STORIES AND FABLES

God, Bless the Animals... and especially this week, the elephants -- the world's largest living land mammals. Native to India and Africa, elephants are now found on all the continents of the planet, serving as work animals and animals used for show and entertainment. Within their natural herds, God, You created elephants to demonstrate great affection for and loyalty to one another. Show us how to emulate those traits in our care for these giants, today. Send to them, wherever they are, those souls who will treat them with kindness and affection and appreciate their innate loyalty. Grant each elephant in Your loving care God, a safe place to live, a long and comfortable life and gentle caretakers. Thank You, God, for bringing our attention to these marvelous animals today. Bless the elephants -- everywhere. Amen.

The Buddha Elephant

A long time ago in India there lived a very
special elephant. India is a very special
place its where the Buddha came from. In
India there are the tallest mountains in the
world they are called the Himalayas. It was
in these mountains where this elephant
lived. This elephant was special because
he shined out a beautiful golden. His
golden light shone everywhere so
everybody could see it. It's the same
golden light that shines around the Buddha
that you can see here. Because of this light
the elephant was known as the Buddha elephant.

The Blind Men and the Elephant, A Hindu fable, by John Godfrey Saxe

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
`God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!'

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, `Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!'

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
`I see,' quoth he, `the Elephant
Is very like a snake.'

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
`What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain,' quoth he;
`'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!'

The Fifth who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: `E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most:
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!'

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
`I see,' quoth he, `the Elephant
Is very like a rope!'

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

So, oft in theologic wars,
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

KANDAKORAN, A SOUTH INDIAN TALE

The procession would take place in the inner precinct of the temple according to a precise deambulatory order and for a time period fixed in advance. There was never any need whatsoever to guide Kandakoran: he would stop at the appropriate times and would move with all desired slowness. There was only one problem. If for any reason the authorities decided to speed up the ceremony, Kandakoran would not prove to be very cooperative. No force in the world could make him change his routine. In this regard, it has been said that when Kandakoran led the procession it was impossible to cheat on the amount of oil put in the lamps as the festival would always last the exact amount of time it was supposed to.

The last day of the ceremony, during the performances that would run late into the night, never would one see Kandakoran misbehave and fight with the other elephants; never did one see him run like a beast or frighten the crowd, taking advantage of a commotion. He always sat calmly, tranquilly, holding his immense ears as if he too was enjoying the entertainment. One evening, the festivities had just ended and Kandakoran was walking alone, as was his habit, searching for a place to stretch out for the night. As he was on a badly fit, out-of-the-way road, an old woman, half-blind, arrived all the way up to him without noticing him. Perceiving the elephant at the last moment, she started with fear and fell senseless to the ground, in front of his powerful feet. The attendants who were following her began emitting cries of terror and fled.

The road being too narrow for Kandakoran to push the old woman to the side, he stayed there, without moving. The woman finally came to her senses and pulled herself up, crawling to the side. Then Kandakoran, kicking free the umbrella she had let fall on the road, started off again on his way. Who has ever heard of an elephant as intelligent as that? Was he not the most marvelous elephant who ever existed? When Kandakoran would haul the fully grown trees that grew in such vast quantity in Kerala, there was never a tree trunk too heavy for him. Yet, without his consent, it would have been impossible to get him to lift a mere stick.

For him to accept a job, it was necessary first of all to agree on a price, one part set apart for the temple, the other for his own use, in the form of food. The handlers would inform him of the size of the tree he was to move; they would tell him where he was to leave it and the salary fixed for the job. If the deal appealed to him, he would trumpet his agreement, going to fetch the tree trunk and carry it to the designated spot. If he was not immediately given his portion of bananas, coconuts, or sweets, he would pick the tree trunk up again and immediately haul it back to its starting point.

One day, a man arrived at the temple requesting his services to move an enormous tree. A price was agreed upon. Then the handlers asked the man: "What do you intend to give to Kandakoran?" Ten bunches of bananas, ten coconuts, and twenty pounds of molasses," the man responded, without hesitation. When this proposition was communicated to Kandakoran, he trumpeted loudly to express his satisfaction and accomplished his task with diligence. The man then said that Kandakoran would receive his food several days later. Kandakoran immediately returned to the spot where he had just deposited the tree and moved it back to where he had taken it. Not knowing what to do, the man approached several other elephants, but their combined efforts were in vain: the tree would not move even the distance of a mustard seed. In the end, the man, completely vexed, went back to Subramania temple. A new deal was struck and Kandakoran, taking his usual bath in the river, was called in. But he refused to obey at any price whatsoever.

There are many tales about the elephants of Kerala. Each has its own characteristics and personality but none has the free will of Kandakoran! The forest of Kerala abound in herds of wild elephants. From time to time, an elephant may fall into a trap and be captured. Thence begins the long, arduous, and unrelenting work of training it. Once tamed, it is usually sold to a temple or a king. Kandakoran, the hero of our story, was sold to the temple of Subramania in the city of Travancore. He was an enormous, magnificent beast, one of the most beautiful elephants that had ever been seen in Kerala. His height harmonized marvelously with his massive bulk and made him a well-proportioned animal. His long, curved tusks thrust straight forward, leaning neither too much to the left or right. Even the way he held his head was majestic, and his ears, abnormally large, hung from either side of his jutting brow. In short, he possessed all the qualities that are the mark of an exceptional elephant.

Despite his size, he was sweet-tempered and never, it was said, in the course of his long life did he harm the smallest of creatures, even when he was rutting and crazy juices swam through his temples. As everyone knows, each elephant has his own personality, and Kandakoran was no exception. He loved to do things his own way and it was impossible to make him change his mind as he had a natural aversion for orders, no matter what they were. The handlers who cared for him were aware early on of this character trait and became used to letting him act in his own manner and as it seemed best to him. Unlike other elephants, Kandakoran was never tied up as he refused to submit to such an indignity. When night fill, he would choose a comfortable spot and stretch out.

Kandakoran loved to bathe in the river that ran nearby, north of the temple. He stayed out of the heat as much as possible and when he wasn't working would pass the warm hours of the day in the water, at the spot where it was deepest. He became the faithful friend of the water buffalos who would pass along the banks or splash in the pools not far from him. Sometimes, during the dry season, the buffalos would no longer be able to find pasturage to graze. Kandakoran could not bear to see his friends starve, above all when fields of sugarcane grew along the riverbanks, under their very nose. These fields were fenced in and the buffalos could only look at them. But this was not an obstacle for Kandakoran. One day, followed by the herd of buffalos, he left the river and had soon made an opening in the fence, waiting for his companions to eat their fill. The owners of the field arrived quickly, brandishing sticks to frighten away the buffalos, but as soon as Kandakoran saw them he charged upon them.

He was careful not to hurt anyone, but the peasants fled, frightened by his surges forward, seized with panic. When the buffalos had eaten to their hearts' content, Kandakoran escorted them back to the river, and recom-menced his interrupted swim. It was said that he never took a single stick of sugarcane for himself. And it's a fact that he was never seen to take any food not expressly intended for him. Another time, Kandakoran was lazing in the river. A boat laden with ginger, coconuts, and bananas was making its way downstream. Its cargo was so heavy that the rim of the boat was barely above water level. Kanda-koran saw the boat but the bargemen didn't see him and their skiff landed on his back. As soon as this happened, he lifted his trunk and grabbed hold of the boat. While its occupants, terrified, threw themselves into the current to swim to shore, Kandakoran tore the boat to pieces....

From that time on, the river folk bore some ill-will toward Kandakoran. And, as the feeling was mutual, never for the rest of his life did Kandakoran permit a boat to pass him whenever he was in the river. If perchance a boat appeared, the elephant would move either upstream or downstream, depending, and smash it to pieces. Soon, it was necessary to reroute river traffic by several kilo-meters to avoid Kandakoran. The bargemen would even come down by foot to determine his presence or absence before starting their long, arduous journey. If he was there, they had to wait until he left. Many of them would bring offerings to Subra-mania temple in hopes that Kanda-koran would be gone by the time they had to pass that spot in the river. Still today, one can see in the temple a raw of lamps offered by bargemen on such occasions.

Kandakoran was considered the first elephant of the temple, and thus it was he who was designated to carry the idol in the processions on festival days. But on these occasions, it was not necessary for the handlers to disturb him. Because Kandakoran, as soon as he was aware it was time, would leave the river on his own accord and head for the temple. There, he would station himself under the large steeple of the golden temple and patiently await the attendants to come adorn him with the traditional coiffure. He would lift one of his back legs to let an attendant climb up on his back. He would affix the idol firmly, then climb back down again in the same manner- Kandakoran would never have permitted anyone ever to mount him from the front. The man holding the silk umbrella, the one who plied the fan of peacock feathers, and the attendant who spun the fly-swatter of yak-tails, a11 mounted him from behind.

INTIMATE ELEPHANT, Plutarch, Moralia, early 2nd century

The loves of some animals are wild and furious, while others have a refinement which is not far from human and an intercourse conducted with much grace. Such was the elephant which at Alexandria played the rival to Aristophanes the grammarian. They were, in fact, in love with the same flower-girl; nor was the elephant's love the less manifest: as he passed by the market, he always brought her fruit and stood beside her for a long time and would insert his trunk, like a hand, within her garments and gently caress her fair breasts.

ON THE CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS, BY AELIAN, EARLY 3RD CENTURY

Touching the sagacity of Elephants I have spoken elsewhere; and further, I have spoken too of the manner of hunting them, mentioning but a few of the numerous facts recorded by others. For the present I intend to speak of their sense for music and their readiness to obey and their aptitude for learning things which are difficult even for mankind, to say nothing of so huge an animal and one hitherto so fierce to encounter. The movements of a chorus, the steps of a dance, how to march in time, how to enjoy the sound of flutes, how-to distinguish different notes, when to slacken pace as permitted or when to quicken at command-all these things the Elephant has learnt and knows how to do, and does accurately without making mistakes. Thus, while nature has created him to be the largest of animals, learning has tendered him the most gentle and docile.

Now had I set out to write about the readiness to obey and to learn among elephants in India or in Ethiopia or in Libya, anyone might suppose that I was concocting some pretentious tale, that in Fact I was on the strength of hearsay about the beast giving a completely false account of its nature. That is the last thing that a man in pursuit of knowledge and an ardent lover of the truth has any right to do. Instead I have preferred to state what I have myself seen and what others have recorded as having formerly occurred in Rome, treating summarily a few facts our of many, which nevertheless sufficiently demonstrate the peculiar nature of the beast.

The Elephant when once tamed is the gentlest of creatures and is easily induced to do whatever one wants. Now keeping due eye on the time, I shaft state the most important events first. Germanicus Caesar was about to give some shows for the Romans. (He would be the nephew of Tiberius.) There were in Rome several full-grown male and female elephants, and there were calves born of them in the country; and when their limbs began to grow firm, a man who was clever at dealing with such beasts trained them and instructed them with uncanny and astounding dexterity. To begin with he introduced them in a quiet, gentle fashion to his instructions, supplying wheeled into a circle when he so ordered them, and if they had to deploy, that also they did. And then they sprinkled flowers to deck the floor, but with moderation and economy, and now and again they stamped, keeping time in a rhythmical dance.

MOTI-GUJ-MUTINEER, BY RUDYARD KIPLING

The happy medium for stump-clearing is the lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. He will either push the stump out of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out with ropes. The planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones and twos and threes, and fill to work. The very best of all the elephants belonged to the very worst of all the drivers or mahouts; and this superior beast's name was Moti Guj. He was the absolute property of his mahout, which would never have been the case under native rule: for Moti Guj was a creature to be desired by kings, and his name, being translated, meant the Pearl Elephant. Because the British government was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated.

When he had made much money through the strength of his elephant, he would get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg over the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was over, Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his love and his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor. Moti Guj was very fond of liquor--arrack for choice, though he would drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep between Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him, and would not permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa saw fit to wake up.

There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter's clearing: the wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj's neck and gave him orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps--for he owned a magnificent pair of tusks: or pulled at the end of a rope--for he had a magnificent pair of shoulders¡Xwhile Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his three hundred pounds' weight of green food with a quart of arrack, and Deesa would take a share, and sing songs between Moti Guj's legs till it was time to go to bed.

Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa went over him with a coir swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned him to get up and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his feet and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection the two would "come up with a song from the sea," Moti Gui, all black and shining, waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa knotting up his own long wet hair.

MY LORD THE ELEPHANT, BY RUDYARD KIPLING, 1902

"Seed the battery this mornin'? said Ortheris. He meant the newly-arrived elephant-battery, otherwise he would have said simply "guns." Three elephants harnessed in tandem go to each gun, and those who have not seen the big forty-pounders of position trundling along in the wake of their gigantic team have yet something to behold. The lead-elephant had behaved very badly on parade; and had been cut loose, sent back to the lines in disgrace, and was at that hour squealing and lashing out with his trunk at the end of the line; a picture of blind, bound, bad temper. His mahout, standing clear of the flail-like blows, was trying to soothe him. "That's the beggar that cut up on parade. 'E's must," said Ortheris pointing. "There'll be murder in the lines soon, and then, per'aps, e'll get loose an' we'll 'ave to be turned out to shoot 'im, same as when one o' they native king's elephants musted last June. 'Ope'e will.'

"Must be sugared!" said Mulvaney contemptuously from his resting-place on a pile of dried bedding. "He's no more than in a powerful bad timper wid bein' put upon. I'd lay my kit he's new to the gun-team, an' by natur' he hates haulin'. Ask the mahout, sorr." I hailed the old white-bearded mahout who was lavishing pet words on his sulky red-eyed charge. "He is not musth," the man replied indignantly, only his honor has been touched. Is an elephant an ox or a mule that he should tug at a trace? His strength is in his head--Peace, peace, my Lord! It was not my fault that they yoked thee this morning!---Only a low-caste elephant will pull a gun, and he is a Kumeria of the Doon."

It cost a year and the life of a man to break him to burden. They of the Artillery put him in the gun-team because one of their base-born brutes had gone lame. No wonder that he was, and is wrath." "Rummy! Most unusual rum," said Ortheris. "Gawd, 'e is in a temper, though! S'pose 'e got loose!¡¨ Mulvaney began to speak but checked himself, and I asked the mahout what would happen if the heel--chains broke. "God knows, who made elephants," he said simply.

"In his now state peradventure he might kill YOU three, or run at large till his rage abated. He would not kill me, except he were musth. Then would he kill me before any one in the world, because he loves me. Such is the custom of the elephant-folk, and the custom of us mahout--people matches it for foolishness. We trust each our own elephant, till our own elephant kills us. Other castes trust women, but we the elephant-folk. I have seen men deal with enraged elephants and live; but never was man yet born of woman that met my lord the elephant in his musth and lived to tell of the taming. They are enough bold who meet him angry."

"THE MAMMOTHS OF SIBERIA" from An Illustrated Study of Animals. "Mammals," vol. 2, 1860 by Alfred Edmund Brehm

The burial grounds of this elephant are found in the lands of the Ostyaks, the Tungus, the Samoyeds, and the Burates, along the banks of the Ob River, the Yenisey, and the Yena, between 58„a N and the Arctic Ocean. When the sandy beaches thaw, one discovers entire mountains of gigantic teeth, into which enormous bones arc mixed. Sometimes, these teeth are firmly implanted in jawbones; some have even been found covered with flesh that is still bloody, hair, and skin. The indigenous peoples called this animal mammont; they said it was of an enormous height, 6 to 10 feet; that it had a long, broad head, feet resembling a bear's; that it lived underground; that during its subterranean walks it would at times stick its head above ground and withdraw it immediately as it found sunlight hurtful; that it ate mud, and died if it was ever on sandy soil, because it could not pull its feet out; that it perished as soon as it came into the open air. This was what Ides wrote when, on a diplo-matic mission to China in 1692, he heard people speak about these deposits of bones.

The natural illustrator Pallas, at the end of the last century, gave us very exact renderings of the fossil remains of the mammoth. But the greatest discovery in terms of this species was made by Adams, at the mouth of the Lena River. Having learned that a mammoth with its skin and hair had been found, Adams left as soon as possible to go salvage the precious remains, joining the Tungus chief responsible for the find. The Tungus had discovered the animal in 1799 but had not touched it, as the ancients told of a similar monster being found on the same peninsula, and that this brought a curse on the family of the person who had encountered it; everyone perished. This tale frightened the chief to the point where he became ill. However, the enormous tusks excited his greed and he resolved to get them. In March 1804 he gave both of them up in exchange for merchandise of little value.

Adams made his voyage two years later; he found the animal in the same spot, yet torn apart. The Yakuts had stripped away the flesh to feed their dogs. Isatis, wolves, wolverines, foxes had fed on it. The skeleton was intact, with the exception of one its feet. A dry skin covered its head. An eye and the brain were still there. The feet had their callouses. An ear, covered with silky hair, was equally well preserved. Three-quarters of the skin still existed. This skin was of a dark grey color; the down covering it was reddish, the bristle black and thicker than the eyelashes of a horse. Adams collected what he could. He skinned the animal, and ten men could barely lift the hide. He had all the hair scattered around the ground collected, and got almost 38 pounds of it.

The entirety was sent to Saint Petersburg and didn't arrive without some deterioration, the skin having lost its hair, nonetheless, thanks to the efforts and perseverance of this naturalist, the matter was put beyond all question. The longest hair was from the neck; it measured more than two feet. The rest of the body was covered by an abundant fur, irrefutable proof that the mammoth lived in a cold climate. Its tusks were even more curved than those of elephants living today (some of them traced three--quarters of a circle). Adams saw tusks that measured 23 feet in length. The discovery of this animal long preoccupied scholars; nobody could explain the sudden disappearance of the beasts of this region. Some, based on Vegetal remains, entertained the idea of a sudden change in the earth's axis of rotation; others tended toward the notion of a flood that might have submerged Siberia.

GOT ME AN ELEPHANT

Got me an elephant
Only two inches tall
Lives in my pocket
And that's not all...

Got me an elephant
Tiny as can be
Smaller than a breadbox
Bigger than a pea

Got me an elephant
Though it's only a toy
Every time I hold it
My heart fills with joy

Got me an elephant
was sitting on the ground
Good fortune smiled upon me
The day that it was found

Got me an elephant
My favorite good luck charm
Keeps my mind from worry
Keeps my friends from harm

Got me an elephant
My lucky charm that's true
Cause the day I found it
Was the day that I met YOU!!

THE END

Poem © Jason M. Hall

The Judgment of the Baboon -- an African Text

ONE day, it is said, the following story happened:

Mouse had torn the clothes of Itkler (the tailor), who then went to Baboon, and accused Mouse with these words:

"In this manner I come to thee: Mouse has torn my clothes, but will not know anything of it, and accuses Cat; Cat protests likewise her innocence, and says, 'Dog must have done it; but Dog denies it also, and declares Wood has done it; and Wood throws the blame on Fire, and says, 'Fire did it'; Fire says, ' have not, Water did it'; Water says, 'Elephant tore the clothes'; and Elephant says, 'Ant tore them.' Thus a dispute has arisen among them. Therefore, 1, Itkler, come to thee with this proposition: Assemble the people and try them in order that I may get satisfaction."

