The Trunk Rider

Prologue

 I was eight years old the first time I drove an elephant.

It was one of those nights where no matter what I did, I couldn't seem to sleep.  There was scarcely a sound but the rustling of wind in the orchards, and the occasional chirping cricket.  It was a serene and peaceful setting by any standards, but my eyes stayed wide open and fatigueless, staring at the faint moonlight peeking around the curtains of my bedroom windows.

Giving in to the restlessness of a sleepless young mind, I pulled the blankets off myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed.  As silently as possible, I pulled myself to my feet and eased open my bedroom door before slipping through.

Through the unobstructed hallway window, I saw a nearly full moon peeking through layers of banana leaves in the back orchard, casting swaying fragments of light onto the opposite wall.  Opting not to risk the creaky bamboo floors of the kitchen, I reached up to unlatch the back door a few steps away, and pushed it open with a turn of the knob.

Looking back, I reflect that very few eight-year old girls would willingly walk into a jungle barefoot at night.  But being completely familiar with our gardens, having walked and played in them countless times in daylight, often barefoot, I didn't think twice about it.

The warm night breeze of the Thai Highlands greeted me outside the door, whispering lightly onto my face.  In that moment, I was certain I couldn't go back to bed now. 

I wandered through the dark orchard, weaving through the familiar layout of fruit trees and vegetable stalks.  To my small proportions, the orchard seemed vast, and I seemed far from the house by the time I reached the large stables that formed the main operation of our farm.

I could tell right away that something was amiss.  The undergrowth had been trampled down in a path that led from an elephant stall whose bamboo door lay creaking and ajar.  I followed the trail off into the forest, and immediately saw a large, four-legged form between the trees, cloaked by darkness and a stand of wayward vines.

As I drew near, the elephant timidly pushed through the vines towards me.  A beam of moonlight fell on its face.

"Ratana," I said softly, recognizing the young female, "what are you doing out here?  It's cold."  As I said it, I noticed that the cool breeze whipping my pajamas was beginning to feel less like a pleasant cool, and more like a goosebump-inducing chill.

Ratana whined softly, and proceeded a few more steps out of the covering.  She brought her trunk up to my face (not much of a distance, small as I was) and, snaking it under my chin, she considered my scent.  Deciding to trust me, she came fully into the open.

She brought her head around, her trunk leveling at my chest.  The sinew and skin seemed to form a seat much like a swing, and I did not think twice about swinging my leg over Ratana's trunk and folding my knees up.

My improvised seat caught her by surprise.  It was quite likely no one had ever done this before; if even the lightest adult were to try this, it would be far too much.  Ratana uttered a short trumpet of protest, but played along.  She slowly lifted and dropped me a few times, testing, before accepting that I was light enough to do her no harm.  She lifted me to her eye level, where I glanced back to see a playful gleam in her usually solemn eyes.

Suddenly, Ratana was whipping her trunk from side to side, sending me shaking back and forth.  I gripped her trunk tightly in my arms, though I knew she had no intent to dislodge me.  A laugh broke from me, sounding loud as an extremely cheerful thunderclap in the silence.

            "Ahem" said a deep male voice.

            Ratana stopped at once.  Still straddling her trunk, I looked to the ground fearfully, expecting to see my father, a strict man at the best of times.

            Below me stood Dawad Sanarong, the old Ajaan, or teacher, of the monastery up the hill. His hands were clasped peacefully on the front of his saffron robe, and he looked up at me with twinkling eyes.  The expression on his lined face was curious, but seemingly unsurprised.

            "Kanya Duvelle," he said simply, in well-practiced English "That is quite an interesting way to be seated."

            I opened my mouth, but no words came out.  Sanarong allowed a smile to play around the corners of his mouth as I tried to signal to Ratana to lower me.

            "Ajaan," I managed finally, "I'm sorry, I..."

            He held up a hand as I trailed off.

            "You have no need to apologize," he said calmly, "Enjoy your youth while you can.  And if you truly needed as much sleep as your elders say you do... well, you would be asleep!"

            "Khop Kun Kha," I thanked him, and continued in halting Thai, "What are you doing out here, Ajaan?  It is a long walk down the..." I paused and searched for the correct word.

            "Down the hill, yes," He finished, returning to English, "But not so far for one who has seen as many years as I.  I often take late-night walks when my mind is restless; We are not so different that way.  I was nearing the farm, thinking I would turn around, when I heard a noise.  Forgive my curiosity."

            At that point, Ratana became bored and lowered her trunk.  I slid forwards off of it and landed lightly on the ground.

            "I think we should return this animal to bed, don't you?" Sanarong suggested.  I nodded and placed a hand on Ratana's hip.  Walking slowly, the three of us marched back towards the stall.  Progress was slow, but as Sanarong pointed out, we were not exactly stretched for time.

            "Tell your father that he needs to build a new door," the old monk observed as we shut Ratana back inside her stall, "But I suggest you do not mention our meeting."  The thick bamboo of the stall door was splintered along the edges, and Ratana had easily pushed it through the latch. 

"Goodnight, Ajaan," I said as we parted, him walking off towards the path to the monastery, me back towards the house.

"Goodnight," he echoed.

After only a few steps Sanarong turned once more to me.

"I have never, in all my years, seen something like that.  You are an extraordinary child, Kanya Trunk-rider.  I think we can expect great things from you.  Great things indeed."