Chapter-7
Kala Naag, which means Black Snake, had been serving the Indian Government for the last forty-seven years. The big elephant was caught when he was fully twenty years old which meant that his actual age was nearly seventy—a ripe age for an elephant.
Radha Pyari was his mother who had been caught in the same drive with Kala Naag. His mother always had taught him that the elephants, who are afraid, are always caught and die early. So, before he was twenty-five, he gave up being afraid, and so he was the best loved and the best looked-after elephant in the service of the Government of India.
He used to carry tents weighing twelve hundred pounds on the march in Upper India. He was sent a ship and taken for days across the water, and made to carry a mortar on his back in a strange and rocky country very far from India. He had seen Emperor Theodore lying dead in Magdala. He had seen his fellow elephants die of cold and epilepsy and starvation and sunstroke up at a place called Ali Musjid. He was also trained with several elephants to catch wild elephants.
Elephants were very strictly preserved by Indian Government. There was one whole department which did nothing else but used to hunt them, catch them, break them in and send them up and down the country as they were needed for work.
Kala Naag stood ten fair feet at the shoulders. His tusks had been cut off short at five feet, and bound round the ends to prevent them splitting, with bands of copper; but he could do more with those stumps than any untrained elephant could do with the real sharpened ones.
Kala Naag was not afraid of anyone. He could alone fight a big giant tiger and knock him over. He was the strongest of all the elephants he used to live with.
But Kala Naag always feared the big Toomai, the elephant handler and his family. The grandson used to say, “There is nothing that the Black Snake fears except me. He had seen three generations of us feed him and groom him, and he will live to see fourth one too,” the grandson said.
“He is afraid of me also,” said Little Toomai. He was ten years old, the eldest son of Big Toomai, and, according to custom, he would take his father’s place on Kala Naag’s neck when he grew up.
The eldest son was fond of Kala Naag as he had born under Kala Naag’s shadow, had played with the end of his trunk before he could walk, had taken him down to water as soon as he could walk. Kala Naag never dreamt of disobeying his little orders and always used to salute his master. The Little Toomai knew that he was the successor of his father’s job.
Little Toomai repeated, “He is afraid of me,” and he took long strides up to Kala Naag, called him a fat old pig, and made him lift up his feet one after the other. “The Government may pay for elephants, but they belong to us. When you grow old, Kala Naag, some rich rajah will buy you from the Government because of your size and manners. And then you will have nothing except wearing gold ear-rings in your ears, a gold blanket on your back and a red cloth covered with gold on your sides and you will walk ahead of the processions of the King. And I will be sitting on your neck. That will be good, Kala Naag, but not as good so this hunting in the jungles.” The little Toomai was talking to his father sitting on the elephant.
But Big Toomai didn’t love his job. He said to the boy, “This running up and down among the hills is not the best Government service. I am getting old, and I do not love wild elephants. Give me pet elephants, they can be tied safely.”
Little Toomai liked scrambling up the bridle paths that only an elephant could take; the dip into the valley below; the glimpses of the wild elephants browsing miles away; the rush of the frightened pig and peacock under Kala Naag’s feet; the beautiful misty mornings when nobody knew where they would camp that night; the steady, cautious drive of the wild elephants.
Toomai was as helpful as three boys. He would get his torch and wave it, and yell with the best. The time came when the driving out began, and the Keddah looked like a picture of the end of the world. Men had to make signs to one another because they could not hear themselves speak. Little Toomai climbed up to the top of one of the quivering stockade posts, his hair flying loose all over his shoulders. Little Toomai used to enjoy the big fight between Kala Naag and the wild elephant. The old elephant catchers would wipe the sweat out of their eyes, and find time to nod to Little Toomai wriggling with joy on the top of the posts.
One night, he slid down from the post and slipped in between the elephants. He threw up the loose end of a rope, which had dropped, to a driver who was trying to get a purchase on the leg of a kicking young calf. Kala Naag saw him, caught him in his trunk, and handed him up to Big Toomai, who slapped him, and put him back on the post.
Next morning, he gave him a scolding. As the foolish hunter, whose pay was less than his pay, reported the matter to Petersen Sahib. Little Toomai was frightened. He did not know much of white men, but Petersen Sahib was the greatest white man in the world to him. He was the head of all the Keddah operations—the man who caught all the elephants for the Government of India, and who knew more about the ways of elephants than any living man.
“What will happen?” said Little Toomai.
“Petersen Sahib is a mad man. He may even ask you to be an elephant catcher, to sleep anywhere in these fear-filled jungles, and, at last, to be trampled to death in the Keddah. Or it may happen the other way. Next week, the catch is over, and we may be sent back to our stations and are told to march on smooth roads, and forget all this hunting. And if I am sent away from here, it will be a trouble for the other men here to handle as Kala Naag will obey none but me. So, I must go with him into the Keddah. Is the family of Toomai of the elephants to be trodden underfoot in the dirt of a Keddah? You are bad one, wicked one! Worthless son! Go and wash Kala Naag and attend to his ears. See that there are no thorns in his feet. Or else Petersen Sahib will surely catch you. Go!”
Little Toomai went off without saying a word, but he told Kala Naag all his grievances while he was examining his feet. “Don’t worry,” said Little Toomai.
