Aita and Parvati: The Elephant in the Room was an Old Friend

I firmly believe one doesn’t necessarily need to trot around the globe to see the world; sometimes it can simply be achieved by living a long and colourful life. I count my grandmother, Aita, as one of those lucky ones. From war to truce and rags to riches, she has seen it all.

Like all grandchildren, I find it impossible to imagine my grandmother as a young woman or a child. To us, she was and had always been old. Yet she was once young and radiant. And among the many highlights of her life, and one that excites me the most, is her stay in her elder brother’s house in Kohora.

 

Whenever Kaziranga National Park is mentioned, the image of a one-horned rhino flashes before our eyes. However, for Aita, it is the memory of one cheerful elephant called Parvati.

Aita has lost much to time — her youth, people, and places — yet her memories remain unharmed. One day, as she recalled the past, with a hunched back and an elongated ear, split at the tip from wearing heavy earrings her whole life, she introduced us to the vivid tales of Parvati, whose mischief used to drive everyone crazy. And I could almost imagine the memories returning to her in faded colours with smudged edges and a few missing faces — resembling an old, yellowed photograph where Parvati and her stories remain quietly frozen in time.

 

Long before Kaziranga was declared a national park and recognised internationally for its rich ecosystem, its locals were traumatised and in love with an adorable little elephant. When Aita was still in high school, she’d go on vacations to her elder brother’s house in Kohora. From the balcony of their bungalow, she remembers watching Parvati messing with the tourists by blocking the road and refusing to move an inch unless, of course, the forest guard came to the rescue of the poor tourists. She’d never harm anyone, only tease them, and the appalled look on their faces was probably what she enjoyed the most. From scaring my Aita’s sister-in-law in her bathroom while she was having a shower to once teasing Aita and her friend from a distance by throwing outengas (elephant-apples) at them as they sat by the Kohora River on a sunny morning, Parvati was a friendly menace.

Parvati was among the youngest of all the domesticated elephants of Kaziranga, and her naughtiness was hence overlooked, as it was always harmless. She must have been Aita’s age or a little older. Being the youngest, she was never really burdened with harsh tasks such as wood-pulling. But once, a few of the mahouts, tired of seeing her “freeloading” on food without doing anything, set her up to pull heavy logs of wood. Poor Parvati lifted the heavy wood logs, but instead of taking them to where the mahouts had instructed, she placed them in front of the forest guard’s cottage. The forest guard immediately understood the situation and gave the mahouts a fair hearing for troubling his beloved elephant. 

Prime Minister Nehru was to come and officially inaugurate Kaziranga National Park, accompanied by his daughter, Indira Gandhi. Aita’s brother wrote her a letter asking if she wanted to come witness this grand event. The place was teeming with people who had come to see Nehru, and even some who couldn’t find a place to stand on the ground found refuge in the trees. “Indira Gandhi was so beautiful,” Aita would remark before returning to her story. But the star of the show was neither Nehru nor his beautiful daughter Indira; it was Parvati. As Nehru walked down from his car, there was a retinue of elephants, all exquisitely decorated in colourful garments and tassels, but the prettiest of all was Parvati, who, despite all her mischief, was trusted with the responsibility of leading the trail of elephants and putting a flower garland around Nehru’s neck to welcome him. As Nehru walked towards her, my Aita’s heart began beating rapidly for fear of what prank Parvati would pull to annoy the Prime Minister of India. But her worries were soon assuaged when she, along with the rest of the crowd, watched with gaping mouths how gracefully Parvati placed the garland around his neck when he bent down a little. Nehru thanked her with bananas for the lovely welcome, and she confidently led the elephants.

Over the years, as she grew up and her visits to her brother’s place became less frequent, Aita slowly drifted away from the world of Parvati and entered adulthood, with new responsibilities and duties. She never met Parvati again and never learned what had happened to her. But in my dreams, they do meet — Aita and an old friend watch Parvati splashing water from her trunk and playing in the Kohora River from their picnic spot, like she did in those golden old days.