Ralph Helfer (13 page)

Bram sprung to his feet and paced a circle around Sabu. “What? Where? When? That’s wonderful—that’s incredible!”

Breathlessly Sabu revealed, “Tonight…at sundown…you are to meet Jagrat at the edge of the lake, by the great mimosa tree. He will take you to Atoul!”

Bram bathed, slipped on his best jacket, and was at the foot of the mimosa tree long before sundown. What would it be like to see a white elephant? Why was he white? What was his sacred origin?
These questions and more raced through his mind, whirling in anticipation.

When the sun set on the horizon, a man dressed in a white turban, white kurta, and white sandals appeared on a slope just near the tree. He stood quietly enough to make one think him a statue. The imminent darkness seemed to do little to affect the stark whiteness of his attire. He was looking off into the forest, and only when Bram’s nervous foot crunched a pebble did he turn. With the slightest rise of his chin, he beckoned. Bram reacted with a start and headed up the small grassy hill. As he approached, he noticed the man was thick of stature, had a mustache, and carried a golden choon. On the left side of his jacket was the Elephantarium insignia, and on the front of his turban was a spherical gold brooch. A leather pouch hung from his neck. Placing the palms of his hands together, he slowly bowed.

“I am called Jagrat. I have been instructed to take you to meet Atoul.”

Bram greeted Jagrat in the same way, just as Sabu had taught him. “My name is Bram, and I wish to thank you for allowing me this pleasure.”

They walked deeper into the forest where it was unkempt, left to its natural growth. As they walked, Bram saw the golden-domed roof of the Temple of the White Elephant. Instead of walking to it, they were walking parallel with it. The forest became thicker and harder to move through. The moon in all its fullness appeared low on the horizon, backlighting the surrounding forest into dark silhouettes.

Out of the darkness came a sound, the sound of a chime. A piercing single note of high resonance reverberated through the forest, through Bram’s being, and through the dark itself.

Then, standing on a ledge some twenty meters above them, silhouetted against the moon, the elephant appeared huge and jet black as the forest around him. The monarch stood still, listening. As they approached from below, Bram looked straight up at the gargantuan figure. A beam of moonlight hit the tips of his tusk and
blasted back a whiteness that held its own against the white Patriarch.

Jagrat circled the ledge abutment, walking up a small, narrow spiral path cut into the hill. When they rounded the hill, the moon was at their backs, illuminating everything, and the dark shadows were left behind. Atoul slowly turned his magnificence toward them, emerging into the lunar glow.

Bram looked up at this colossus of nature. Atoul’s body was thirteen feet tall—a height hitherto unknown to Indian elephants. His body was the purest white, his great tusks like daggers, thrust out, the tips with a glistening sheen, honed sharply. His trunk was twice the thickness of any other. Bram could have walked under him without his head touching the broad girth of the belly. The majestic elephant stood before them as if from a fable, frozen in time and space.

“Approach him from the front…slowly, then stand close.”

Bram was as if possessed. Standing in the light of God would have meant no more to him than this moment. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and advanced. In five steps he found himself within a few feet of the great elephant. Then he noticed the chimes hanging from his neck, one silver, the other gold. Each had the same sphere engraved on it as was on Jagrat’s turban. Bram peered up into the face of the old monarch. He was immediately pierced by the black orbs that gazed down upon him.

As he stared, Bram recalled the experience he had had while lying on his bed. It was the same, happening over again, only this time he stayed and looked back. Atoul seemed to be moving toward him. Bram allowed himself to be swallowed up into the bottomless black eyes.

His mind reeled, all his senses were filled. Time and space did not exist. He felt himself being lifted, his hands held firm on hard smooth cylinders…then a bright whiteness filled his vision. He had the sensation of being in a great sphere, floating among the atoms of all living things—the forest, the animals, the earth itself. All things knew one another, and were in harmony. As he was
transported through this snowfall of life and vitality, there was a wonderment of sharing…

…and there was music. It came from the multitude of atoms, each expressing its individual song of Creation, blending into a natural symphony of the most exquisite kind…and then, silence except for the melodic, breathy sound of a flute.

B
RAM AWAKENED IN A BASKET CHAIR
, hung from the high arched ceiling of a temple. Jagrat appeared carrying two glasses filled with a golden bubbly liquid and offered one to Bram.

“Here, drink this,” he said.

Bram drank it down, enjoying the smooth sweet taste. “Where are we?” he asked.

“We are in the Temple of Atoul. This is…the room of metaphysics and meditation,” began Jagrat. “Only things that come from the mind and heart are talked of here.”

The room resembled a miniature temple. Above, a high domed ceiling; below, walls covered with inlaid tiles; the floor, marble; and in its center a copper and teak table surrounded with cushions.

