The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Read online

  The assembled company gasped to hear that Phera’s soul would have such a thorny path through life in this incarnation. While Mahinda went on to explain the significance of the twelve astrological houses, the interrelationship of the planets, and the influence of earlier incarnations, Anshu’s thoughts drifted back to the day of Phera’s birth. She regretted with all her heart that she had burdened her daughter so, and wished she had revealed Kalani’s lie. But it was now too late for remorse; her innocent child would have to bear the burden of what they had done.

  “Nothing happens by chance!” Mahinda’s voice tore Anshu from her thoughts. “Everything is embedded within the great cosmic order and is borne along with it just as waves are borne by the ocean.” He stepped before Phera. “There will be times when you will feel so lonely, as if you are alone in the world. But don’t despair. People will come, people who will recognize your true being and will know that you were born to break new ground.” He positioned his hands like a protective canopy above Phera’s little head. “May evil stay far from you and goodness draw near. May you always walk on the path of the eight virtues so that no pain can follow you, only love and kindness.”

  Late that evening, when all the guests had gone home, Jeeva went to his wife’s bedroom. Anshu was sitting up in bed, Phera at her breast. When Jeeva came in, the little girl broke off, turned her head, and gave her father a beautiful smile. He sat down on the bed with a deep sigh.

  “Are you angry with me?” asked Anshu in a soft voice, as she put the baby to her breast again.

  “Do you think I’ve forgiven your deception just because we’ve all enjoyed such a wonderful naming day?” He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the baby peacefully suckling. “What on earth were you thinking of?”

  She touched his hand, but he pulled it away. “I know I’ve done you a grave injustice,” she said slowly. “But I also know how much you longed for a son. I prayed for one out of love for you, and out of that same love, I remained silent about the truth. I’ve often been close to telling you, but in the end, I couldn’t find it in my heart to destroy your joy in our child.”

  “But now that joy has been destroyed,” he shot back. “You and Kalani have put me in an impossible position.”

  “Kalani’s not at fault in this,” Anshu retorted. “She knew how sad I was about not giving you a son.” She lifted Phera from her breast and dabbed the baby’s little mouth with the corner of a towel. “Just look at our child.” She placed the baby on Jeeva’s lap. “And then tell me whether your feelings for her have really changed.”

  Jeeva squinted at the baby, who, sleepy with milk, returned his gaze. “Everything has changed.”

  “She is your daughter,” Anshu said. “But who says she can’t manage with the tasks a son would? ‘Don’t be sad that you have a daughter, because she is going to be every bit as good as a son.’ That’s what the Buddha said to the king of Kosala as he walked with him in his garden.”

  “I can’t possibly go to the king and tell him my wife and her maid have made a fool of me!”

  “Were you not listening to the monk’s horoscope?” Anshu leaned close to Jeeva and looked into his eyes. “She has been born to break new ground. It is Phera’s destiny to take a path never before taken by any woman. Until a few hours ago, this child was a son for you. You treated her as a son and had no doubt in her strengths and capabilities. That need not change just because you now know she’s a girl.”

  Jeeva looked perplexed. “What are you trying to say? That Phera should—you mean, a man’s life?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s quite impossible.”

  Anshu reached for his hand again, and this time he did not pull away. “The heavens determined Phera’s destiny on the day of her creation. This means she is your heir and will take the place of the son you will never have.”

  “Phera? Take on my position as senior keeper? Out of the question!” Jeeva shook his head again. “Elephants are too big and strong to obey a woman.”

  “They’re too big and strong to obey a man, yet they do,” replied Anshu. “We will raise Phera as your son, and we will hand her to the mahouts for training—”

  “—so she’ll learn all the things a son would have learned,” Jeeva slowly finished the sentence for her. He thought hard for a few minutes and looked at his daughter, now sleeping peacefully in his arms. “After the lie we’ve told, this is the only way left open to us.” He leaned toward his wife, across the sleeping baby’s head. “We are guarding a dangerous secret, Anshu, a secret which Kalani, you, and I must keep forever. And we must instill this secrecy in Phera as soon as she is old enough to understand. Should the tiniest hint come to light, I would be executed, and you and the children would be banished from any caste.”

