Nanon’s reflection danced among the gentle ripples of a jungle river. The sun was already darkening his brown face. Mae Hong Son was less shaded than most of Thailand’s northern provinces, save the highlands which bordered Myanmar.
He waited for his companion to finish drinking. A patient task, as she drank dozens of gallons at a time. Her trunk slowly lifted to her mouth; if you paid close attention, you could sense the precision in the movement. She hardly reacted as she sprayed some of the cool water across her hot grey neck. Nanon relished in the freshness of the droplets that ricocheted onto him. The journey had reached its third day. They had all the time in the world.
Finally, she was satisfied. He stood and adjusted the musket hanging at his waist. A treasure to the sanctuary overseers, whom he had joined nearly a decade before. He glanced once more at his reflection, and wondered who he was, other than a caretaker. They proceeded to follow the river west; Nanon consulted his map yet again.
“You still have some speed in you, Chompoo! We should make it by tomorrow.”
She was named after her favorite fruit: the roseapple. At least that’s the name they’d bestowed after her rescue. Did she have a name for herself internally? Or a name to represent him? She bobbed her head rhythmically as she walked; a habit developed from trauma. Lingering from years of endured phajaan, a method of torture used to break an elephant’s spirit and induce perfect obedience. How often did she wonder who she was, too?
The monsoon season had just ended, yet the Thai humidity seeped into him, making it impossible to feel dry. Unhelpfully, he was adorned in thick fabrics, barriers against the relentless insects. The sky fell dark over the jungle canopy.
Shadow dialogue
N: I can’t help but feel that this is a mistake.
S: Don’t doubt yourself. The time has come. She’s plenty ready to return home.
N: I can’t know that for sure. It’s been 20 years since she’s lived in the wild. Can she really adapt so quickly?
S: She’s smart, resilient, and has had years of preparation. Have faith in her.
N: Still, to abandon a friend in this way….where is your guilt?
S: This is Chompoo’s choice. She’s been decided since the day she started to run away. Maybe even since the day he died.
Nanon turned his gaze upward to the crest of the mammal’s back, on which her young calf rested. It had now been 17 days since his death, and nearly just as long since she began running off, carrying him clumsily in her trunk before being caught by one of the caretakers. In the wild, elephants hold passionate burial rituals for their loved ones, and Nanon had long awaited for her ritual to begin, but the day never came, and she refused to let anyone take her baby away. But in his eyes, her aim was clear. Each time she tried to escape the sanctuary, she always headed in the direction of the mountains where she was born. Taken, eventually. Nanon had instantly suspected this was where she wished to bury him. A place where she may have once felt real. He’d felt honored when she allowed him to wrap the boy up, and tie him close to her, making him easier to carry.
He thought, “I just want her to enjoy her remaining years. At home, we could guarantee it.”
S: She doesn’t deserve to feel trapped. The best way to let her live is to set her free. You just don’t want to say goodbye.
N: It isn’t about that.
S: Sure it is. She was one of the few elephants you ever rescued. As a team, with your beloved, no less. When Chompoo is gone, what memories of her will remain?
N: That’s enough!
A sudden rustling caught his attention among the trees ahead. Nanon halted the elephant mother, who exhibited no fear. He crept out in front of her, musket and eyes fixated forward. At best, it was a bird; at worst, poachers. He saw a flash of brown move through the vines- could it be human? He crouched, gripping the firearm with a force that trembled. Should he fire into the trees? Would this intimidate something as vile as a poacher?
Before he could decide, a shape emerged, lunging toward him with teeth bared. He flinched upon the trigger, firing forward into the shape, which halted and cried out, turning around swiftly. It was a macaque, now hurriedly scampering away, a trail of blood following its leg. Nanon exhaled for what felt like the first time. He turned to lean against his friend and she rested her trunk upon his head.
“I shot an innocent animal, girl. Am I any better than they are?”
She peered at him with comfortable admiration.
“Let’s think of that macaque and hope that he heals with little suffering.”
After a few remorseful minutes of resting against each other, they continued to wander, stopping in many instances as she ate the plentiful vegetation. At last they reached the plains, and he set up camp.
Nanon awoke to hot, foul air in his nostrils. The tip of Chompoo’s trunk prodded at his face, and the short trunk hairs tickled his nose. He snorted and peeled his eyes open. The Dawna mountains were so close but barely visible, beyond which, the country of Myanmar resided. The mountains were lush with rainforests, perfect camouflage for all of the magnificent creatures within. A koel bird sang in the distance, confirming it was dawn. Nanon propped himself upright and acknowledged his companion’s impatience.
“Thanks for waiting for me, girl. I’m sure you’ve been up for hours. I didn’t mean to sleep until morning.”
He packed their camp away and drank from the clear river. The elephant knelt down and he briefly hoisted himself atop her back, then resecured the huge sack containing the lifeless calf, who had slipped down her side. With tired legs, they strode onward.
“Chompoo, do you remember when we first met? You were an empty husk of a beast. You had nothing to give but obedience. Look at you now! Running away from your caretakers. Feel proud, girl.”
As they walked, he removed a weathered book from his pack, and opened to a page toward the back.
“This was the last entry she ever wrote. Want to hear it?”
The elephant mother said nothing.
“‘The medic says these may be my final days. Not a single regret passes through my mind. With my creatures safe on our land, my Nanon by my side, and the spirit of Buddha in my heart, how much more blessed can I be?’”
He wiped tears from his eyes’ inner corners and smiled.
“‘I only await to sink back into our wondrous world. What a blessing to become part of this land, tied to all life, even in death. What a blessing it is, to rest like this.’”
He sighed and closed the journal.
“That was it,” he said. “She adored you, girl. And she loved me. Aren’t we lucky?”
The mountains grew as they approached, the sun now high above them. Chompoo munched on the tall, lush grass. Nanon squinted at the mountain base, searching for any grey blobs. The herds would have already descended down the mountains for the dry season. But was hers still alive, and where?
He looked to her and softened. Her trunk was pressed against the ground, and she utilized a form of magic only possible among animals: communication via seismic signals. Elephants emit such powerful vocal vibrations, they can spread through kilometers of dirt. The pads of Chompoo’s sensitive feet, along with her trunk, felt and interpreted these signals; their distance, origin, and, Nanon hoped, even the identities tied to them. He could watch her concentrate all afternoon, but after a few minutes, she turned to their right, away from the river, and strode along with purpose. After some kilometers, he saw the familiar shapes among the tropical flora. They had almost made it.
A herd was scattered about the base of the mountain, and their eyes soon turned towards the travelers. Nanon knew it was time to keep his distance, and he signaled for his companion to crouch once more. He freed the calf from his sack and brought him down gently; the body was much lighter now than upon death. Chompoo laid him on the grass and soon the ritual would begin, as well as reconnections among old friends. Nanon retreated a reasonable distance and observed. The members of the herd showed recognition of her, which made his heart fill quickly. They took turns laying grass over the body, and moaning their songs of sympathy.
It was the most peaceful sight one could find across the lands. Nanon knelt down as he watched, and reached into his pack again. He pulled out a small, decorated urn which glistened in the afternoon light. He wept with Chompoo from afar. He remembered the embrace they’d shared the day before while mourning for the injured macaque; this seemed like enough of a goodbye. He gazed over the cloudless periwinkle sky, the crisp mountain peaks, the rainforests and their dozen shades of green, the crystal river, and the love being shared before him. He opened the container and released her powder into the soft wind, and contemplated how unfathomably blessed he was.
Ethereally written 