A Circle of Elephants Read online

  “In Nepal, the delicate scales of life and death shift quickly. This captivating novel about a young elephant driver and his search for balance, for justice, and for a bridge to the future will inspire and empower you to act.”

  — Hemanta Raj Mishra, PhD, former deputy director general of Nepal’s Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation, executive director National Trust for Nature Conservation (formerly KMTNC), and winner of the J. Paul Getty Wildlife Conservation Prize

  “A brilliant scientist and storyteller, Dinerstein evokes powerful emotions about these magnificent creatures. As he says, ‘Tomorrow, we can always start again, take a new path.’ A captivating novel, which I hope will inspire and nurture more defenders of wildlife and wild places.”

  —Krithi K. Karanth, PhD, associate conservation scientist, Wildlife Conservation Society

  American Library Association Notable Children’s Book, 2017

  South Asia Book Award for Children’s and Young Adult Literature, 2017

  “[T]his coming-of-age story—a story of finding one’s home—succeeds.”— Ki rkus Revie ws

  “Dinerstein, who has lived in Nepal himself, beautifully re-creates the lush, dramatically populated world of the Nepalese borderlands. Touching and unique.”

  —Booklist

  “I loved this book, and read it cover to cover, unable to put it down. It is such a refreshing journey into another elephant world, very special to Asia, indeed Nepal, resonant with an afterglow of Mowgli, and Eric Dinerstein’s own deep feelings about the jungle, and the people and the wildlife that live there. It will delight all elephant lovers.”

  —Iain Douglas-Hamilton, DPhil, CBE, founder,

  Save the Elephants, and coauthor of Among the Elephants

  “Eric Dinerstein has a deep love for and understanding of Asian elephants and the threats and problems they face today. You will be fascinated, angered, and charmed in turn by this beautifully written story. And it will, I am sure, inspire many to help those working tirelessly to protect these wonderful animals and their forest habitat. Please read it and share it with others.”

  —Jane Goodall, PhD, DBE, founder, the Jane Goodall Institute,

  and United Nations Messenger of Peace

  “In this fine book, a lifetime of reality-based wisdom is almost magically distilled into the imagined, yearning voice of a young boy in the jungle, surrounded by elephants and tigers and wild things, facing (as we all do) the great question of where he can fit in so changing a world. It’s a totally enchanting, utterly unexpected story for children of all ages.”

  —Carl Safina, author of Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel

  “Eric Dinerstein, a world-class scientist who knows the ecology of the Himalayan region better than almost anyone else, has turned his razor sharp intellect to fiction in his enchanting debut novel, What Elephants Know. His deep knowledge of wild animals, lush landscapes, and the rich culture of Nepal permeates through this poignant coming-of-age novel. It’s as much fun as bouncing on an elephant back through the swampy tall grass, looking out for the hidden tiger!”

  —K. Ullas Karanth, Director for Science-Asia,

  Wildlife Conservation Society

  Copyright © 2018 by Eric Dinerstein

  Art © 2018 by B. Kwan

  Cover art © 2019 by B. Kwan

  Designed by Maria Elias

  Cover design by Maria Elias

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-368-04694-7

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  To those who defend the lives of rhinos, tigers, and elephants

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part I – Drought

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Part II – Arrivals

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Part III – The Jumlis

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Part IV – The Warning

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Part V – Uprising

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Important Terms

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Be kind to all living creatures.

  This is the true religion.

  —Buddha

  Until one has loved an animal,

  a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.

  —Anatole France

  I once heard a story about a lonely elephant.

  The elephant lived in a mountain forest bordering a great ocean. Many elephants had lived in this forest, but now there was only one—an old male with giant tusks. The others had been killed for their ivory. Poachers tried several times to trap the old male, too, but they could not. The hunters soon feared the tusker, believing that he was a spirit elephant, too dangerous to approach.

  A game warden learned of the spirit elephant and began to track him. The warden was determined to protect the animal. He watched as the tusker spent his days wandering the forest, calling out to the others and listening for their trumpets in return. But none called back.

  One day the elephant climbed to the top of a ridge. He trumpeted to his lost family. Again, no one answered. Then the elephant entered a clearing with a view of the sea. The warden stayed nearby, unafraid, as the elephant looked out to the ocean. The air vibrated around him, but the warden could not make out any sound. He followed the elephant’s gaze with his binoculars. Why would this powerful elephant stare out to sea, rumbling deeply to no one?

  Far away, the warden spotted a pod of humpback whales migrating along the coast. They broke the surface and rose high into the air before splashing back into the water. Had the whales called back to the elephant?

  The tusker stayed on the ridge for a week. The pod remained along the coast as well. Maybe, the warden thought, the whales stayed so long to comfort the lonely male.

  I think of this elephant often. I have even told his story to Hira Prashad, my giant tusker who leads our stable. There is a feeling in me, one so deep I cannot name it. I believe Hira Prashad feels it, too. That our purpose in life is to look out for each other. We are brothers. And together, Hira Prashad and I must watch over the other animals that live at the mercy of humans.

