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By Brijendra Singh, Honorary Warden, Corbett Tiger Reserve
June 2009: The spoor showed that she had come from the Paterpani area, in the core zone of the Corbett National Park, carrying her dead calf all the way with her. This was evident from the drag, which appeared on occasion, when the elephant cow had tired, with the heavy load hoisted in her mouth, and had lowered it to the ground, to rest.
The wildlife coordination committee meeting between the states of Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh, that I was to have chaired at Amangarh, had been postponed, but since I was in the area I chose to spend a few days at Dhikala. It was February 8, 2009 and with some free time on hand, I asked the Range Officer Karmiyal to get Bare Bhai, the mahout to saddle Sona Kali, the wonderful elephant, that I had been instrumental in saving from tramping and scorching her sensitive feet on the blistering hot streets of Delhi. She was donated to the Corbett Park through a kind and concerned NGO. We were going to look for Jinx, the great grand son of the famous Dhitoo, who now, happened to be the prime male tiger in the Dhikala area.
It was late evening, a most beautiful time to be sitting on the Dhikala Tower, or below it, on the Sambar road, like we were, on elephant back. Many chital alarm calls could be heard near the Hathi Bata and a number of tourists, already aware of the calls, sat in their vehicles, waiting for a tiger to cross the Ramganga river, always a thrilling and unforgettable sight. Today, the tiger was unlikely to oblige anyone. Perhaps he was lying up with a kill, or for ‘tigerish' reasons of his own, chose to stay out of sight. Decades of jungle experience tells us that in the forest nothing can be taken for granted. And just when you think you know it all - the jungle proves you wrong. The tiger did not cross the river.
ANÂ UNEXPECTED SIGHTING
Since we were already across the river, I nudged Bare Bhai, to check out a group of 14 elephants on our near side. The pachyderms had formed a wagon-wheel and were surprisingly quiet, even the young ones were extraordinarily inactive and not up to their usual pranks. This was strange. As we got a bit closer, through my binoculars I could see the matriarch fondling ‘Holi,' a younger cow with a hole in her left ear. This in all probability had been punched out by a bullet in the Kandi area on the periphery of the park where she had been crop raiding a few monsoons ago. That the bullet had missed her head or other vitals had been a matter of sheer luck.
The matriarch of the elephant herd, who was bigger and taller than Holi, showed no interest at all in her own little calf at her heels but continued to caress and say something to the younger cow. Not by infra-sound, with which they normally communicate, but by the more endearing expression of touch. The tip of her trunk wandered to Holi's wet eyes and then into her mouth and then along the length of the trunk. This expression and ceaseless caressing and fondling and the body language itself, as we were to find out later, was her way of consoling the younger cow - perhaps even more touching and humane, than what we humans are capable of, in times of bereavement. As our elephant closed, we saw that the elephants were standing over a very young, dead, male elephant calf. How the little calf had died is any one's guess - but, he had died a few days after birth, as my experience and that of the seasoned mahouts accompanying me told us.
The herd now moved off a bit and waited for Holi who remained rooted to the spot. It must have been the inaudible infra-sound call of the matriarch, unheard by us, that finally made her turn and follow the other elephants for a bit before stopping and standing absolutely still. It was obvious to us that she was thinking and after contemplating for a while longer she abruptly pirouetted, strode back purposefully to the dead calf, bent her head down to the ground, picked up the baby with her mouth, turned around and walked back to the waiting elephants and soon, the great elephant silhouettes faded into the darkness of the advancing night.
Unbelievable! What we had just witnessed was just incredible. In decades of being with elephants, never, in my experience had I witnessed such an occurrence. It was touching, heartbreaking and sad. One could just not fathom this magnitude of attachment displayed between a mother and her dead baby. I had seen a rhesus monkey mother carry her dead baby around, but that was not uncommon. This, on the other hand, was something else. I had been privy to an extraordinary event.Â
With heavy hearts and sympathy for Holi, we returned, to camp.
STRANGE TIMES, STRANGE EVENTS
On February 9, 2009, early in the morning, I decided to catch up with the elephant herd again and see what Holi had done with her dead calf. This time, mounted on Pavan Pari with Namdar her mahout, we were attracted by elephants ‘bell-o-roaring' in the early dawn, somewhere near the Phulai watchtower. Tiger, we thought. Perhaps a tiger had followed the herd and was trying to snatch the dead elephant baby away from the mother. Namdar goaded Pavan Pari on and soon we saw the elephants again, wagon-wheeled. The cause of the disturbance this time was a large male tusker that had come to check out the herd, to see if there was a cow in season. He soon lost interest in them and wandered off. We could still see the dead baby at Holi's feet and the matriarch comforting and caressing the younger cow and soon the scene of the previous evening was repeated. The herd moved off and Holi picked up the dead calf with her mouth and carried it away. Not wanting to disturb the already perturbed elephants we left them alone.
This, surely is Kali Yug, as foretold by our ancient epics. Strange things will happen, the world will turn topsy-turvy. For us in the jungle even stranger things were happening. An elephant wandering around with her dead calf - unheard of. A tourist the other day had seen a pair of yellow-throated martens kill and eat a langur monkey and even filmed the event. A labourer had been possessed by the spirit which lives in Phulai. A completely normal man the day before, he had gone totally crazy in the night and after fighting off eight men at the watchtower had run away into the darkness and there was no trace of him. This was very worrying, very worrying indeed, as he could have been killed by a tiger or an elephant, (and then an animal, would have to be unnecessarily destroyed). He needed to be located at once. The director of the park Vinod Singhal had arrived and we decided to comb the whole area for the missing man. The entire day was devoted to the search, but the man was not found and we could only hope for the best and prayed that he had wandered off home. But all this time, I could not help wondering, what Holi and the elephants were doing.
EVEN THE HEAVENS WEPT
On the morning of February 10, I decided to go and look for Holi again. This event had upset us a great deal, even the seasoned mahouts and the Range Officer. How would it affect the other elephants in the herd? Would the other babies be more vulnerable to tigers, as the herd's movement had slowed and was restricted? Would Holi starve herself to death? She had not eaten since we had seen her. Should we try and take the dead baby away to lessen the trauma it was causing her and the herd? These were the questions we asked ourselves. We caught up with the elephants again and they behaved in exactly the same manner as they had done before. Holi would not give up the dead calf, the matriarch continued to comfort her and we decided to leave them alone and see what nature would hold in store for the elephants, in the following days.
It rained very heavily that night, the skies had burst out as never before. Rain, bringing new life and hope, poured into the parched jungle which was tinder-dry as the winter rains had failed. In the morning the sun came up but there was no trace of Holi and the elephant herd. There was water everywhere.
It seemed, that the heavens too had wept for Holi and her dead calf.
More on / by Brijendra Singh