Thus he spake, and Baboon assembled them for trial. Then they made the same excuses which had been mentioned by Itkler, each one putting the blame upon the other.

So Baboon did not see any other way of punishing them, save through making them punish each other; he therefore said,

"Mouse, give Itkler satisfaction."

Mouse, however, pleaded not guilty. But Baboon said, "Cat, bite Mouse." She did so.

He then put the same question to Cat, and when she exculpated herself, Baboon called to Dog, "Here, bite Cat."

In this manner Baboon questioned them all, one after the other, but they each denied the charge. Then he addressed the following words to them, and said,

Wood, beat Dog.
Fire, burn Wood.
Water, quench Fire.
Elephant, drink Water.

Ant, bite Elephant in his most tender parts."

They did so, and since that day they cannot any longer agree with each other.

Ant enters into Elephant's most tender parts and bites him.

Elephant swallows Water.
Water quenches Fire.
Fire consumes Wood.
Wood beats Dog.
Dog bites Cat.
And Cat bites Mouse.

Through this judgment Itkler got satisfaction, and addressed Baboon in the following manner:

"Yes! Now I am content, since I have received satisfaction, and with all my heart I thank thee, Baboon, because thou hast exercised justice on my behalf and given me redress."

Then Baboon said, "From to-day I will not any longer be called Jan, but Baboon shall be my name."

Since that time Baboon walks on all fours, having probably lost the privilege of walking erect through this foolish judgment.

Handling the Elephant-Hook – a Hinduism Text

"Sanjaya said, 'Meanwhile towards the northern part of the Pandava army, a loud uproar arose of cars and elephants and steeds and foot-soldiers as those were being massacred by Dandadhara. Turning the course of the car, but without stopping the steeds which were as fleet as Garuda or the wind, Keshava, addressing Arjuna, said, "The chief of the Magadhas, with his (foe-crushing) elephant is unrivalled in prowess. In training and might he is not inferior to Bhagadatta himself. Having slain him first, thou wilt then slay the samsaptakas." At the conclusion of his words, Keshava bore Partha to the presence of Dandadhara. The chief of the Magadhas, peerless in handling the elephant-hook even as the headless planet Ketu (is peerless) among all the planets, was destroying the hostile army like a fierce comet destroying the whole earth. Riding on his foe-slaying and well-equipped elephant which looked like the danava with elephantine face and form, and whose roar resembled that of a congregated mass of clouds, Dandadhara was destroying with his shafts thousands of cars and steeds and elephants and men. The elephants also, treading upon cars with their feet, pressed down into the Earth a large number of men with their steeds and drivers. Many were the elephants, also, which that foremost of elephants, crushed and slew with his two forefeet and trunk. Indeed, the beast moved like the wheel of Death. Slaying men adorned with steel coats of mail, along with their horses and foot-soldiers, the chief of the Magadhas caused these to be pressed down into the earth, like thick reeds pressed down with crackling sounds, by means of that mighty and foremost of elephants belonging to him. Then Arjuna, riding on that foremost of cars, rushed quickly towards that prince of elephants in the midst of that host teeming with thousands of cars and steeds and elephants, and resounding with the beat and blare of innumerable cymbals and drums and conchs and uproarious with the clatter of car-wheels, the twang of bow-strings, and the sound of palms. Even Dandadhara pierced Arjuna with a dozen foremost of shafts and Janardana with sixteen and each of the steeds with three, and then uttered a loud shout and laughed repeatedly. Then Partha, with a number of broad-headed shafts, cut off the bow of his antagonist with its string and arrow fixed thereon, as also his well-decked standard, and then the guides of his beast and the footmen that protected the animal. At this, the lord of Girivraja became filled with rage. Desirous of agitating Janardana with that tusker of his, whose temples had split from excitement, and which resembled a mass of clouds and was endued with the speed of the wind, Dandadhara struck Dhananjaya with many lances. The son of Pandu then, with three razor-headed arrows, cut off, almost at the same instant of time, the two arms each looking like the trunk of an elephant, and then the head, resembling the full Moon, of his foe. Then Arjuna struck the elephant of this antagonist with hundreds of arrows. Covered with the gold-decked arrows of Partha, that elephant equipped with golden armour looked as resplendent as a mountain in the night with its herbs and trees blazing in a conflagration. Afflicted with the pain and roaring like a mass of clouds, and exceedingly weakened, the elephant crying and wandering and running with tottering steps, fell down with the guide on its neck, like a mountain summit riven by thunder. Upon the fall of his brother in battle, Danda advanced against Indra's younger brother and Dhananjaya, desirous of slaying them, on his tusker white as snow and adorned with gold and looking like a Himalayan summit. Danda struck Janardana with three whetted lances bright as the rays of the sun, and Arjuna with five, and uttered a loud shout. The son of Pandu then uttering a loud shout cut off the two arms of Danda. Cut off by means of razor-headed shafts, those two arms, smeared with sandal-paste, adorned with angadas, and with lances in grasp, as they fell from the elephant's back at the same instant of time, looked resplendent like a couple of large snakes of great beauty falling down from a mountain summit. Cut off with a crescent-shaped arrow by the diadem-decked (Partha), the head also of Danda fell down on the Earth from the elephant's back, and covered with blood it looked resplendent as it lay like the sun dropped from the Asta mountain towards the western quarter. Then Partha pierced with many excellent arrows bright as the rays of the sun that elephant of his foe, resembling a mass of white clouds whereupon it fell down with a noise like a Himalayan summit riven with thunder. Then other huge elephants capable of winning victory and resembling the two already slain, were cut off by Savyasaci, in that battle, even as the two (belonging to Danda and Dandadhara) had been cut off. At this the vast hostile force broke. Then elephants and cars and steeds and men, in dense throngs, clashed against one another and fell down on the field. Tottering, they violently struck one another and fell down deprived of life. Then his soldiers, encompassing Arjuna like the celestials encompassing Purandara, began to say, "O hero, that foe of whom we had been frightened like creatures at the sight of Death himself, hath by good luck been slain by thee. If thou hadst not protected from that fear those people that were so deeply afflicted by mighty foes, then by this time our foes would have felt that delight which we now feel at their death, O slayer of enemies." Hearing these and other words uttered by friends and allies, Arjuna, with a cheerful heart, worshipped those men, each according to his deserts, and proceeded once more against the samsaptakas.'"

Rataplan, a Rogue Elephant by Ellen Velvin
In one of the thick, shady and tangled forests of Ceylon a fine, fully-grown elephant was one day standing moodily by himself. His huge form showed high above the tangled brushwood, but his wide, flat feet and large, pillar-like legs were hidden in the thick undergrowth.
He was not standing still, however--for no elephant has ever been known to do that yet--his massive, elongated head, with its wide, flat ears, its long, snake-like, flexible trunk, its magnificent pair of ivory tusks and its ridiculous, little eyes moved gravely to and fro-- up and down--in a wearied but restless manner.
Every now and then he would lift one of his massive legs and put it down again, or sway his whole body from side to side, or throw his trunk up in the air and then wave it round his head and over his back in all directions.
But, in spite of his moody, wearied air, the elephant's tiny eyes looked particularly wicked. And wicked they were, and a true index to the mischief going on in his elephant mind.
He had no herd round him, no brother or sister elephant with whom he could wave trunks, nod heads, or carry on a conversation in elephant language; he was alone, and preferred to be alone, for his irritable nature and morose disposition made it impossible for him to live with others.
It was not entirely due to himself that he lived alone, for his character was so bad, alas! that no herd would admit him into its ranks, no drive would have anything to do with him; for he was Rataplan, the Rogue, and he was feared, avoided and hated as much as it is possible for the gentle-natured and good-tempered Indian elephant to fear and hate anything.
There had been a time--long, long ago--when he had been one of a herd; but his roguishness had developed early, and after much forbearance and long-suffering the herd had turned him out; and from that time he had been a solitary wanderer.
From the first Rataplan pretended that he did not care, and tossed his trunk disdainfully when driven from the herd. He had felt it, nevertheless, and it had made him more morose, more irritable, more mad than ever.
He cared for nothing now: the only thing in which he took a delight was, destroying as much as possible in mere wantonness, and in working as much mischief as he could find time to plan and accomplish.
There had been times in the past when, in his better moments, he had longed to go back to the herd; had longed to be taken into some grand troop of elephants such as those he watched march through the forests. He longed to be one of them, and to feel that he was a respectable, well-conducted elephant.
But his overtures had always been received with disfavor and firm refusals, and the time had now come when nothing would have induced him to live with any elephants whatever; he preferred to be alone; and his evil nature and irritable temper thrived on his solitary life and mischief-making propensities, and to know that he was feared and dreaded was a very delight to him.
Out of pure mischief he would, at times, tear madly through the forest, trumpeting at the very top of his shrill voice, merely to give the elephants, or any other animals that might be about, a thorough fright.
Many and many a time had some horrid, insignificant little creatures who walked about on two legs, and carried things of fire in their hands, tried their very best to inveigle and entrap him, but in vain. Once, indeed, he had very nearly fallen into a horrible pit in which, at the very bottom, in the centre, was a dreadful, long, sharp stake, which, had he fallen, would have been driven through his thick body by its own weight, and he would have perished miserably and in agony.
But he had found it out in time--only just in time--for one of his hind legs had shot out suddenly behind him, and it was only by a mighty effort of his huge strength that he scrambled up and away from the source of danger.
But oh, what havoc he made! How he tore up anything and everything within his reach! Iron fences which those silly, little fire-carriers had stuck into the ground to protect their crops; silly, little, brick walls which he knocked over with one push of his huge body; young, healthy trees which had been planted so carefully a few years back, and which he pulled up with his long trunk as though they were little radishes; not to speak of the miles of rice and sugar-cane which he had trodden down in wanton waste and as a means of venting his temper.
Another time they had tried to drive him into a horrid place called a Keddah, which had been built with stout logs, and had huge buttresses which even he would have found it difficult to move.
He had been really startled one dark night on seeing huge bunches of fire coming towards him, and in spite of his daring he began to run in the opposite direction.
But it takes a rogue to catch a Rogue, and Rataplan was pretty wary. He had sense enough to know that those silly, little things on two legs would not take the trouble to run after him with bunches of fire unless they wanted him to run away somewhere, to some particular place. And so, after the first few, heavy, swinging steps, the reflection of the fire behind him showed him the outline of a keddah just in front, and with a shrill roar of rage Rataplan turned suddenly and fiercely round, dashed headlong through the line of fire, and, with a mighty trumpeting, disappeared into the forest.
So sudden and unexpected had been his onslaught that he had put out quite half a dozen of the bunches of fire: he had also put out the lives of the six, silly, little things who carried them. For a few swift pressures of his mighty feet had squeezed out their breath and destroyed their power to invent mischief with which to entrap the Rogue elephant.
For some time after this Rataplan had been more mad and wicked than ever. He knew perfectly well that he had killed a few of the fire- carriers, and he fully intended to kill a few more before he had done with them. But they were very cunning, these fire-carriers, and, although he had nearly caught a few of them, once or twice, they had generally escaped him when quite close by suddenly disappearing, and this caused Rataplan many serious cogitations and musings.
Wicked and clever as he was, he had only the instincts of his kind. All his senses were alert, and his eyes looked for enemies in all directions but one, and that one direction was above. He never looked up, and it never occurred to his stupid, old head, sharp as he thought himself, that the little fire-carriers might have climbed up into the trees above him. When they disappeared from his range of vision he gave up the chase, although, more often than not, the wicked, little things were sitting just above his head, where, had he only turned his trunk upwards, he could have picked them off as though they were little birds.
But he always did the same thing: he floundered blunderingly on through the forest, trumpeting, roaring, pulling up and tearing down everything within his reach, but never having sense enough to look above him. And so it was that he found it very difficult to get hold of the fire carriers, and he became madder and more full of rage than ever.
Even the herds of elephants were now getting afraid of him, although could they only have made up their gentle, docile minds to attack him he would have come to his end in no time.
But Indian elephants dislike warfare or disagreements, and often, even when severely wounded, will turn about and go away, not seeming to realize that a momentary pressure of one of their huge feet, or one straight blow with their tusks, would be more than sufficient to finish their enemies. More often than not the most an Indian elephant will do to his foe is to kick him from one huge foot to another until he is either dead or dying.
But from Rataplan, the Rogue, the other elephants preferred to keep aloof. Only once had a herd attempted to chase him, and this was when he had actually presumed to pay a little attention to the wife of its leader.
Then the leader, followed by the remainder of the herd, turned upon him, and for just once in his life Rataplan was frightened, and simply turned tail and ran--ran crashing and stumbling through the forest at a terrific speed, making the air resound with his trumpeting.
Had it not been that the dense forest was suddenly broken by a river, it would indeed have gone hard with him.
For an instant Rataplan thought he would stop--for, although elephants are beautiful swimmers, they are not particularly fond of the sport-- but only for a moment; for the herd was close behind him and pressing him, and the leader could almost reach him with his trunk. Into the water dashed Rataplan, throwing up a mountain of spray which sprinkled the whole herd, and for a few moments he was lost to sight.
After the spray cleared away his huge form, with his trunk held high in the air, could be seen swimming easily and steadily towards the other side, and after a little conference with the herd the leader decided to let him go. But, as Rataplan knew only too well, woe betide him if ever he met that herd again.
And so it was that Rataplan, the Rogue, congratulated himself that so far he had never been caught, neither had any other elephant been able to hurt him.
But on this particular day he was very miserable and very lonely, and he had a restless, uneasy, wild feeling which inclined him to something daring. He was sick and tired of trying to catch the silly things that carried fire; he was tired of the forest; he was tired of himself. He felt more irritable, restless and evil-natured than ever, and as he stood there, swaying heavily from side to side and waving his trunk about him, he was a very miserable elephant indeed.
If he had only known it, one of the silly, little things who carried the fire had been watching him for some time.
Rataplan had been keeping very still for an elephant, but there is a certain sound which he and all his brethren make, unknown to themselves, and over which they have no control. This is a curious, little, bubbling noise which is caused by the water which is stored up in their insides in case of emergency; and this little bubbling noise had been heard by the fire-carrier.
He watched the huge beast with interest, and knew by his restless manner and the wicked look in his small eyes that he was in about as dangerous a state as it is possible for an elephant to be, and he made his plans accordingly.
He was very busy for a few minutes with some long, thick ropes, which had a heavy noose at each end. The ends of these ropes he fastened carefully to some heavy trees, and then he went quietly away. The little fire-carrier was a Mahout, hunter or rider, who was trained in the capture of elephants, and he felt sure that if Rataplan would only stay where he was a short time longer he would be able to catch him.
So he went away and looked carefully at his Koomkies.[Female elephants which are trained for the purpose of catching wild elephants] He had some particularly good ones just then, and they one and all turned their large, gentle heads towards him and awaited his pleasure. For they loved the chase, and entered into it with as much interest as he did himself.
As a rule he sent several koomkies out together, but on this occasion he decided to send only one.
This was Kinka, a gentle and tractable, little Indian elephant, who was well versed in the chase, and who was about as pretty and graceful as it is possible for a koomkie to be.
The mahout talked to her and patted her, and Kinka seemed to quite understand, nodding her head wisely, and touching his face and shoulders gently with the tip of her trunk.
When he had finished and began to lead her out she made a quiet, little trumpeting noise, which signified how delighted she was to go.
The mahout did not trouble himself about Kinka, once he had let her go. She knew her business and was about as deep and crafty as any mahout could wish. He selected his strongest little horse and followed her.
Kinka went quietly and steadily through the forest, making straight for the place where Rataplan was still standing, moodily moving his head to and fro.
Once within sight of him she put on a careless, coquettish air, and began to move carelessly towards him, plucking leaves and grass as though perfectly oblivious of his presence.
Rataplan suddenly stopped moving his huge head, and his wicked little eyes were bent on her with scrutiny and interest. He was not, however, going to be caught so easily. He did not care for society in any shape or form, not even the society of a koomkie, so he took no notice of her, but, after a few minutes' quiet contemplation, turned his head the other way.
Kinka, however, was not to be daunted. Still plucking little twigs and delicate buds and knocking them carefully and fastidiously against her forelegs in order to shake off any little fragment of dust that might have stuck there, she made her way steadily towards him, and as Rataplan, even then, took not the slightest notice she became bolder, and, trotting quietly up to him, began caressing him with her trunk and making several other endearing signs which were enough to melt the heart of any elephant under the sun.
Rataplan's heart was not exactly melted, but he was evidently interested and touched by the delicate attentions, and he became a little less morose and a little less moody; he even moved out of the tangled mass of undergrowth in which he had been standing, and deigned to talk to her a little bit; and Kinka made herself just as interesting as she possibly could.
Soon Rataplan began to forget his hatred of company, his dislike of his fellow-creatures; he began even to forget his evil thoughts and his mad rage, and he was just beginning to think what a nice, little elephant Kinka was when he felt, sharp pulls at his feet.
The next instant there was such a sudden pull on all his legs that, with a huge thud Rataplan found himself lying on the ground. With one furious cry of rage he did his best to turn, displaying a flexibility of body and limb which was quite astonishing in so clumsy an animal.
Rolling on the ground and uttering more cries of rage, it suddenly occurred to him to ask the nice, little elephant to help him. But alas! the nice, little elephant, Kinka, was nowhere to be seen.
Having done her duty and treacherously inveigled him in to the snare, with a little, triumphant wave of her trunk and a funny, little, trumpeting noise she had marched with a sort of "conquering hero" air back to her stable, there to tell the other koomkies of her prowess and successful capture.
In vain Rataplan butted the tree nearest to him with all his huge strength; it never moved, scarcely even shook, and he rolled again on the ground in despair. He wound his trunk round and round one of the ropes, doing his best to break and split it, but the rope was good and strong and only squeaked dismally.
He shrieked and roared, writhed and turned, until the forest re-echoed with his cries, and the cruel ropes cut into his ankles, making deep, red wounds which stained the ground all round his feet.
After a time his shrill cries of rage developed into hoarse moans of humiliation and despair.
All that night and the next Rataplan was left there. The ropes cut deeper and deeper into his poor, swollen ankles, his body getting fainter and fainter for want of food. But he was not a Rogue elephant for nothing, and would not give in.
In vain a whole lot of koomkies were brought out to try and induce him to follow them into the keddah; he was not to be tempted, and tore and strained at his ropes to such a degree that the mahout feared he would make wounds that could never be healed; so he took away the koomkies and waited yet another night.
The third night the koomkies were brought out again, this time with Kinka at their head. But the sight of Kinka nearly drove Rataplan mad; he strained and tore at the ropes, trumpeting and roaring, until even the koomkies were frightened. Could he only have got at Kinka, he would have torn her limb from limb. But although he stretched to his utmost, and his hind legs went out behind him in the struggle, he could not get near her.
The mahout was getting troubled, for Rataplan's ankles were now in such a state as to make him almost valueless, and he knew, even did the elephant give in now, it would be months before they were healed, if indeed they ever healed at all.
Yet another long, weary day and night did poor Rataplan lay there, getting weaker and weaker and suffering untold agonies caused by those cruel ropes.
He had by this time torn his ankles so fearfully that they were all ulcerated, and stiff from lying on the ground. To add to his misery, he had caught violent inflammation in his eyes.
The mahout realized that unless he got him into the keddah soon he would be of no use at all, and once more did his best with koomkies and dainty bits of food to tempt him to follow into the keddah.
But still Rataplan would not give in: his body was weak and getting visibly thinner, but his spirit was as strong, as wild and as unbreakable as ever.
There was a consultation among the mahouts, and it was decided, as he was still so savage, there was nothing to be done but to leave him yet one more day.
But the next day Rataplan presented a piteous sight. His poor ankles were swollen enormously; his eyes were so inflamed that he was quite blind, and, to make matters worse, the mahouts saw that he was suffering now from the Ceylon Murrain.
There was nothing to be done then but kill him.
It had been a wet night which had made his poor, ulcerated ankles as bad as they could be, and the pain in his eyes was maddening. Suffering from the murrain, too, it was far too dangerous to take him among other elephants, and so the end of Rataplan, the Rogue, was that, in spite of his grand physique, his unbreakable spirit, and his indomitable patience, he was actually shot by the very things he had despised all his life--those silly little things that carried guns.
And Kinka, when she knew that he was dead, was not even sorry. She only gave a triumphant little trumpeting as she thought of the triumph of her capture. And so no one grieved for Rataplan, no one cared or thought about him. But then we must not forget that he was and always had been Rataplan, the Rogue.