“They have told my name to Petersen Sahib. Now he knows what will happen?” said Little Toomai.
During the next few days, the hunted elephants were caught together and all these wild elephants were made to march to the plains. Petersen Sahib always travelled on his clever she-elephant, Pudmini.
The season was coming to an end, and there was a native clerk sitting at a table under a tree, to pay the drivers their wages. As each man was paid, he went back to his elephant, and joined the line that stood ready to start. The catchers, the hunters, the beaters, the men of the regular Keddah, who stayed in the jungle year in and year out, sat on the backs of the elephants that belonged to Petersen Sahib’s permanent force. Other’s leaned against the trees with their guns across their arms, and made fun of the drivers who were going away, and laughed when the newly caught elephants broke the line and ran about.
Big Toomai went up to the clerk with Little Toomai behind him, and Machua Appa, the head tracker, said, “You are being sent to the plains.”
Petersen Sahib heard this and turned where he was lying all along on Pudmini’s back and said, “What is that? I did not know of a man among the plains-drivers who doesn’t even know enough to rope a dead elephant.”
“But he is just a little boy,” said Toomai, “He went into the Keddah at the last drive, and threw the rope when we were trying to get that young calf away from his mother.”
Machua Appa pointed at Little Toomai, and Petersen Sahib looked. Little Toomai bowed to the earth.
“He threw a rope? He is smaller than a pin. Little One, what is your name?” said Petersen Sahib looking at Little Toomai.
Little Toomai was too frightened to speak, but Kala Naag was behind him. Toomai made a sign with his hand, and the elephant caught him up in his trunk and held him level with Pudmini’s forehead, in front of Petersen Sahib.
“He is Toomai, my son,” said Big Toomai, scowling. “He is a very bad boy, and he will be sent to jail someday, Sahib.”
Petersen Sahib said, “You are in the wrong. A boy who can face a full Keddah at such a small age does not end in jails.” He called the little kid towards him and gave him four annas.
“Soon you will become a big hunter like me.” But remember, Keddahs are not good for children to play in,” Petersen Sahib went on.
“So, should I not go there?” asked Little Toomai.
“Yes,” Petersen Sahib smiled again.
There was another roar of laughter, and everyone smiled seeing the innocence of Little Toomai. Kala Naag put Little Toomai down, and he bowed to the earth again and went away with his father. Later, he gave the silver four-anna coins to his mother who was taking care of his baby brother. Soon they all were put up on Kala Naag’s back, and the line of elephants rolled down the hill path to the plains. Big Toomai was very angry, but Little Toomai was too happy to speak. Petersen Sahib had noticed him, and given him money, so he felt very proud like any army soldier whose rank was just being raised by his commander-in-chief.
A new elephant was causing a problem, so an Assamese driver, two or three elephants ahead, turned round angrily, crying: “Bring up Kala Naag, and knock this youngster so that he may behave well.”
Kala Naag hit the new elephant in the ribs and knocked the wind out of him. Big Toomai said, “It is only your carelessness in driving. Now, I keep the order along the whole line.”
The other driver said, “We have swept the hills. You are very wise. As the plains arrive, you are asking to keep the order.”
All the people kept talking and wrangling and splashing through the rivers and made their first march to a camp for the new elephants. But they had lost their temper long before they got there.
There the elephants were chained by their hind legs and extra ropes were fitted to the new elephants. The fodder was piled before them, and the hill drivers went back to Petersen Sahib through the afternoon light, telling the plains drivers to be extra careful that night.
Little Toomai gave Kala Naag his supper. Little Toomai was happy all the day as he had been awarded by Petersen Sahib. A sweetmeat seller in the camp gave him a little tom-tom—a drum beaten with the flat of the hand. He sat down before Kala Naag as it became dark with the tom-tom in his lap and kept thinking about the great honour that had been done to him. He kept thumping. There were no tune and no words, but the thumping made him happy.
The new elephants strained at their ropes, and squealed and trumpeted from time to time. He could hear his mother in the camp hut putting his small brother to sleep with an old song about the great god Shiva. Soon, Little Toomai felt sleepy and stretched himself on the fodder at Kala Naag’s side. At last, the elephants began to lie down one after another as was their custom, till only Kala Naag was the last one standing up.
Little Toomai slept for some time. When he waked it was brilliant moonlight, and Kala Naag was still standing up. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the ‘hoot-toot’ of a wild elephant. All the elephants in the lines jumped up as if they had been shot. Their grunts soon woke all the drivers and other people. Everyone saw that one new elephant had nearly grubbed up his picket. Big Toomai came running and took off Kala Naag’s leg chain and shackled him from fore-foot to hind-foot. Kala Naag stood still, looking out across the moonlight, his head a little raised and his ears spread like fans, up to the great folds of the Garo hills.
“Take care of him if he grows restless during the night,” said Big Toomai to Little Toomai, and he went into the hut and slept. Little Toomai was about to sleep, too, when he saw Kala Naag moving out of his pickets and walking towards the mouth of a valley. Little Toomai followed him, barefooted, down the road in the moonlight, calling under his breath, “Kala Naag! Kala Naag! Where you going? Take me with you.”
The elephant turned, and came back to the boy, put down his trunk, swung him up to his neck. Almost before Little Toomai had settled his knees, he started walking towards the forest.
