Our messy association with elephants

The fog was burning off the top of the trees as the sun rose in Corbett Tiger Reserve. In front of us lay one of the most exciting things in the world: a path winding through the forest in soft light.

- Neha Sinha

We were in elephant country, and we kept the pace of our vehicle slow and measured, a way to ensure we didn't surprise any animals. As we edged forward, a series of sounds broke through the bushes. Little snorts—the expressive expelling of air through long noses. There were elephants ahead. We cut the engine and waited. On the bush-lined road, the vegetation moved on the right. An elephant appeared. We gasped and became absolutely still; it always feels like the fabric of reality is shifting when a wild elephant becomes visible. We watched as another one came, and then another, rapidly, crossing the road in haste, the herd rushing to dissolve into the folds of the forest. Soon, there was a little one in the stream of grey trunks flowing past.

He was a fuzzy grey, and the greenness of his expression marked him as a new entrant in the world. Just behind him, a large elephant emerged. Instead of going forward like the others, she paused. She didn't cross. She had a certain experience in her bearing—like she had done this many times before. It cast a resolute stillness. She looked at her herd and then at us. There was a pause in the jungle, a rift in time. Another elephant came, passing her. Still, the leader was unmoving, but finally she huffed, her ears flaring—a warning not to follow her family. That pause of hers was significant; it burnt itself into my brain. She had waited to hold the metaphoric door so her herd could cross safely. Till that crossing commenced, she would stay rooted to the spot. It demonstrated what we often attribute to be a wholly human quality—the aspect of care which goes beyond one's own welfare.