The Elephant Keeper's Daughter Page 7

  But Jeeva let his daughter prevail. “We have already burdened her with so much in her young life. Let’s allow her to move through this huge change as she must. You’ll see, she’ll be copying her sisters in no time.”

  When Eranga arrived a few weeks later, Phera herself told him the truth and asked if he would continue to instruct her.

  “I know that girls cannot become mahouts,” she said. “But Siddhi’s my friend. She wouldn’t understand if I stopped working with her all of a sudden.”

  “You’re right,” replied Eranga after some reflection. “I shall continue to instruct you and your elephant.”

  Phera beamed at him. “Thank you, oh, thank you!”

  He gave a little bow of the head. Then he disappeared into the house to deliver his report to Jeeva.

  “The British are sure it’s you that planned the disappearance of the elephants, master, because you are the Gajanayake Nilame. And that Upali assisted because he is your son-in-law. They also hold you responsible for the disappearance of the soldier who was on watch the night we fled.” Eranga gave Jeeva a long, hard look. “They have already tried you in their court for his murder. They have sentenced you to death and have confiscated your property, your villages, your rice fields, and your house in Senkadagala.” Eranga swallowed hard. “Sir, I bear the guilt for your misfortune. This is why I shall now return and give myself up. You shall not pay the price for my deed.”

  Jeeva raised his hand in protest. “You will not, under any circumstances, give yourself up. You must bring me reports from town.”

  Eranga bowed. “So be it, sir.”

  “Do the British suspect I’m here?”

  “They do not have the slightest idea. Nor do they know where the other mahouts and the elephants have vanished to,” replied Eranga with a smile.

  Jeeva gave a hearty laugh. “They know neither the tracks through the jungle nor the fords and bridges to get across our rivers. These Britons are half-wits.”

  And yet as the months passed, Jeeva changed. It pained him to have lost office, status, and property overnight and become dependent on the goodwill of Psindu. He became taciturn, his face drawn and partially covered with a thick black beard that lent him a stern appearance. Only when Eranga brought him news from town did he seem enlivened.

  The mahout told how discontent had become widespread amongst the local population. It infuriated the nobility that even the lowest British soldiers failed to show due respect to their caste. The people did not wish to serve some distant English king. They wanted a Sinhalese king right there with them, a Buddhist, a sacred figure to revere. In their temples, they began openly to pray for a new king and the expulsion of the British.

  Jeeva had been living with his family in Psindu’s house for two years when the people’s prayers were answered. In Badulla, the largest village in Uva, a monk named Wilbawe, claiming to be a descendant of the deposed ruling dynasty, declared himself the new king of Kanda Uda Pas Rata.

  When the news reached Jeeva, Upali, and Psindu, they seized their sabers and journeyed to Badulla to pay homage to the new ruler. On their return they reported that Mahinda, former astrologer to Vikrama Rajasinha, had seized the Sacred Tooth of the Buddha from the temple in Senkadagala and brought it to Badulla, whereupon King Wilbawe called on the whole country to rebel against the hated British. The fire of rebellion burned in everyone, from the highest noble to those with no caste, for they all knew that only he who has the Sacred Tooth in his safekeeping could be the rightful king of Kanda Uda Pas Rata.

  From then on, Jeeva, Upali, and Psindu disappeared for days at a time, meeting up with other rebels. Eranga always stayed behind to protect the women, while his master, together with Upali, Psindu, and the young men from the village, went to war against the British.

  Faced with a heavily armed enemy, they relied on ambush, not open battle. Skillfully, they blocked pathways with fallen trees or set traps in pits disguised with thorny undergrowth and filled with sharpened wooden posts. The unfortunate British would fall in only to be subjected to a volley of flaming arrows or rifle bullets fired off from mounted jingals. Before the British could see what was happening, they were dead and their attackers long gone into the jungle.

  After almost a year of bitter fighting for freedom throughout Kandy, domination was slipping away from the British, and the Sinhalese sensed the final victory ahead.

  “Ow!” complained Phera. The knife slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. She struggled for air, trying unsuccessfully to free herself from Eranga’s grip.

  “If this had been a real fight, you’d be dead, young mistress.” Eranga released her, bent to pick up her weapon, and handed it to her. “Again.”