The Lesson Given To Rahula – a Buddhism Text

BEFORE Rahula, the son of Gotama Siddhattha and Yasodhara, attained to the enlightenment of true wisdom, his conduct was not always marked by a love of truth, and the Blessed One sent him to a distant vihara to govern his mind and to guard his tongue. After some time the Blessed One repaired to the place, and Rahula was filled with joy.

The Blessed One ordered the boy to bring him a basin of water and to wash his feet, and Rahula obeyed. When Rahula had washed the Tathagata's feet, the Blessed One asked: "Is the water now fit for drinking?"

"No, my Lord," replied the boy, "the water is defiled. Then the Blessed One said: "Now consider thine own case. Although thou art my son, and the grandchild of a king, although thou art a samana who has voluntarily given up everything, thou art unable to guard thy tongue from untruth, and thus defilest thou thy mind." And when the water had been poured away, the Blessed One asked again: "Is this vessel now fit for holding water to drink?"

"No, my Lord," replied Rahula, "the vessel, too, has become unclean." And the Blessed One said: "Now consider thine own case. Although thou wearest the yellow robe, art thou fit for any high purpose when thou hast become unclean like this vessel?" Then the Blessed One, lifting up the empty basin and whirling it round, asked: "Art thou not afraid lest it shall fall and break?" "No, my Lord," replied Rahula, it is cheap, its loss will not amount to much."

"Now consider thine own case, said the Blessed One. Thou art whirled about in endless eddies of transmigration, and as thy body is made of the same substance as other material things that will crumble to dust, there is no loss if it be broken. He who is given to speaking untruths is an object of contempt to the wise."

Rahula was filled with shame, and the Blessed One addressed him once more: "Listen, and I will tell thee a parable: There was a king who had a very powerful elephant, able to cope with five hundred ordinary elephants. When going to war, the elephant was armed with sharp swords on his tusks, with scythes on his shoulders, spears on his feet, and an iron ball at his tail. The elephant-master rejoiced to see the noble creature so well equipped, and, knowing that a slight wound by an arrow in the trunk would be fatal, he had taught the elephant to keep his trunk well coiled up. But during the battle the elephant stretched forth his trunk to seize a sword. His master was frightened and consulted with the king, and they decided that the elephant was no longer fit to be used in battle.

"O Rahula! if men would only guard their tongues all would be well! Be like the fighting elephant who guards his trunk against the arrow that strikes in the center. By love of truth the sincere escape iniquity. Like the elephant well subdued and quiet, who permits the king to mount on his trunk, thus the man that reveres righteousness will endure faithfully throughout his life." Rahula hearing these words was filled with deep sorrow; he never again gave any occasion for complaint, and forthwith he sanctified his life by earnest exertions.

The Elephant Train by Margo Fallis
Badeef was a small, gray elephant with big floppy ears and a long trunk. He was too little to have tusks yet, but one day he would have long ones like his fathers. Badeef and his mother stood at the watering hole. It was surrounded by the long grasses of the savannah. There were a lot of other animals around the hole. It was deep and filled with croaking frogs. The hippos lay in the center, clustered together and protective of their area. Badeef was warned not to disturb the hippos. Crocodiles, hyenas, and all types of birds were there to drink the cool, refreshing water.
Badeef lowered his trunk and sipped until he was full. His mama, Mona, started nudging him with her trunk. "It’s time to go," she said. As usual, Badeef ran beside her as they made their way through the tall grass. "That watering hole is getting too crowded. We need to find another. There are too many hyenas. It’s not safe any longer."
Badeef had to walk fast on his short legs to keep up with his mama and the other female elephants. After several hours they stopped at a baobab tree. Mona reached up with her long trunk and ripped the tender leaves and soft branches off. She handed some to Badeef and then ate the rest. Suddenly Mona’s ears went up. She’d heard something. "It’s a den of lions," she whispered to Badeef and the others.
Badeef was afraid. He’d never seen a lion before but had heard the other elephants talking about them. "Mama, I’m scared," he cried, moving closer to her large body.
"We must leave," she said. The others agreed. They got into a long line, each holding onto the tail of the elephant in front of them. They looked like a long train, stretching for yards as they walked through the tall grass. They walked, and walked, and walked. Sometimes Badeef felt tired and didn’t want to walk any further, but the female elephant behind him nudged him with her trunk and he moved on.
As the sun was set, the herd came to a large watering hole. There were only a few buzzards hanging around. "We’re here," his mama said. Badeef was glad. He ran over to the water, stuck his trunk in and sipped water until no more would fit into his tummy. "We’ll be safe here," Mona assured the little elephant.
That night, Badeef lay down in the swaying grasses and fell asleep. He knew his mama was watching for lions and he knew he was safe at last.

Tortoise and the King -- an African Tale
One year the Elephant had done a great deal of damage, breaking down the trees, drinking up the water in a time of scarcity, and eating the first tender crops from the fields.

The King's hunters tried in vain to destroy him, for Elephant knew many charms, and always escaped from their traps.

At last the King offered the hand of his daughter in marriage to anyone who would rid the country of the pest.

Tortoise went to the palace and offered to catch Elephant, and then made his preparations. Outside the town a large pit was dug, and on the top of it was laid a thin platform covered with velvet cloths and leopard-skins, like a throne.

Then Tortoise set off into the forest, accompanied by slaves and drummers. Elephant was very much surprised to see his little friend Tortoise riding in such state, and suspected a trap; but Tortoise said that the old King was dead and the people all wished Elephant to rule over them, because he was the greatest of all animals. When he heard this, Elephant was flattered, and agreed to accompany Tortoise to the town. But when he went up on to the platform to be crowned King, the wood gave way beneath him, and he crashed down into the pit and was speedily slain by the King's hunters.

All the people rejoiced, and praised the cunning of Tortoise, who went to the palace to receive his bride. But the King refused to give his daughter to such an insignificant creature, and Tortoise determined to have a revenge. When the new crops were just ripening, he called together all the field-mice and elves, and asked them to eat up and carry away the corn. They were only too pleased with the idea, and the farmers in distress found the fields quite bare.

Now there was prospect of a famine in the land, and the King offered the same reward as before to anyone who would rid the country of the pests.

Tortoise once again appeared in the palace and offered his help. The King was eager enough to accept it, but Tortoise cautiously refused to do anything until the Princess became his bride.

The King was thus forced to consent to the marriage, and when it had taken place, Tortoise, true to his word, called together all the mice and elves and showed them a platform loaded with dainty morsels of food. He then addressed them as follows:

The people are so distressed at the damage you have done, that they have prepared this feast for you, and they promise to do the same twice every year, before the harvesting of the first and second crops, if you will agree not to touch the corn in the fields.

The little creatures all consented, and marched in a great crowd to the platform, which they soon cleared.

The King and his people were not very pleased to hear of this arrangement, but they were so afraid of Tortoise that they could not complain, and after that the mice and elves never troubled the country again.
Gratitude (A Story About the Elephant Pit) Also Known as “From the Elephant Pit” by Catherine T. Bryce
A hunter once dug a pit to catch and trap wild elephants. One day, a man who was being chased by a lion fell into the pit, and then the lion followed a second later. Before they had time to pick themselves up, down came a mouse, closely followed by a snake who had been chasing it, and he, in turn, was followed by a falcon who had been trying to catch him.
So there they were -- all five of them -- caught in the elephant pit and unable to get out. Each as he picked himself up tried to get away as far as possible from the others, for none knew what harm might come to him.
The man thought, "I must kill the lion or he will eat me."
The lion thought, "I must eat the man or he will kill me."
The falcon thought, "I must kill the snake or it may bite me."
The mouse thought, "Oh my! how I wish I could get away from all these big creatures!"
Thus they all sat silent, each one afraid to move lest some one or another pounce upon him and kill him.
In time the lion spoke: "Oh, honored ones," said he, "we are all comrades in misfortune. Let us promise not to hurt each other. Let each abide where he now is, while we plan a way to get out of this pit."
"Agreed!" cried all the others in haste, and especially pleased was the mouse.
Thus they all sat apart trying to think of a plan to escape, when the elephant hunter came to the pit.
"Why, what is all this?" the hunter cried, looking down.
"Oh, hunter, good hunter, kind hunter, please help us out!" cried the animals. "You see that we are not elephants."
"No, no, good hunter, I am not an elephant, I am not an elephant," squealed the mouse.
The hunter laughed. "No, you don't look much like an elephant, my little friend," he said. "I think I must help you all to escape."
The first animal that the hunter drew up was the lion. "Oh, hunter," said the lion, "I and the other animals will prove grateful to you and will help you for your kindness to us, so rescue them. But leave the man in the pit, for I warn you he will forget your kindness and do you harm."
The hunter, however, would not listen to the lion's advice, and rescued everyone.
A short time after this, the hunter fell ill of a great fever. He could not go into the woods to hunt for game, and he and his wife would have died but for the kindness of the lion. Every day the lion brought fresh meat and left it at the hunter's door.
One day while flying through the forest, the falcon saw something bright and glistening lying on the ground. He swooped down and found some beautiful gems. He carried the gems to the hunter's house and dropped them in his lap. Thus he, too, tried to repay the hunter for saving his life.
Now the gems found by the falcon belonged to the queen. She had lost them one day while passing through the wood. As she did not miss them until the next day, she thought they must have been stolen during the night, and told the king so.
The king at once sent out a man to find the gems, and the man he sent out was the very man who had fallen into the elephant pit and had been rescued by the hunter. In his search he came to the home of the sick hunter.
"Have you seen anything of such and such gems?" asked the man.
"Yes," answered the hunter, and brought them and spread them on the table.
"Where did you get these?" asked the man.
"The falcon whom I rescued from the pit brought them to me," said the hunter.
Now when the man looked on the gems, he craved them, and he said to the hunter, "These gems belong to the queen. She thinks someone has stolen them. I have been sent to find them. Unless I tell, nobody will ever know where they are. So, my friend, let us divide them. You keep half, and give half to me. Thus shall we both gain wealth and no one be the wiser."
"What!" cried the hunter. "Do you take me for a thief? No! No, I say! The gems shall be returned to our good queen."
"Then, my honest fellow," sneered the man, "you shall go to the palace as my prisoner."
He clapped his hands, and two soldiers rushed in. "Bind him and carry him to the king! It is he who has stolen the queen's jewels!"
The poor hunter, still weak from fever and illness, was carried bound to the palace. The king, believing the false man's story, would not listen to the poor hunter, but had him chained in a deep, dark dungeon.
The poor man was now in a pitiable state.
"Alas!" he said, "the lion spoke but the truth. Because of the man that I rescued from my elephant pit I am now in this loathsome dungeon with none to pity me or to deliver me."
"Say not so, good friend," said the mouse, coming out of a corner. "I pity you, and it may be I who can deliver you. Keep up your courage. I will go now to find help."
The mouse ran off and soon returned with the snake. "Now I am glad," said the snake, "to have a chance to show my gratitude. Here is a little box of cream. Hide it in your chest. Today when the king walks in the garden, I will sting him on the heel. The cream in that little box alone can save his life. I urge you, use it."
True to his word, the snake bit the king as he walked in the garden.
"He will die! He will die!" wailed all the people. "None of our doctors know a cure for the bite of that snake."
As the queen sat weeping by the king's side, the mouse drew near and spoke to her. "O queen, there is one who can cure the king -- the hunter who lies in the lowest dungeon. Send for him quickly, lest it be too late."
Hastily the queen gave the order, and the hunter was brought to the king's side. Taking the box of cream from his chest, he put some on the wound. At once the swelling went down, the pain disappeared, and the king was well again.
"What reward shall I give you?" said the king. "Ask what you will, my deliverer."
"O king," replied the hunter, "I ask only of your one great favor, that you listen to my story."
He then told the king the whole story. When he had ended, the king said, "The lion was right. Would that you had left the ungrateful man in the pit. Ho, soldiers, bring him to me and I will see that he is fitly punished."
But though the soldiers searched everywhere for the man, they could not find him.
"I am glad he has escaped," said the hunter, "for I like not to see anybody suffer."
"Good," said the king, "it is noble thus to forgive an enemy. And now, my friend, I have need of a brave man like you in my palace. You shall live here as my chief hunter."
Thus, through the gratitude of the beasts, the hunter rose to high position and honor in the court of his king.

Spitting Watermelon Seeds by Margo Fallis
The tortoise finished ripping the last piece of watermelon rind off, crunched it in his strong jaw and then swallowed it. He felt the seed inside his mouth and spit it out. It flew a few yards and landed in the sand. "Hey, that’s pretty good," the crocodile said. "You spit that seed a long way. Can you do it again?" he asked.
The tortoise bit off another piece of melon off. This piece had three seeds in it. He spit one, and then the next, and then the next. Each seed flew through the air, landing in the hot sand. Each one went a little further than the one before. "Here, let me try that," the crocodile said. He ate a big chunk out of the watermelon and filled his mouth with seeds. He spit them out, one after another and they soared through the air, landing even further than the tortoises.
As the crocodile spit his last seed, a hippo came out of the river. He stood and watched. "You spit those seeds far, but I can spit them even further," he boasted. He bit some of the watermelon off and chewed it up. Juice ran down his chin. He gathered the seeds in his large open mouth, puckered up and spit the seeds. They shot out, flying further than the crocodiles. "Beat that," he challenged the other two animals.
A duck was waddling by and saw the animals gathered round the watermelon. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"We’re having a contest to see who can spit the watermelon seed the furthest. Do you want to try to beat mine?" the hippo asked.
"Sure, I’ll try," the duck said. She took a bite of watermelon. "Wow, there are a lot of seeds in this!" She puckered her beak and spit a seed. It shot through the air and landed even further away than the hippos.
"Wow! That was good. You’re the winner so far," The croc said.
Just then a fox came up from of his underground den. "Beat what?" he asked the other animals.
"We’re having a watermelon seed spitting contest. So far I’ve spit the seeds further than the tortoise or the crocodile. Let’s see what you can do," the hippo urged the fox.
Carefully examining all the seeds lying on the ground, the fox said, "I can beat that. Just stand back and watch the master." He bit a piece of an even riper watermelon that was hooked onto the long, meandering vine. He chewed it up. Juice ran everywhere. His fur was soon a sticky mess. "Watch this," he mumbled, not able to speak well from his mouth filled up with seeds. He took careful aim and spit the seeds. Each seed darted across the sand. "Aha," the fox laughed. "I’ve beat you, hippo. I beat you, crocodile and you too, tortoise. I am the master. I am the winner." The fox ran circles around the other three, laughing and taunting them.
Just then an elephant walked up. "What’s all this about? What are you doing?" he asked the fox, watching his gleeful dance.
"We had a watermelon seed spitting contest to see who could spit the seed the furthest. I won. I beat all three of them. Care to challenge me?" he asked the huge, gray elephant.
The elephant looked at the tortoise. It was shaking its head back and forth, saying no. He looked at the crocodile. Its mouth silently formed the word ‘NO’. The elephant then looked at the hippo. He was standing on the banks of the river, shaking his head up and down. "Yes," he mumbled.
The elephant smiled and picked up the watermelon with his trunk. He put it in his mouth and munched it all up. A puddle of watermelon juice formed by his feet as it dribbled out of his mouth. He gathered the seeds in his mouth and spit them out. They didn’t go very far. In fact they didn’t even go as far as the tortoise’s. The fox began to laugh. "Ha Ha. I knew you couldn’t beat me."
The elephant tried again, and again, but each time the seed only went a short distance. The fox ran around laughing and pointing his finger at the other animals. "You can’t beat me. I’m the best."
The elephant felt something tickle his nose. He started getting ready to sneeze. The others looked at him. The fox stopped running and put his hands over his ears. Elephants make a lot of noise when they sneeze. Suddenly the elephant let out the loudest sneeze. A watermelon seed shot out of his mouth like a bullet and flew through the air. It flew past the seeds he’d spit out earlier. It flew past the tortoise’s seeds, past the crocodile’s seeds and past the hippo’s seeds. The fox stood with his mouth agape and watched as the seed flew past his seed. It kept on going, and going, and going. Finally, when it stopped, it had gone a hundred yards.
The elephant smiled. The hippo smiled. The crocodile smiled. The tortoise smiled. "I won! I won!" the elephant began to laugh out loud.
The fox stood there, scratching his head. He couldn’t beat that. He wasn’t the winner anymore. "Congratulations," he uttered softly to the elephant. "You’re the best," he said. "I’m going home to take a bath and wash this sticky watermelon juice off my fur."
"You’ll need to use a bar of soap and warm water," the tortoise said.
The fox ignored them and ran into his burrow. The other four animals stayed where they were and ate some more watermelon. They didn’t spit any more seeds. It didn’t matter anymore. They just enjoyed eating and being friends.

