‘No!’ a firm Sunaina decreed.
‘But, My Lady …’ pleaded the maid, holding up a handkerchief and a small bottle. The fumes from the dissolved herbal medicine helped boost her energy for short periods of time.
‘My daughter is with me,’ said Sunaina. ‘I don’t need anyone else.’
Sita immediately took the handkerchief and bottle from the maid and climbed aboard the howdah.
Sunaina signalled the mahout, who tenderly stroked the elephant behind its ears with his foot. The elephant rose very slowly, causing the least amount of discomfort to Sunaina.
‘Let’s go,’ she ordered.
The two elephants ambled off into the jungle, accompanied by fifty armed Mithila policemen, on foot.
Chapter 10
The howdah swayed like a cradle with the animal’s gentle walk. Sita held her mother’s hand and huddled close. The mahout steered the elephants in the shade, under the trees. Nonetheless, it was dry and warm.
Sita, though, was shivering. With guilt. And fear.
Sunaina lifted her hand slightly. Sita instinctively knew what her mother wanted. She lifted Sunaina’s arm higher, and snuggled in close. And wrapped her mother’s arm around her shoulder. Sunaina smiled with satisfaction and kissed Sita on her forehead.
‘Sorry that your father couldn’t come, Sita,’ said Sunaina. ‘He had to stay back for some work.’
Sita knew her mother was lying. She did not wish to cause her daughter further pain.
Perhaps, it was just as well.
Sita had, in a fit of anger, told Janak the last time she had been in Mithila that he should stop wasting his time on spirituality and help Sunaina govern the kingdom. That it was his duty. Her outburst had angered Sunaina more than her father.
Also, little Urmila, Sita’s four-year-old younger sister, was a sickly child. Janak had probably stayed behind with her, while their mother travelled to Shvetaketu’s gurukul. In debilitating illness. To meet her troubled elder daughter. And, to make her come back home.
Sita closed her eyes, as another guilty tear rolled down her cheek.
Sunaina coughed. Sita immediately wiped her mother’s mouth with the cloth. She looked at the red stains — signs that her mother’s life was slowly slipping away.
Tears began to flow in a rush.
‘Everyone has to die someday, my darling,’ said Sunaina.
Sita continued crying.
‘But the fortunate ones die with their loved ones around them.’
The two elephants were stationary, expertly stilled by their mahouts. The fifty Mithilan guards, too, were immobile, and silent. The slightest sound could prove dangerous.
Ten minutes back, Sunaina had spotted a scene rarely witnessed by human eyes: The death of the matriarch of a large elephant herd.
Sita remembered her mother’s lessons on elephant herds. They tended to be matriarchal, led by the eldest female. Most herds comprised adult females with calves, both male and female, nurtured as common children. Male elephants were normally exiled from the herd when they came of age.
The matriarch was more than the leader of the herd. She was a mother to all.
The death of the matriarch, therefore, would be a devastating event for the herd. Or so one would imagine.
‘I think it’s the same herd that we saw a few years ago,’ whispered Sunaina.
Sita nodded.
They watched from a safe distance, hidden by the trees.
The elephants stood in a circle around the corpse of the matriarch. Solemn. Motionless. Quiet. The gentle afternoon breeze struggled to provide relief as the sun shone harshly on the assembly. Two calves stood within the circle, near the body. One was tiny, the other slightly older.
‘We saw that little one being born, Sita,’ said Sunaina.
Sita nodded in the affirmative.
She remembered the birth of the matriarch’s child. Her mother and she had witnessed it on another elephant ride a few years ago.
Today, that baby elephant, a male calf, was down on his knees next to his dead mother. His trunk was entwined with hers, his body shaking. Every few minutes, he would pull on the trunk of his mother’s corpse, as though trying to wake her up.
The older calf, his sister, stood next to the baby. Calm. Still. Like the other members of the herd.
‘Watch now …’ whispered Sunaina.
An adult female, perhaps the new matriarch, slowly ambled up to the corpse. She stretched her trunk and touched the forehead of the dead body with utmost respect. Then she walked around the corpse solemnly, turned and simply walked away.
The other elephants in the circle followed her lead, one by one. Doing the exact same thing — touching the forehead of the dead former matriarch with their trunks, performing a circumambulation and then walking away.
With dignity. With respect.
None of them looked back. Not once. Not once.
The little male calf, however, refused to leave. He clung to his mother. Desperately. He pulled at her with helpless ferocity. His sister stood quietly by his side.
The rest of the herd came to a halt at a distance, not once turning around. Patiently, they waited.
After some time, the sister touched her little brother with her trunk.
The male calf pushed it away. With renewed energy, he stood on his feet and wrapped his trunk around his mother’s. And pulled hard. He slipped. He got up again. Held his mother’s trunk and pulled. Harder. He cast a beseeching look at his sister, begging for her help. With a gut-wrenching cry, he turned back to his mother, willing her to get up.
But his mother had succumbed to the long sleep now. She would wake up only in her next life.
The child refused to give up. Shifting from side to side, he pulled his mother’s trunk. Repeatedly.
The sister finally walked up to her mother’s corpse, and touched the forehead with her trunk, just like the others had. She then walked around the body of her mother. She came up to her brother, held his trunk and tried to pull him away.
The male calf began to screech heartbreakingly. He followed his sister. But he kept looking back. Again. And again. He offered no resistance, however, to his sister.
The sister, like every other elephant in the herd, walked steadily ahead. She did not look back. Not once. Not once.
Sita looked up at her mother, tears flowing down her cheeks.
‘Society moves on, my child,’ whispered Sunaina. ‘Countries move on. Life moves on. As it should.’
Sita couldn’t speak. She could not look at her mother. She held Sunaina close, burying her head in her mother’s bosom.
‘Clinging to painful memories is pointless, Sita,’ said Sunaina. ‘You must move on. You must live …’
Sita listened. But the tears did not stop.
‘There’s no escape from problems and challenges. They’re a part of life. Avoiding Mithila does not mean that your troubles will disappear. It only means that other challenges will appear.’