  Chapter Two

  Senkadagala, Lanka, 1815

  “Daha!” shouted Phera. “Walk on!”

  Siddhi hardly needed the command. She waded eagerly into the shallows of the Mahaweli Ganga, Phera on her back. The cow elephant was now almost twelve, and nearly as big as Yakkhini.

  “Well done, young man,” said Eranga approvingly. “Next time, give the spoken instruction at the same time that you squeeze your toes behind her ears. That way she’ll learn the language of your body, too. Now it’s time for you to praise her.”

  Phera opened his shoulder bag and took out a banana. Siddhi had already reached around with her trunk in anticipation of the tasty tidbit.

  “She knows she’s earned a reward.” Phera laughed. “Shall I wash her now, Eranga?”

  “Yes. Be sure to get all the grime out of her skinfolds. And remember to check her over for any injuries. Pay special attention to washing off any urine traces between her back legs.”

  Phera nodded seriously. Eranga had been his instructor since his fifth birthday.

  “You know that Eranga is my first mahout,” Jeeva had said. “Nobody in the kingdom knows these sacred animals like he does. Always listen to him very carefully and follow his instructions.”

  If Phera was to take over his father’s position as royal elephant keeper, he would not actually do the work of a mahout. But it was important for him to know everything the work entailed.

  “Can you remember the command for Siddhi to lie on her belly?” asked Eranga.

  Phera’s reply was drowned out by a babble of voices: “First in the water’s the winner!” Bare feet slapped against the ground as a group of six boys emerged from the bushes and ran into the water.

  “There’s Phera!” called one of them. “Phera, d’you want to swim with us?”

  He groaned inwardly and pretended he hadn’t heard. The invitation was not a real one, because the boys knew Phera never joined any rough-and-tumble.

  One of them was already goading him. “Scared of the water, Phera? Are you still a baby?”

  “Or are you too grand to come swimming with us?” called out another. In mocking imitation of a peacock, the boy strutted back and forth in front of his friends, earning howls of approval.

  Eranga shooed them away as he would a horde of monkeys. “Go away! Leave the young gentleman in peace!”

  Phera’s expression hardened. The boys had been mocking him for years. Like him, they were the children of palace officials and had all grown up in the same neighborhood. Once upon a time, they had climbed trees together, built camps of palm leaves, and played hide-and-seek amongst the palace’s many buildings. But that had stopped long ago.

  “Phera’s a coward, Phera’s a coward!”

  The chanting pained him deeply. But he fought bravely against the tears welling up. Crying in front of his tormentors was out of the question.

  “Leave him alone, all of you.”

  Phera was taken aback to hear Tharindu’s voice. Tharindu was fourteen, older than the others, and he never joined in the teasing.

  Still, the singsong continued. “Phera’s scared of water! Phera’s a coward!”

  High atop Siddhi’s back, Phera clenched his fists. Small and slight,
he knew only too well he would get the worst of any fight.

  All this time Siddhi had been standing quietly in the cool water. But now she turned to get the boys in her line of sight. She whipped her ears back and forth in warning, then began to charge.

  “Hold back your elephant, Phera!” shrieked the ringleader.

  “Who’s the coward now?” Phera yelled. He urged on Siddhi, plowing determinedly through the water.

  The boys splashed their way toward the bank. Phera saw the panic in their faces as they looked back and realized the elephant was gaining on them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Eranga running back and forth at the water’s edge, brandishing his ankus.

  That’ll do, thought Phera. They’ve learned their lesson.

  “Ho!” he called out. “Ho, Siddhi. Stop!”

  But the elephant took no notice and charged on, her trunk outstretched, ready to attack. Phera started to panic. Much as he despised his tormentors, he did not want to see them trampled. He knew it was not uncommon for an elephant, even a tame one, to attack a human. His father always had such creatures put down immediately. The thought was unbearable.

  “Stop, Siddhi!” he called out again. “Please!”

