Beyond the Tusks

This anthology explores our layered bond with elephants, revealing themes of reverence, exploitation, and coexistence in shifting cultural landscapes.

The Elephant in Hiding

My lord,

The elephant hides in full view of the public
In an endless, elephantine, epical catalogue.
Some elephants march on highways,
Gorge rice from fair price shops
Or relish jackfruit and bananas.
Still others are given stylish names after blockbusters
While others discover chains on festival grounds.
In the middle is the encroachment muddle:
Taking giant strides, herds do not recognize title deeds;
Settle they did in farm holdings and multiplied.
Indeed, there was another herd mentality;
Then the headlines out-trumpeted the tuskers.
Some try to draw the elephant blind-folded
Which is much more than a game.
Others petition the courts
But no elephant takes the witness stand
For the question has to do with who should see!
I forgot to tell your lordship that
The elephant is in another room.

To Look in the Eyes

Have you ever wondered how I see you?
How to see and what to see, that is the question:
I have no guile in my thoughts, words, or how I see.

Come, learn to look from my perspective.
You deck me, climb on my back with the deity
While another stands behind with other paraphernalia.

You behold me and say it is a majestic view;
I can see it in your eyes. You recognize
In it elevation, then your elation.

But what have you seen of me?
My tusk and trunk? My skin?
And you say I am thick skinned. Pachyderm.

I can see how you see me from what you have made of me.
You make me into a presence. Present.
And I search your eyes in vain.

I am absent in your eyes.
Tell me, are you looking at me?
Do you know how to look into my eyes?

Come, see how you look at yourself through my eyes.
I would like to see myself through your eyes.
I think we should fill each other in our seeing; with our eyes.

Half-truth

I am sorry, my lord, but I can only swear
By the half-truth that has engendered me.
There were three lakh
ninety three thousand
six hundred and sixty of us
readied for an epic battle that lasted eighteen days.

I remember it clearly –
Half-truths cannot be forgotten –
It was the fifteenth day
As the casualties mounted
With strikes and counter strikes
And no end in sight.

Much the same as what you read in newspapers today:
The only difference is that there is no more counting.
The software to tally the death toll does not work;
I have no apology for being up-to-date.
You must realize I have been around for some time
Yet it is your will to wipe me off your vision.

I have not forgotten after all these years:
After telling, retelling, then telling again,
I was named into an existence not my own.
It stuck like nothing before, a blot as black as ever.

Isn’t it strange to be whispered a name, an identity?
I don’t remember my lot having such names.
The bearer of my name, the epic tells,
Wanders, condemned to immortality.

We are called other names now.
The stigma is still there
For no fault of mine.
I plead not guilty.

Did something of that curse touch us?
Condemned to corridors, reserves, zoos,
The depleting forest cover,
The estates and plantations come in our way:
We wander in search of food and water.
How would you look at us now?

The Colour of Truth

The court is called into session.

Is it fair to ask the learned judge the colour of truth?
I have this doubt when I look at myself.
Even my tusk, I am told is ivory!
Yes, you very well know
I always carry a price on my head!
To tell the truth, I am always at risk
As there are many head-hunters around.
Is there a provision, I ask
To get Z category protection with black cats?

Allow me to ask you this as well:
Whose idea is the white elephant?
They roam freely in the country,
A part of the state machinery:
What remains is
The nirvana of stink sanitised incense sticks
Even when the coffers are emptied!

Objection, my Lord!
Objection overruled. Please continue.

As for the damage done to the system,
I reserve my comments
Caught as we are in the yarn,
Now blacker than our skin.
The galleys block us in big letters:
You stare at headlines, black in white.
I must trumpet this loud:
I still don’t know the colour of truth!

Know this then:
Truth is an unseen smudge in the edge.
Court adjourned sine die

Paper Elephant

The elephant endures in the mind
Taking many forms:
King, devotee, loner, rogue, and much more
Occupying spaces of the mind
And even the State emblem.

“Exhibits present in the case admitted”

The King Elephant in an old story attained moksha.
The caparisoned elephants roam all around
Still chained to custom:
What else is it but
The nourishment of the superego of a people?

Contradictions speak truths

The verdict has been pronounced.
Would paper elephant be another idiom?

Touch of Fear

People come and go talking about me
While the mahout lights his beedi.
A puff, then he snuffs it.
Crumples and tucks a wad in his dhoti.

A slight movement, tentative, sly,
What do those curious little fingers feel?
A hesitation, then a tender touch.
I feel the puzzle those fingers take in.

The toddler now beats me with its palm.
There is touch, fear as well.
Be it of mind or metal,
There are chains everywhere.

First held safe in arms
Then made to walk right under me
To emerge into waiting arms
The toddler now offers me bananas.

No hitches in the rite du passage:
A ritual to ward off fear.
But who is to overcome fear?
Me or the toddler?