The Patient Elephant

WHILE the Blessed One was residing in the Jetavana, there was a householder living in Savatthi known to all his neighbors as patient and kind, but his relatives were wicked and contrived a plot to rob him. One day they came to the householder and by worrying him with all kinds of threats took away a goodly portion of his property. He did not go to court, nor did he complain, but tolerated with great forbearance the wrongs he suffered. The neighbors wondered and began to talk about it, and rumors of the affair reached the ears of the brethren in Jetavana. While the brethren discussed the occurrence in the assembly hall, the Blessed One entered and asked "What was the topic of your conversation?" And they told him.

Said the Blessed One: "The time will come when the wicked relatives will find their punishment. O brethren, this is not the first time that this occurrence took place; it has happened before," and he told them a world-old tale: Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisattva was born in the Himalaya region as an elephant. He grew up strong and big, and ranged the hills and mountains, the peaks and caves of the torturous woods in the valleys. Once as he went he saw a pleasant tree, and took his food, standing under it. Then some impertinent monkeys came down out of the tree, and jumping on the elephant's back, insulted and tormented him greatly; they took hold of his tusks, pulled his tail and disported themselves, thereby causing him much annoyance. The Bodhisattva, being full of patience, kindliness and mercy, took no notice at all of their misconduct which the monkeys repeated again and again.

"One day the spirit that lived in the tree, standing upon the tree-trunk, addressed the elephant saying, 'My lord elephant, why dost thou put up with the impudence of these bad monkeys?' And he asked the question in a couplet as follows:

"'Why do you patiently endure each freak
These mischievous and selfish monkeys wreak?'

"The Bodhisattva, on hearing this, replied, If, Tree sprite, I cannot endure these monkeys' ill treatment without abusing their birth, lineage and persons, how can I walk in the eightfold noble path? But these monkeys will do the same to others thinking them to be like me. If they do it to any rogue elephant, he will punish them indeed, and I shall be delivered both from their annoyance and the guilt of having done harm to others.' Saying this he repeated another stanza:

"If they will treat another one like me,
He will destroy them; and I shall be free.

"A few days after, the Bodhisattva went elsewhere, and another elephant, a savage beast, came and stood in his place. The wicked monkeys thinking him to be like the old one, climbed upon his back and did as before. The rogue elephant seized the monkeys with his trunk, threw them upon the ground, gored them with his tusk and trampled them to mincemeat under his feet."

When the Master had ended this teaching, he declared the truths, and identified the births, saying: "At that time the mischievous monkeys were the wicked relatives of the good man, the rogue elephant was the one who will punish them, but the virtuous noble elephant was the Tathagata himself in a former incarnation."

After this discourse one of the brethren rose and asked leave to propose a question and when the permission was granted he said: "I have heard the doctrine that wrong should be met with wrong and the evil doer should be checked by being made to suffer, for if this were not done evil would increase and good would disappear. What shall we do?" Said the Blessed One: "Nay, I will tell you You who have left the world and have adopted this glorious faith of putting aside selfishness, you shall not do evil for evil nor return hate for hate. Neither think that you can destroy wrong by retaliating evil for evil and thus increasing wrong. Leave the wicked to their fate and their evil deeds will sooner or later in one way or another bring on their own punishment." And the Tathagata repeated these stanzas:

"Who harms the man who does no harm,
Or strikes at him who strikes him not,
Shall soon some punishment incur
Which his own wickedness begot,-
"One of the gravest ills in life,
Either a loathsome dread disease,
Or sad old age, or loss of mind,
Or wretched pain without surcease,
"Or conflagration, loss of wealth;
Or of his nearest kin he shall
See some one die that's dear to him,
And then he'll be reborn in hell."

The Elephant, the Camel, the Goat and the Peacock by Margo Fallis
The hot summer sun beat down on the village. Crowds of people jammed into the market place, adding to the misery and heat. Four animals were tied with ropes to small wooden sticks that had been pounded into the sand. A large sign, reading ‘Animals For Sale’ was nailed to one of the sticks.
"I’ll be the first one to go," the elephant said. "I’m strong. I can carry things. I can give rides and I can do tricks."
"You’re wrong. I’ll be the first one bought. I can sing. I am beautiful. Look at my colored feathers! They are a prized possession, wanted by many for decorations," the peacock boasted.
"You are both wrong. It shall be I who goes first. I can give milk for cheese. My hair, though rough, can be used for making Bedouin tents," the goat chimed in. He turned and looked at the camel. "Nobody will buy you," he scoffed. "You are ugly. You bite, spit and kick. You have a big hump and smell. You will still be tied to the stick, sweltering in the hot sun long after the three of us have been sold."
The camel didn’t say a word. He stood munching on some hay.
As the hours passed, more and more people came to the marketplace. The sun seemed to get hotter and hotter as it made its way higher into the sky. "I could use a drink of cool, refreshing water," the elephant complained. He was sweating and feeling very thirsty.
"I need a drink of water also," the peacock added. Its feathers were beginning to sag from the heat.
"If it gets much hotter, I’ll die of thirst," the goat said. He was covered with so much hair that he felt more miserable than the other three animals.
The camel didn’t say a word. He stood munching on some hay.
A group of men walked up to the animals. They were wearing bright-colored robes that hung to the ground. Each wore a scarf that was tied around their heads. "I think I shall buy this elephant. It can carry a heavy load," Ahmed said. The elephant beamed with pride and smiled at the peacock, goat and camel. Ahmed petted the elephant’s strong legs and trunk.
"The elephant is a strong animal, but it will not do well crossing the hot, desert sands," Rashid replied.
Ahmed rubbed his chin in thought. "You are right, Rashid," Ahmed said and walked over to the well to get a drink of water.
"I think I shall buy the peacock. It can sing me to sleep at night while we are traveling by caravan across Arabia," Ali said. He knelt down and looked at the peacock’s beautiful feathers.
The peacock smiled at the elephant, goat and camel. "The peacock does sing and it is a beautiful bird, but it could never endure the desert heat," Rashid said.
Ali rubbed his chin in thought. "You are right, Rashid," Ali said and walked into the marketplace to buy some pistachios.
"I think I will buy this goat. It can give milk for cheese and I can use its coarse hair for my tent," Khalil said. The goat smiled at the elephant, peacock and camel.
"The goat does give milk. You could make wonderful cheeses and butter. You can use its coarse hair for your tent, but it can’t walk fast enough or long enough to be in a caravan," Rashid pointed out.
Khalil rubbed his chin in thought. "You are right, Rashid," Khalil said. He walked away and bought some fine silks instead.
"I am going to buy this camel," Rashid said. He petted the camel’s neck. "You also give milk. Your hair can be used to make a tent; you can carry heavy loads, such as spices, frankincense, and precious silks. You can go for days without drinking and can walk for a week without getting tired. You aren’t huge like the elephant, nor are you as beautiful as the peacock. You can’t sing at all, but you are the best animal of the four. I will buy you," Rashid said. He paid the man and walked away with his purchase.
The camel turned and smiled at the elephant, peacock and goat, who stood sweltering in the hot summer sun.

How the Tortoise overcame the Elephant and the Hippopotamus

THE elephant and the hippopotamus always used to feed together, and were good friends.

One day when they were both dining together, the tortoise appeared and said that although they were both big and strong, neither of them could pull him out of the water with a strong piece of tie-tie, and he offered the elephant ten thousand rods if he could draw him out of the river the next day. The elephant, seeing that the tortoise was very small, said, "If I cannot draw you out of the water, I will give you twenty thousand rods." So on the following morning the tortoise got some very strong tie-tie and made it fast to his leg, and went down to the river. When he got there, as he knew the place well, he made the tie-tie fast round a big rock, and left the other end on the shore for the elephant to pull by, then went down to the bottom of the river and hid himself. The elephant then came down and started pulling, and after a time he smashed the rope.

Directly this happened, the tortoise undid the rope from the rock and came to the land, showing all people that the rope was still fast to his leg, but that the elephant had failed to pull him out. The elephant was thus forced to admit that the tortoise was the winner, and paid to him the twenty thousand rods, as agreed. The tortoise then took the rods home to his wife, and they lived together very happily.

After three months had passed, the tortoise, seeing that the money was greatly reduced, thought he would make some more by the same trick, so he went to the hippopotamus and made the same bet with him. The hippopotamus said, "I will make the bet, but I shall take the water and you shall take the land; I will then pull you into the water."

To this the tortoise agreed, so they went down to the river as before, and having got some strong tie-tie, the tortoise made it fast to the hippopotamus' hind leg, and told him to go into the water. Directly the hippo had turned his back and disappeared, the tortoise took the rope twice round a strong palm-tree which was growing near, and then hid himself at the foot of the tree.

When the hippo was tired of pulling, he came up puffing and blowing water into the air from his nostrils. Directly the tortoise saw him coming up, he unwound the rope, and walked down towards the hippopotamus, showing him the tie-tie round his leg. The hippo had to acknowledge that the tortoise was too strong for him, and reluctantly handed over the twenty thousand rods.

The elephant and the hippo then agreed that they would take the tortoise as their friend, as he was so very strong; but he was not really so strong as they thought, and had won because he was so cunning.

He then told them that he would like to live with both of them, but that, as he could not be in two places at the same time, he said that he would leave his son to live with the elephant on the land, and that he himself would live with the hippopotamus in the water.

This explains why there are both tortoises on the land and tortoises who live in the water. The water tortoise is always much the bigger of the two, as there is plenty of fish for him to eat in the river, whereas the land tortoise is often very short of food.

Sniff Sniff Sniff I need a Whiff by Margo Fallis
"Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I need a whiff," Omar, the elephant, chanted as he walked through the tall grass, his long trunk dangling down, sniffing the ground. Omar loved to eat peanuts, but they grew under the ground, so he had to sniff them out.
All day long he walked around sniffing the ground and chanting.
Some of the other animals nearby thought Omar looked awfully silly. Sharif, the rhinoceros, started laughing when Omar walked past him. Omar didn’t even see Sharif. He was too busy sniffing. Sharif laughed even harder when he heard him chant, "Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I need a whiff." He dropped his heavy body to the ground and rolled around giggling.
Rashid, the giraffe, saw Omar coming. His neck was so long that he could see things that were a long distance away. "What is that silly elephant doing?" he said out loud to himself as he reached for a few leaves from a tree he was standing next to.
"It looks like he’s sniffing the ground." Rashid started laughing. The closer Omar got, the harder Rashid laughed. "Silly elephant," he giggled.
When Rashid heard Omar chanting and sniffing, he laughed even harder. His long neck bobbed up and down as he heard, "Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I need a whiff." Omar didn’t even notice Rashid as he was too busy sniffing for peanuts.
Mohammed, the lion cub was playing with his brother, Ashir. They were wrestling about in the bushes when they heard Omar chanting. "Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I need a whiff." They stopped and sat up, their little cub ears standing straight up in the air.
"What is Omar doing?" Mohammed asked.
"It looks like he’s sniffing the ground," Ashir replied. "But what’s he singing?" the curious cub wondered.
They ran up closer to Omar and followed him from a safe distance. "He is sniffing the ground. Why do you think he’s doing that?" Mohammed asked.
"I don’t know," Ashir answered, then pounced on his brother, tugging at the nape of his neck where one day a thick mane would grow. Losing interest in Omar, the two continued their wrestling and fighting games.
Omar hadn’t even noticed the two lion cubs. He’d been too busy sniffing for peanuts. As he walked past Fatima, the flamingo, he began to sniff the faintest aroma of peanuts. "Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I need a whiff," he mumbled.
Fatima stopped preening her feathers and watched Omar. She started chuckling. It wasn’t every day that you saw a huge gray elephant walking by sniffing the ground. The more she watched, the more she laughed. She laughed so hard that one of her pink feathers flew up into the air and floated slowly down onto the grass by her long, spindly legs.
Omar didn’t even notice Fatima. He was too busy sniffing for the peanuts. He began to get excited. He knew there were peanuts nearby. He could smell them. He began to run. His long ivory tusks jutted out from the side of his face. His trunk-like legs thudded the ground as he ran. His huge flapping ears bounced up and down against his back. Suddenly he stopped. His trunk sniffed the ground over and over again. "Peanuts!" he cried out. He used his sharp tusks to dig the ground up. He tugged the green plant on top and pulled it with his trunk. Soon the roots came free. Attached to them were clusters of peanuts in their shells. "Yes! Peanuts!" he cried with delight.
Omar picked all the peanuts off with his trunk and gobbled them down. They were delicious. He was happy. It didn’t matter that Sharif, the rhino had laughed, or that Fatima, the flamingo had laughed, or Rashid, the giraffe, or Mohammed and Ashir, the two lion cubs, had laughed. It didn’t matter because he had his peanuts, and they were delicious.

Why the Bush Cow and the Elephant Are Bad Friends

THE bush cow and the elephant were always bad friends, and as they could not settle their disputes between themselves, they agreed to let the head chief decide.

The cause of their unfriendliness was that the elephant was always boasting about his strength to all his friends, which made the bush cow ashamed of himself, as he was always a good fighter and feared no man or animal. When the matter was referred to the head chief, he decided that the best way to settle the dispute was for the elephant and bush cow to meet and fight one another in a large open space. He decided that the fight should take place in the market-place on the next market-day, when all the country people could witness the battle.

When the market-day arrived, the bush cow went out in the early morning and took up his position some distance from the town on the main road to the market, and started bellowing and tearing up the ground. As the people passed he asked them whether they had seen anything of the "Big, Big one," which was the name of the elephant.

A bush buck, who happened to be passing, replied, I am only a small antelope, and am on my way to the market. How should I know anything of the movements of the 'Big, Big one?'" The bush cow then allowed him to pass.

After a little time the bush cow heard the elephant trumpeting, and could hear him as he came nearer breaking down trees and trampling down the small bush.

When the elephant came near the bush cow, they both charged one another, and a tremendous fight commenced, in which a lot of damage was done to the surrounding farms, and many of the people were frightened to go to the market, and returned to their houses.

At last the monkey, who had been watching the fight from a distance whilst he was jumping from branch to branch high up in the trees, thought he would report what he had seen to the head chief. Although he forgot several times what it was he wanted to do, which is a little way monkeys have, he eventually reached the chief's house, and jumped upon the roof, where he caught and ate a spider. He then climbed to the ground again, and commenced playing with a small stick. But he very soon got tired of this, and then, picking up a stone, he rubbed it backwards and forwards on the ground in an aimless sort of way, whilst looking in the opposite direction. This did not last long, and very soon he was busily engaged in a minute personal inspection.

His attention was then attracted by a large praying mantis, which had fluttered into the house, making much clatter with its wings. When it settled, it immediately assumed its usual prayerful attitude.

The monkey, after a careful stalk, seized the mantis, and having deliberately pulled the legs off one after the other, he ate the body, and sat down with his head on one side, looking very wise, but in reality thinking of nothing.

Just then the chief caught sight of him while he was scratching himself, and shouted out in a loud voice, "Ha, monkey, is that you? What do you want here?"

At the chief's voice the monkey gave a jump, and started chattering like anything. After a time he replied very nervously: "Oh yes, of course! Yes, I came to see you." Then he said to himself, "I wonder what on earth it was I came to tell the chief?" but it was no use, everything had gone out of his head.

Then the chief told the monkey he might take one of the ripe plantains hanging up in the verandah. The monkey did not want telling twice, as he was very fond of plantains. He soon tore off the skin, and holding the plantain in both hands, took bite after bite from the end of it, looking at it carefully after each bite.

Then the chief remarked that the elephant and the bush cow ought to have arrived by that time, as they were going to have a great fight. Directly the monkey heard this he remembered what it was he wanted to tell the chief; so, having swallowed the piece of plantain he had placed in the side of his cheek, he said: "Ah I that reminds me," and then, after much chattering and making all sorts of funny grimaces, finally made the chief understand that the elephant and bush cow, instead of fighting where they had been told, were having it out in the bush on the main road leading to the market, and had thus stopped most of the people coming in.

When the chief heard this he was much incensed, and called for his bow and poisoned arrows, and went to the scene of the combat. He then shot both the elephant and the bush cow, and throwing his bow and arrows away, ran and hid himself in the bush. About six hours afterwards both the elephant and bush cow died in great pain.

Ever since, when wild animals want to fight between themselves, they always fight in the big bush and not on the public roads; but as the fight was never definitely decided between the elephant and the bush cow, whenever they meet one another in the forest, even to the present time, they always fight.

