The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Read online

  “No.” Henry shook his head. “What on earth do you need elephants for?”

  “Brownrigg wants me to do an inventory of the local transport system, if you can call a couple of rough tracks a system. And I’ll be doing some surveying. The elephants are supposed to carry our equipment. Maybe we’ll ride them—though I’d much rather hunt them. Then, the elephants I don’t need, I’m to sell. Did you know people will pay a fortune for one of those gray beasts?” He broke off. “Look, those are the elephant stables over there. Very fancy.”

  Henry was looking at the gleaming white buildings. “I did hear most of the old king’s elephants were to be sold. The first ten are setting off for Colombo soon.” Henry gave a sigh. “In fact, I’m meant to examine the elephants, see that they’re fit to travel.”

  “You’re to do what?” Charles stared at Henry. Then he burst out laughing. “My little brother, demoted from assistant to the regimental surgeon to an elephant doctor. If you’d gone to the Royal Military Academy like I did and become an engineer, you’d have spared yourself such nonsense.”

  “I wanted to be a doctor and help in that way,” retorted Henry. “And it doesn’t bother me in the slightest if I sometimes examine animals, too. As a matter of fact, I find elephants fascinating.”

  “You keep accepting stupid tasks, and you don’t even have a military rank. But that’s what idealists like you get. You’re eternally on the losing team.” Still grinning, Charles put his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Heavens above, what is going on over there?”

  The brothers watched as a Sinhalese boy hopped around in anger at the entrance to one of the stable buildings and shouted at the military guard refusing him access. They walked toward the doors.

  “Why’s he making such a fuss?” asked Charles.

  The soldier saluted. “I don’t know, sir. He has been raging around here for about half an hour. I can’t understand what he’s saying, and I have orders not to allow inside anyone I cannot identify.”

  The boy had listened to the soldier’s explanation. Now he gave vent to another torrent of words.

  “What does the rascal want?” Charles asked his brother.

  “He wants to get to his elephant,” Henry explained. “He says he has to bathe it.” He leaned down to the boy. “Are you a mahout?” he asked in Sinhalese.

  The boy stopped midsentence and stared at him.

  “Are you a mahout?” repeated Henry, adding, “I’m a doctor. I am to examine the elephants. And this”—he pointed at Charles—“is my brother.”

  The child gave each of them a long, hard look, then turned to Henry. “Tell your guard I want to go to my elephant. I come here every day because I need to care for Siddhi, and every day I explain to him yet again who I am and what I do. How slow and stupid are you English people?”

  Henry suppressed a smile. He translated, skipping the last bit, and said, “I think it’s all right to let him in.”

  The soldier moved aside. Before Phera slipped into the stable, she turned to Henry again. “And no, I’m not a mahout. My name is Phera, and I am the son of the Gajanayake Nilame, the highest royal elephant keeper.” Her head held high, she disappeared inside.

  “What did he say?” Charles wanted to know.

  “That he’s the son of the head elephant keeper,” answered Henry.

  “Just the man I need!” Charles exclaimed. “Tell him to fetch his father. On the double.”

  A little later, Jeeva, Henry, and Charles were standing together on the square where the elephants used to practice. Henry explained to Jeeva that Charles needed some elephants as working animals.

  “You want to use the king’s prize elephants as beasts of burden, heaving boulders and tree trunks?” Jeeva stared at them in horror. “These animals belong to the Chaddhantha caste. They are not intended for the menial work you want to burden them with. And you have absolutely no right to sell them!” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “What’s he saying?” Charles, impatient now, poked his brother in the ribs.

  “It would appear that the elephants belong to a caste that forbids them from bearing loads. I had no idea there was a caste system for elephants.”

  “What utter rubbish!” snorted Charles. “Does this madman really think that a couple of dozen elephants can be allowed to eat and excrete ad libitum at the cost of the British exchequer? Tell him any disobedience will be deemed refusal to obey orders and the governor will put him up against the wall.”

