The Elephant Keeper's Daughter

  ALSO BY JULIA DROSTEN

  The Lioness of Morocco

  This book is a work of fiction. While based on historical events relating to the colonization of Sri Lanka, it is not a history.

  Text copyright © 2016 by Julia Peczynsky and Horst Drosten

  Translation copyright © 2018 by Deborah Langton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Die Elefantenhüterin by the author via the Kindle Direct Publishing Platform in Germany in 2016. Translated from German by Deborah Langton. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2018.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 978-1542048552

  ISBN-10: 1542048559

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  Contents

  Start Reading

  Part One The Jungle Kingdom of Five Mountains 1803 to 1818

  Chapter One Senkadagala (city of Kandy), Lanka (Ceylon), 1803

  Chapter Two Senkadagala, Lanka, 1815

  Chapter Three Kandy, Ceylon, 1815

  Chapter Four Uva Province, Territory of Kandy, 1815 to 1818

  Chapter Five Uva Province, Territory of Kandy, October 1818

  Part Two The Blood Sapphire Road 1822

  Chapter Six Colombo, April 1822

  Chapter Seven Mapitigama, July 1822

  Chapter Eight September 1822

  Chapter Nine September 1822

  Chapter Ten October 1822

  Chapter Eleven October 1822

  Chapter Twelve October 1822

  Chapter Thirteen October 1822

  Chapter Fourteen November 1822

  Chapter Fifteen November 1822

  Authors’ Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  About the Translator

  Anyone who torments others also striving for well-being will find no happiness in the next life.

  Anyone who protects others also striving for well-being will find happiness in the next life.

  —Dhammapada, third century BC

  Part One

  The Jungle Kingdom of Five Mountains

  1803 to 1818

  Chapter One

  Senkadagala (city of Kandy), Lanka (Ceylon), 1803

  “Samitha, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?” The maid set the stack of hand towels on a chest and hurried to the half-open door.

  With a defiant look, the child slipped into the room, but Kalani grabbed her arm.

  “No, Samitha,” she said.

  Samitha tried to wrestle her arm away. “Let me go! I want Mama!”

  She peered anxiously toward where her mother lay on a large bed. The dancing flames of oil lamps cast shadows across the woman’s pale face. Seeing her daughter, she tried to sit up but flinched and let out moans of pain as she sank back into the cushions.

  The maid released Samitha and ran to the bed. “Wait, I’ll help you, ma’am.” She supported her mistress with care while arranging cushions at her back.

  “Mama!” The little girl ran over and nestled up to her mother. “Are you sick?”

  Anshu forced a smile. “No, my darling. Your brother is ready to come into the world.”

  “Oh!” Samitha’s mouth fell open in amazement. Timidly, she looked at the curve of her mother’s huge belly.

  Anshu stroked her daughter’s hair. “You must get to bed now and sleep. If you’re good, you can come and see your brother early tomorrow morning. Kalani, take Samitha to her room.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” The maid picked up the little girl, dodging her flailing arms. But just as they reached the door, Anshu let out a cry of anguish.

  “I’m coming, ma’am!” Kalani hastily put Samitha down again, pushed her from the room, and bolted the door.

  Samitha stood stock-still in the empty hallway. She’d been so excited about her brother’s arrival, but seeing her mother like this frightened her. She knew she should go to bed but wanted to stay by her mother. She peered uncertainly down the dark hallway. All the doors were shut. Through the ornate window grilles, a gentle breeze carried the song of night birds and the loud chirping of cicadas. An elephant roared in the stables, making Samitha jump. She remembered her father saying at dinner that he was going to take another look at the pregnant elephant, Yakkhini. Jeeva Maha Nuvara was the Gajanayake Nilame, the most senior keeper of the sacred elephants belonging to King Vikrama Rajasinha. He took his responsibility very seriously indeed.