I ate the whole thing! by Margo Fallis
A huge watermelon lay on the ground. Its rind was dark with pale green stripes running lengthwise. Fuzzy leaves sprouted from the vine and snaked along the sand, cocooning the melon from the harsh desert elements. It was ripe and ready to be picked.
A small brown mouse ran towards the watermelon, his tail dragging behind him in the sand. Jafar was a skinny mouse. He had a difficult time finding food to eat. He was so excited to see the watermelon patch. He almost missed the watermelon as he scurried by. Catching a glimpse of its stripes, the mouse stopped. "Wow!" he called out. "Food! This is enough to last me for a week!" He touched the rind. It felt cool compared to the hot, midday-heated sand. Wasting no time, his razor-sharp teeth dug into the melon. He scraped off some of the rind and gnawed at it for several minutes, then rested. "This rind is very thick," he noted, seeing that he still hadn’t reached the flesh inside yet. He was getting tired, but kept on gnawing.
After a lot of hard work, Jafar broke through the rind. The scent of juicy, ripe watermelon wafted up through his nostrils. He could see the pink flesh. When he gnawed it, juice dripped all over his brown fur. He made a hole, barely big enough to crawl inside. Climbing into the melon, Jafar sat there, eating away at its flesh. It was so cool and juicy and tasted so delicious to the hungry mouse. All day long he nibbled on the watermelon. He spit all the seeds off to the side, into a pile, which was getting bigger and bigger. The pile of seeds wasn’t the only thing getting bigger; Jafar’s tummy was too. Instead of being a skinny little mouse, he was now a fat mouse.
As the day wore on Jafar found himself inside the empty rind. There wasn’t one piece of pink melon left. A pile of black seeds taller than Jafar was piled high. Jafar looked up at the small hole he’d come in through. It was no longer right in front of him. It was way up at the top of the melon. He was puzzled, wondering how he was going to get out. He couldn’t climb up the side of the rind. It was too slippery and wet. He tried to climb up on top of the pile of seeds, but was so fat that he sank down to the bottom of the pile. The seeds collapsed on top of him. He climbed out, brushed them all off, which wasn’t easy. The seeds were sticky and clung to his fur and tail. He even had to pull seeds off his soft pink ears and his black wriggling nose.
Gazing up at the hole in frustration, Jafar began to jump. He jumped and jumped and jumped, but he always fell back down to the spongy bottom of the melon. Giving up, he decided to take a nap. When he woke up he’d figure a way out. He curled up into a ball and fell asleep.
While Jafar was sleeping, Zirak, a huge gray elephant, came walking by. He was headed to the river for a drink of water. He didn’t see the melon lying on the ground. As he walked past, his tree trunk-like legs kicked it. It went rolling across the sand and landed with a thud at the bottom of a date palm tree. Jafar woke up to find himself being tossed around and around. "What’s happening?" he called out. When the watermelon stopped rolling, he stood up. The seeds had flown all over the inside of the melon. They were stuck all over him again. It took him an hour to pull the sticky seeds out of his ears, off the bottom of his feet and off his long tail. There was even a seed stuck on his chin.
He was pulling the last seed off when he noticed that the hole he’d bore into the watermelon was right in front of him. He went over to it and stuck his head out. He saw the trunk of the date palm. He saw the blue sky above, the coral pink sand below and Zirak, the elephant, standing down at the river having a drink of water. "Ah, good. I can get out now," Jafar said. He put his front legs through the hole and tried to get out. "Uh oh," he mumbled. "I’m stuck." And stuck he was. He was still fat and full of watermelon. He was wedged tightly in the hole. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t even pull himself back inside.
"Help! Help!" Jafar called out. "Zirak! Help me!" he called to the elephant. But the elephant couldn’t hear him. He was too far away. "Help! Help!" he cried again.
Faruz, another mouse, was scurrying by. He’d caught himself a juicy, emerald green scarab beetle and was holding it tightly in his jaw. He heard Jafar calling for help and ran over to see what the problem was. When he saw Jafar’s body sticking half way out of a hole in the watermelon, Faruz dropped his beetle and started laughing. "Hee hee hee. How did you do that?" he asked the fretting Jafar.
"I made the hole when I was much skinnier. I ate too much melon and now I’m too fat to get out. Help me get out of here," Jafar begged.
Faruz walked over to the watermelon. He grabbed hold of Jafar’s hands and pulled. He pulled and pulled and pulled, but Jafar wouldn’t budge. His tummy was just too fat and too full of melon. He tried to push Jafar back inside, but he wouldn’t move either way. "You’re stuck! You’re going to have to stay in there until you lose some weight," Faruz chuckled. Feeling very hungry at the site of the beetle wiggling about on the sand, and seeing he could do no more to help, Faruz ran off, leaving Jafar hanging half way out of the hollow melon.
"Help! Help!" Jafar called out once more. This time nobody came. "What am I going to do?" he whined. Several tears ran down his furry little cheeks. Then, much to his delight, he watched Zirak walk up the bank of the river, heading towards him. "Help! Help!" he called as loud as he could. Zirak didn’t hear him. He came closer and closer. Jafar waved his little arms back and forth but Zirak was just too big to notice the tiny mouse. He started walking past, his trunk swinging back and forth. It bumped into the watermelon, which started rolling down a hill, straight towards the river. Poor Jafar was still stuck in the hole. He spun around and soon became rather dizzy. The watermelon kept rolling towards the river. Right before it reached the water, the melon hit a large rock. It burst open and Jafar was tossed out onto the sand. He landed with a thud on his head. The rest of the melon kept rolling and went into the river and floated away with the swift current.
Jafar stood up, feeling rather dizzy. He brushed the dirt off his fur, pulling more black sticky seeds off his tail and tossing them aside. He rubbed his plump tummy. "No more watermelon for me," he said. "I don’t want to ever get stuck inside one again." He licked his lips and smiled, "Mmmmm, but it sure was delicious."

The Elephant and the Tortoise; or, Why the Worms are Blind and why the Elephant has Small Eyes

WHEN Ambo was king of Calabar, the elephant was not only a very big animal, but he had eyes in proportion to his immense bulk. In those days men and animals were friends, and all mixed together quite freely. At regular intervals King Ambo used to give a feast, and the elephant used to eat more than any one, although the hippopotamus used to do his best; however, not being as big as the elephant, although he was very fat, he was left a long way behind.

As the elephant ate so much at these feasts, the tortoise, who was small but very cunning, made up his mind to put a stop to the elephant eating more than a fair share of the food provided. He therefore placed some dry kernels and shrimps, of which the elephant was very fond, in his bag, and went to the elephant's house to make an afternoon call.

When the tortoise arrived the elephant told him to sit down, so he made himself comfortable, and, having shut one eye, took one palm kernel and a shrimp out of his bag, and commenced to eat them with much relish.

When the elephant saw the tortoise eating, he said, as he was always hungry himself, "You seem to have some good food there; what are you eating?"

The tortoise replied that the food was "sweet too much," but was rather painful to him, as he was eating one of his own eyeballs; and he lifted up his head, showing one eye closed.

The elephant then said, "If the food is so good, take out one of my eyes and give me the same food."

The tortoise, who was waiting for this, knowing how greedy the elephant was, had brought a sharp knife with him for that very purpose, and said to the elephant, "I cannot reach your eye, as you are so big."

The elephant then took the tortoise up in his trunk and lifted him up. As soon as he came near the elephant's eye, with one quick scoop of the sharp knife he had the elephant's right eye out. The elephant trumpeted with pain; but the tortoise gave him some of the dried kernels and shrimps, and they so pleased the elephant's palate that he soon forgot the pain.

Very soon the elephant said, That food is so sweet, I must have some more but the tortoise told him that before he could have any the other eye must come out. To this the elephant agreed; so the tortoise quickly got his knife to work, and very soon the elephant's left eye was on the ground, thus leaving the elephant quite blind. The tortoise then slid down the elephant's trunk on to the ground and hid himself. The elephant then began to make a great noise, and started pulling trees down and doing much damage, calling out for the tortoise but of course he never answered, and the elephant could not find him.

The next morning, when the elephant heard the people passing, he asked them what the time was, and the bush buck, who was nearest, shouted out, "The sun is now up, and I am going to market to get some yams and fresh leaves for my food."

Then the elephant perceived that the tortoise had deceived him, and began to ask all the passers-by to lend him a pair of eyes, as he could not see, but every one refused, as they wanted their eyes themselves. At last the worm grovelled past, and seeing the big elephant, greeted him in his humble way. He was much surprised when the king of the forest returned his salutation, and very much flattered also.

The elephant said, " Look here, worm, I have mislaid my eyes. Will you lend me yours for a few days? I will return them next market-day."

The worm was so flattered at being noticed by the elephant that he gladly consented, and took his eyes out-which, as every one knows, were very small-and gave them to the elephant. When the elephant had put the worm's eyes into his own large eye-sockets, the flesh immediately closed round them so tightly that when the market-day arrived it was impossible for the elephant to get them out again to return to the worm; and although the worm repeatedly made applications to the elephant to return his eyes, the elephant always pretended not to hear, and sometimes used to say in a very loud voice, " If there are any worms about, they had better get out of my way, as they are so small I cannot see them, and if I tread on them they will be squashed into a nasty mess."

Ever since then the worms have been blind, and for the same reason elephants have such small eyes, quite out of proportion to the size of their huge bodies.

The Flying Frog by Margo Fallis
During the rainy season, the clouds are heavy and burst open with precious drops of water. The savanna is covered with green grasses and millions of wildflowers. The rivers spill over their banks, covering the parched earth. It’s a glorious time for the animals.
Faraji croaked and leapt from rock to rock, trying to cross the fast-flowing river. When he reached the other side he sat on a lily pad that was floating near the riverbank. Several hippos had gathered in the center of the river. They were enjoying the coolness of the water. Just then the ground began to shake. "What’s that?" Faraji wondered. THUD! THUD! THUD! He nearly fell into the stream.
Jelani came walking out of the trees, his trunk waving back and forth. He stepped into the rushing waters and plopped down on his bottom. "Ah. That’s better. I’m much cooler now," the elephant said. He filled his trunk with water and blew it out all over Faraji.
"Hey! Watch what you’re doing," the frog shouted.
"It’s only water! Besides, you’re a frog. You like the water, don’t you?" Jelani asked.
The frog began to laugh. "I suppose I do. How far can you blow the water?"
"As far as I want," the elephant replied.
Faraji had an idea. "Jelani, pick me up with your trunk."
Jelani reached over and grabbed the frog. He held him tightly over his head. "What now?" The frog climbed to the end of the trunk and sat down on it. "I can’t breathe," the elephant complained.
"Blow as hard as you can," Faraji said. Jelani took a deep breath through his mouth and blew out of his trunk. Faraji went flying through the air and landed with a splash in the water about twenty feet away. "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The frog swam back to the elephant. "Do that again! That was great fun!" He climbed up onto the end of Jelani’s trunk and sat there. "Blow!" he shouted. Jelani took another deep breath and then blew. "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" went the frog. He landed with a splash in the middle of the river.
Faraji did this over and over again. Finally Jelani said, "I’m tired. I can’t breathe when I do that. It might be fun for you, but it’s not fun for me."
"Aw, come on, Jelani. One more time, please?" the frog begged.
"Oh, all right, but only one more time. Climb up," Jelani said. The frog sat on the end of Jelani’s trunk. Jelani took a deep breath. "Here you go." He blew as hard as he could.
The frog went flying through the air. "You blew too hard this time," Faraji shouted. He didn’t shout WHEEEEEEEEE! He didn’t laugh. He soared through the air and landed with a splat against the trunk of a tree. Jelani watched in horror as the frog slid down the trunk to the ground.
"Are you all right?" Jelani asked.
Faraji lay with his back against the tree. "That’s enough for today, Jelani," he mumbled.
Jelani sat in the water, filled his trunk with water and blew it into the air, happy that Faraji was finished with his games. Faraji hopped over to a lily pad and sat quietly for the rest of the day with a bad headache. "Poor Faraji," Jelani sighed, and then blew water high into the air.

Elephant, Croc and Toad By: Pam Steadman
Many years ago, believe it or not, the elephant had a little pug nose. It was a large beast, of course, and it roamed the jungles of Asia and Africa, hoping to become the king of all beasts!
Now it had not rained for some time, and the elephant decided to go down to the river for a drink. There, swam the long brightly green crocodile& back and forth...its eye out for a tasty bite of something!
Now it so happened that a brightly green toad liked to tease the crocodile...it would often hop onto its back and let the croc take it for a spin down the river.
Croc soon got tired of giving free rides and would often shake its body to rid itself of the toad pest. Unfortunately, it just could not.
So, each and every day it would yell out to the toad, "Get off of my back!"
Not only was the croc irritated with the toad, but it also resented that large beast of an elephant drinking the very water that it swam in each day...especially since water was getting scarce!
So, as soon as the large head of elephant would reach into the water for a drink& SNAP! The croc would tug at elephant’s nose.
Elephant would pull back to protect its little nose, but alas, each time this happened, Croc would tug a little more. It soon seemed as though elephant’s nose was becoming a hose!
"Le go of my nothe, pleathe," shouted the elephant, nicely, of course. Oh dear, poor elephant’s voice was changing as well!
"I thed, pleathe le go of my nothe!"
And with that, the elephant pulled away with all of its might!
Its nose soon drooped onto the ground. KERTHUD!
Elephant glared at the croc and that pesky little toad hopping along its back with glee.
Elephant then stuck its nose into the river and sucked what was left of all of its water, mud, and sediment... leaving croc and toad high and dry.
With one full blow of its nose, all water, mud, and sediment sprayed all over croc and toad!
To this day, this is WHY croc and toad are not bright green anymore. Instead, they are muddy looking due to their dastardly deeds.
As for elephant? It is still not the king of the jungle, but it certainly does not get thirsty very often nowadays!

Simply Smashing by Margo Fallis
A wooden vat sat on a patch of tall green grass; its tight-fitting oak boards held together by thick ropes that were wound around the outside for support. It was filled halfway with plump, juicy, purple grapes.
A small group of men and women, who were standing near the vat, walked away and headed for the nearby river to wash off and cool down. The sun beat down on their skin, bronzed by its rays.
Eisa, a wrinkled gray elephant, stomped through the grass, in search of a mimosa tree. He knew its leaves would shade him from the searing sun. He noticed an odd looking thing in the distance and headed towards it.
As he moved nearer to it, he could smell something sweet. He lifted his trunk into the air and sniffed. “Mmmmmm, grapes,” he said happily.
When he reached the rim of the vat, he gazed inside. He couldn’t believe all the grapes. Each was perfect – purple, ripe, bursting with juice and delicious looking. Not being able to resist, he stuck his snake-like trunk in, grabbed as many grapes as he could and lifted them to his mouth. “Mmmmmm, delicious,” he mumbled as he gobbled them down.
Eisa wanted more. The ones in the middle of the vat looked like they were the biggest. He tried to reach them with his trunk, but couldn’t, so he lifted his thick legs over the edge and climbed inside. He walked around in the soft squishy grapes, enjoying the feel of them as they mushed up between his toes.
“Hee, hee, hee! This is fun,” Eisa giggled.
He lifted each huge trunk-like leg and brought them down onto the grapes, smashing the juice out of them. Then he would stick his trunk deep down to the bottom of the vat and slurp up the juice.
A while later, after he’d had his fill of grape juice, and after he was bored with stomping the grapes, he climbed out of the vat. He looked down at himself as he felt globs of smashed grapes and juice drip to the ground. His beautiful white ivory tusks were stained by the purple juice, as were his trunk and four legs.
“Oh dear,” he mumbled. “I think I need a bath.”
He plodded off towards the river to wash. On the way there, he passed the group of men and women who were on their way back to the vat of grapes. As Eisa walked by, they stared at him. They watched intently as he waded into the river and began blowing water all over himself.
When the group reached the wooden vat, they stopped and stared silently. They were supposed to have stomped the grapes, a task that would have taken them hours to do. The juice was to be used to make wine for the pharaoh.
“The elephant did our job!” Karif shouted as he leaned over the vat, scooping up a handful of the juice.
He took a sip. “It’s perfect,” he called out to the others.
He then turned and ran down to the river to talk to Eisa.
Each day from then on, Eisa came to the vat and stomped the grapes into juice. In return, the group gave him a bath, scrubbed his tusks, his trunk and his four stout legs. The best part, so Eisa thought, was that he got to eat all the grapes and drink all the grape juice that he wanted.

The Companions of The Elephant -- a Story From the Qur'an
Abrahah built a unique church in San`a called Al-Qullais and wrote to Negus, "I have built a church the like of which has not been built for a king before you. Yet, I shall not find rest until I make the Arabs divert their Pilgrimage to it (instead of the Ka`bah)." When the news of Abrahah's letter to Negus reached the Arabs, a man from the Kinanah tribe became so enraged that he went to Al-Qullais, found a hiding place inside it, and defecated. Abrahah, on learning about this, became so furious that he swore he would demolish the Ka`bah. He gave the order to the Abyssinians to march towards the Ka`bah, and took an elephant with him. Meanwhile, the Arabs were greatly perturbed to learn about Abrahah's plan.
Abrahah dispatched a cavalry troop to Mecca headed by Al-Aswad bin Mafsul, who captured the property of the Kinanah and other tribes. Among the spoils were two hundred camels belonging to `Abdul-Muttalib, the chief of the Quraish.
At first, the Kinanah and Huzail intended to fight against the Abyssinians, yet they gave up the idea when they realized that their enemy greatly overpowered them both in number and ordnance. Then Abrahah sent a man called Hanatah Al-Himiari to Mecca with a message to `Abdul-Muttalib informing him that Abrahah had no intention to fight them, and that he was coming to Mecca for a specific purpose (to demolish the Ka`bah). He, further, told `Abdul-Muttalib that Abrahah wished to meet him if he also had no intention to fight. `Abdul-Muttalib replied, "By Allah neither have we the intention, nor enough power to fight him. The Ka`bah is Allah's House; He alone can defend His house, or else let them demolish it." `Abdul-Muttalib took some of his sons and went with the messenger to meet Abrahah. When he saw some Abyssinian soldiers, he asked them about a prisoner called Dha Nafar who was his friend. When he met his prisoned friend, he said, "O Dha Nafar, could you not find a solution for this problem?" "A prisoner like me who expects his death sentence at any moment is of no avail to you," replied Dha Nafar. "Yet I can ask my friend Anis who takes care of the elephant to arrange a meeting for you with the king, so that you could convey your wishes to him." So, Dha Nafar sent for Anis saying, "I have a friend called `Abdul-Muttalib who is well-known for his generosity and high status among his people. He is also the owner of the well in Mecca. I ask you to speak well of him to the king and try to get him permission to approach the king to present his case concerning the two hundred camels which the king has seized."
After Anis conveyed this message to the king, `Abdul-Muttalib was given permission to have an audience with him. When the king saw `Abdul-Muttalib, he was so impressed by his good countenance and solemn appearance that he refrained from speaking with him from a higher place. Yet he did not like to be seen sitting with him on his own divan. So he descended from his divan, and sat on the rug at the foot of the divan and permitted `Abdul-Muttalib to sit beside him.Then, he told his interpreter to ask `Abdul-Muttalib to present his plea. Thereupon `Abdul-Muttalib requested that the king give him back the two hundred camels which he had taken. Thereupon, the king said to his interpreter, "Tell him that I was very impressed when I first saw him, but I have changed my mind after listening to him. How can he discuss the case of the two hundred camels that I have taken, rather than the matter of demolishing the Ka`bah, which represents a sacrosanct site for him and for his forefathers?" `Abdul-Muttalib replied, "As for the camels, I am their lord, so I have a just cause to defend them. But with regard to the House, its Lord will protect it." "Nonsense!" replied the king, "In no way could He stand in my way or prevent me from doing that." "So be it," were the last words uttered by `Abdul-Muttalib. It was then that the king gave the camels back to him.
Abdul-Muttalib returned home and told the Quraish what had happened, and advised them to evacuate Mecca and to take the mountain top for shelter. Then, while the assemblies of people surrounded him, he grasped the ring of the Ka`bah's door, and flew into a storm of invocation to Allah, asking Him to destroy and strike down Abrahah and his soldiers.
The following morning Abrahah mobilized his army and prepared his elephant which was called Mahmud. When they led the elephant in the direction of Mecca, the Meccan Nufail bin Habib drew near the elephant and whispered in its ear, "O Mahmud! Kneel down, or return with guided steps; for thou art in a land which has been declared sacred by Allah." On hearing these words, the elephant kneeled down. Enraged, the Abyssinians beat it hard to urge it to stand up, but it was useless. When they directed it in other directions such as towards Yemen and Syria, it would rise up hastily, but kneeled down when directed towards Mecca.
Before long Allah sent hook-like birds coming from the direction of the sea . Each bird carried three stones; one in its beak and two in its legs. These stones were the size of lentils or chick-peas, but were so lethal that they fell upon no one without killing him, and very few survived. The Abyssinians scattered here and there falling down, seeking refuge and finding none. As for Abrahah, he was so badly injured that his fingers fell off. He continued his suffering until he reached San`a where he succumbed.

