,’ DG explained. ‘Hopefully, this effort will succeed.’ DG said plans were also underway to solicit the help of wealthy people in Bangalore and from other parts of the country.