  But the creature took no notice. Phera had never felt so small and helpless.

  “Eranga!” he shouted fearfully. “Help me!”

  The mahout was already trying to block Siddhi’s path, but he was too far away. Within seconds Siddhi had reached the fugitives, rounded them up, and blocked their way to the bank. Phera clung to her back, paralyzed with fear.

  All of a sudden, Siddhi lifted her trunk high and sprayed a powerful jet of water at the boys, making them shriek with surprise. Then she turned around and marched contentedly back into the deeper water. Phera smiled at the sight of the boys’ dripping faces. He leaned forward to stroke Siddhi’s rough gray head.

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  He glanced over and saw the boys playing a safe distance away, acting as if he and the elephant were not even there.

  Phera ordered Siddhi to lie down on her belly. Then he took from his shoulder bag a piece of neatly cut coconut shell, dipped it in the water, and began to carefully scrub at the elephant’s hide, so thick and yet so sensitive. He kept an eye on the boys, now playing bare chested in the waist-high water. Glistening drops cascaded down their brown skin. As Tharindu plunged headfirst into the current, Phera’s eyes traced the well-defined muscles of his broad shoulders. He saw Tharindu’s firm buttocks and the sinews on the back of his thighs. Phera’s chest tightened. Then he experienced the strangest feeling, a tingling sensation between his legs, so overwhelming he had to press himself against Siddhi’s neck. But this only increased the tingling. It overtook him completely, wonderful but frightening.

  “Phera!” called Tharindu as he broke the surface again, energetically tossing back the wet hair from his face. “Come into the water with us. I’ll make sure the others don’t mess with you.”

  Phera blushed deeply. He said nothing in reply, just bent over Siddhi’s head in confusion and scrubbed at it with the coconut brush.

  After a few minutes, curiosity overcame him and he stole a look over his shoulder. Tharindu was horsing around with the other boys. He jumped high, then tried to knock his opponent off balance and push his head under the water. When the lower part of Tharindu’s body emerged from the water, Phera had to stifle a gasp. The older boy’s sarong, knotted at the hip, had slipped aside, and Phera found himself staring in amazement at Tharindu’s thighs and the fleshy pipe dangling between them.

  He remembered an incident six years earlier, when Tharindu and the other boys were still his playmates. One of them had suggested a competition to see who could pee the farthest. Tharindu had lifted his sarong, and Phera had seen between his legs the same fleshy thing, only smaller than now. It had shocked him then, too. He didn’t have anything like this on his body. His shock had turned to horror when the other boys had lifted their sarongs and he’d seen it between their legs, also.

  What’s that? six-year-old Phera had asked himself. And why don’t I have one?

  He’d bolted from the competition, running off to Kalani with his worrying discovery. “Don’t concern yourself, young master,” Kalani had said. “Yes, boys are born with this piece of flesh, but it dries up and drops off. In your case, that’s already happened.”

  Now Phera stole another glance at the boys romping in the shallows. Several of their sarongs had slipped, and it was clear that their fleshy pipes had not dropped off any more than Tharindu’s had.

  So Kalani had lied to him. But why? He remembered how his father and mother had talked to him very seriously after that early incident and explained it was not acceptable for the son of a high-level palace official ever to be seen naked or carelessly dressed. After that they would no longer let Phera leave the house without an adult. From then on Phera’s only playmates were his sisters, Samitha and Mihiri, boring girls who just wanted to play with dolls and who would cry if Phera pulled their hair.

  Phera plucked uncertainly at his sarong, lying smooth and empty where his thighs spread left and right on Siddhi’s neck. There could be only one explanation for Kalani’s untruth and his parents’ behavior: it was not the other boys who were deformed; it was him.

  He slid off the elephant in a flash. “Eranga, take care of Siddhi, please!” he cried and ran toward home, paying no attention to the dumbfounded mahout.

  “Kalani! Kalani!”

  The elderly maid, seated on a bench in the shade of the veranda, looked up in surprise from the basket she was weaving. Phera came racing around the corner of the house.