  Five days after this encounter, Jeeva was sitting in his drawing room with Eranga. “Early tomorrow, ten elephants are to set off for Colombo. They’ll be loaded onto ships and taken to foreign lands. Yakkhini was selected—the mangalahasti, too. The British captain ordered me to ensure that the mahouts are ready at daybreak. He has also downgraded a number of elephants to working status, including Siddhi. The rest will be sold off later.”

  “The king’s state elephant? Taken out of the country?” Eranga was aghast. “And Yakkhini, too?” He shook his head in sorrow. “How has your son taken the news about Siddhi?”

  “He doesn’t know yet.” It pained Jeeva to think how this would affect Phera. “We must put our plan into action tonight.”

  “The mahouts are ready, sir,” Eranga replied solemnly. “I’ll convey your orders straightaway. When it’s all over, they’ll flee to their home villages. They’ll be safe there—the British can’t get through the jungle.” He stood up and left the room.

  Jeeva got to his feet, too. He found Anshu in the garden, beneath the old mango tree. She was seated on a cushion, feeding chopped nuts to two small, gray long-tailed monkeys. Jeeva sat down next to her.

  In hushed tones she said, “I saw Eranga on his way out. Is this really it?”

  He nodded. He had taken Anshu into his confidence from the start. “Upali will take you to his father’s country house this afternoon. I’ve let people think you’re paying Psindu a visit on matters of health. I’ll follow you as soon as everything’s done here.”

  Anshu put her dish to one side, and the monkeys scrabbled greedily for it. “Our things are packed. Samitha, Mihiri, Phera, and Kalani know they have to be prepared. But Phera is so worried about Siddhi.”

  “There’s no need for that. I’ll take Siddhi to our hiding place.”

  Anshu looked around the garden, at the luscious blooms on the trees and bushes, and she breathed in the sweet, familiar scents. “Will we ever come back here, Jeeva?”

  He reached for her hand. “I don’t know. It hurts me, too, to have to leave our home. But I will not serve our new ruler.”

  “Everything has changed overnight. Once we thought we knew what the future held for us. And now it’s all so uncertain.” She slipped her hand in his. “Perhaps there is one good thing in all this change. Jeeva, Phera no longer needs to carry on being a boy. Do you remember how she asked us if she could live as a girl? We shouldn’t deny her anymore.”

  Jeeva looked doubtful. “I deceived the king. Where will I be if people find out?”

  “That was a long time ago,” replied Anshu. “Things have changed. Phera need no longer be bound to this fate.”

  The soldier on night duty at the elephant stable sniffed the air. No, he was not mistaken; his nose had picked up the smell of smoke on the breeze. Then he saw the blaze, flames leaping from palace windows in the dark night. Just as he opened his mouth to raise the alarm, a hand came from nowhere, stifling his shout. He felt a searing pain in his back and collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

  “Well done.” Jeeva stepped out from behind a cinnamon tree and took a look at the dead Englishman.

  Eranga knelt next to the corpse, wiping a bloody blade on the man’s uniform. “I may not be so young anymore, sir, but I haven’t forgotten how to kill an Englishman.” He sheathed his dagger and stood up.

  “Load him onto Yakkhini. In the jungle, we’ll throw him to the leopards.”

  The first mahout nodded. Then he heaved the dead man over his shoulde
r and carried him into the cow elephants’ stable.

  Jeeva kicked at the sand with his sandals to try to conceal the blood. Then he raised his hands to his mouth and imitated the call of an owl. The mahouts slipped silently from behind the trees and into the stables. All were dressed in black, like Jeeva and Eranga, so they blended into the shadows. Jeeva was still standing alone on the square, looking at the palace. Fire flickered behind the widely spaced windows. The soldiers’ shouts of alarm carried on the wind, and ghostly figures ran frantically back and forth before the palace walls.

  The fire had been Eranga’s idea. It had been started by servants who, although working for the British now, were still loyal to Vikrama Rajasinha. Jeeva was saddened by the thought of the palace being damaged, but the plan had met its objective: distract the British.