  We must answer the call of the lonely trumpeters.

  —Nandu, the king’s elephant driver, Thakurdwara, Nepal

  o ride on elephant back is to float above the world. It is to be with the birds and the monkeys in the trees, where their whistles and hoots ring in your ears. Gliding above the dirt and dust is a privilege—especially for me, a thirteen-year-old Tibetan orphan, and the youngest elephant driver in all of Nepal. It is only when I get down from my elephant that the trouble starts.

  On New Year’s Day, I rode with my tusker, Hira Prashad, to the highest point along
the Great Sand Bar River, two hours north and west of our elephant stable. This spot is called Lalmati, named for its red clay cliffs. The view along the riverbank is like a painting: Bright green cattails sway in the foreground; behind them, white sandbars reach out to the ocher bluffs and rippling water.

  We paused at the top of the cliffs to take in the moment. To me, this is the most beautiful place in the Borderlands jungle—as wild and far from people as you can find. Maybe the isolation is the source of the real beauty. I think this place is Hira Prashad’s favorite, too. He rumbles each time we approach it.

  “This will be our tradition,” I said as I rubbed the top of his head. “On New Year’s Day, we will come to these cliffs.”

  Hira Prashad flapped his ears and lifted his trunk to the river.

  It had been almost six months since Dilly, my closest friend, and I found Hira Prashad. He was being starved to death, chained to a tree in the courtyard of the local landlord we call the Python. The sight of the elephant’s thin body and sunken eyes was too much for us to bear. Dilly and I bargained with the Python to sell us Hira Prashad. We saved my tusker’s life that day—and he has never forgotten it.

  The Nepali New Year is a day to celebrate and thank the gods. It is now also the day we mark our brotherhood.

  On my command, Hira Prashad dropped to his knees and rolled to his side so I could climb off his back. He rose to his feet again and began grazing in the grassland, ripping the tall shoots with his curled trunk and stuffing them into his mouth. My tusker was hungry. He ate and ate while I wandered. Soon I heard the dull thuds of elephant dung hitting the ground behind me. Fortunately, the smell was sweet, like the grass elephants eat.

  I made my way to the edge of the cliff. The swift current of the river swept along far below me. There had been no rain for months, but even in this drought, the depth here was over my head. The cold clear water of the Great Sand Bar River is fed by the melting snows of the high Himalayas, straight north from where I stood.

  In the middle of the river, near a maze of sandbars, two narrow, half-submerged logs began to roll. I focused my binoculars to discover they were female gharial, the rare ancient crocodilian that still lives along this river. Like a dinosaur, the gharial has scaly peaks along its back and a long thin snout to grab fish out of the river.

  I scanned the far bank, beyond the gharial, where movement caught my eye. The rising heat waves made it difficult to see clearly, but I knew it was a wild elephant, a female, with a small calf. Both were looking up at us on the ridge.

  I have heard stories that when an old elephant dies at our stable, she is reborn in her next life as a wild elephant that lives across the Great Sand Bar River. I wondered if that young calf was my elephant mother, Devi Kali—the only mother I have ever known, who died over a year ago. I hoped it was her, enjoying her next life.

  Suddenly I felt Hira Prashad at my side. I never cease to be amazed at how quietly elephants can move. The pads under their feet absorb all sound. “Look, Hira Prashad,” I said. “That may be our mother across the river.” Devi Kali, I had learned, was Hira Prashad’s mother, too. He had been separated from her as a baby, just as I had been separated from my birth parents.

  Hira Prashad’s soft rumbling turned into a long grumble, ending with a loud trumpet.

  “What is it?” The roar from the river made it difficult to hear, but I thought the wild elephant had trumpeted as well. Hira Prashad rumbled again and stepped forward, wrapping his trunk around my chest and pulling me backward. I cried out. But Hira Prashad ignored me. He had never done such a thing before.

  “Chii! Chii!” I shouted the elephant command to let me go and kicked my legs as hard as I could. I was helpless and terrified that Hira Prashad was going to toss me into the river. He grabbed me even tighter around the waist with his trunk. “What are you doing, Hira Prashad?” I yelled. For the first time ever, I was afraid of my brother elephant.

  I struggled to free myself, slapping at his trunk. He carried me twenty feet from the cliff’s edge before he put me down and started swinging his trunk, herding me back from the cliff. Hira Prashad’s angry rumbles kept me moving back farther and farther. Our roles had reversed. The elephant was commanding the driver. Scared, I took giant steps backward. I could not believe he would hurt me, but in my mind I heard the words of my father, Subba-sahib, the officer in charge of our stable. “Remember, Nandu, our elephants are still wild animals; we must humble ourselves to ride them.”

