Follow the Elephant (4 page)

His grandmother’s voice was so shrill it hurt his ears. “What’s the matter with you? You can’t go wandering off like that. I need to know where you are.”

“I was right here. I was safe.” He watched the elephant and the orange-robed crowd continue on down the street.

“I could barely see you. You were buried in the crowd. Come on. We’ve got to get back to our hotel right now.”

Ben trudged behind her, his face flushed, his head reeling. “I would have found my way back to the hotel, Gran.”

Gran stormed along the pavement. “That’s a stupid thing to say. I’m responsible for you, and you have to stay with me.” She turned and glared at him. “Got it, Ben?”

Ben shrugged. It was horrible to be stuck with someone who had to have her own way about everything. And calling him stupid. She was the stupid old lady, always worrying about something. How many times in your life would you have a chance to walk in a procession beside a live elephant?

In some mysterious way Ben couldn’t understand, that elephant had willed him to follow. In the middle of the crowd, being so close to the giant beast, he had forgotten where he was. Maybe it had been dumb to wander off, but he’d been completely safe.

Ben was jolted out of his thoughts. “Take off your baseball cap, Ben,” Gran said as they went through the door to the hotel.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t like to see a hat worn inside. It’s a silly thing to do.”

Ben rolled his eyes as he snapped off his hat and followed his grandmother into the restaurant.

The friendly Gita was still on duty, and she suggested they might like to try pakoras. As he ate the delicious deep-fried vegetables, Ben asked Gita about the orange-gowned people and the elephant. She explained that it was a religious procession of worshippers going to a temple. “Sometimes they have an elephant with them. One of our most popular gods, Ganesh, is half-elephant and half-boy, so everyone in India loves elephants.”

“There’s something powerful about them,” Ben said. It was hard to say what it was. Those chocolate-coloured eyes that felt as though they could see inside you? The elephants’ enormous size? They were majestic.

Gran interrupted his thoughts. “I’m beat. Let’s go to our room, Ben.”

Upstairs, Ben plopped himself down in a chair in front of the black-and-white television.

Gran gave a big sigh. “Do you have to put your runners on the table, Ben? It’s rude.”

Great. Now he was rude, as well as silly for wearing his baseball cap backwards, stupid for wanting to give money to beggars, and crazy for being interested in elephants. Hadn’t anyone told Gran not to use labels?

AGAIN THE STRANGE
, vibrating call woke Ben. What kind of a thing could make that noise? Now Ben thought it sounded like a goat or a cow being tortured, which made him feel weird. He got dressed and went downstairs.

The desk clerk nodded cheerfully as Ben went into the computer room.

Then, without a pause, Ben Googled the Calcutta Senior Girls’ School. He clicked on the top hit that came up, glanced over the school’s home page and found the place where he could leave a message for former students. Alumni, they were called. He typed in

Just as he finished, Gran popped her head into the room, telling Ben it was time for breakfast. Gita chatted with them as they ate, then wished them good luck as they headed to the entrance of the hotel. Like the day before, going through the door was like pushing through the blast from an open oven. You wanted to turn around and go back inside.

“So hot!” Gran said. “And it’s only early morning.”

“Look who’s over there,” Ben said, pointing to the shade at one side of the entrance where Madhu was leaning against the taxi and Padam was polishing the hood of the car. Ben was not surprised to see them. When they’d said “we are belonging to you,” it was probably more like “you are belonging to us.” It didn’t matter, they were such nice guys.

“Good morning, memsahib and sahib,” said Madhu, coming up to them.

“Why not call me Ben?” Ben answered.

“And call me Norah,” Gran said, adjusting her fanny pack. “Memsahib makes me feel like British royalty.”

“Oh, we couldn’t do that, memsahib,” said Padam. “You are being so very old and both of you are being our honoured guests.”

Madhu said, “We will call you Norah memsahib and Ben sahib.” Padam nodded enthusiastically with a high-pitched giggle. “Today, we will be seeing the Red Fort. You must hop-hop into our so-shiny vehicle!”

It must have rained during the night. The dust on the road was hard-packed, and the smell, harsh and musky in Ben’s nose. He leaned forward as they drove. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Ben sahib,” the men answered together.

“There’s a loud call I keep hearing. Usually in the mornings, but yesterday I heard it in the day too. Sort of like a wailing. Do you know what it is?”

“Indeed, yes, we do,” Madhu answered. “It will be the muezzins calling Muslim people to prayer at the mosques. Five times a day they call.”

“Now you are knowing,” Padam added. “The muezzins have strong voices which are being sent by so-loud loudspeakers to reach every part of the city.”