  Samitha looked again at the closed bedroom door. She could hear her mother wailing, Kalani murmuring something in return, and all of a sudden, she knew what to do. She would run to her father and tell him her brother was on his way. Her father would embrace her and be happy with her, and this would chase away all her fear.

  Like all the king’s high-ranking officials, Jeeva lived with his family on Astawanka-veediya, the elegant boulevard connecting the palace to the elephant stables. It was bordered by imposing houses, their walls whitewashed and their roofs tiled red. An avenue of luxuriant areca and coconut palms offered some protection from the tropical sun by day, but the heat lingered into the night. Sweet jasmine wafted from the gardens, and the silvery moon lit the little girl’s way as she raced down the empty street.

  She could hear distant music, voices, laughter, and the repeated trumpeting of elephants. Samitha knew tonight was a special night, the culmination of a lavish, ten-day festival in which the people of Kanda Uda Pas Rata celebrated the most sacred relic of their faith: the left eyetooth of Siddhartha Gautama, the enlightened Buddha. This holy relic was kept safe in a temple in Senkadagala.

  Still only five years old, Samitha was too young to join the celebrations. She had heard her parents recount tales of the magnificent nightly processions in honor of the Enlightened One, with dancers, singers, musicians, and richly bejeweled elephants. The night of the full moon marked the high point of the festival, when the biggest and most noble of the king’s bull elephants would bear the Sacred Tooth Casket through the city. The king himself took part in the procession, his golden coach pulled by eight white horses.

  Samitha had reached the stables. These consisted of three long buildings not far from Mahaweli Ganga, the longest river in the kingdom. Colorful carvings inlaid with gold leaf decorated the gables, and the royal standards at the entrance gates rippled in the breeze.

  Each stable had ten gated stalls topped with ten open skylights. Behind them ran a narrow alleyway used by the mahouts when they fed or mucked out their animals. The three buildings framed a large square where the elephants were trained for their military or processional tasks. King Vikrama Rajasinha owned thirty elephants: twenty bulls and ten cows. All belonged to the Chaddhantha caste, the highest of the ten elephant castes. They were huge, powerful creatures with skin so pale it was almost white, long trunks, and expressive amber eyes. The bull elephants nearly always boasted magnificent tusks. The biggest and most valuable bull was known as the mangalahasti, or state elephant.

  Samitha stood looking at the stables. The sweet smell of the animals pervaded the air, but she didn’t hear their usual snorting or noisy rooting in their feed. The gates to the empty stalls stood open, nearly all the elephants off taking part in the full-moon procession.

  Only one gate was closed. There was a sudden, shrill trumpeting sound, then agitated male voices. Samit
ha realized it was her father and Eranga, Jeeva’s top mahout. She hurried over and found them in the alley. Yakkhini’s mighty pale-gray head loomed above them. Her ears flapped noisily back and forth, her trunk whipped up and down, her frightened eyes bulged in their sockets. She trumpeted again and kicked against the walls of her stall. The mahout was holding an ankus, a wooden stave with a leaf-shaped metal point and an iron hook. He used it to tap the elephant gently on her hindquarters, talking to her in a low, soothing voice, “Ho, ho.”

  The men were giving all their attention to the troubled animal and did not notice Samitha, who was so alarmed that she’d hidden behind a huge pile of palm leaves intended for the elephants’ breakfast. Cautiously, she peeked out between the green fronds. The elephant held her tail high and stiff, her legs splayed. A sudden flood of bloody water spurted from an opening under her tail and hit the floor with an alarming splash. The elephant moaned and grunted and arched her back, her rear legs almost buckling with the strain. A small, white bubble appeared, growing larger and larger until it burst. At last, a baby elephant, wet and dark, tumbled to the ground. Blood and water gushed from the elephant’s womb, washing over the motionless little creature.

  The elephant tried to turn, but a strong tether held her in place. She trumpeted in rage, stamping her back feet dangerously near the baby.

  “Eranga, what’s wrong with the calf?” shouted Jeeva. “Why isn’t it moving?”

