The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Page 2

  He was glowing with joy, delighting in the sight of the sun as it rose from behind the woods surrounding Senkadagala, and smiling at the screeching of the gray monkeys that played above him amongst the boughs of cinnamon and fig trees.

  He had just paid a visit to Yakkhini and her calf and was pleased to find both in good health. Now, by invitation, he was on his way to an audience with the king. First, however, he wanted to go to the Sri Dalada Maligawa, the temple where the Buddha’s tooth was worshipped. This huge complex of white buildings was in the palace district and, like the king’s residence, was surrounded by high walls and a deep moat full of crocodiles.

  Jeeva walked over the bridge and through the gate to reverential greetings from the guards. At the main entrance to the temple, he removed his sandals and, barefoot, crossed the sandakada pahana, a circular slab of stone set into the floor. He paused briefly, looked at the sumptuous ornamentation symbolizing the eternal cycle of life and death, then took the stairs up to the temple, where the casket containing the Sacred Tooth was kept. Jeeva wanted to make an offering to thank the Enlightened One for giving him the gift of a son.

  He had been so happy last night when Kalani had shown him the baby. It had looked so small and fragile, but Kalani assured him the child was healthy. He had held his son for a long time, cradled him and kissed him. Kalani had snatched the baby back when Jeeva tried to do a more thorough examination. “Master, it is too soon,” she had said, swiftly pinning the cotton toweling back together. “The wound left by the umbilical cord mustn’t be exposed.”

  Jeeva opened the silver-studded door to the inner sanctum and entered a windowless, candlelit room. Warm air, mingled with the sweet perfume of sacrificial offerings—lotus and frangipani flowers, ripe mango and jackfruit—enveloped him. The inner chamber was lined with gold brocade. The casket was in its center. It was inlaid with gold leaf and encrusted with precious stones. Before it stood a number of small crystal figures of Buddha.

  Jeeva set down his basket of fruit and flowers close to the other offerings at the shrine, laid his palms across his chest, and remained like that for several moments, deep in thought.

  “I thank you, Enlightened One,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “I thank you for hearing my prayers.”

  Not long after, Jeeva was bent reverentially forward on the floor of the king’s audience chamber, his forehead touching the cool stone, listening to the creaking of the handles cranked by palace servants as they raised the red velvet curtain concealing the ruler on his throne.

  “We have been informed that this night you have received the gift of a son,” came the pleasantly rich voice of the monarch.

  Jeeva lifted his head and straightened up on his knees. “Yesterday my wife gave birth to a healthy boy, Your Majesty. I am a happy man.”

  Sri Vikrama Rajasinha, ruler of Kanda Uda Pas Rata, the jungle kingdom of five mountains, sat beneath a canopy of gold embroidered brocade and looked down at his chief elephant keeper. Lofty pillars of carved palm wood supported the high ceiling. From the walls hung silken rugs depicting scenes of court life. These rugs also covered the floor around the gallery. Behind the king’s throne, two mighty elephant tusks framed the flag of the Nayaka dynasty: the golden lion, heraldic beast of the Sinhalese people, on a red background.

  The young ruler was dressed in the most exquisite garments, decorated with gold thread and jewels. A golden sword adorned his girdle, golden sandals his feet. A servant stood behind him, holding over the monarch’s head the royal parasol of white silk. Another servant, who was crouching next to the throne, held out a banana leaf heaped with sweet, sticky rice balls. The monarch took one and devoured it with relish.

  Other important court figures kneeled around the gallery. Their supporters squatted behind them with standards bearing the symbols of their masters’ power and honor.

  Vikrama Rajasinha looked kindly at Jeeva. “Your son was born the same night as our elephant calf.”

  “That is so, Your Majesty. Permit me to say how happy I am that Yakkhini and her calf are in good health.”

  “I’m told that your son’s spirit came into the world early,” the king noted as he took another rice ball. “The spirit decided to become flesh at the same time as our elephant.”

  “You are right, Your Majesty.”

  “We have consulted our astrologer, and his interpretation has shown us the way.” The king placed the delicacy in his mouth and chewed reflectively.

