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Word spread like wildfire. The rogue is coming this way! Panic gripped the whole village. What should they do? What could they do? Men gathered in someone’s front yard to plan a strategy: There must be enough firewood stacked up in one place; a big fire should be lit at that end; the elephant would appear from that end. Women were everywhere, like anxious hens before a storm, as they tried to herd their young ones to the safety of their homes. The elders sat looking at the frightened women. Then they shouted. Didn’t the women realize that their bamboo and thatch huts were but matchboxes for a wild elephant? One nudge from him would raze these to the ground. A wild elephant has gone mad! It is a big tusker. It was seen coming out of the sanctuary and heading westward. It has not only damaged several houses in its frenzied march but has killed some five or six people. News had already reached the village. A bride trampled to death in one village, a couple in another. A peasant has been killed on his way to the field. An old man, returning one evening from the weekly market was kicked around like a football. Who knows how many houses have been destroyed? - Athulananda Goswamy 9 CONFLUENCE-I The Government too has been aroused. On the advice of the local authorities they have issued a public notification declaring the elephant a rogue which must be caught and killed. They have announced an award. But the villagers are not interested in administrative details. Has the rogue been killed? No? They say that it is coming this way? Forest guards have spotted it? The dreaded news hits every villager like a bullet. They are hysterical with fear. They forget their meals. Anyway there is nothing to eat. The women have forgotten to cook. The elephant has gone mad, someone explains. It is all because of a poacher. He gave it chase. The tusks were big. You see. They were too tempting for the ... Let it be, let it be! What use is this talk? Just tell us- Has it been killed? Can we breathe in peace now? Oh God, send us some kind message in this hour of crisis. Villages to the east have organized a night watch. Drums, empty tins, even threshing pins were being sounded intermittently. Big oil torches were kept ready. Fire frightens an elephant. This village is a lonely one. It’s not far from a forest. To the north is the big river. A few hillocks to the south, mounds really. The forests provide sustenance for several households. And though it is unlawful these days, they fell trees on the sly and make charcoal. They burn the logs in a shallow pit inside the forest itself. The task is tough and demands much strength,stamina. Gajala has been fretting for the last two days. He had prepared a full pit and set it on fire. It took him an entire day to fell the chosen trees, cut it to the measured pieces, stacked them in the proper way. Then he had had to cover the pit with a thick mat of grass and twigs and mud on the outside before he could ignite it. He left for the night, deciding to come back early next morning to repair any cracks that might have appeared on the plaster. 10 When he reached home, everyone was talking about the rogue. Two days have gone by. Galaja couldn’t take his mind off the state of the mud plaster; if it has cracked, the pit will have burst into flames. A lesser yield. All his efforts wasted. He yearns to go out there and save his charcoal, but he is not allowed to utter a word. Nor does anyone volunteer to go with him. Fear is contagious, especially in such places. And Gajala is afraid. But the charcoal? He expects more than four hundred rupees from the pit. If the plaster gives way, the upper layer will turn to ashes. What will be left for him then? Two days and still no news about the rogue. Someone says the whole thing was a hoax. But still who would dare prove him right? Gajala was sure that the rogue, if there was one, had changed its course. Its movements would have been known otherwise. I must go to the charcoal pit, he decided. Today, if the fire was caught properly, the charcoal will be done by now. Two days for it to cool, and it will be ready to bring home to sell. He had already asked two of his friends to help him carry it back. Immediately after his midday meal, Gajala left for the pit, a little over three kilometres away. The site was at the foot of a big mound near a small brook. If you walk along it, the thin flow of water can take you back to the village. Gajala and his friends used to picnic here sometimes. They cooked their food in tender bamboo joints which gave the food a rich, pleasant aroma. Gajala had his handy knife with him. He was in a hurry now. The job must be finished soon, and he must return home in time. He was pleased with the mud plaster. The charcoal burned to his satisfaction, he walked around the pit taking one last look before turning back. He had barely gone a hundred paces when he heard the sound. Someone was treading loose mud. Gajala stopped dead in his tracks. It must be the elephant! But where was it? In which direction should he run for his life? He knew the forest inside out, but now he was afraid to choose a path. 11 CONFLUENCE-I The elephant must be watching him from behind those trees. It might rush on him any moment. He stood shivering, rooted to the spot, straining his ears. If only he could hear the elephant’s steps, he’d know which way to run. With his heart booming in his ears, he slowly looked around. No sound at all. And then... He saw the trunk of the elephant lying on the ground twisting like a massive python! The sight cast a spell on him. He could not move. Then he turned and fled. But soon he stopped. Why was the trunk lying on the ground? Gajala turned around. Yes, there was a trunk on the ground. The elephant seemed to wave it as if calling him nearer. He walked a few paces towards it. The elephant was in pain. He was sure of that. The giant animal had fallen into the deep hole that lay hidden under the thicket and could not get out. How could there have been such a deep pit under the thicket? Gajala walked a few more steps towards the animal. He stooped and stretched out his hand to touch the trunk. The elephant seemed to have been waiting for just such a gesture. It moved its trunk from side to side. Gajala felt bolder. He went closer. The elephant was calm and docile. Probably exhausted. It was the rogue alright. Gajala saw the tusks. He hadn’t seen any domesticated elephants with tusks such as this! He walked around the hole examining it carefully. No, the elephant would never be able to come out of the hole on its own. It was narrow and deep. The animal filled it completely and, unless helped, it would have to die there. Impulsively, Gajala turned to run to the village for help. He would ask some of his friends to come help the elephant out of the hole and back into the forest. 12 But he stopped again. Would it be wise to inform the villagers about the elephant? Would they believe him? Would they help a killer rogue? Would they not rather collect whatever weapons they could lay their hands on and rush here to massacre the animal in turn? Any talk of helping a rogue would be construed as the babbling of an idiot. Gajala looked at the large animal in distress. No, he would not return to the village. It would mean sure death to the elephant. He went back and inspected the elephant once more. The elephant raised its trunk to touch Gajala as if imploring for help. Or so Gajala thought. The knave had submitted itself to his mercy. Gajala gently touched the rogue’s trunk. “Wait. I’ll do something.” The elephant raised its trunk as if in acknowledgement. Gajala cut through the thicket to one side of the hole to reach his coal pit. He had left some branches to dry there. They had been too soft for coal. But he had thought they would serve for firewood. Now he chose a few straight and sturdy pieces out of them. Squatting, he sharpened the ends to make a hoe of each and returned to the hole. He sank the crude hoe at one end and started digging. A sloping path would have to be cut to make a way out for the elephant. The elephant was apparently puzzled at the young man’s lone efforts. But it could somehow understand that he was doing something for its benefit. As he worked briskly, Gajala started talking with the elephant. “But how could you have fallen into such a hole? Have you lost your senses? You are a creature of the forest and yet...” The pointed stick got blunt soon. Gajala sharpened the end again, shortening it in the process. A sloping path was yet to take shape. Gajala did not know how long it would take. He did not know how long he had been at work. It was getting dark. The elephant raised its trunk and rested it on Gajala’s hand. A satisfactory ramp was emerging. Gajala threw away the small stick and took another. He was sweating all over now