“Watch, I will turn here and will be driving past the Jama Masjid, India’s largest mosque,” Madhu said, turning a corner. “There, you see the grand mosque?”

Ben saw a long row of steps leading to a massive stone building, bigger than the stadium in Vancouver, with two tall towers at either side.

“The muezzins call from the tops of those towers called minarets,” Madhu said, “and believe it or not, twenty-five thousand worshippers can fit into the courtyard.”

“Do Muslims really pray five times a day?” Ben asked.

“Indeed, they do try wherever they are,” Padam answered. “But only men can go inside the mosque. See those women on the street wearing black robes? They are Muslim women. See how their heads and faces are covered? It is to be protecting the modesty of the Muslim women.”

“I thought people in India were all Hindus,” Ben said.

“Oh my no, we have a mixed curry of religions here in India! Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Jews and Christians.” Padam’s grin was so wide that Ben discovered there were still three teeth left in his mouth.

Huge mosques, muezzins calling five times a day, worshippers walking with elephants down the streets. Religion was everywhere in India.

Madhu stopped the taxi beside a red stone wall. “We are here now at the Red Fort which is called ‘red’ because of the colour of the stone used to build it.”

Along with a stream of tourists, the four of them went through the tall gate into a courtyard with a large lotus-shaped pool. “Come now,” Madhu said. “You must see where water used to flow in a river of marble past the private rooms of Emperor Shah Jahan’s wives.”

“Did you say wives?” Gran asked.

“Only four, Norah memsahib. Oo la la!” said Padam, his shoulders shaking with squeaky laughter.

This made Gran and Madhu laugh. In spite of himself, Ben laughed too.

Gran kept turning around to watch the Indian women walking beside them. “All those women in their colourful saris! They’re like brilliant butterflies weaving in and out of the crowd,” she said.

“Hindu women look truly beautiful in their saris,” Madhu answered. “Come now and let me show you where the fort’s walls are covered in precious jewels in designs of birds and flowers.”

Ben followed behind. Women like butterflies? Precious jewels? This was supposed to be a fort. Didn’t they fight battles in forts?

“It’s so peaceful here. I could stay forever if it wasn’t so hot,” Gran said.

Too peaceful. Too boring. Ben felt like telling his grandmother: You stay. I’m going back to Canada. The oohs and ahhs she kept making were what you’d expect travelling with an old lady in a droopy skirt and a hat with holes in it. If he could think of a way to dump her and go off on his own, he just might. Ben looked up to see Madhu signalling him.

“Come with us now to the viewing balcony to see the magicians,” Madhu said, leading them up a short flight of stairs.

Magicians. That was more like it. He’d stick around for a while.

Tourists had gathered in the full sun on the low balcony to see the show. Below the balcony a man lay on the grass with the magician standing over him. Slowly, with each lift of the magician’s wand, the man began to rise off the grass. Higher and higher, as though on an invisible bed, he floated in the air. He wobbled a bit, and then, seemingly in a trance, steadied, suspended almost two metres off the ground.

“Ohh,” breathed the crowd.

That was a cool trick. Was the man held up with ropes or were mirrors hiding some kind of support? As if in answer to the questions in Ben’s head, the magician began to sweep the wand over, above and below the levitating man to show there were no ropes or trick boxes. Ben joined the crowd as it burst into applause. The magician bowed, waited for people to throw down coins, and then waved his wand to bring the man’s body slowly back down to the ground.

The man sat up, shook himself as though coming out of a dream, then stood and began to pick up coins.

“Can you believe what we just saw, Gran!” Ben said. “This is more like it. I was so amazed I forgot to take pictures.”

“It’s got to be a trick, but a darn good one,” Gran said, handing Ben some coins to throw down.

“Tut-tut. It was no trick, Norah memsahib,” interjected Padam. “Never must you be saying you don’t believe in magic.”

Ben wondered. Something you’d seen with your own eyes had to be real. But how could a man levitate in the air with no wires or tricks?

Ben looked at his grandmother. Despite the holes in her hat, perspiration was glistening on her cheeks and around her neck. Her lipstick had melted and was running into the lines around her mouth. Sweat stung his own eyes. He checked the thermometer that he had put on his daypack. Forty-one degrees! They were all cooking.

Madhu said, “Next you must be watching one of our cobra charmers.”

Cobras! Ben forgot the heat. This place was unreal.