“How did I get here?” Bram asked.

“It is not important. How do you feel?”

“I feel…wonderful.”

“And your memory, what do you recall?”

Bram thought for a moment. “I remember being so close to Atoul. I could smell incense, and then his eyes…and a feeling of…of…floating, I guess, but it was wonderful. And then I was in a kind of bubble of living energy that began to whirl and”—Bram broke into a sweat—“and I remember music…beautiful music, music that my mind has heard before but none that I have ever seen played.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, I think so. What does it mean?”

Jagrat took a final sip from his glass. He paused, as if weighing his thoughts. “They say each man has a path. A path to God. It is inside here,” he said, pointing to his forehead, “and here,” he said, pointing to his heart. “There are those among us who search for truth and learn these great ways by hard study and teachings; there are but a few who have it in them as you do…naturally.

“The maharajah has chosen wisely. I am to share with you some of our most sacred beliefs. He feels these things will be of help to you in your quest for fulfillment in this life, and the next.”

Bram listened intently, knowing that he was privileged to be the one so chosen.

“Many Hindi believe in the Cosmic Law of the Universe, that to seek truth and God in silent meditation for many years will bring enlightenment, the Nirvana they seek, and many do indeed encounter heavenly bliss in this solitude. But just as there are many rivers that lead to the same ocean, so are there many paths that lead to God.

“But here we know the law of nature,” Jagrat said. “God created it. God is nature and as He is perfect, so is nature perfect.

“Those of us who are in tune with nature and animals know it is our way of life, Bram. There is a connection to all living things, a vibration of Life. Animals were not given a power of choice. A lion does not try to eat legumes nor an elephant meat. We believe the best way to communicate with nature, God, is through a liaison: the animals.” Jagrat reached over and touched Bram’s shoulder. Bram
saw the same intensity in his eyes that he had seen in Atoul’s.

“Nature hears one voice and obeys it,” Jagrat continued. “That is why ten or ten thousand birds may rise from the surface of a lake at the same time and yet never touch one another. Man hears only his own voice. He constantly bumps into another. Even his voice mirrors his erratic walk, jealousy, hate, ego, pride, lying, cheating. He makes his own judgments and falls prey to his greed.” Jagrat smiled, a twinkle gleaming in his eyes. “Remember, the moon is reflected in one drop of water as is the entire ocean—so it is with God. He is reflected in each living thing—in a grain of sand as the entire shore, one star as the whole universe. Each animal as in all creatures.”

Jagrat moved slowly around the room. Bram’s eyes were riveted as he watched and felt a power within him listening, understanding—and knowing. He heard Jagrat’s words: “Man’s power of choice to rely on himself rather than being one with nature has been disturbing. If something is not used properly, such as the ability to tap into the vibration, it becomes weak and loses power, it atrophies. Man is losing his ability to hear the voice.”

He stopped and gazed at the light from the distant moon as it streamed into the room, revealing exquisite patterns on the marble floor.

Bram spoke for the first time. “But, Jagrat, is it not as natural for man to have the power of choice as it for the animals not to have it?”

Jagrat nodded. “We all were given a set of rules to live by,” he explained. “The only difference is that man must use his intelligence to organize and control his directives, and learn to use his power of choice correctly. Man is like a child with a new toy; he hasn’t yet figured out how it works. He understands the principle, now he must learn the controls.

“When man chooses to develop his innate power of communication with nature and therefore hear the voice, all will be right with the world—we will be as one. What you have been able to do with your Modoc is what man has been seeking for a long time. To communicate with nature through the animals. Treasure it.

“I end by telling you to listen and hear the vibration, the song of nature. The sounds of nature are its music, its lyrics, and it comes from all living things. The subtle violin whispers of the wind in the pine forest, the howling bassoon of the violent monsoon, the clarinet of the birds, the drums of the earthquakes and volcanoes, the cymbals of lightning and thunder, the harp of the oceans, together they play God’s song—early morning dripping of water from a night storm, the songbirds in the meadow during the sunny afternoon, the owl, the roar of a lion, the evening breezes blowing through the trees. It is a true song. Not a story. Not a fable with a point made at its end. But a song that sings within and without all living things.

“I hear the music; I learned it through Atoul. I know it is always in sync—the harmony, the melody are perfect and are always there to hear. That is the way it is. Perfect. It is everywhere at all times.

“It can never be stopped or disrupted. It is in our sleep, yet does not awaken us. We are all musical instruments in God’s orchestra. The music is never the same, it changes from minute to minute.

“Man must learn to tune in. It will be his nature to try to change it, but he can not create something better than the Creator. Teach your fellow man to listen, especially your enemy. Hear nature’s symphony. The blind can see it, the deaf can hear it. To listen to the sounds of nature is to hear Creation at its beginning, middle, and end at the same time, together and apart. For man, nature and God are one.