  Eranga threw aside his ankus, squatted down behind the cow, and in one movement heaved the calf into the alley. Jeeva snatched two rough towels from a hook and threw one to the mahout. Then he knelt down on the mud floor and started to rub down the calf. His white shirt and the white sarong tucked around his hips quickly soaked through with blood and mucus.

  The mahout was horrified. “This is no work for you, master!”

  “Now is not the time to worry about caste! The king expects a healthy calf from his favorite cow.”

  The two massaged strength into the little animal while Samitha, holding her breath, watched from her hiding place.

  “Master!” Eranga exclaimed, his face glowing with happiness. “Look!”

  A small trunk stretched upward like a signaling flag in the wind, and the calf tried to lift its head.

  Jeeva folded his hands across his chest in gratitude. Then he and the mahout got the little elephant to its feet.

  “Eranga, I thank you. Not only are you a courageous fighter, but you are also thoroughly deserving of your office as first mahout.”

  Fifteen months ago, Eranga had distinguished himself fighting against the British. In gratitude for helping to keep Kanda Uda Pas Rata the last remaining free kingdom on the island, the king had decreed that Eranga be promoted to first mahout.

  Jeeva and Eranga studied the elephant baby. Next to its enormous mother, it looked tiny. Its skin hung in folds. The trunk did not yet reach the ground, and between its ears some bristly black hair stood up straight. It moved its head from right to left and looked around with cautious, bright eyes.

  “It looks healthy,” said Jeeva, relief in his voice. “But that dark skin and bristly hair make me doubt its father belonged to the Chaddhantha caste.”

  “Only Yakkhini knows who the father is,” said Eranga with a smile. He himself had captured wild Yakkhini in the jungle not long before, without realizing she was pregnant. Now he bent and looked underneath the baby. “This is no bull. It’s a little cow.”

  Jeeva’s face fell. “Not a Chaddhantha and not a bull. The king will use her as a working elephant or give her to the Moorish traders, who’ll sell her on to the British. They will pay anything for them.”

  Yakkhini puffed loudly and turned to look at her child. Her expression was full of concern and her honey-brown eyes full of tenderness. Gently, she extended her trunk, and the calf attempted its first stumbling steps. If the mahout had not supported the clumsy creature, she would have toppled over.

  Samitha giggled in delight.

  Jeeva whipped around. “Samitha! How long have you been there?”

  “I saw the little elephant fall out of Yakkhini’s bottom.” The child scrambled through the palm leaves.

  Jeeva frowned. That his daughter could sneak to the stables in the middle of the night without anyone noticing displeased him greatly. “You should be in your bed.”

  “But I was frightened, Papa.” Samitha snuggled against his legs.

  Softening a little, he stroked her hair. “Why didn’t you go to Kalani if you were having a bad dream?”

  “It wasn’t a bad dream. And Kalani is with Mama because my brother’s arriving tonight. Mama told me so. If I’m good, I can see him in the morning. Please don’t tell Mama I’m here, or she’ll be angry and then Mihiri will get to see him first.” She snuggled even closer to him.

  Jeeva looked down at his daughter’s mop of dark hair in disbelief. “Your brother’s arriving tonight? Did Mama really say that?”

  He was torn between joy and alarm. After two daughters, five-year-old Samitha and three-year-old Mihiri, he was desperate for a boy. The court astrologer had predicted only a minimal chance of an heir, and yet Anshu felt sure she was expecting a boy. She referred to her “son” so often that Jeeva had come to believe it. But this was too soon—the baby wasn’t supposed to arrive quite yet.

  “Who is with her now?” he asked Samitha.

  “Kalani,” she replied.

  Jeeva pursed his lips. Kalani was a skilled healer, but Jeeva had wanted a doctor present at the birth, too. No risks were to be taken with his son.

  “Help the calf latch on to her mother, make sure she’s feeding, and give Yakkhini plenty of palm leaves. She needs to stay strong,” he instructed Eranga.