The Mahabharata, Book 8: Karna Parva: Section 12 -- a Hinduism Text

"Sanjaya said, 'Then those two vast armies, teeming with rejoicing men and steeds and elephants, resembling in splendour the celestial and the Asura hosts, meeting together, began to strike each other. Men, cars, steeds, elephants, and foot-soldiers of fierce prowess, made sturdy strokes destructive of bodies and sin. Lion-like men strewed the Earth with the heads of lion-like men, each resembling the full moon or the sun in splendour and the lotus in fragrance. Combatants cut off the heads of combatants, with crescent-shaped and broad-headed shafts and razor-faced arrows and axes, and battle-axes. The arms of men of long and massive arms, cut off by men of long and massive arms, falling upon the Earth, shone, decked with weapons and bracelets. With those writhing arms adorned with red fingers and palms, the Earth looked resplendent as if strewn with fierce five-headed snakes slain by Garuda.
From elephants and cars and steeds, brave warriors fell down, struck by foes, like the denizens of heaven from their celestial cars on the exhaustion of their merits. Other brave warriors fell down by hundreds, crushed in that battle by brave combatants with heavy maces spiked clubs and short bludgeons. Cars also, in that tumultuous fight, were crushed by cars, and infuriate elephants by infuriate compeers, and horsemen by horsemen. Men destroyed by cars, and cars by elephants, and horsemen by foot-soldiers, and foot-soldiers by horsemen, dropped down on the field, as also cars and steeds and foot-soldiers destroyed by elephants and cars and steeds and elephants by foot-soldiers, and cars and foot-soldiers and elephants by steeds and men and elephants by cars. Great was the carnage made of car-warriors and steeds and elephants and men by men and steeds and elephants and car-warriors, using their hands and feet and weapons and cars.
When that host was being thus struck and slain by heroic warriors the Parthas, headed by Vrikodara, advanced against us. They consisted of Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi and the five sons of Draupadi and the Prabhadrakas, and Satyaki and Chekitana with the Dravida forces, and the Pandyas, the Cholas, and the Keralas, surrounded by a mighty array, all possessed of broad chests, long arms, tall statures, and large eyes. Decked with ornaments, possessed of red teeth, endued with the prowess of infuriate elephants, attired in robes of diverse colours, smeared with powdered scents, armed with swords and nooses, capable of restraining mighty elephants, companions in death, and never deserting one another, equipped with quivers, bearing bows adorned with long locks, and agreeable in speech were the combatants of the infantry files led by Satyaki, belonging to the Andhra tribe, endued with fierce forms and great energy.
Other brave warriors such as the Cedis, the Pancalas, the Kaikayas, the Karushas, the Kosalas, the Kanchis, and the Maghadhas, also rushed forward. Their cars and steeds and elephants, all of the foremost kind, and their fierce foot-soldiers, gladdened by the notes of diverse instruments, seemed to dance and laugh. In the midst of that vast force, came Vrikodara, riding on the neck of an elephant, and surrounded by many foremost of elephant-soldiers, advancing against thy army. That fierce and foremost of elephants, duly equipped, looked resplendent, like the stone-built mansion on the top of the Udaya mountain, crowned with the risen Sun. Its armour of iron, the foremost of its kind, studded with costly gems, was as resplendent as the autumnal firmament bespangled with stars. With a lance in his outstretched arm, his head decked with a beautiful diadem, and possessed of the splendour of the meridian Sun at autumn, Bhima began to burn his foes. Beholding that elephant from a distance, Kshemadhurti, himself on an elephant, challenging, rushed cheerfully towards Bhima who was more cheerful still.
An encounter then took place between those two elephants of fierce forms resembling two huge hills topped with trees, each, fighting with the other as it liked. Those two heroes, then, whose elephants thus encountered each other, forcibly struck each other with lances endued with the splendour of solar rays, and uttered loud roars. Separating, they then careered in circles with their elephants, and each taking up a bow began to strike the other. Gladdening the people around with their loud roars and the slaps on their armpits and the whizz of this arrows, they continued to utter leonine shouts. Endued with great strength, both of them, accomplished in weapons, fought, using their elephants with upturned trunks and decked with banners floating on the wind.
Then each cutting off the other's bow, they roared at each other, and rained on each other showers of darts and lances like two masses of clouds in the rainy season pouring torrents of rain. Then Kshemadhurti pierced Bhimasena in the centre of the chest with a lance endued with great impetuosity, and then with six others, and uttered a loud shout. With those lances sticking to his body, Bhimasena, whose form then blazed with wrath, looked resplendent like the cloud-covered Sun with his rays issuing through the interstices of that canopy. Then Bhima carefully hurled at his antagonist a lance bright as the rays of the Sun, coursing perfectly straight, and made entirely of iron. The ruler of the Kulutas then, drawing his bow, cut off that lance with ten shafts and then pierced the son of Pandu with sixty shafts. Then Bhima the son of Pandu, taking up a bow whose twang resembled the roar of the clouds, uttered a loud shout and deeply afflicted with his shafts the elephants of his antagonist.
Thus afflicted in that battle by Bhimasena with his arrows, that elephant, though sought to be restrained, stayed not on the field like a wind-blown cloud. The fierce prince of elephants owned by Bhima then pursued his (flying) compeer, like a wind-blown mass of clouds pursuing another mass driven by the tempest. Restraining his own elephant valiant Kshemadhurti pierced with his shafts the pursuing elephant of Bhimasena. Then with a well-shot razor-headed arrow that was perfectly straight, Kshemadhurti cut off his antagonist's bow and then afflicted that hostile elephant. Filled with wrath, Kshemadhurti then, in that battle, pierced Bhima and struck his elephant with many long shafts in every vital part. That huge elephant of Bhima then fell down, O Bharata! Bhima, however, who had jumped down from his elephant and stood on the Earth before the fall of the beast, then crushed the elephant of his antagonist with his mace.
And Vrikodara then struck Kshemadhurti also, who, jumped down from his crushed elephant, was advancing against him with uplifted weapon. Kshemadhurti, thus struck, fell down lifeless, with the sword in his arm, by the side of his elephant, like a lion struck down by thunder beside a thunder-riven hill. Beholding the celebrated king of the Kulutas slain, thy troops, O bull of Bharata's race exceedingly distressed, fled away.

Read or Play? by Margo Fallis
Kenny, the Elephant lay on the floor reading a book. More than anything in the world he loved to read. He read books about dinosaurs. He read books about birds and he even read books about how to grow flowers.
One evening Kenny's mum came to his room and knocked on the door. "Kenny," she said, "you spend too much time in your room. Tomorrow I want you to go out and practice moving logs and spraying water. You're not eating your peanuts and hay."
Kenny lay in bed all night wide awake. He did not want to play outside.
The next day he lay on his floor reading a book, How To Manage Your Memory. His mum knocked on the door. "Time to go out and play, Kenny."
Kenny put the book down. "Aw, Mum. I don't want to carry logs and I don't want to spray water!"
His mum frowned. "Kenny, out with you!"
Dragging his trunk on the ground, Kenny went outside. He picked up a log and dropped it on the pile. He picked up another, but instead of carrying it to the pile, he dropped it on his foot. "Ouch! I don't want to carry logs."
He saw his mum watching him out the window. Knowing that she was looking, he had no choice but to wade into the lake. He stood in the water, all the way up to his knees. He filled his trunk and blew the spray high into the sky. It fell all around him."I don't want to spray water." Kenny sat down in the lake and cried.
His mum saw Kenny's tears. She went to the door and opened it wide. "Kenny, you can come home."
Kenny ran into the house and hugged his mum.
"I know you love to read. You don't have to carry logs or spray water if you don't want to." She kissed her son on top of his head. "You can go to your room and read your books, but you must eat your peanuts."
Kenny smiled. He ran to his room, sat on the floor, gobbled down a trunk full of peanuts, and read his favorite book until the sun went down.

A Change of Pace by Margo Fallis
Ali, the big gray elephant, ripped a few leaves off a baobab tree with his long, thick trunk and then put the leaves into his mouth, chomping them hungrily. He stood, munching away, his eyes wandering around the landscape. He gazed up at the azure sky, then over to a herd of water buffalo standing around a shrinking pond, each fighting for a spot to get a drink. He turned his head and looked in the other direction. He saw a pride of lions, lazily lying in the tall grasses. A few hyenas ran past them, but none of the lions seemed to care; it was too hot and they were just too tired. None of the other animals ever bothered Ali. He was so big that none of them dared to get in his way.
The sun was hot and beating down on Ali’s tough gray hide. He began to feel bored. He wanted to do something different. He wanted to see something different. He quickly made up his mind, ripped off a few more leaves from the baobab tree and then walked towards the rising sun. He walked and walked and walked, all day long. The tall savannah grasses felt soft under his heavy feet. He enjoyed the way they swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze.
By the time the sun was ready to set that night, Ali found himself at the banks of a great river. It was very wide and the deep blue water was flowing fast. He stuck his trunk in and gathered water. He then raised it high above his head and sprayed the water all over his body. It felt refreshing to the tired elephant. He gulped down gallons or water and walked into the river until it was up to his neck. It felt so good. He stood, enjoying the coolness as the river swirled around his big gray body, washing all the dirt and dust off his tough hide.
He looked all around him. There were tall reeds lining the banks, many waterfowl flying overhead and some bobbing up and down on the gentle waves. Ali smiled. He knew that he was going to like it here. The trees lining the river were filled with bright, colorful flowers. There were no lions, no water buffalo and no hyenas. He felt very happy. He decided that he just might stay at the river for a while. Feeling content, he shut his eyes and fell asleep. The midnight sky was filled with stars and a bright, glowing moon.
Ali woke up to some grunting noises behind him. He turned his big gray body around. There were several wild pigs standing in the mud. They dropped into the mucky mess and started rolling around in it. They were soon covered with thick black mud. Ali couldn’t even tell what color the hair on their bodies was. There was so much mud. Suddenly he started laughing. What a sight that was to see all those dirty pigs. He filled his trunk up with water and blew it onto the wild pigs. The mud washed off of them. The pigs weren’t happy. They snorted and grunted angrily and ran off into the bushes. Ali laughed as they disappeared from his view.
As he followed the running pigs with his eyes, he noticed something dark olive green moving in the reeds. He climbed out of the river and moved towards the bank. He saw that it was a crocodile. It was yawning and Ali saw its sharp, pointed teeth. Warning bells went off inside his head. Crocodiles were dangerous. He stood and watched with relief as the crocodile slipped silently into the water, slithering off into the deep river.
Ali continued up the bank. He passed a flowering jacaranda tree and several eucalyptus trees. He reached up and ripped a few leaves off both trees. He didn’t like the taste of them. His tummy started to rumble. He was beginning to get hungry. What was he going to eat? He found a few acacia trees. He ate some of the leaves and enjoyed the taste. He ripped off some more and some more until there was none left on the empty branches. Ali was still hungry. He couldn’t see any more acacia trees and wondered what he was going to eat now.
He stomped along the banks of the river a little further. There were several hippos in the river, swimming around. He stopped and watched them for a little while. Some of them were eating vegetation off the bottom of the river. Their mouths opened wide and their huge teeth looked dangerous. Ali didn’t think he’d like river plants. He stuck his trunk down to the river bottom and yanked a few plants off. He lifted them to his mouth and munched them down. He didn’t like them at all.
He walked on. All day long he looked for food but found nothing. That night when he lay down to sleep, his tummy growled and groaned with hunger.
The next morning, after the sun had risen over the horizon, Ali was starving. His tummy was making loud hungry noises. He decided that even though it was boring where he lived, at least he had food. He went down to the river and drank a few gallons of water, then headed back home. He found a few leaves to nibble on during his journey.
It took him all day to get there. The first thing he did was go to the biggest baobab tree and rip some tender leaves off. Yummy; they were delicious. He munched and chomped until he was full. He looked around him. He smiled when he saw the water buffalo at the water hole. There were no crocodiles and no hippos. He smiled when he saw the pride of lions and the hyenas. He was home, and he actually felt happy and content, and very glad to be back where he belonged.

The Mahabharata, Book 7: Drona Parva: Dronabhisheka Parva -- a Hinduism Text

"Dhritarashtra said, 'When the troops were thus engaged and thus proceeded against one another in separate divisions, how did Partha and the warriors of my army endued with great activity fight? What also did Arjuna do towards the car-warriors of the Samsaptakas? And what, O Sanjaya, did the Samsaptakas, in their turn, do to Arjuna?'

"Sanjaya said, 'When the troops were thus engaged and proceeded against one another, thy son Duryodhana himself rushed against Bhimasena, leading his elephant division. Like an elephant encountering an elephant, like a bull encountering a bull, Bhimasena, summoned by the king himself, rushed against that elephant division of the Kaurava army. Skilled in battle and endued with great might of arms, Pritha's son, O sire, quickly broke that elephant division. These elephants, huge as hills, and with ichor trickling down from every part of their bodies, were mangled and forced to turn back by Bhimasena with his arrows. Indeed, as the wind, when it riseth, driveth away gathering masses of clouds, so did that son of Pavana rout that elephant force of the Kauravas. And Bhima, shooting his arrows at those elephants, looked resplendent like the risen sun, striking everything in the world with his rays. Those elephants, afflicted with the shafts of Bhima, became covered with blood and looked beautiful like masses of clouds in the welkin penetrated with the rays of the sun. Then Duryodhana, excited with wrath, pierced with the sharp

shafts that son of the Wind-god who was causing such a slaughter among his elephants. Then Bhima, with eyes red in wrath, desirous of despatching the king to Yama's abode, pierced him speedily with many sharp shafts. Then Duryodhana, mangled all over with arrows and excited with rage, pierced Bhima, the son of Pandu, with many shafts endued with the effulgence of solar rays, smiling the while. Then the son of Pandu, with a couple of broad-headed arrows, quickly cut off Duryodhana's bow as also his standard, bearing the device of a jewelled elephant, decked with diverse gems. Beholding Duryodhana thus afflicted, O sire, by Bhima, the ruler of the Angas on his elephant came there for afflicting the son of Pandu. Thereupon, Bhimasena deeply pierced with a long arrow that prince of elephants advancing with loud roars, between its two frontal globes. That arrow, penetrating through its body, sank deep in the earth. And at this the elephants fell down like a hill riven by the thunder. While the elephant was falling down, the Mleccha king also was falling down it. But Vrikodara, endued with great activity, cut off his head with a broad-headed arrow before his antagonist actually fell down. When the heroic ruler of the Angas fell, his divisions fled away. Steeds and elephants and car-warriors struck with panic, crushed the foot-soldiers as they fled.

"When those troops, thus broken, fled away in all directions, the ruler of the Pragjyotishas then advanced against Bhima, upon his elephant.
With its two (fore) legs and trunk contracted, filled with rage, and with eyes rolling, that elephant seemed to consume the son of Pandu (like a blazing fire). And it pounded Vrikodara's car with the steed yoked thereto into dust. Then Bhima ran forward and got under the elephant's body, for he knew the science called Anjalikabedha. Indeed, the son of Pandu fled not. Getting under the elephant's body, he began to strike it frequently with his bare arms. And he smote that invincible elephant which was bent upon slaying him. Thereupon, the latter began to quickly turn round like a potter's wheel. Endued with the might of ten thousand elephants, the blessed Vrikodara, having struck that elephant thus, came out from under Supratika's body and stood facing the latter. Supratika then, seizing Bhima by its trunk, threw him down by means of its knees. Indeed, having seized him by the neck, that elephant wished to slay him. Twisting the elephant's trunk, Bhima freed himself from its twine, and once more got under the body of that huge creature. And he waited there, expecting the arrival of a hostile elephant of his own army. Coming out from under the beast's body, Bhima then ran away with great speed. Then a loud noise was heard, made by all the troops, to the effect, 'Alas, Bhima hath been slain by the elephant!' The Pandava host, frightened by that elephant, suddenly fled away, O king, to where Vrikodara was waiting. Meanwhile, king Yudhishthira, thinking Vrikodara to have been slain, surrounded Bhagadatta on all sides, aided by the Panchalas. Having

surrounded him with numerous cars, king Yudhishthira that foremost of car-warriors, covered Bhagadatta with keen shafts by hundreds and thousands. Then Bhagadatta, that king of the mountainous regions, frustrating with his iron hook that shower of arrows, began to consume both the Pandavas and the Panchalas by means of that elephant of his. Indeed. O monarch, the feat that we then beheld, achieved by old Bhagadatta with his elephant, was highly wonderful. Then the ruler of the Dasarnas rushed against the king of the Pragjyotisha, on a fleet elephant with temporal sweat trickling down, for attacking Supratika in the flank. The battle then that took place between those two elephants of awful size, resembled that between two winged mountains overgrown with forests in days of old. Then the elephant of Bhagadatta, wheeling round and attacking the elephant of the king of the Dasarnas, ripped open the latter's flank and slew it outright. Then Bhagadatta himself with seven lances bright as the rays of the sun, slew his (human) antagonist seated on the elephant just when the latter was about to fall down from his seat. Piercing king Bhagadatta then (with many arrows), Yudhishthira surrounded him on all sides with a large number of cars. Staying on his elephant amid car-warriors encompassing him all around, he looked resplendent like a blazing fire on a mountain-top in the midst of a dense forest. He stayed fearlessly in the midst of those serried cars ridden by fierce bowmen, all of whom showered upon him their arrows. Then the king of the Pragjyotisha, pressing (with his toe) his huge elephant, urged him towards the car of Yuyudhana. That prodigious beast, then seizing the car of Sinis grandson, hurled it to a distance with great force. Yuyudhana, however, escaped by timely flight. His charioteer also, abandoning the large steeds of the Sindhu breed, yoked unto that car, quickly followed Satyaki and stood where the latter stopped. Meanwhile the elephant, quickly coming out of the circle of cars, began to throw down all the kings (that attempted to bar his course). These bulls among men, frightened out of their wits by that single elephant coursing swiftly, regarded it in that battle as multiplied into many. Indeed, Bhagadatta, mounted on that elephant of his, began to smite down the Pandavas, like the chief of the celestials mounted on Airavata smiting down the Danavas (in days of old).
As the Panchalas fled in all directions, loud and awful was the noise that arose amongst them, made by their elephants and steeds. And while the Pandava troops were thus destroyed by Bhagadatta, Bhima, excited with rage, once more rushed against the ruler of the Pragjyotisha. The latter's elephant then frightened the steeds of advancing Bhima by drenching them with water spouted forth from its trunk, and thereupon those animals bore Bhima away from the field. Then Kriti's son, Ruchiparvan, mounted on his car, quickly rushed against Bhagadatta, scattering showers of arrows and advancing like the Destroyer himself. Then Bhagadatta, that ruler of the hilly regions, possessed of beautiful limbs, despatched Ruchiparvan with a straight shaft to Yama's abode.
Upon the fall of the heroic Ruchiparvan, Subhadra's son and the sons of Draupadi, and Chekitana, and Dhrishtaketu, and Yuyutsu began to afflict the elephant. Desiring to slay that elephant, all those warriors, uttering loud shouts, began to pour their arrows on the animals, like the clouds drenching the earth with their watery down-pour. Urged then by its skilful rider with heel, hook, and toe the animal advanced quickly with trunk stretched, and eyes and cars fixed. Treading down Yuyutsu's steeds, the animal then slew the charioteer. Thereupon, O king, Yuyutsu, abandoning his car, fled away quickly. Then the Pandava warriors, desirous of slaying that prince of elephants, uttered loud shouts and covered it quickly with showers of arrows. At this time, thy son, excited with rage, rushed against the car of Subhadra's son. Meanwhile, king Bhagadatta on his elephant, shooting shafts on the foe, looked resplendent like the Sun himself scattering his rays on the earth. Arjuna's son then pierced him with a dozen shafts, and Yuyutsu with ten, and each of the sons of Draupadi pierced him with three shafts and Dhrishtaketu also pierced him with three. That elephant then, pierced with these shafts, shot with great care, looked resplendent like a mighty mass of clouds penetrated with the rays of the sun. Afflicted with those shafts of the foe, that elephant then, urged by its riders with skill and vigour, began to throw hostile warriors on both his flanks. Like a cowherd belabouring his cattle in the forest with a goad, Bhagadatta repeatedly smote the Pandava host. Like the cawing of quickly retreating crows when assailed by hawks, a loud and confused noise was heard among the Pandava troops who fled away with great speed. That prince of elephants, struck by its rider with hook, resembled, O king, a winged mountain of old. And it filled the hearts of the enemy with fear, like to what merchants experience at sight of the surging sea.
Then elephants and car-warriors and steeds and kings, flying away in fear, made, as they fled, a loud and awful din that, O monarch, filled the earth and sky and heaven and the cardinal and subsidiary directions in that battle. Mounted on that foremost of elephants, king Bhagadatta penetrated the hostile army like the Asura Virochana in days of old into the celestial host in battle well-protected by the gods. A violent wind began to blow; a dusty cloud covered the sky and the troops; and people regarded that single elephant as multiplied into many, coursing all over the field.'"