“Your experience with Atoul was to see if you had the power to reach into him; as he and you together merged into one natural thought, Atoul created the passage to learning and you were able to go there, see, experience, and return. You have the power of communicating with animals. Use them as a conduit, listen to the voice of nature.”

T
HE SUN BROKE INTO DAYLIGHT
like an egg being cracked against a window frame. A strip of bright yellow-red rays lay firebranded across the bed. The bed moved! Bram rolled over, covering his eyes from the brightness.

“Okay! Okay! I’m up!”

It was six o’clock. Modoc always thumped his ceiling at that time—a sure way to get him up. Bram spent a good hour cleaning Modoc’s area, telling her everything that had happened last night. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed unreal. He rolled the philosophy over and over in his mind, comparing it to his own thinking, and was pleased that it was so similar.

The previous night had changed Bram. It seemed he had grown from a boy to a man overnight. His attitude, speaking manner, the way he carried himself, all said: “
I have matured!
” Knowledge and experience do that.

He found himself wondering about his future. How long would he stay here? Surely there was no place better in the whole world for his kind of lifestyle than the Elephantarium. He knew now, more than ever, he could never give up Mo. What they had endured together bonded them for life. His father was right—they were connected. The months he’d spent at the Elephantarium had taught him a great deal.

Bram received a message from the maharajah, asking to see him immediately. Although they had been having frequent lunches, it was most unusual for them to meet on a Friday, as this was the maharajah’s time to meet with all his ministers and ambassadors.

“Bram, I’m afraid I have bad news for you…” The maharajah picked up a yellow piece of paper. “This morning I received a lengthy letter from your Mr. North. He stated that an article in the New York newspaper spoke of an amazing rescue at sea involving a young man and an elephant. He further stated that seeing as the ship carrying his animals was lost in the vicinity of the rescue, he assumed the rescued elephant was his.”

Bram’s stomach felt as if it were spinning and tying itself into knots. His heart raced.

The maharajah continued, “He goes on to say that since the animals are of the utmost importance to the circus, and feeling that perhaps more have been found than have been reported, he is arranging for passage on the first ship leaving New York for India.”

“But…” Bram began.

“Wait, there’s more. He says, ‘…and regarding the boy, he is a thief, do not be fooled by him. He has stolen property that belongs to me and I will never stop in my endeavor to regain it and see to it that this boy is punished to the full extent of the law.’ He ends by requesting my full support in this matter.”

The maharajah set the letter on a garden bench. “Bram, we have become good friends, and I want you to know that I will do whatever I can to help you in this situation.”

Bram was shocked. He sat, scanning the letter, but reading
nothing. “I have to go…take Modoc with me,” he said flatly, staring into space.

“Wait, Bram, listen to me. There are alternatives. I could possibly convince Mr. North to allow you to return with them, and stay with Modoc.”

“No,” Bram said dejectedly, “he wouldn’t. He doesn’t like
our kind of people
…Jews, and even if he agreed to it now, I don’t trust him to live up to it once we leave. Besides, others would work Mo, I’d probably go to prison, and that would be more than I could bear.”

“What if…” the maharajah continued thoughtfully. “Bram, if they do find her, I want to say always there will be another elephant waiting for you here. I promise it will never be taken away. I would offer to buy Modoc or even offer Mr. North a trade but under the circumstances, I do not think he would let her go.”

“Please, sir,” Bram said, “your kindness and hospitality have been most gracious, but I cannot stay. I have to make arrangements to leave, quickly.”

Before Bram could stand up, the maharajah rested his hand on Bram’s shoulder. “Please, another moment.” Clearing his throat, he went on, “I am the sovereign leader of a very large principality. Many of my people know what has transpired here. In my position I cannot do anything illegal. I cannot let Modoc go! To do so would be against my principles, and my people would lose faith in me.”

Bram jumped to his feet. “What? You mean…but it can’t be. You are my friend. You said you would help me!”

“Bram…you must understand. It is a matter of proprieties and protocol.”

“All I know is that unless we leave here immediately, North will come and take Modoc!”

The maharajah was quiet for some time. Finally he spoke. “Very well then, I must say the following—Modoc is as of this moment under my care and authority, and any attempt to take her will be met with resistance. However,” he added, standing up, “if by some means she was to be smuggled out without my knowl
edge, I would be most upset, and have to look far and wide for her. But India is a very big country, and there are many places to hide such an elephant. I would, of course, have to tell Mr. North of the predicament, and assist him in every way that I can.”

The maharajah stroked his beard. Then, looking at Bram with a knowing smile, he said, “But then, I don’t think anybody would be so foolish as to do such a thing. Do you?”