  He turned and hurried to the stable where the mangalahasti would be. As he reached the stall of the huge lead bull, he tightened his grip on his ankus. The mangalahasti was the king’s personal elephant, and Jeeva was not sure if he would tolerate anyone other than his master on his back. But to his surprise, the animal greeted him with a deep rumbling and moved his powerful body to the side.

  “Your master has gone and won’t be back,” he explained softly to the bull, while unbolting the door and pushing it open. “This is why we’re giving you and your companions your freedom.” He knelt down and cut through the rope that bound the elephant to a post. The mangalahasti gently blew warm breath against Jeeva’s neck. As Jeeva turned to him, he saw the animal had raised his front leg, as if inviting him to climb aboard.

  The mahouts had opened the other gates, untied their animals, and mounted. Now they looked at Jeeva expectantly. A little squeeze behind the elephant’s ears from Jeeva’s toes, and the mangalahasti led the way through the open gate. Already waiting in the training square were the elephants from the two other stables, together with their mahouts. None of the animals seemed nervous.

  Jeeva looked at them all. He knew these men trusted him completely, and that’s what made the responsibility weigh so heavy on his shoulders. If anything went wrong, it was not only the lives of his own wife and children that would be affected but those of his brave men, too. He calmed himself and again used his toes to urge on his elephant. Soon afterward the training square stood empty, deserted.

  The elephants headed east, moving almost silently on their cushioned feet through the night. They could keep up an astonishing pace for their heavy build. Not a soul was about, with every available soldier busy containing the fire at the palace.

  After a few minutes, they had reached the edge of the jungle, which stood like an impenetrable black wall between them and the Mahaweli Ganga. Jeeva felt his burden ease and a sense of liberation take its place. He turned to Eranga, riding behind him with Siddhi on a lead rope, and raised a fist in triumph.

  The group took the narrow path through the jungle that led to the elephants’ bathing place. Luckily, the moon was almost full, and its silvery glow cast enough light. It was not long before they saw the river glistening ahead. The mangalahasti scented the water. He raised his trunk hopefully and was happy to be directed onward. The other elephants followed without hesitation. Eranga pushed the dead soldier off Yakkhini’s back before riding right into the water. There was a dull splash.

  The group had left a clear trail behind them to the riverbank. But now the water could wash away any further traces. From here on they were almost invisible to the British. The hardest part was behind them.

  Psindu Amarasekere’s country house lay a day’s fast march southeast of Kandy, hidden in dense jungle on the Badulu Oya in Uva Province. A village of fifty families nestled at the edge of the clearing, surrounded by virgin forest. While the country house was made of wood and had a tiled roof, the farmers’ huts had clay walls and roofs of palm straw. To protect the country house from the Badulu Oya, which sometimes rose in the monsoon season, it stood on posts. The front door was reached by steps leading to a veranda that wrapped around the whole house. Living areas and bedrooms were in the front of the house, while the larders and kitchen were to be found at the side.

  The farmers’ huts were small. Here people lived and slept in the same room. They cooked outside, sheltered by the overhanging roof. A few hens scratched freely here and there, and sometimes there was a cow, too. Each family had its own vegetable garden. Rice was grown in communal fields around the village.

  But Anshu, Samitha, Mihiri, Phera, Kalani, and Upali didn’t reach their hiding place until the fourth day of travel, shortly before sunset. The journey had been tougher than expected, and everyone was exhausted from being on the move from dawn until dusk. Only Kalani, on grounds of age, had been allowed to ride on the oxcart. They had spent the nights in the open, clustered around a small campfire intended to scare off leopards and bears. When they at last reached Upali’s father’s large home, Psindu was already standing there, waiting to welcome them. They were relieved to have palm-straw mats again, after sleeping on the bare earth. Before falling asleep, Phera thought of Siddhi. She hoped that her father, all the elephants, and their mahouts were safe, and that they’d arrive soon.

