For children: Mili, daughter of the general in charge of war elephants, befriends a white elephant

“Three,” Baba instructed the handlers, choosing from amongst the most capable adult cow elephants at the camp.

The handlers led the trio of tame elephants into a stockade that was enclosed by pointed stakes. The gate to it was left open. It could be swung shut from a safe distance in an instant, however, by means of a long, sturdy rope. Once the elephants were settled inside the stockade, Mili helped the handlers rub them down with an oil that smelt powerfully of bark and spice.

She knew what came next. The trappers were going to hunt the white elephant that night. They would drive it before them using their dogs and their drums, scaring it out of the forest and towards the stockade. The comforting scent of the cow elephants and the special oil would lure it inside.

As soon as it entered, the trappers would pull the gate shut, trapping the elephant. The cow elephants would gradually calm it, until such time that the trainers could safely approach.

Mili hardly slept that night, tossing and turning in excitement. She could almost hear the white elephant trumpeting from deep inside the jungle. What kind of white would he be, she wondered. She had learned the five shades of white at school:

Ivory white.

Jasmine white.

The white of the August moon.

The white of clouds after the last monsoon rain.

The white of a conch shell.

Which kind of white would the elephant be?

She had just about fallen asleep, when the trackers came running. They’d caught him! The white elephant, they’d caught him!

“Mili! We have to go,” Baba called, and they hurried to the stockade.

Sceptical as he’d been, Baba stopped short, unable to mask his complete and utter astonishment when he laid eyes on the captive.

For once, the trackers had not exaggerated.

The elephant was the palest that Mili had ever seen. The colour of a summer dawn, or the inside of the seashells that travelling merchants sometimes sold in the Trigarta markets. It was fairly tall and had two well-formed tusks.

It was also very, very angry.

Mili stepped closer to Baba, fascinated but also a little scared as the elephant trumpeted in fury. It shook its head from side to side, charging at anyone who dared approach. Even the cow elephants backed away, unnerved by its ferocity.

“Well done,” said Baba to the trackers. “Well done indeed.”

The elephant slammed its body against the wall of the stockade, trumpeting in rage.

“This one will need special handling though. Nobody approach it for two days,” Baba ordered, eyeing the furious elephant.

Two days went by. The handlers had carefully let out the cow elephants from the enclosure, holding back the white elephant by means of sharpened goads. After that, no matter how loudly it trumpeted, tried to batter its way out of the enclosure, or tried with its tusks to uproot the stakes, it was ignored. No food was offered; it was left entirely alone.

The third morning, when they went to check on him, they found the elephant standing motionless, head bowed, its back to the watching group.

“I think he’s tired,” Mili whispered to Baba.

He nodded. “That’s the whole point. We tire them out and then offer them food and care to show we mean them no harm. Watch,” he said as one of the most experienced handlers in the camp ventured cautiously into the enclosure.

The white elephant turned and charged with such speed that the man barely made it out alive.

“Another day,” ordered Baba. “Half rations.”

Three more days went past in this fashion, but not even Baba himself was able to approach the white elephant. It refused to lie down or rest, battering the stakes in rage or else standing in a corner, head bowed. They lowered food into the enclosure, but it refused to touch it.

“He’s sad,” Mili said pensively at dinner that night.

“Who?” Baba asked, startled. “The elephant?” He snorted. “That one has a temper, that’s all. Stubborn too.” He reached for another helping of lentils. “No matter, we’ll work it out of him.”

Mili said nothing more. The next morning, however, she slipped from her tent at the earliest light, stepping silently past her snoring nanny. The camp lay quiet, a single dog pricking its ears in interest as Mili hurried past, towards the stockade.

The white elephant stood in a corner, his back to her. “Hello,” she said softly to him through the bars. The elephant remained perfectly still, but she knew he was listening. ‘I’m Mili,’ she said.

“You must be so tired,” she tried again. “And hungry. Here, look, I brought you something.”

She held out the stick of sugarcane she’d taken from the stables the previous evening. She tapped it against the stakes to get his attention, and he swung furiously around to face her.

Mili took an involuntary step back.

Heart beating fast, she tentatively stepped closer again. The elephant stamped his feet in warning.

“Do you know,” she said to him, “that in the days of old, when gods roamed the earth, elephants came in four colours. Green as a peacock’s tail, yellow as gold, dark as a raincloud, and white as lightning. Now only the dark-coloured elephants remain; the others are only to be found in heaven, it is said. And yet, here you are, my magical white one.”

“Do...do you miss your herd, your friends?” she went on. “I can be your friend, you know.”

He took a threatening step towards her.

“My mother’s gone too, you know,” Mili confided. “Many years ago. I never knew her.” The elephant stared at her, ears flapping.

“Here, you know what might cheer you up?” Mili began to sing the song she’d learned from the bard.

O golden armoured giants! Trumpeting as you tread
O tusked lords! Filling enemy ranks with dread.

The elephant trumpeted in rage, flinging himself dramatically against the wall of the stockade.

“All right, all right!” Mili cried indignantly. “So you don’t like that war song, but there’s no need to be rude about it!”

Excerpted with permission from The War Elephants of Trigarta, Sarita Mandanna, Aleph Book Company.