Three Elephant Power by A. B. Paterson
"Them things," said Alfred the chauffeur, tapping the speed indicator with his fingers, "them things are all right for the police. But, Lord, you can fix 'em up if you want to. Did you ever hear about Henery, that used to drive for old John Bull -- about Henery and the elephant?"
Alfred was chauffeur to a friend of mine who owned a very powerful car. Alfred was part of that car. Weirdly intelligent, of poor physique, he might have been any age from fifteen to eighty. His education had been somewhat hurried, but there was no doubt as to his mechanical ability. He took to a car like a young duck to water. He talked motor, thought motor, and would have accepted -- I won't say with enthusiasm, for Alfred's motto was `Nil admirari' -- but without hesitation, an offer to drive in the greatest race in the world. He could drive really well, too; as for belief in himself, after six months' apprenticeship in a garage he was prepared to vivisect a six-cylinder engine with the confidence of a diplomaed bachelor of engineering.
Barring a tendency to flash driving, and a delight in persecuting slow cars by driving just in front of them and letting them come up and enjoy his dust, and then shooting away again, he was a respectable member of society. When his boss was in the car he cloaked the natural ferocity of his instincts; but this day, with only myself on board, and a clear run of a hundred and twenty miles up to the station before him, he let her loose, confident that if any trouble occurred I would be held morally responsible.
As we flew past a somnolent bush pub, Alfred, whistling softly, leant forward and turned on a little more oil.
"You never heard about Henery and the elephant?" he said. "It was dead funny. Henery was a bushwacker, but clean mad on motorin'. He was wood and water joey at some squatter's place until he seen a motor-car go past one day, the first that ever they had in the districk.
"`That's my game,' says Henery; `no more wood and water joey for me.'
"So he comes to town and gets a job off Miles that had that garage at the back of Allison's. An old cove that they called John Bull -- I don't know his right name, he was a fat old cove -- he used to come there to hire cars, and Henery used to drive him. And this old John Bull he had lots of stuff, so at last he reckons he's going to get a car for himself, and he promises Henery a job to drive it. A queer cove this Henery was -- half mad, I think, but the best hand with a car ever I see."
While he had been talking we topped a hill, and opened up a new stretch of blue-grey granite-like road. Down at the foot of the hill was a teamster's waggon in camp; the horses in their harness munching at their nose-bags, while the teamster and a mate were boiling a billy a little off to the side of the road. There was a turn in the road just below the waggon which looked a bit sharp, so of course Alfred bore down on it like a whirlwind. The big stupid team-horses huddled together and pushed each other awkwardly as we passed. A dog that had been sleeping in the shade of the waggon sprang out right in front of the car, and was exterminated without ever knowing what struck him.
There was just room to clear the tail of the waggon and negotiate the turn. Alfred, with the calm decision of a Napoleon, swung round the bend to find that the teamster's hack, fast asleep, was tied to the tail of the waggon. Nothing but a lightning-like twist of the steering-wheel prevented our scooping the old animal up, and taking him on board as a passenger. As it was, we carried off most of his tail as a trophy on the brass of the lamp. The old steed, thus rudely awakened, lashed out good and hard, but by that time we were gone, and he missed the car by a quarter of a mile.
During this strenuous episode Alfred never relaxed his professional stolidity, and, when we were clear, went on with his story in the tone of a man who found life wanting in animation.
"Well, at fust, the old man would only buy one of these little eight-horse rubby-dubbys that go strugglin' up 'ills with a death-rattle in its throat, and all the people in buggies passin' it. O' course that didn't suit Henery. He used to get that spiked when a car passed him, he'd nearly go mad. And one day he nearly got the sack for dodgin' about up a steep 'ill in front of one o' them big twenty-four Darracqs, full of 'owlin' toffs, and not lettin' 'em get a chance to go past till they got to the top. But at last he persuaded old John Bull to let him go to England and buy a car for him. He was to do a year in the shops, and pick up all the wrinkles, and get a car for the old man. Bit better than wood and water joeying, wasn't it?"
Our progress here was barred by our rounding a corner right on to a flock of sheep, that at once packed together into a solid mass in front of us, blocking the whole road from fence to fence.
"Silly cows o' things, ain't they?" said Alfred, putting on his emergency brake, and skidding up till the car came softly to rest against the cushion-like mass -- a much quicker stop than any horse-drawn vehicle could have made. A few sheep were crushed somewhat, but it is well known that a sheep is practically indestructible by violence. Whatever Alfred's faults were, he certainly could drive.
"Well," he went on, lighting a cigarette, unheeding the growls of the drovers, who were trying to get the sheep to pass the car, "well, as I was sayin', Henery went to England, and he got a car. Do you know wot he got?"
"No, I don't."
"'E got a ninety," said Alfred slowly, giving time for the words to soak in.
"A ninety! What do you mean?"
"'E got a ninety -- a ninety-horse-power racin' engine wot was made for some American millionaire and wasn't as fast as wot some other millionaire had, so he sold it for the price of the iron, and Henery got it, and had a body built for it, and he comes out here and tells us all it's a twenty mongrel -- you know, one of them cars that's made part in one place and part in another, the body here and the engine there, and the radiator another place. There's lots of cheap cars made like that.
"So Henery he says that this is a twenty mongrel -- only a four-cylinder engine; and nobody drops to what she is till Henery goes out one Sunday and waits for the big Napier that Scotty used to drive -- it belonged to the same bloke wot owned that big racehorse wot won all the races. So Henery and Scotty they have a fair go round the park while both their bosses is at church, and Henery beat him out o' sight -- fair lost him -- and so Henery was reckoned the boss of the road. No one would take him on after that."
A nasty creek-crossing here required Alfred's attention. A little girl, carrying a billy-can of water, stood by the stepping stones, and smiled shyly as we passed. Alfred waved her a salute quite as though he were an ordinary human being. I felt comforted. He had his moments of relaxation evidently, and his affections like other people.
"What happened to Henry and the ninety-horse machine?" I asked. "And where does the elephant come in?"
Alfred smiled pityingly.
"Ain't I tellin' yer," he said. "You wouldn't understand if I didn't tell yer how he got the car and all that. So here's Henery," he went on, "with old John Bull goin' about in the fastest car in Australia, and old John, he's a quiet old geezer, that wouldn't drive faster than the regulations for anything, and that short-sighted he can't see to the side of the road. So what does Henery do? He fixes up the speed-indicator -- puts a new face on it, so that when the car is doing thirty, the indicator only shows fifteen, and twenty for forty, and so on. So out they'd go, and if Henery knew there was a big car in front of him, he'd let out to forty-five, and the pace would very near blow the whiskers off old John; and every now and again he'd look at the indicator, and it'd be showin' twenty-two and a half, and he'd say:
"`Better be careful, Henery, you're slightly exceedin' the speed limit; twenty miles an hour, you know, Henery, should be fast enough for anybody, and you're doing over twenty-two.'
"Well, one day, Henery told me, he was tryin' to catch up a big car that just came out from France, and it had a half-hour start of him, and he was just fairly flyin', and there was a lot of cars on the road, and he flies past 'em so fast the old man says, `It's very strange, Henery,' he says, `that all the cars that are out to-day are comin' this way,' he says. You see he was passin' 'em so fast he thought they were all comin' towards him.
"And Henery sees a mate of his comin', so he lets out a notch or two, and the two cars flew by each other like chain lightnin'. They were each doin' about forty, and the old man, he says, `There's a driver must be travellin' a hundred miles an hour,' he says. `I never see a car go by so fast in my life,' he says. `If I could find out who he is, I'd report him,' he says. `Did you know the car, Henery?' But of course Henery, he doesn't know, so on they goes.
"The owner of the big French car thinks he has the fastest car in Australia, and when he sees Henery and the old man coming, he tells his driver to let her out a little; but Henery gives the ninety-horse the full of the lever, and whips up alongside in one jump. And then he keeps there just half a length ahead of him, tormentin' him like. And the owner of the French car he yells out to old John Bull, `You're going a nice pace for an old 'un,' he says. Old John has a blink down at the indicator. `We're doing twenty-five,' he yells out. `Twenty-five grandmothers,' says the bloke; but Henery he put on his accelerator, and left him. It wouldn't do to let the old man get wise to it, you know."
We topped a big hill, and Alfred cut off the engine and let the car swoop, as swiftly and noiselessly as an eagle, down to the flat country below.
"You're a long while coming to the elephant, Alfred," I said.
"Well, now, I'll tell you about the elephant," said Alfred, letting his clutch in again, and taking up the story to the accompaniment of the rhythmic throb of the engine.
"One day Henery and the old man were going out a long trip over the mountain, and down the Kangaroo Valley Road that's all cut out of the side of the 'ill. And after they's gone a mile or two, Henery sees a track in the road -- the track of the biggest car he ever seen or 'eard of. An' the more he looks at it, the more he reckons he must ketch that car and see what she's made of. So he slows down passin' two yokels on the road, and he says, `Did you see a big car along 'ere?'
"`Yes, we did,' they says.
"`How big is she?' says Henery.
"`Biggest car ever we see,' says the yokels, and they laughed that silly way these yokels always does.
"`How many horse-power do you think she was?' says Henery.
"`Horse-power,' they says; `elephant-power, you mean! She was three elephant-power,' they says; and they goes `Haw, haw!' and Henery drops his clutch in, and off he goes after that car."
Alfred lit another cigarette as a preliminary to the climax.
"So they run for miles, and all the time there's the track ahead of 'em, and Henery keeps lettin' her out, thinkin' that he'll never ketch that car. They went through a town so fast, the old man he says, `What house was that we just passed,' he says. At last they come to the top of the big 'ill, and there's the tracks of the big car goin' straight down ahead of 'em.
"D'you know that road? It's all cut out of the side of the mountain, and there's places where if she was to side-slip you'd go down 'undreds of thousands of feet. And there's sharp turns, too; but the surface is good, so Henery he lets her out, and down they go, whizzin' round the turns and skatin' out near the edge, and the old cove sittin' there enjoyin' it, never knowin' the danger. And comin' to one turn Henery gives a toot on the 'orn, and then he heard somethin' go `toot, toot' right away down the mountain.
"'Bout a mile ahead it seemed to be, and Henery reckoned he'd go another four miles before he'd ketch it, so he chances them turns more than ever. And she was pretty hot, too; but he kept her at it, and he hadn't gone a full mile till he come round a turn about forty miles an hour, and before he could stop he run right into it, and wot do you think it was?"
I hadn't the faintest idea.
"A circus. One of them travellin' circuses, goin' down the coast; and one of the elephants had sore feet, so they put him in a big waggon, and another elephant pulled in front and one pushed behind. Three elephant-power it was, right enough. That was the waggon wot made the big track. Well, it was all done so sudden. Before Henery could stop, he runs the radiator -- very near boiling she was -- up against the elephant's tail, and prints the pattern of the latest honeycomb radiator on the elephant as clear as if you done it with a stencil.
"The elephant, he lets a roar out of him like one of them bulls bellerin', and he puts out his nose and ketches Henery round the neck, and yanks him out of the car, and chucks him right clean over the cliff, 'bout a thousand feet. But he never done nothin' to the old bloke."
"Good gracious!"
"Well, it finished Henery, killed him stone dead, of course, and the old man he was terrible cut up over losin' such a steady, trustworthy man. `Never get another like him,' he says."
We were nearly at our journey's end, and we turned through a gate into the home paddocks. Some young stock, both horses and cattle, came frisking and cantering after the car, and the rough bush track took all Alfred's attention. We crossed a creek, the water swishing from the wheels, and began the long pull up to the homestead. Over the clamour of the little-used second speed, Alfred concluded his narrative.
"The old bloke advertised," he said, "for another driver, a steady, reliable man to drive a twenty horse-power, four-cylinder touring car. Every driver in Sydney put in for it. Nothing like a fast car to fetch 'em, you know. And Scotty got it. Him wot used to drive the Napier I was tellin' you about."
"And what did the old man say when he found he'd been running a racing car?"
"He don't know now. Scotty never told 'im. Why should he? He's drivin' about the country now, the boss of the roads, but he won't chance her near a circus. Thinks he might bump the same elephant. And that elephant, every time he smells a car passin' in the road, he goes near mad with fright. If he ever sees that car again, do you think he'd know it?"
Not being used to elephants, I could not offer an opinion.

Heave Ho! by Margo Fallis
"Jelani, a big tree trunk rolled on top of our ant hill during the night," Pemba said. "Would you come and move it. You’re so big and strong."
Jelani smiled at the ants. "Of course, I can move the tree. I’m an elephant, aren’t I?" he boasted. He followed the ants to their anthill. "That’s a big tree," he gulped, "but I can do it."
The elephant squeezed his trunk under the log and tried to lift it. He made all kinds of groans and moans but the log was too heavy. "Can’t you do it?" Pemba asked.
"Of course I can. I’m just warming up. Here I go," Jelani said and tried to lift it again. He groaned and he grunted, but as hard as he struggled, he couldn’t lift the log.
"I don’t think you can do it, Jelani. It’s too heavy. All of the ants, except Zina and I are stuck inside the anthill. They can’t get out until the log is moved. What are we going to do?" Pemba worried.
"I’ll do it. It’s very heavy. Let me try again," Jelani said. He took a deep breath and with all his might he tried to lift the heavy log, but it didn’t budge.
Just then Catara, a girl elephant came walking by. "What’s going on here?" she asked a small mouse who was sitting nearby watching.
The mouse answered, "Jelani is trying to move the log that fell on our ant hill, but he can’t do it. It’s too heavy for him."
Catara moved closer to Jelani. "Do you need some help, Jelani?"
Jelani knew that he couldn’t lift the log by himself. "Sure, Catara. Two trunks are better than one!"
Catara squeezed her trunk under the log. "One, two, three, lift." The two elephants lifted the log and carried it off the anthill. They dropped it in the bushes. "That was heavy!"
The ants ran over to their anthill. It was flat. The other ants came crawling out of the smashed hill. "Thanks Jelani and Catara," the ants said and ran off into the woods to find some leaves.
"Do you want to go to the river?" Catara asked the other elephant. Jelani agreed and the two ran down to the water.

The King's White Elephant

ONCE upon a time a number of carpenters lived on a river bank near a large forest. Every day the carpenters went in boats to the forest to cut down the trees and make them into lumber.

One day while they were at work an Elephant came limping on three feet to them. He held up one foot and the carpenters saw that it was swollen and sore. Then the Elephant lay down and the men saw that there was a great splinter in the sore foot. They pulled it out and washed the sore carefully so that in a short time it would be well again.

Thankful for the cure, the Elephant thought: "These carpenters have done so much for me, I must be useful to them."

So after that the Elephant used to pull up trees for the carpenters. Sometimes when the trees were chopped down he would roll the logs down to the river. Other times he brought their tools for them. And the carpenters used to feed him well morning, noon and night.

Now this Elephant had a son who was white all over--a beautiful, strong young one. Said the old Elephant to himself, "I will take my son to the place in the forest where I go to work each day so that he may learn to help the carpenters, for I am no longer young and strong."

So the old Elephant told his son how the carpenters had taken good care of him when he was badly hurt and took him to them. The white Elephant did as his father told him to do and helped the carpenters and they fed him well.

When the work was done at night the young Elephant went to play in the river. The carpenters' children played with him, in the water and on the bank. He liked to pick them up in his trunk and set them on the high branches of the trees and then let them climb down on his back.

One day the king came down the river and saw this beautiful white Elephant working for the carpenters. The king at once wanted the Elephant for his own and paid the carpenters a great price for him. Then with a last look at his playmates, the children, the beautiful white Elephant went on with the king.

The king was proud of his new Elephant and took the best care of him as long as he lived.

Elephant and Tortoise – a South African Folk Tale

TWO powers, Elephant and Rain, had a dispute. Elephant said, "If you say that you nourish me, in what way is it that you do so?" Rain answered, "If you say that I do not nourish you, when I go away, will you not die? And Rain then departed.

Elephant said, "Vulture! cast lots to make rain for me."

Vulture said, "I will not cast lots."

Then Elephant said to Crow, "Cast lots! who answered, "Give the things with which I may cast lots." Crow cast lots and rain fell. It rained at the lagoons, but they dried up, and only one lagoon remained.

Elephant went a-hunting. There was, however, Tortoise, to whom Elephant said, "Tortoise, remain at the water!" Thus Tortoise was left behind when Elephant went a-hunting.

There came Giraffe, and said to Tortoise, "Give me water!" Tortoise answered, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Zebra, who said to Tortoise,

"Give me water!" Tortoise answered, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Gemsbok, and said to Tortoise,

"Give me water!" Tortoise answered, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Wildebeest, and said, "Give me water!" Tortoise said, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Roodebok, and said to Tortoise,

"Give me water!" Tortoise answered, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Springbok, and said to Tortoise,

"Give me water!" Tortoise said, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Jackal, and said to Tortoise,

"Give me water!" Tortoise said, "The water belongs to Elephant."