  When the sun rose, she got up and walked to the riverbank. After making sure there were no crocodiles close by, she squatted on the bank, beneath the canopy of a fig tree, in a flat spot between its huge roots, and stared for hours at the ford she had waded across the previous day. Overhead, monkeys shrieked and green parrots squawked. The sun had climbed high before she heard the sound she had been longing for—an elephant trumpeting. There was a cracking in the undergrowth, immediately followed by the sight of Siddhi’s distinctive shape on the other bank. She had scented Phera a while ago and was trotting happily into the water, her trunk held high and her ears forward. On her back was Jeeva. His weary face lit up at the sight of Phera. At last he knew that his family had reached safety.

  Phera jumped to her feet and ran into the shallows to welcome her father and her friend. Siddhi had already reached her and wound her trunk around Phera. With joy, she lifted the little girl into the air. Jeeva slid down, and father and daughter threw their arms around one another.

  “The elephants and their mahouts have successfully fled,” he said. “We set the elephants free near the fort at Hanguranketha. They disappeared into the jungle straightaway. Only Siddhi refused to go, as if she knew I’d bring her to you.”

  Tears filled Phera’s eyes. “And the mahouts, did they all go? Even Eranga?”

  “Eranga didn’t flee to his home village but has gone back to Senkadagala. He wants to scout things out, see how the British behave after losing the elephants. He’ll come here in a few days to give me a report.” He took Phera’s hand and smiled awkwardly. “There’s something else I want to say to you, my child. Before we fled, your mother made a request, and I have come to see that she is right.” He paused for a moment. “I know we’ve placed a burden on your shoulders, Phera, and you have borne it courageously. But now things have changed. You will no longer become the next Gajanayake Nilame of Kanda Uda Pas Rata because this office no longer exists. So, my daughter, if you wish, you may put your earlier life behind you and be the girl you were born to be.”

  Chapter Four

  Uva Province, Territory of Kandy, 1815 to 1818

  Immediately after his arrival, Jeeva called together his family; his son-in-law, Upali; Upali’s father, Psindu; and the faithful Kalani. His youngest child stood next to him, straight backed and proud, as he revealed to the little gathering that Phera was not a boy but a girl.

  While Jeeva explained, concisely and without emotion, why Phera had been raised as a boy for the first twelve years of her life, Anshu and Kalani broke down in tears, grateful to be relieved of their secret. Samitha and Upali stared at Phera, both speechless. Mihiri sniggered but lowered her head in shame when Jeeva threw her a warning glance.

  Psindu rose from his armchair. “I’d have done exactly the same, Jeeva Maha Nuvara. You needed an heir and had none. What el
se could you have done?”

  “You’re right, my dear father-in-law!” Samitha got to her feet, too, went over to Phera, and embraced her.

  And Upali put his arms round her, also. “Now I’ve got another lovely sister-in-law.”

  Last of all came Mihiri. She stood in front of Phera and looked her up and down, her head to one side. “If you want, I’ll teach you how to look like a girl.” Smiling broadly, she took her younger sister into her arms.

  At first Phera saw her girl’s life as a wonderful game. It was fun to have her sisters show her the right way to put on a sari or weave flowers into her hair. Best of all she loved not being made to cinch down her chest. However, when Kalani and Anshu explained that as a girl she should not race around, shout, or climb trees, but must always be sweet, charming, and compliant, she felt as constricted as she had in her enforced life as a boy. Being a girl is too complicated, she thought. Just putting on a sari took so much longer than pulling a shirt over her head and tying a sarong. A girl’s life began to seem so monotonous and subject to so many rules.

  Thank goodness she still had Siddhi. She was utterly devoted to her elephant and spent as much time as possible caring for her, feeding her, and bathing her in the river. When her mother implied it was not seemly for a girl to work with an elephant, Phera would lose her temper. Siddhi was her best friend, the living creature she trusted most. She would never allow anyone to dictate her relationship with her elephant.

  Phera resolved not to accept all the ridiculous regulations that limited women’s lives. She would decide for herself what would happen, or be allowed to happen, to her.

  And that included wearing a sari only when she felt like it. She went in search of the village tailor and asked him to cut down one of her saris into wide pants tapered at the ankle, just like Sinhalese noblemen wore. They gave her wonderful freedom of movement, but Anshu was shocked.

  “She looks indecent dressed in those things! You must forbid her from wearing them.”