  Concentrating hard, she planted herself in front of him once more and acted as if she had not seen the looks the boys were giving her, both admiring and appalled. She was now fifteen and the only girl in the group that was learning how to fight and shoot a bow and arrow. Psindu had asked that Eranga train the local farmers’ sons as resistance fighters. When Phera heard about this, she had pestered her father until he agreed she could join them.

  Anshu had covered her face in horror, but Jeeva took a very positive view. “It’s good for her to learn this,” he had said. “Maybe one day it’ll be useful to her.”

  The farmers’ boys had never before seen a woman fighting, let alone trained alongside one. And because Phera belonged to a higher caste, they did not dare speak to her. Eranga was the only one to treat her normally. He neither coddled her nor gave her any advantage, simply insisted she do her best. For him, it was irrelevant whether she was a boy or a girl. If his master wanted him to teach Phera how to handle weapons, then that is what he would do.

  Eranga struck the pose of an attacker and jumped at Phera, his knife drawn. Quick as a flash, she turned, grabbed his knife arm, and used all her strength to twist it behind him. Eranga fell to his knees and dropped the knife.

  “Well done, young mistress,” he grunted, rubbing his elbow.

  Phera whooped and danced about in triumph and looked over to the veranda where Anshu, Samitha, and Mihiri sat idly in high-backed chairs and chewed betel nut. Kalani was on a low stool, crouched over her embroidery. Hearing Phera’s victory cries, she looked up and smiled with pride.

  But her sisters made sour faces.

  “I’ve tried so hard with her, but she’ll never be a proper woman,” Mihiri said with a shake of her head. “I doubt whether any man will ever want her.”

  “I fear you’re right,” sighed Samitha. “Only yesterday I asked her when on earth she’s going to start behaving like she should.”

  “And what did she say?” Mihiri asked.

  “Absolutely nothing. She just walked off.”

  Kalani put her work down in her lap and looked at the two sisters. “My young mistress Phera hasn’t found herself yet. She’s searching but hasn’t found herself.”

  A little later Eranga brought the combat practice to a close, and the young men returned to their homes.

  “Please, will you help me harness Siddhi?” Phera asked the mahout. “A tree’s come down in the rice field by the river. Siddhi can drag it away much quicker than the oxen.”

  Eranga and Phera had made a harness for the cow elephant using leather straps and rope and had taught her to pull heavy loads. But Siddhi did not simply haul fallen trees; she pulled the plow, too. She carried out jobs she would never have done in her earlier life in the royal stables. She was keen to learn and seemed to enjoy every new task.

  Phera found the elephant behind the house. Since coming here, Siddhi no longer had a stable, nor did Phera want to tether her. At first Eranga had been scared she would run off and join a group of wild elephants. But Siddhi seemed determined to stay close to Phera and never went far from her new home.

  Eranga and Phera were in the process of harnessing the elephant when suddenly Upali, Psindu, and Jeeva stepped into the small clearing.

  Phera shouted with joy. Her fathe
r had been away for nearly two weeks. But instead of running to meet him, she stood still, as if rooted to the spot.

  A fourth man had stepped into the clearing. He was tall, imposing, and wore the traditional clothing of a Sinhalese noble. Under Vikrama Rajasinha, Rajapaksa Keppetipola had been a powerful dissava and overseer of the Temple of the Sacred Tooth. In spite of his high rank, he had gone over to the British in 1815. Jeeva had often said that Keppetipola was a disgrace. Now Phera could not imagine why her father would have shown him where the family was hiding. There was disquiet on the veranda, too. Anshu, Samitha, and Mihiri rose from their seats, their hostility toward Keppetipola clear.

  Eranga positioned himself next to Phera. “What’s this traitor doing here?” His fingers closed around the handle of his knife.

  Jeeva’s steady gaze moved from one family member to another, coming to rest on Eranga. “Keppetipola Dissava is with us now.”

  “He’s not to be trusted, sir! He’ll betray us to the British!”

  But Jeeva held up a pacifying hand. “Keppetipola has come over to our side and brought five hundred men with him. He’s fighting for the rebellion now.”

  “It could be a trap,” snarled Eranga, his hand still on his knife.

