The day I sat down to begin writing FLUTE IN THE FOREST I recalled another elephant experience that taught me how important it is to understand the jungle well.
It was my first walk in the forest. We had decided to trek to a distant hilltop, where a large wild mango tree grew. The tree had begun to fruit, and the young mangoes were perfect for mango pickle!
We headed upstream, following the trills of a Whistling Thrush. (You can find out more about this bird in my book. Its a fascinating metallic blue/black bird with the most deceiving call ever!)
We were inside thick bamboo forest, an hour into the walk, when my husband clutched my arm and began pulling me urgently towards a steep and high bank directly in front.
"Hurry!" he whispered hoarsely. "Elephant!" Suddenly my legs refused to move, and he had to drag me along like a scared rabbit. We huffed and puffed to the top of the steep bank, and there we stood still to listen.
Down on the left, about a 100 feet away stood a huge lone tusker. He too, stood still, ears flapping agitatedly, his trunk waving crazily. He had smelt us. It was a tusker in musth! Dont ever mess with an elephant in musth! Even the mahouts who care for male elephants find it hard to control when this happens. This particular guy was infamous in the area, and no one dared enter his bit of jungle!
Somehow, we'd taken a wrong path and phew! We were close! But luck was on our side.
We watched the rogue for a good 20 minutes. He knew we were up there, way too high for him to get quickly to us. His trunk lashed at the branches of bamboo around him, twigs and branches crashing about in frustration. The deep threatening rumble in his throat was enough to warn us.
That day our trek was tense. We trudged up that hilltop, collected a bagful of tiny wild mangoes and took the long way around the base of the hill. We never came across the tusker again. but a year later he trampled a couple of workers who decided to take a shortcut into the forest. They never came out alive.
It was my first walk in the forest. We had decided to trek to a distant hilltop, where a large wild mango tree grew. The tree had begun to fruit, and the young mangoes were perfect for mango pickle!
We headed upstream, following the trills of a Whistling Thrush. (You can find out more about this bird in my book. Its a fascinating metallic blue/black bird with the most deceiving call ever!)
We were inside thick bamboo forest, an hour into the walk, when my husband clutched my arm and began pulling me urgently towards a steep and high bank directly in front.
"Hurry!" he whispered hoarsely. "Elephant!" Suddenly my legs refused to move, and he had to drag me along like a scared rabbit. We huffed and puffed to the top of the steep bank, and there we stood still to listen.
Down on the left, about a 100 feet away stood a huge lone tusker. He too, stood still, ears flapping agitatedly, his trunk waving crazily. He had smelt us. It was a tusker in musth! Dont ever mess with an elephant in musth! Even the mahouts who care for male elephants find it hard to control when this happens. This particular guy was infamous in the area, and no one dared enter his bit of jungle!
Somehow, we'd taken a wrong path and phew! We were close! But luck was on our side.
We watched the rogue for a good 20 minutes. He knew we were up there, way too high for him to get quickly to us. His trunk lashed at the branches of bamboo around him, twigs and branches crashing about in frustration. The deep threatening rumble in his throat was enough to warn us.
That day our trek was tense. We trudged up that hilltop, collected a bagful of tiny wild mangoes and took the long way around the base of the hill. We never came across the tusker again. but a year later he trampled a couple of workers who decided to take a shortcut into the forest. They never came out alive.
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