  “Young man! What’s happened?” She set her work down next to her on the bench.

  Phera stopped in front of her, panting. “Am I sick, Kalani?”

  “Sick?” repeated the maid. “Do you have a fever?” She lifted her hand and rested her worn fingers on Phera’s cheek, flushed from running.

  Phera shook the hand away in impatience. “I don’t mean sick with a fever. I mean sick from the accident I had when I was little.”

  “Accident?” Kalani shook her head. “There was no accident.”

  “Don’t lie to me again!” shouted Phera, close to tears. “I’m deformed. Here.” He tugged at his sarong, knotted below the hips. The lines on Kalani’s careworn face seemed to deepen. She reached out, but her little charge shrank from her.

  “You lied when you said it would drop off the other boys!” Phera screamed. “Why? Why didn’t you admit something happened to me? Or was I born like this?”

  “You’re not sick, my child.” Now tears were pouring down Kalani’s cheeks.

  “So what happened?”

  Kalani shook her head. “Let’s go to your mother. She will tell you everything.” With difficulty, she got to her feet.

  They found Anshu in the drawing room. She was sitting in a beautifully carved high-backed chair, and before her knelt the cook, as was seemly for someone of the lower castes. When Kalani and then Phera entered the room, the two women were in the middle of discussing the food for Samitha’s wedding party in four weeks’ time.

  “Ma’am,” said Kalani. “Phera would like to speak to you.”

  Anshu looked up. “Can’t it wait?” she asked, a little annoyed. But when she saw the distraught look on Phera’s face, she waved away her cook. “You can leave us now.”

  “Mama,” Phera began as soon as the cook had gone. “Kalani says I’m not sick. But I saw the other boys bathing and I know I’m different. My body’s not right.”

  The color drained from Anshu’s face. “Kalani, send one of the men to fetch my husband from the stables. Tell him it’s urgent.”

  The elderly maid hobbled away as fast as she could.

  “Sit, my child.” Anshu gestured at the sofa near her chair. Phera anxiously obeyed. He tried to catch his mother’s eye, but Anshu avoided his gaze. Her restless fingers toyed with a small silver bowl in her lap. She removed its lid, too
k out a piece of betel nut, placed it in her mouth, and chewed nervously. Then she offered Phera some. But the boy shook his head.

  “You are not sick, my child,” said Anshu gently. “You’re just as you should be. That’s all I can say until your father arrives.”

  This reply only upset Phera further. After all, he had actually seen that he was deformed. They couldn’t lie to him anymore. An agonizing silence hung in the air. Time itself seemed suspended. At last the front door opened, steps hastened along the hallway, and Jeeva threw open the drawing-room door.

  “What happened?” he panted.

  Anshu took a deep breath. “It is time,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice. “We must tell Phera the truth.”

  Jeeva’s face froze. He turned to his child and stared.

  Phera cleared his throat. “I saw the other boys when they were in the river. And now I know I’m deformed.” He swallowed hard. “Do I have a disease, Papa? Am I going to die?”

  Anshu stifled a sob.

  Jeeva went to Phera and crouched down in front of him. “You are not deformed and you’re not going to die, my child. But on the day of your birth, you were dealt a special destiny.” He placed his hands on the child’s knees in a protective gesture. “You were not born as our son, Phera. You were born as our third daughter. Yet you are not permitted to be our daughter.”

  Then he told the young boy—the girl—what had happened the night of the birth and in the months that followed. Phera listened without interrupting, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. When Jeeva finished speaking, there was another long silence.

  Eventually, Phera said quietly, “So I’m not a boy.” She looked down at her own lap and thought of what she had seen today. “All these years I’ve had to be a boy, when I’m not a boy at all.”

  “That is your destiny,” responded Jeeva. “Without you, I have no son, no heir to my office as senior elephant keeper. This office has been in our family for generations. The respect we are shown and our high rank at court all rest on this. There are jealous people who are after the position, but they won’t get it. I am the ninth Gajanayake Nilame from the house of Maha Nuvara. You shall be the tenth.”