Bram busied himself preparing to leave. He was grateful for the maharajah’s “understanding” and wanted to leave quickly. He needed the time to get away, far away. He put everything he owned in a circle on the floor, separating the articles into piles. Each pile was put into an individual burlap bag and stored in a closet. There was a soft knocking at his door. He quickly pushed away any remaining evidence of his departure.

“Come in.”

Sabu entered, carrying with him a number of items necessary for Bram’s trip. Many of these Bram hadn’t thought about. Sabu settled on the floor and began laying them out.

Bram dropped down beside him and spoke softly. “I didn’t know that you knew I was…”

“You have many friends here, sahib. Here, I have brought you maps of the areas you might be crossing.”

“I think I’ll head—”

“Please! Do not tell me. It is best that I do not know. Then no one can see a lie on my face if there is none there. You must be careful, sahib. India is a poor country, and there are people who would do bad things in an effort to better their own lives.”

“I was only going to say that I plan on sticking to the forest during the night, and the cities by the day, as I am told there are more thieves in the city at night.”

“It is true, but sometimes things can reverse themselves. Such is the way of God. However, the forest is a good source of food for Modoc. It will also serve as a great hiding place if the need arises. When do you plan on leaving?”

“Tomorrow night. It will be the first night of a full moon, and we will be able to make it to the outskirts of the city by early morning.”

Bram stood up and walked around his room slowly. “In all the places I have ever seen or read about, this is by far the most beautiful, not just in the material things, but in the hearts of all I have met. I will miss you as a brother, Sabu, and maybe someday we’ll see each other again.”

A howdah had suddenly appeared at Bram’s door.

“It is obviously a gift from God,” Sabu stated simply. “You must take it graciously and use it well.”

The time of his leaving had come quickly. He wanted to tell everybody goodbye and thank them for their friendship, but that was impossible. Sabu would have to explain to a trusted few after he left.

A messenger from Atoul’s temple brought a note—Bram recognized the handwriting immediately. The note said:

Bram was excited to have received the note from Jagrat, and though he had no idea what it meant, he knew it must be important. This was the night of his leaving, and he figured he would leave a bit early so as to visit the lake on his departure. He couldn’t say goodbye to the maharajah, but made up an excuse to see him once more.

The maharajah sat in his royal chair, two feet high upon a dais. A fancy, colorful carpet lay at his feet. A pair of beautiful white and peach-colored cockatoos raised their crests as Bram entered. Two court attendants stood at the far end of the large room. Bram stood at the door waiting expectantly.

“Come, come, my friend,” the maharajah beckoned. “I understand you wish to see me. Here, sit by me.”

“I was so distraught with the news of Mr. North that I forgot to
tell you how awe-inspiring the meeting with Atoul was. It will be in my mind and soul forever. What he and Jagrat share only deepens the knowledge my father taught me. Since meeting them, something has happened. Modoc and I don’t need to speak to each other as much. We just…know! And I feel…older, more in tune with life. What I have to do now I will do with a new energy.”

An understanding smile crossed the maharajah’s face. He noticed a concern on Bram’s face. “There is something else you wish to discuss?”

“Yes, one that needs your wisdom.”

The maharajah looked questioningly at him. “Hmmm, yes, of course, if I can be of help.”

“My question is, how faithful must one be to one who has died? Does a promise carry on after one has departed to his afterlife?”

The maharajah stepped down from his heights and approached Bram, knowing he was speaking of his commitment to his father.

“The commitment is to yourself, young man. It is you and you alone who will feel if your decision is right or wrong. Some things are promised in haste, others to appease and satisfy a sick one, some for love…or hate. As for your atonement in the afterlife, any decision made in this life will follow you forever.” He put his arm around Bram’s shoulder. “I do not feel you have any need for concern. You are a person who carries a good heart, and I feel your soul will be richly rewarded in the afterlife.”

Bram was deeply moved. “I thank you deeply for your wisdom and kindness. It will never be forgotten.” Bram stood motionless, hoping that he’d spoken in a way that wouldn’t embarrass the maharajah.

The maharajah beckoned to his valet. The man approached carrying a red velvet pillow. Placed on top was a golden chain, and hanging from it was a medallion similar to the one Jagrat wore. Etched on the back below the royal family crest was Bram’s name. As the maharajah slipped it over Bram’s head he said, “This is known throughout India and will be respected by all who encounter it.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “You are as a son to me.”

Bram could not move; the glint of moisture filling his eyes was seen by the maharajah, who knew this man-child had suffered much since leaving his home and loved ones. Now, again, he must continue, all for the love of an elephant. The maharajah opened his arms. They moved together and embraced, as father and son. Both felt it was the last time they would see each other.

Bram left the palace, never to forget the most wonderful place he had ever seen.