  “Your mistrust shows that you are a clever man.” Keppetipola gave Eranga a long look full of respect. “Our kingdom has been in darkness for a long time. But now, with Wilbawe, a new king has appeared, someone to give us the light of hope. I’ll be a loyal servant to this king until I die.”

  Eranga frowned and looked at his master.

  “Come into the house with us. We want to discuss the next steps against the British.”

  Eranga bowed and turned to Phera. “Can you finish harnessing Siddhi on your own?”

  She nodded. “We’ll get that tree out of the rice field.”

  She was about to check the strap across Siddhi’s chest when she saw two more men entering the clearing. Deepal Sirisena and his son, Tharindu. The three stared at one another. Phera held her head high and gave them a challenging look. Deepal looked baffled, while Tharindu seemed thunderstruck.

  Jeeva cleared his throat. “Deepal and Tharindu are with us, too. They bring from Senkadagala important news about the British.” He turned to them. “Deepal, Tharindu, you already know Phera, my daughter.”

  Without further explanation, he turned and went into the house. Upali, Psindu, Keppetipola, and Deepal followed him. Deepal gave Phera a cursory nod before he vanished from view.

  Only Tharindu stayed. His eyes roved over Phera’s face and figure, lingering on her braided hair and the breasts clearly outlined beneath her blouse.

  Phera tossed her head to flick the braid back over her shoulder and stuck out her chest. “Tharindu Sirisena, what an honor. You probably don’t recognize me now.” Her voice was cold and mocking to hide her uncertainty.

  Tharindu was now seventeen, a young man. He was even more handsome than she remembered, and her heart raced at the sight of him.

  “No, well, yes—” he stammered. “Of course I recognize you.” He blushed and looked away in embarrassment.

  Secretly, she had hoped it would please him to see her as a girl. It was disappointing to learn he did not find her appearance in any way appealing, so she took refuge in malice instead. “Let’s hope you have more of a clue when it comes to fighting the British!”

  Before he could reply, she instructed Siddhi to raise her front leg so she could climb up. Moments later she and her elephant had vanished into the jungle.

  Tharindu stared after them, still not believing his eyes.

  “Not even Samitha and I knew until we got here. Isn’t it weird?” He hadn’t noticed Mihiri was now standing beside him.

  He shook his head, still looking troubled. “Now I understand why he, er, I mean, she never wanted to play with us boys,” he said, more to himself than to Mihiri.

  “You understand her? Then you’re ahead of the rest of us.”

  When Phera awoke the following morning, heavy rain was drumming on the roof of the house. The monsoons had set in after the summer full moon two months ago. Bowls stood on the floor to catch the water that forced its way through the roof. Even the Badulu Oya, usually a narrow river, had swollen to a roaring, elemental force, dragging with it sludge, dead animals, and entire trees. Fortunately, the village and the country house were a sensible height above the bank, out of the water’s reach.

  Phera gave a big yawn and looked across to where Mihiri always slept, curled up under her rug and blissfully unaware of the noise. Phera fished around on the floor next to her palm-straw mat for her pants and shirt. Like every other morning, she was eager to check on Siddhi. She slipped into her clothes and rapidly braided her hair while looking out onto the clearing. Siddhi loved the powerful monsoon rains and often stood out in the open to enjoy the downpour. Today, however, the elephant wasn’t out there.

  Phera ran barefoot onto the veranda. On the way she grabbed a couple of bananas for Siddhi from one of the dining-room baskets. She paused briefly outside the closed door of the room where Tharindu was sleeping. Yesterday’s meeting with him had been so strange. He had reacted to her with wariness and unease, as if to some mythical creature. It still pained her to think of it.

  But I can’t change it, she thought, with a touch of stubborn pride. I can’t make him like me.

  Outside, the sound of raindrops pelting on clay earth was deafening. But the sheets of rain didn’t bother Phera. The warm water felt as if it could cleanse her body from top to toe. It pooled all around the veranda. The green of the jungle gave off an even more luscious glow than usual. Raindrops bounced off the leaves, fell like shining pearls to the ground, then rose again to the heavens in a gentle mist, the breath of Mother Earth.

