Elephants, Porcupines and Propositions (2)
In Pinnawela, Kunara refused to join us on our trip to the orphanage.
“Oh come on”, we pleaded: “We can take the labtops with us so nobody can steal them.”
“It is not just that” he replied: “Its the car!”
His worried expression said it all. I would not want to be the one telling Rob that anything had happened to his brand-new Hyundai. We left him in the shade licking an ice-cream and promised to be quick.
We found the elephants emerging from their noon bath in a small lake. Once back on land, they threw dust over their backs and rubbed themselves avidly against the palm trees, some of which had begun to lean dangerously.
I approached with trepidation. The guidebook cautioned visitors about getting too cocky, these were after all wild animals. But one of the mahouts waved us closer and soon we were in touching distance from the elephants. The adults kept tiny babies protectively in the shade under their bellies and stayed close to the bigger calves, but allowed us to touch them. We desisted, all this contact had to be stressfull for the animals. On the other hand, if this was the case I was sure the elephants would let us know about it. We stayed close to the animals for a while, then stepped back to let other people through.
We stood under the sparse shade of a few trees further up the hill that had escaped the elephants’ attention; a crowd of visitors from all over the world, captivated by the scene before us. Most of the herd had by now gathered among the palms, but a few straddlers were still climbing up the steep bank from the lake, edged on by their mahouts. In the background, a white-throated kingfisher (Halcyon smyrnensis) fluttered up from the trees on a small island, its topaz-blue back flashing like a jewel. As the elephants settled down for their dust bath and rubbing-session against the distressed palms, we noticed that among the more recent arrivals, there were many casualties of war. One cow hobbled on three legs. She had stepped on a land-mine.
Close by, a European woman was lecturing to a small cosmopolitan group of people who had gathered around her. I immediately had her down as a Biologist, showing off.
“Why are there so few elephants with tusks?” John asked. Now it was my turn to enter into lecturer-mode. Nobody knows why Sri Lankan elephants rarely grow tusks, my guess is that past hunting has thinned the gene-pool, so I told him that this is probably the reason.
“Why are the bulls not with the herd?”
“The matriarchs, the old females in charge, do not tolerate them among the herd, except for mating.”
I explained about ‘musth’, the condition of elephant bulls in heat when they can become dangerous to their keepers. S looked pensive, then launched into a couple of stories on his own. He had been to Sri Lanka often and heard many tales. “It is a problem”, he concluded: “especially at certain times of the year when Orion is directly overhead.”
My eyes widened. “But Orion is…” I stopped.
S had a twinkle in his eye. I do not know why I thought for a moment that he was an authority on elephants. He can be very persuasive. That set me straight. I snapped out of lecturer-mode and, laughing, we walked over to the compound where the orphaned baby elephants were due for their feed.
On our way we passed the perimeter fence. There in the shade stood a huge bull, his magnificent tusks radiant white and almost straight. He stood in his chains, completely motionless. His mahout beckoned us closer. As we approached we saw that the elephant was blind in both eyes. The mahout told us his story and A translated: The bull had been shot in the head in Wilpattu National Park. He had been saved, just, but lost his sight. Now the mahout was his only link to the world around as he could no longer mix with the other elephants.
The feeding of the baby elephants took place in a roofed compound near the entrance to the orphanage. Each calf was shackled and fed from lage bottles of milk, about a gallon at a time. It was quite a performance, but it was mainly for show. S grumbled at the exhibitionism of it all.
“This centre does important work,” I said: “and they need to raise the funds to do it.” The entrance fee had been 200 rupees for each of us foreigners, 20 rupees for A.
“But they are wild animals and they belong back in the wild!” S argued.
I reasoned with him that even the healthy elephants could no longer be rehabilitated. There was no room for them and, accustomed to humans, they were certain to intrude on farmland or enter villages. “They are captive animals now,” I concluded: “so they have to be managed in captivity. It is sad, but true.”
The conflict between elephants and humans is a fact of life in Sri Lanka, but the country has set aside large areas as sanctuaries and is at least trying to arrive at a compromise.
Denni