  Without waiting for the mahout to reply, he scooped up Samitha and hurried from the stables.

  “Ma’am, will you not look at your daughter?” Kalani cried. She held out the little bundle, all wrapped in white, but Anshu turned her head.

  “Take her away, Kalani.”

  The old servant was not to be put off so easily. She had been at her mistress’s side through childhood and marriage alike, and had attended the births of her other babies. She loved Anshu as she would her own flesh and blood. But she loved Anshu’s children, too, and the newest addition, so longed for and now, apparently, so unwanted, moved her deeply.

  Very gently, she held the freshly bathed, sweet-smelling baby against Anshu’s chest. “Just look how pretty she is,” Kalani cooed, her finger caressing the baby’s chin. “Feel how silky her hair is. Her skin smells like honey, her fingers are so tiny.” With the greatest of care, she placed the little girl on Anshu’s belly. “Ma’am, hold your daughter.”

  Whether Anshu wanted to or not, she had to hold the little bundle tight to stop it slipping from her belly. “What use is it to me that you’re pretty?” she whispered sadly.

  The baby seemed to give a little frown, looking back at her mother with big, dark eyes.

  “Since I conceived you, little one, I’ve prayed and offered up sacrifices every day, but still I have not been favored with a son.” Anshu let out a deep sigh. “There’s only one solution. I’ll have to conceive again as soon as I can.”

  Kalani shook her head. “It took nearly three years for you to conceive after Mihiri, and the pregnancy has been so hard. Don’t forget how you’ve had to lie down for months, ma’am, to be sure the baby stayed in place, and then, after all that, she has still come early. Perhaps it is your fate to have no more children.”

  “Then I shall disappoint my husband deeply.” Anshu groaned.

  As if she had understood, the baby’s little face crumpled, and she started to cry, loud and clear.

  Instinctively, Anshu bent toward her daughter and cradled the baby in her arms. “You can’t help it, my little one,” she murmured. “I’m the one who has failed. Your father will take a new wife, one who bears sons. Oh, why in this world are daughters not valued so greatly as sons?” She leaned over the baby and gently stroked he
r dark, shining curls, her golden-brown cheeks, and her sweet little nose.

  Kalani bent to pick up a bloody sheet that had fallen from the bed and threw it in the palm laundry basket. She knew well how much Jeeva yearned for a son. He had been overjoyed with Samitha because she was the firstborn. But with Mihiri, his enthusiasm was noticeably dampened. The maid wondered how he would react to the news that the third child was another girl.

  The front door slammed. Anshu and Kalani looked at one another in horror.

  “Ma’am, your husband is back from the stables,” whispered the maid.

  Footsteps hurried down the hall, then stopped right outside the bedroom. Someone tried the handle, but the door was still bolted from the inside.

  “Anshu?” came Jeeva’s voice. “Is everything all right? Kalani, open up! I want to see my son.” The door handle rattled.

  Anshu’s eyes widened. “Who could have told him?” she whispered.

  As if in reply, Samitha’s voice piped up. “Mama, let us in! We want to see my brother.”

  “Tell him I’m asleep,” Anshu begged her maid. “I can’t see him yet.”

  “Be brave and accept fate, ma’am—whatever it may be,” replied Kalani.

  But Anshu shook her head. “I can’t. Help me, please!”

  There was more rattling at the door. “Kalani, open up immediately!” thundered Jeeva.

  “Quick! Give me the child,” said the maid firmly.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Leave everything to me.”

  Kalani marched to the door, drew back the bolt, and Jeeva almost fell into the room.

  “Master,” said Kalani, holding the child out to him. “Please greet your newborn son.”

  The next morning Jeeva walked through the palace garden with a basket of ripe fruit and colorful flowers. Today was not a day for his usual plain garments. He had chosen the traditional dress of the court aristocrat, an embroidered jacket over his white shirt, loose white pants, and a broad, golden belt. His shoulder-length hair was oiled and adorned with an embroidered cap, his moustache carefully trimmed.