OFFTRACK: JALDAPARA, WEST BENGAL

Trunk Call

Thick-skinned waifs find food and shelter at this orphanage

By Labonita Ghosh

This Tarzan doesn't swing from vines. He is about 1,134 kg too heavy for that, does not have long hair or a six-pack stomach. He is a cute seven-year-old who knows quite a few tricks but he is easily the smartest kid in class and leads his mates-18 in all-in their drill every morning. His friends are as young as three months old. And together with their young teachers at the elephant orphanage, these trumpeters form the unlikeliest
school in the area.

"Whenever we hear of a calf separated from its family, we bring it to the orphanage," says Cooch Behar Divisional Forest Officer Ravi Kant Sinha, who is in charge of the north Bengal's Jaldapara wildlife sanctuary. "We have elephants from as far away as south Bengal." That's how Tarzan landed up here. Six years ago, he was rescued from a ditch in a tea garden in Assam. Pickers heard a calf crying all night and contacted the orphanage. Torsharani, Tarzan's mate, was similarly rescued and brought to the orphanage. When the herd she was with started crossing the Torsha river, the little calf got washed away. She landed many miles downriver, caked in mud and only half-conscious. Now both well-behaved youngsters are favourites with the orphanage's staff. "Tarzan is going to be a very good patrol elephant," says keeper Raghubir Chhetri, with the air of a proud papa. "He's only seven and he's already over 7 ft tall."

Tarzan isn't the only one who will become a patrol elephant. With training, most of the orphanage's pachyderms are incorporated into the sanctuary's pool of captive elephants. The best of them are used for patrol or tracking down wild animals; the rest do odd jobs like moving logs and help maintain the sanctuary.

It's an art in itself, teaching these animals their chores. And the trainers are very patient. Every morning, Chhetri and his apprentices bring out their wards-one trainee mahout to a calf-for an hour-long session that draws from a fixed set of 38 voice commands. The calves can start learning when they are around three. This morning's class, led as usual by Tarzan, is raring to go. As the animals move in a circle, minders walking alongside, Chhetri yells out instructions. "Mal" gets them moving ahead; "baith" makes them squat on their hind legs. Then, with double "utha", the apprentice gets a leg up from the elephant as he clambers on to its back. The language is an otherwise unintelligible mix of Urdu, Assamese and Bengali but the animals understand it perfectly.

The class is slightly distracted by visitors. When little Chandni accidentally breaks rank, a minder runs up to her and shouts, "Shamadehi." She quickly grabs the tail of the elephant in front and falls back into line. The elephants can move forward, backwards and are even taught to lie down and roll on their side, should a vet ever need to examine them. The hour-long class is a must. With time, the elephants will even allow their trainers to ride them.

When they have mastered the verbal instructions, it's time for the next level of communication: toe commands. While riding an elephant, mahouts manoeuvre by pressing their toes into the animal, especially to indicate direction. Digging left toes into the animal's neck means a left turn. Pressure from both feet makes them stop. Often, while tracking an animal in the wild, toe commands are more effective-and quieter-than verbal commands.

To give the orphans some semblance of a family, the captive elephants are kept close to each other. Expectant mothers and newborn calves stay in an adjoining enclosure, which is hemmed in by a 12,000 volt electric fence so rogues and wandering herds keep away. All this takes money but Sinha and the others are not complaining.

In fact, the upkeep of each elephant comes to around Rs 1 lakh every year. That's hardly surprising considering that all calves up to two years get a tin of Lactogen (Rs 125) each day, along with grass, branches and leaves, known as night fodder. The elephants polish off about 300 kg of green fodder, and sometimes tender banana shoots as a rare treat. But it's well worth it. As Sinha points out, it's a solid investment for the future. A future both for the animals and for nature.