  Phera hurried across the clearing to the jungle’s edge. She was looking for Siddhi but found her mother instead. Anshu was seated on a round rock beneath a huge Persian ironwood tree. Her sari was drenched. Her dark hair hung long and loose, glistening with rain. The rays of the rising sun shone through the tree’s branches and down onto Anshu as she sat there, motionless. Her eyes were closed, her face calm and concentrated. Before her was a small gold figure of Buddha that she had brought from Senkadagala and a dish of fresh orchid flowers.

  Sensing her daughter’s presence, Anshu opened her eyes. “I’m praying for our men,” she said, trying to make herself heard above the rain. “They’ve all left now.”

  “All of them?” asked Phera in surprise.

  Anshu nodded. “They set off overnight. The men from our own family, together with Eranga, Keppetipola, Deepal, Tharindu, and the men from the village. Only old folk are left. Eranga took Siddhi.”

  “Just took her, without asking me?”

  “That’s how your father wanted it. She’ll help our men with the next strike on the British. Deepal has reported that a British company from Senkadagala is marching on Badulla to capture our new king, Wilbawe. Our men set off to stop that happening.”

  Phera didn’t know what to think. She was proud that Siddhi was fighting against the hated British, but at the same time she was deeply concerned that something could befall her friend. “I hope Eranga is taking good care of her.”

  “The British have to pass through the Uva Ravine. Our men plan to block their way out with logs and boulders. Siddhi will help them drag everything into position. When the British enter the ravine, our men will attack them from above.”

  Phera knew the narrow ravine with its steep and rocky sides. “They’ll destroy the enemy. I know they will!” She sat down excitedly under the tree next to her mother. “I’m going to pray that Siddhi and all our men come back safely.”

  One week later Phera was sitting in a comfortable chair on the veranda, idly watching a few stray hens from the village as they hunted for worms in the puddles. Rain had fallen all morning, but now the sun had broken through and a heavy, humid heat had descended over the jungle.

  After their midday meal, the other w
omen had all gone to rest. Phera was pleasantly sleepy and full. Her fingers toyed languidly with the silk of her sari. With Eranga and Siddhi gone, she had nothing to occupy her. Fight training was no fun without an opponent. Out of sheer boredom, she had taken to putting on a sari every morning and using kohl on her eyes. She even let Kalani rub sweet-smelling oils into her hair and adorn her wrists and ankles with bangles. Anshu was delighted that at last her daughter wanted to be a real girl. She didn’t realize that Phera had no intention of giving up her comfortable pants, her combat practice, or her work with Siddhi.

  At a sudden trumpeting from the jungle, Phera leapt to her feet. Siddhi! She hitched up her sari and ran down the steps. The chickens scattered noisily as she raced past them in her bare feet, and a huge, gray shape materialized in the dense foliage. Eranga was close behind.

  “Siddhi!” Phera ran, stumbling, through the thick undergrowth. “Siddhi!”

  The elephant responded with loud trumpeting.

  Phera’s eyes filled with tears as she snuggled close to the animal’s broad chest. Siddhi’s trunk wrapped around her, gently caressed her cheeks and ears, and then delved into the folds of her sari to hunt for treats.

  “I’m so sorry, there’s nothing there! I didn’t know you’d be back today.” Phera giggled as Siddhi’s trunk tickled her. Then she turned to Eranga. “I am so pleased you’re back safely.”

  He laughed, and the lines on his sunburnt face deepened. “We are both well, young mistress. We have won and not lost a single man. A few were injured, but they will recover.”

  “The British walked into our trap like blind men, and we slaughtered almost all of them,” added a voice from above her head.

  Phera realized that her brother-in-law was riding on Siddhi’s back. His head and left shoulder wore a dressing of banana leaves. “Upali! Oh, you’ve been wounded!”

  “I was grazed by a bullet, that’s all,” replied Upali, gently tapping at his left shoulder. “That’s how I fell and hit my head on a rock. My head’s thumping as if I’ve had too much palm wine.” When he saw the worry on Phera’s face, he put on a brave smile. “Don’t you worry. It’ll be all right. Siddhi helped us enormously. She dragged logs across the exit, then rolled boulders down onto the English once they were trapped. She has the courageous spirit of a true war elephant.” He patted the elephant’s broad neck.