  Jeeva nodded solemnly. The fate of all earthly life was inseparable from the course of the heavenly bodies. This was why it was imperative to speak to an expert on the stars before making any major decision. Taking heed of his interpretation would ensure good karma for future incarnations.

  Vikrama gestured with his right hand, heavy with rings. A young man with a shaven head, dressed in the orange robes of the Buddhist monks, stepped forward and handed him a talipot-palm leaf that had been dried and shaped into a square.

  The king thanked him and looked at the leaf, which was covered in small, round, interlinked characters. “As our astrologer, Mahinda Dharmapala, assured me,” he said, nodding toward the young monk, “the simultaneous birth of a sacred elephant and your son on the night of the Esala full moon is an extremely unusual event and one of great significance. The two new spirits are linked, and we are duty bound to respect this.” He paused and considered his senior elephant keeper with a gentle smile. “Jeeva Maha Nuvara, we have decided to reward you for your loyalty and exemplary care of our sacred animals and make you a gift of the little cow elephant. Please accept this in the name of your son.”

  “Most esteemed Majesty, I owe you my eternal gratitude.” Jeeva bowed low until his forehead brushed the floor. His heart was pounding with joy. First the son he had longed for had been born, and now the king was rewarding him in front of the whole court. With this gift, the ruler was certainly also making it clear to all that the important office of Gajanayake Nilame would remain in Jeeva’s family for the next generation.

  “Tell us when you have set the date for your son’s rice festival. Then we’ll instruct our astrologer to draw up the child’s horoscope.” With a wave of his hand, Sri Vikrama Rajasinha brought the audience to a close, and Jeeva left the chamber, bent in reverence, never once turning his back to the monarch.

  “My husband was beside himself with joy to hear he had a son. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

  Anshu looked out through the open window at the garden. But she seemed to notice neither the glorious blooms nor the birds singing on their boughs, for her face was solemn and pensive. With a sigh, she turned to the mixture of rice flour, palm sugar, and coconut milk Kalani had served her in bed. But she pushed the tray away, the bowl still half-full. “I should have stopped you from telling this lie, Kalani. It will bring us a lot of bad karma.”

  The baby, who had been sleeping alongside Anshu, awoke, gave a big yawn, and flailed her little arms in the air. Anshu smiled and tickled one of her tiny fists.

  “Ma’am, you should put her to the breast. She’s bound to be hungry. And you yourself need to eat more so you can nourish your baby.” With a disapproving shake of the head, Kalani carried Anshu’s tray to a table by the door. Then she went to a chest of drawers and took out some fresh toweling and a little bottle of oil. A contented smile lit up her old face when she turned and saw the baby nursing eagerly.

  “When you’ve fed the little one, I’ll change her and rub her tummy with sesame oil. It’s good for the digestion.”

  With her free hand, Anshu stroked the back of the baby’s head. “You’re not even one day old, and your mother has already burdened you with the most difficult of destinies,” she said softly.

  Kalani’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, ma’am, you’re not responsible for this. I am.”

  “I know you meant well,” replied Anshu. “I know your loyalty to me. But our secret cannot remain a secret forever.”

  “Have no fear of your husband, ma’am. He i
s a good man with a kind heart. And he loves his child.”

  “Because he believes it’s a boy.”

  The nanny gave a decisive shake of the head. “Trust me, ma’am. I’ve seen in his eyes the power of his love.”

  Six months later they reached the day the king’s astrologer had chosen for the baby’s rice festival. It was the fifth day of Duruthu, the month in which the Buddha had first set foot on Lanka Island, and today the child would be blessed beneath the sacred Bodhi tree and given her name and horoscope.

  Soon after sunrise, Kalani brought Anshu her breakfast, then went to the almirah and took out her mistress’s jewelry box and her most beautiful sari. Then she set the little silver tub on top of a chest, filled it with warm water, and fetched fresh towels and the white embroidered gown the child was to wear for the celebration.

  “Ma’am, are you wondering what name the venerable Mahinda Dharmapala has chosen for the little one?” asked Kalani while she arranged the sumptuous silk of Anshu’s sari over her mistress’s shoulder.