A man wearing a high turban and ballooning striped pants took his place just a few metres below them. He carried a short flute and a large woven basket. The man placed the basket on the ground, opened the lid and began to play a reedy tune, dipping the flute toward the open basket, then swirling it up to the sky. Slowly, a large black and yellow cobra with a frilled hood emerged from the basket. The snake wove higher and higher, rising closer to the flute. The crowd gasped and when the cobra struck out at the flute player Gran shrieked and clutched Ben.

She was breathing fast and her face was ashen. “I can’t stay. Take me away.”

“Do not worry,” said Madhu. “We are safe up here, Norah memsahib. Hold my arm.”

Ben couldn’t move his eyes from the scene below. Weaving in time to the music, the snake twisted and lunged toward the crowd. They were close enough for Ben to see the flick of its forked tongue, and this time he remembered to take a photograph.

Gran screamed. “
Get me away from here. Please!
” She turned her face and drooped against Madhu’s arm.

“He’s not finished yet, he’s doing more. Let’s stay,” Ben whispered.

“We must be taking your grandmother out of the heat. Come.” Madhu and Padam stood on either side of Gran, each of them holding an arm, and almost hoisted her down the stairs.

Ben desperately wanted to see the rest of the act. He’d only ever seen snakes in zoos, where they just lay around in a display case without moving. But it
was
hot. His hair was dripping wet under his cap and his legs were sweating in his jeans. His mother had been right when she told him he should buy shorts. He’d noticed that most Indian men, including Padam and Madhu, wore cotton shorts. Reluctantly, he followed to join the others in the shade by a stone fountain.

Gran was sitting down, mopping her face. “I’m sorry I made a fuss,” she said. “Snakes are the one thing I’m deathly scared of.”

Madhu said, “You must not worry. We are all different. I can see that Norah memsahib loves marble and precious stones and Ben sahib prefers the cleverness of our magicians and our snake charmers.”

Ben stood by himself, trying to understand what he’d seen. There was an expression, “seeing is believing.” He knew what he’d seen with his own eyes. Did that mean he believed a man could levitate and a snake could be made to dance to music? In Canada people would laugh at these things. But this was India, and he was no longer sure what to believe.

After a cold drink Gran said she felt better and would like to explore the market across the street.

“This is called the Chandni Chowk,” Madhu told them. “It is said that anything stolen in New Delhi turns up here within twenty-four hours.”

Padam rushed to explain. “You must not think ill of our country. Not everything is stolen.” He waved his hands in the air. “My goody-goodness it is not.”

Ben had never seen such a crush of humanity in his life. Streams of men and women brushed past them on the road in both directions. On either side, stalls were piled with radios, television sets, carpets and leather suitcases. Counters were laden with gold jewellery, stone pots, brass statues; further along were rows of coloured powders and sacks of chilies and lentils. The air smelled of a confusing blend of sharp spices, cooked food and body sweat, his own included.

Then, without warning, the noise of the street seemed to drop away, and Ben was staring at a stone statue a little taller than he was, on a platform across the road. He had to get closer.

Madhu scurried after him. “Ben sahib, this is our popular god, Ganesh. The elephant boy we call him. Children are asking Ganesh to help when they have some difficulty.”

It was a happy-looking god. The plump elephant’s face had a broad smile. Its long trunk fell over the round belly and the pudgy crossed legs of a seated boy. The elephant god had four arms and long ears. Madhu said, “Ganesh has big ears so he can listen when children talk to him. Look carefully. See one of his hands holds a round cake? This god is fond of sweets.”

“Just like my grandmother,” Ben laughed.

Ben ran his hand down the elephant’s curving trunk. It was hot from the sun and strangely smooth. It felt almost human. What was it about these Indian elephants? He had the same feeling yesterday at the street parade when he’d been drawn to the live elephant. This was only a statue, but it was pulling him powerfully.

“You like our Ganesh, Ben sahib?” Madhu asked.

Ben kept his hand on the warm trunk and turned to answer. “What kid wouldn’t like a god who listens to children?”

“We must go now, Ben sahib,” Madhu said. Once again, Ben wasn’t ready to leave but he knew he had to go with Madhu back to the taxi where Gran and Padam were waiting. It would be time for them to return to the registry office.

At the door to the office building, Gran thanked the two men. She hesitated and then asked Ben if he’d sort out the money to pay them. “Who’s this man on the bills?” Ben asked as he handed the rupees to Madhu.

“That is our beloved Mahatma Gandhi,” Madhu said. “India’s great spiritual leader during our independence. This humble man travelled everywhere wearing only a simple cotton cloth we call a dhoti. Our leader is renowned for telling us we must show patience and persistence.”