  Hira Prashad pushed me into the grassland. I was so confused, I failed to notice the dead silence—no peacocks, wild jungle fowl, or hornbills calling. Only seconds ago they had all been wailing. A nearby herd of spotted deer, over a hundred of them, stopped barking and stood at attention. At first, I thought they were watching the lone wild dog, the dhole, that I saw darting through the clearing. But the deer seemed focused on something else. Hira Prashad sensed it, too. He banged his trunk on the ground and let out a screech I had never heard from an elephant.

  “Hira Prashad?!” I yelled. “What do you know that you are not telling me?”

  Just as I spoke, every tree around us started to shake. My head nodded up and down, and my arms wiggled left and right. I moved toward my elephant but lost my balance as the earth swayed beneath my feet. I stumbled and fell. Hira Prashad lifted me up and pulled me farther into the grassland. I heard a loud ripping as the place where I had been standing, the entire cliff’s edge, collapsed into the river. Two trees bent over and fell, tearing the ground with their huge roots as they landed. The entire jungle trembled. More of the cliff sheared off and crashed into the river.

  Hira Prashad curled his trunk around me and held me to his leg, just as Devi Kali did when I was small. I pressed my face into his rough warm skin, praying to the Goddess of the Forest, the one we call Ban Devi. I pleaded with her to make it end. Instead, another great silk cotton tree went crashing down over the edge. The jungle was caving in around us and no one could stop it.

  he last rocks fell from the cliffs. Finally, the earth stopped moving. The air was still and drained of energy. All the animals remained spooked. In the center of the grassland, the herd of spotted deer darted right, then left, unsure of which way to go. Not Hira Prashad, though. He knelt, calm and confident, encouraging me to climb onto his back to return to camp.

  Riding atop my elephant, I leaned forward to hug him. “Hira Prashad, now we have saved each other.” I held him tightly, my head pressed against his head. “We lost our mother, but found each other.” Tears ran down my face and onto Hira Prashad. He reached his trunk over his head to stroke my hair. Moments ago, I thought he had gone mad. Now his gentle touch made my tears run faster than the Great Sand Bar River.

  I did not need to guide Hira Prashad home. He knew the trail by heart, either by smell or memory I do not know. Subba-sahib once said to me, “Nandu, elephants are never lost in the jungle. They remember every tree they pass, unlike people. We lose our way as easily as chickens.”

  I covered my face with a headscarf and sprawled out on my tusker’s back. I was exhausted. The gentle rhythm of my elephant’s pace quieted my fears and lulled me to sleep. When I woke, we were within a mile of the stable.

  As we approached camp, Hira Prashad rumbled to the other elephants. They rumbled back excitedly, their trunks swaying and snorting. I imagined they were sharing stories of what had happened.

  The drivers were doing the same. Everyone had gathered around the campfire pit to tell their version of the earthquake. A few drivers were shaking their bodies, laughing at each other reenacting the scene. Like me, they had never experienced something that felt like the end of the world.

  “Nandu, are you all right?” It was Rita, Dilly’s younger sister. She was standing next to her mother, Tulsi. Dilly was crouching by the fire pit, talking to the other drivers.

  “Yes, but I had a close call,” I said as I climbed down from Hira Prashad to walk him over to the tethering area. Rita followed me. “Are you okay?”
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  “I am fine,” Rita said. “You were the only one out in the jungle. All the other elephants had returned from grazing and—”

  “Were you worried about me, Rita?” I loved to tease her. When we were younger, we were rivals. She would beat me climbing trees and I would beat her in our footraces. But ever since she came up with the idea for an elephant breeding center—an idea that saved our stable from closing—I have had a great respect for her. But I did not show it.

  “Nandu,” she said, grabbing my arm. “What do you mean ‘a close call’?”

  “Hira Prashad saved me from falling off the cliff. He lifted me out of danger with his trunk!”

  “You were so lucky, Nandu. We could have lost you, and I would have no one to race against.” She hugged me tight, which I did not expect. Neither did Hira Prashad, who called out to her from his post. “You are brave, too, Hira Prashad!”

  At the fire pit, my father had joined the group. I was anxious to tell him that a wild elephant and her baby, who may have been Devi Kali, had warned Hira Prashad to save me. At least, that was how the event now appeared to me.

  “Nandu, I am glad you are safe and I am happy to see you. We heard on the radio that the earthquake was very bad in Kathmandu,” my father announced. “Had it been much stronger, the capital would be rubble. No reports yet from other parts of Nepal. Let us hope they were equally lucky.”

  We Nepalis believe in omens—both good and bad. An earthquake on the first day of the New Year was a bad omen. Very bad. Our people stay in their houses all day if a black cat crosses their path. After the earthquake, I wondered if some people might stay inside for a month.

  My father gathered the seventy-five men who look after our twenty-five elephants. Each elephant had three drivers to look after it. “Drivers, we have had earthquakes before in the Borderlands. I have lived through three of them myself, all praise to Ban Devi.” He tried to lift our spirits. “Let us offer thanks to the Goddess of the Forest that once again she protected us and our stable.”