  “I hope for a name that augurs strength and happiness for my child.” Anshu wound her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and added a couple of orchids for decoration. Then she sat down at the dressing table and opened her jewelry box.

  “This little girl will need all the strength she can find. The burden we have placed upon her will grow heavier, not lighter, with the passing years.” She took from the box a pair of long gold earrings set with sapphires.

  “Don’t despair, ma’am; we don’t yet know what fate holds for your youngest daughter.” Kalani picked up the baby and set her in the bath. At six months, the little girl was a healthy, happy child, her first teeth coming through. When Kalani dipped the sponge and let the water trickle over the baby’s head and shoulders, the child laughed and reached out, trying to catch the drops.

  “Mama, Mama!” Samitha and Mihiri burst into the room, ran straight to their mother, and snuggled against her. They, too, were in their best clothes, their long hair combed out to perfection.

  “Papa said that Yakkhini and her baby will be here soon,” Samitha gushed.

  Jeeva came in after his daughters. Decked out in his court gown, he beamed at the sight of the happily splashing baby. “Today is a great day for you, my son. You and your elephant will be named today.”

  He stepped toward the baby, but before he could get there, Anshu blocked his way.

  “My husband, have you nothing more important to attend to than women and children? Why are you not seeing to our guests?”

  “I want first to wish my son all good things on his special day.” Placing his hands on Anshu’s hips and smiling, he moved her aside.

  Anshu looked to Kalani in horror. The maid had positioned herself in front of the tub in such a way that she could support the baby and still shield her from her father’s view. “Master, your son is bathing. Would you not rather come back when he is dressed?”

  “No, Kalani, I want to see him now.” Jeeva pushed the maid to one side and lifted the baby out of the water. “Good morning, my—” His voice faltered and he stared at the naked child. Then he turned to his wife with the baby held out like something dangerous or dirty. “Explain this to me, please.”

  Anshu opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  Mihiri piped up. “What are you doing, Papa?”

  “Go outside, girls. Leave the grown-ups alone,” Jeeva ordered.

  Mihiri’s lip trembled, but Samitha grabbed her by the hand and they scurried from the room.

  “Anshu, I am waiting.” Jeeva’s calm voice carried menace.

  “Master!” wailed Kalani. “It’s all my fault. I am the one deserving of your anger.”

  Jeeva’s icy gaze shifted from Anshu to the maid. “What is going on in my house? What are you women plotting?”

  “Nothing, I swear on my life!” Anshu cried.

  “Do you wish to see me disgraced at court? The penalty for deceiving the king is death. And what a monstrous deception this is.” He gently swung the baby, but it responded only with happy gurgling.

  Anshu dropped her head. “I never intended anything like this.”

  Just at that moment an elephant trumpeted loudly from the street, and there came a knock at the door.

  “Master,” a servant called, “Yakkhini and the calf are here. All the guests have arrived. The procession is ready to depart.”

  Jeeva looked at the baby still suspended in his grip. “I ought to call everything off,” he murmured.

  Kalani took a step toward Jeeva. “Master. Your wife can bear no more babies, so this must be your son. Nobody knows the truth apart from us, not even the girls.”

  Grim-faced, Jeeva looked back at her. He knew only too well how long it had taken for Anshu’s womb to be blessed again after the birth of Mihiri and how difficult this pregnancy had been. Even the doctor who had examined her could offer no hope of another.

  Further, he saw no way of resolving the problem without causing a scandal that would be the talk of the court for years to come, so he gave a brief nod. “Anshu and I will greet our guests. Get the child dressed. But after the celebration I want to know what drove you two to do this.”

  Jeeva’s neighbors ran along Astawanka-veediya as the procession passed by. Laughing and waving, they scattered flowers on the street and wished the family happiness and plenty.

  At the head of the procession was one of Jeeva’s supporters, bearing the Maha Nuvara family standard, a white elephant on a gold background. Then came drummers and people playing flutes and tambourines. Behind them walked Yakkhini and her calf. Both were decked out in magnificently colored blankets which covered their heads, ears, and trunks. Around Yakkhini’s legs were lightweight chains with bells that jangled loudly with every step. Eranga rode between her ears, guiding her gently with his feet and his voice. Just behind him was a howdah, firmly strapped to the elephant’s back. Here, beneath a canopy, sat Jeeva, Anshu, and the baby. Anshu held the child while Jeeva waved to all sides in a stately fashion. His face gave no indication that only moments before he had discovered that his son was really a daughter.

  The rear of the procession was made up of Kalani with Samitha, Mihiri, and relatives who had come to celebrate the new arrival. They held sunshades with one hand and, with the other, carried baskets of offerings for the Buddha. Jeeva’s grandfather, the oldest member of the family, proudly wrapped his gnarled hands around a small bowl of boiled rice, the most important of all offerings.

  Mahinda Dharmapala awaited the procession beneath a superb Bodhi tree in the temple area of the palace. The guests set their offerings on the ground around the tree and then lit small candles.

  At a signal from her mahout, Yakkhini knelt so that Jeeva and Anshu could climb down in comfort. Jeeva took the child and, with Anshu, stood before the monk. Mahinda opened the ceremony with a traditional chant, telling of the ancient sutras that augured happiness. Then he burned incense in a small bronze container. When the smoke began to rise, spreading its scent of cloves, cinnamon, and sandalwood, he went to Yakkhini and her calf and swung the burner in front of the baby elephant, saying, “You shall be called Siddhi, after the third wife of Ganesha, the elephant god. May you be happy all your life and blessed with many offspring.”

  Then he turned to the baby, who was watching him with her big, dark eyes, and said, “You shall be called Phera. May you be wise and astute, passionate, courageous, and persevering, just as your name augurs.”

  “A girl’s name?” Jeeva’s outburst disturbed the solemnity of the moment, and all the guests looked at him in alarm.

  Anshu quickly took his arm and put on her most conciliatory voice. “Phera is a good name, and it can be for boys as well as girls.” But she, too, had jumped in fear when the monk spoke.

  Mahinda’s gaze rested on the baby, then on Anshu, before moving to Jeeva. “The name came from the depths of my consciousness while I was meditating on your child,” he replied calmly. “You do not have to accept it.”<
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  Jeeva cleared his throat. “Forgive me, venerable hamudru, I have been disrespectful. The child will be called Phera.”

  Now Jeeva’s grandfather stepped forward with the bowl of rice. He pinched a few grains between his fingertips, carefully placed them in the baby’s mouth, and announced, “Phera is your name.”

  The monk bent to pick up a brass singing bowl and gently circled its rim with the accompanying rod. A high, even tone of pure beauty resounded over the assembled company before eventually fading to an echo. Anshu took a deep breath. She knew the interpretation of Phera’s birth sign would come next.

  Mahinda had already straightened up and taken a piece of palm leaf from inside his habit. This was where he had drawn out Phera’s horoscope: a big square subdivided into smaller squares symbolizing the twelve astrological houses. Within these were the twelve star signs and the nine grahas, consisting of the seven principal planets and the two moon nodes. How to interpret the celestial constellations had been revealed to wise men in times of light and truth, now long past. That knowledge helped through the joys and sorrows of life every soul incarnate on Earth.

  Mahinda held the leaf high so that all present could see and declaimed, “The soul of the child Phera has become incarnate in the sign of Kataka, Cancer, the sensitive one, which reflects the eternal alternation between birth and death, leaving and returning. But Kataka’s ascendant, Vrishika, the poisonous Scorpio, can prevent the soul from following its destiny. Vrishika’s influence means that Phera’s mind is as sharp as a newly whetted blade. But if it is not used wisely, it can turn dangerous and deadly, like an untamed elephant. The ruling planets in Phera’s horoscope are Chandra, the sentimental Moon, and Mangal, the aggressive Mars. They strengthen the opposites, Kataka and Vrishika.”

  The monk lowered the palm leaf and looked at Jeeva and Anshu. “Your child will feel as if there are two souls living in, and tearing at, its body,” he said. “If the child wants to realize the characteristics of Kataka and Chandra, then Vrishika and Mangal will immediately pull in the other direction. This child’s dharma, its goal in life, has to be to tame and unify the souls fighting within.”