There came Lion, and said, "Little Tortoise, give me water!" When little Tortoise was about to say something, Lion got hold of him and beat him; Lion drank of the water, and since then the animals drink water.

When Elephant came back from the hunting, he said, "Little Tortoise, is there water?" Tortoise answered, "The animals have drunk the water." Elephant asked, "Little Tortoise, shall I chew you or swallow you down?" Little Tortoise said, "Swallow me, if you please!" and Elephant swallowed him whole.

After Elephant had swallowed Little Tortoise, and he had entered his body, he tore off his liver, heart, and kidneys. Elephant said, "Little Tortoise, you kill me."

So Elephant died; but little Tortoise came out of his dead body, and went wherever he liked.

The Elephant's Trunk

Now it is a matter of common knowledge that Elephant has a long trunk, which he uses both as a nose and as a sort of hand -- a very useful trunk indeed. But he was once without it, and had a very ordinary short snout like other animals.

Elephant was always inquisitive and went sniffing about the forest, prying into the secrets of the other animals. One day he came across a dark hole in the ground, and into this hole he poked his nose, to see what was there.

He at once regretted his curiosity, for a large snake, who lived in the hole, seized him by the nose and tried to swallow him. At this, Elephant made a great uproar, and his wife came rushing to his assistance. She seized his tail and pulled and pulled, and Elephant himself also pulled and pulled, but the snake would not leave go.

And as a result, Elephant's nose was drawn out into the long trunk which he still has.

At first he was ashamed to appear in the forest, on account of his trunk, but now the other animals envy him.

One day the monkey, which imitates everybody, looked down the same hole, thinking it would be good to have a long trunk so as to be able to swing from the trees by his nose. But the big snake who lived in the hole swallowed him, and since then nobody else has tried to imitate Elephant.

The Lion, Jupiter, and the Elephant

THE LION wearied Jupiter with his frequent complaints. "It is true, O Jupiter!" he said, "that I am gigantic in strength, handsome in shape, and powerful in attack. I have jaws well provided with teeth, and feet furnished with claws, and I lord it over all the beasts of the forest, and what a disgrace it is, that being such as I am, I should be frightened by the crowing of a cock." Jupiter replied, "Why do you blame me without a cause? I have given you all the attributes which I possess myself, and your courage never fails you except in this one instance." On hearing this the Lion groaned and lamented very much and, reproaching himself with his cowardice, wished that he might die. As these thoughts passed through his mind, he met an Elephant and came close to hold a conversation with him. After a time he observed that the Elephant shook his ears very often, and he inquired what was the matter and why his ears moved with such a tremor every now and then. Just at that moment a Gnat settled on the head of the Elephant, and he replied, "Do you see that little buzzing insect? If it enters my ear, my fate is sealed. I should die presently." The Lion said, "Well, since so huge a beast is afraid of a tiny gnat, I will no more complain, nor wish myself dead. I find myself, even as I am, better off than the Elephant."

al-Fil: The Elephant

Hast thou not seen how thy Lord dealt with the owners of the Elephant ?

Did He not bring their stratagem to naught,

And send against them swarms of flying creatures,

Which pelted them with stones of baked clay,
And made them like green crops devoured (by cattle)?

Akiti the Hunter-- an African Tale
A famous hunter and wrestler named Akiti boasted that he was stronger than any other man or animal. He had easily overcome a giant, a leopard, a lion, a wolf, and a boa-constrictor, and as nobody else opposed his claim, he called himself the King of the forest.
Wherever he went, he sang his triumphant wrestling-song, and everyone feared and respected him. But he had forgotten the Elephant, who is a very wise animal and knows many charms. One day the Elephant challenged him and declared that he had no right to call himself as the Elephant himself was the monarch of the forest and could not be defeated.

Akiti thereupon flung his spear at his enemy, but because of the Elephant's charm, the weapon glanced off his hide and did him no harm. Akiti next tried his bow and poisoned arrows, and his hunting-knife, but still without effect.

However, the hunter also possessed a charm, and by using it, he changed himself into a lion and flew at the Elephant, but the Elephant flung him off. Next he became a serpent, but he could not succeed in crushing the Elephant to death.

At last he changed himself into a fly, and flew into the Elephant's large flapping ear. He went right down inside until he came to the heart, and then he changed himself into a man again and cut up the heart with his hunting-knife. At last the Elephant fell dead, and Akiti stepped out of his body in triumph, for he was now without question the King of the forest.

Granny's Blackie -- a Buddhism Tale of an Elephant

ONCE upon a time a rich man gave a baby Elephant to a woman.

She took the best of care of this great baby and soon became very fond of him.

The children in the village called her Granny, and they called the Elephant "Granny's Blackie."

The Elephant carried the children on his back all over the village. They shared their goodies with him and he played with them.

"Please, Blackie, give us a swing," they said to him almost every day.

"Come on! Who is first?" Blackie answered and picked them up with his trunk, swung them high in the air, and then put them down again, carefully.

But Blackie never did any work.

He ate and slept, played with the children, and visited with Granny.

One day Blackie wanted Granny to go off to the woods with him.

"I can't go, Blackie, dear. I have too much work to do."

Then Blackie looked at her and saw that she was growing old and feeble.

"I am young and strong," he thought. "I'll see if I cannot find some work to do. If I could bring some money home to her, she would not have to work so hard."

So next morning, bright and early, he started down to the river bank.

There he found a man who was in great trouble. There was a long line of wagons so heavily loaded that the oxen could not draw them through the shallow water.

When the man saw Blackie standing on the bank he asked, "Who owns this Elephant? I want to hire him to help my Oxen pull these wagons across the river."

A child standing near by said, "That is Granny's Blackie."

"Very well," said the man, "I'll pay two pieces of silver for each wagon this Elephant draws across the river."

Blackie was glad to hear this promise. He went into the river, and drew one wagon after another across to the other side.

Then he went up to the man for the money.

The man counted out one piece of silver for each wagon.

When Blackie saw that the man had counted out but one piece of silver for each wagon, instead of two, he would not touch the money at all. He stood in the road and would not let the wagons pass him.

The man tried to get Blackie out of the way, but not one step would he move.

Then the man went back and counted out another piece of silver for each of the wagons and put the silver in a bag tied around Blackie's neck.

Then Blackie started for home, proud to think that he had a present for Granny.

The children had missed Blackie and had asked Granny where he was, but she said she did not know where he had gone.

They all looked for him but it was nearly night before they heard him coming.

"Where have you been, Blackie? And what is that around your neck?" the children cried, running to meet their playmate.

But Blackie would not stop to talk with his playmates. He ran straight home to Granny.

"Oh, Blackie!" she said, "Where have you been? What is in that bag?" And she took the bag off his neck.

Blackie told her that he had earned some money for her.

"Oh, Blackie, Blackie," said Granny, "how hard you must have worked to earn these pieces of silver! What a good Blackie you are!"

And after that Blackie did all the hard work and Granny rested, and they were both very happy.

Covetousness --a Tibetan Folktale

As hail leads rain--so a quarrel leads relatives apart.
                        Tibetan Proverb.

LONG ago, hidden in a deep valley in the mountains, was a pool where all the animals went to drink. Near the pool was a road, and across the road a hunter had set a big bow that would shoot a long spear into whatever animal loosed the taut string. A bear coming along tripped over the string, the spear was loosed and it killed him instantly. A fox came along and said, "Ah, here is enough meat to last me a year, but I guess I had better cut the string that holds the bow, for fear the hunter will return and set it again for me."

So he chewed it and the bow sprang, striking him on the head and killing him instantly. Near the place where the two lay dead was a gully, and in it lay an elephant asleep. A rabbit came along and saw the elephant lying still, played and hopped around, until finally the elephant opened his eyes and watched him.

"That's very queer that a little fellow like you can jump so far. I believe I'll try it," he thought. So he gave a big jump and his front feet caught and loosed a big rock that fell on his back and killed him. All three were dead now, the bear, the fox and the elephant. Then seven robbers came along and exclaimed, "Just look at the meat, we will stay here a few days and eat." But they must have water too, and nobody wanted to carry it. Each wanted the other to go. They finally got three to go and the four who were left said, "We will fix up three nice pieces of meat and put some poison in it for them when they get back, and we four will have all this meat, bones and ivory." So they fixed up the poison meat for the three men who were gone, for they had to go a long way over the mountain after the water. The three who carried the water said: "Those four fellows are bad men, we are doing all the work carrying this water for them, so we will put some poison in it, then we can have all the meat." When they got back the others were very thirsty and took a big drink, and in a little while they were all dead. "Now," said the three, "we will have all this meat and stuff ourselves." So the three took meat already cut and ate that, and in a little bit they were dead too.

Now the moral is, "First, people shouldn't be greedy when there is plenty for all (the fox wanted all the meat to eat for a year and tried to ruin the bow and got killed). Second, you mustn't do what you aren't fitted for (the elephant tried to do what the rabbit was doing and got killed). Then the four men begrudged the three and the three begrudged the four, so they all died.

Erin and Erinomi (The Land and Water Elephants) -- an African Tale
Tortoise was always fond of making mischief between harmless people. One day as he walked along the river-bank he came upon the Elephant and said to him:

The Hippo is boasting that you are only a weakling, and that you have not strength to pull a log out of the river.
That is false cried the Elephant, and to prove his strength he allowed Tortoise to tie a strong rope to his trunk and attach the other end to a log in the river.

Tortoise went clown to the water holding the rope, and said to Hippo:

The Elephant is boasting of his strength, and he declares that you are a weakling and could not pull down a tree.
That is false cried the Hippo. I can pull down any tree.

Tortoise then said that he had attached his rope to a tree, and would fasten the other end to Hippo's horn. This he did, and the two animals began to pull, one on each end of the rope. Elephant pulled and pulled, and the Hippo pulled and pulled, and neither gave way.

After some time Hippo rested, and Elephant came down to the water to quench his thirst, and then they saw the trick that had been played on them.

Snorting with anger, they began to look for the mischievous Tortoise, but by this time he was, you may be sure, very far away.
Nalgiri Elephant

Devadatta, the son of Suppabuddha, the maternal uncle of the Buddha, was jealous of him since his early days.

When the Buddha visited Kapilavatthu (Kapilavastu) and preached among the Sakyan nobilities, many noblemen joined the Sangha (the Buddhist Order). That was the time when Devadatta, too, joined the Sangha; and in course of time he, too, developed some moderate supernatural powers. Nonetheless, his rivalry and jealousy against the Buddha never diminished.

One day, he went to Ajatasattu (Ajatashatru), the future monarch of the Magadha janapada and amazed him by a miraculous appearance. There, he appeared in his lap as a tot having snake girdles. Charmed and impressed by the miracle Ajatasattu became his devotee and patron.

Back to the order, Devadatta, one day claimed his superiority over the Buddha to assume the leadership of the Order by arguing that the latter was old and senile. His claim, however, did not evoke much response in the order. So, he bore grudge against both - the Buddha and the Order.

Disgruntled, he then went to Magadha and instigated prince Ajatasattu to resort to fratricide by killing Bimbisara and usurp the throne, chiefly because Bimbisara was the chief patron of the Buddhist order, and his elimination would mean the loss of royal patronage to the order. The scheme, however, did not work out initially. So, he employed sixteen archers to kill the Budddha. But the archers in turn became the devotees of the Buddha.

Frustrated, Devadatta himself then tried to kill the Buddha by hurling down a great rock from a peak of the mount Gijjhakuta when the latter was walking down the slopes. The Buddha, however, escaped because two peaks appeared from the ground and arrested the advancement of the rolling rock.

Further frustrated, Devadatta then persuaded the royal elephant-keepers to let loose a fierce elephant Nalagiri, also called Dhanapala, on the path of the Buddha by making him drunk with toddy. Thus Nalagiri was let loose. The ferocious and dangerous looking intoxicated elephant when walked on the streets the people fled at his sight. Yet, the Buddha kept on walking in his usual dignity and composure, though, Ananda tried to prevent and protect him. In the meanwhile, a frightened woman running helter-skelter dropped her baby on the feet of the Buddha. When the advancing animal was just about to trample the baby the Buddha in his usual equipoise touched the animal’s forehead and stroked it gently. Calmed by the Buddha’s patting the elephant bowed down before him on his knees. The people, further, noticed that the Buddha delivered a sermon on dhamma to the elephant.

The tradition believes that had the elephant not been a beast he would certainly have become a Sotapanna (the first step to the Arahatahood) after having listened to the sermon.

The Nalagiri elephant-episode, however, made Devadatta very unpopular and he had to flee from the city. Further, the royal favour , which he had enjoyed so far, was also withdrawn to honour the public opinion.

Note: The tradition says that the Buddha had to encounter the elephant wrath as a result of one of his evil karmas, perpetrated in one of his previous births when he was as a reckless haughty nobleman and had charged a Paccheka Buddha by an elephant. As the force of the fruitions of the karma is powerful and ever-operative, he, too, was charged by an elephant. (See Udana Atthakatha 265; Apadana 1.300).

Pepe, the Club-Footed Elephant by John Hancock

Once, there was a tiny elephant named Pepe. He was born with a deformed left hind foot, and was the target of merciless taunts from some of the more insensitive and brutish tiny non-club-footed elephants in his jungle school.

One day the woodworking teacher, a kindly water buffalo of less than wonderful appearance herself, called Pepe into a private conference. She had noticed the tears after the tauntings, and suggested Pepe see a specialist -- the pachyderm podiatrist, Dr. Kornen Bunion.

So, in hopes of cure, Pepe set off to see Dr. Bunion. When he came to the Hut of Podiatry, Pepe knocked on the bamboo door with his trunk.

"Who's there?" asked a voice from the darkened hut.

"Pepe, the club-footed elephant," came the sad elephant's weak reply.

"Oh, goodness, come in, young boy. Let's have a look at that."

Pepe entered the murky hut, and was surprised to see two red, beady eyes glowing in the darkness. There were loud sniffing and snuffling noises around Pepe's feet, and a particularly long amount of time on the clubfoot. Pepe was unsure whether to be frightened, embarrassed, or amused.

"Well...that's going to have to come off, then" announced the gruff voice.

Aghast, Pepe exclaimed," but it has been part of me for as long as I can remember! Oh, woe is me...isn't there some other treatment?"

Silence...then a rattling around in the dark room of things metal, or glass, or rock.

"Well, there is something else you can do...but it is only for the most desperate."

Pepe wondered to himself how much more desperate of a treatment it could be, since amputation seemed drastic enough.

"Er...what do you mean, exactly?"

"Here, take this," a vial was shoved into Pepe's long snout, "and go to the hut at the end of the path. Once there, talk to the small frog sitting on a rock outside the entrance. He'll tell you what to do."

Doubtful, Pepe swallowed the contents of the vial, which tasted very bitter. Afterwards, he started to feel light-headed.

"What do I owe you?" asked Pepe on his way out of the podiatrist's hut.

"Oh, just after you're done, if you could stomp on that frog, and squish him good."

"Heavens! Whatever for? Won't he be helping me?"

"Believe me, when he's done, you'll want to stomp him."

Well, Pepe liked this less and less, and was even considering living with a clubfoot, it wasn't so bad, really, except for the cruelty of others...but something begun should be finished, Pepe always said. However. even so, he was beginning to feel very woozy indeed.

Stumbling, he started walking down to the end of the path. Thoughts jumbled in his head, and it took quite a bit of hard thinking to remember drinking a vial of something, somewhere. Perhaps that was why he felt so strange.

Before he knew it, the path ended. Pepe looked around, and that was a BIG mistake because the forest spun wildly and he found himself on the ground, waving his trunk feebly. It was hard to focus on anything but dappled colors that took him a moment to realize were leaves. He was looking straight up.

"Well, look what the leopard dragged in……" piped a wee high- pitched voice so soft, Pepe scarcely believed he had heard it. Moving his head, slowly, Pepe saw a green splotch of color that was eyeing him suspiciously.

"You're a frog on a rock!" Pepe exclaimed.

"You're a master of the obvious!" wryly noted the frog.

"Oh, sorry, no offense" wilted Pepe, suddenly now beginning to feel a bit nauseous.

"Who sent you? Gruenelda the Hyena Heart surgeon? Wally the Ostrich OB-GYN? Er..no, you're the wrong plumbing."

"Um, someone, um...Dr. Bunion I think"

"Oh, that quack! Oh very well, what is the matter?"

"Um, can you not see? I have a clubfoot that is not like the other feet. I want that fixed, if it is at all possible."

"Oh, everything is possible, but only some things are believable. Lie still. This wont hurt a bit," assured the frog. But of course, it hurt a great deal, regardless of the assurances. Pepe was not happy, but in a short while he drifted off to sleep, try though he might to keep his eyes open.

Some time later, he awoke looking up at the canopy of forest trees. Pretty, he thought to himself. He felt better. It was just a bad dream, he supposed, and tried to get up. He found that difficult and strange.

When Pepe finally got to his feet, he looked down and the breath left him immediately. Instead of a clubfoot on his left hind leg, now ALL of his feet were clubfeet! And not just run of the mill clubfeet, but immensely HUGE clubfeet!

"Oh, woe is me!" cried Pepe.

"What? Not happy? Don't pay. Next..." spouted the little frog on the rock.

"How...how could you! How could you do this to me!" demanded Pepe.

"I thought you wanted all your feet to match. This work isn't easy, you know. If Dr. Bunion hadn't anesthetized you properly, the 36-hour operation would have been a lot more dangerous!"

"But, but...I don't want this!" Pepe punctuated the complaint by waving one immense foot at the frog.

"Hey, you came to me, hapless elephant. Now, if you'll just run along..."

Pepe saw red. And green. And red and green and red and green and then a loud squishing noise and before he knew it, the frog was spread over the rock like a goopy half-cooked pancake.

"Oh dear!" shouted the horrified Pepe. "This will never, never do. Now I'm a heartless killer! They'll come after me! Oh dear! Oh dear!"

"Calm down, little elephant. No one will come after you, " said a kindly voice.

Startled, Pepe looked around him and was surprised to see dozens of creatures standing around. Slowly, Pepe noticed that many were misshapen or deformed, some had three legs where there should have been four or two.

"No need to worry," said a large sloth whose left cheek seemed to have melted into his chin, "We've been wanting to do that very thing for some time now. That was a very, very nasty frog indeed. And, he was practicing animal surgery without a license or even a how-do-you-do."

Relieved, Pepe sighed and smiled. Then, it occurred to him to ask a very sad question.

"So, I guess I'm stuck with four club feet?"

From somewhere back in the group came a light sweet voice.

"Oh, I think they're beautiful!" Pepe strained to see the owner of that voice, but just then a very large wolf with glowing red eyes and two necks came up to him.

"The entire misbegotten village is forever in your debt, Pepe" the wolf said, and Pepe recognized the voice of Dr. Bunion.

And so, after befriending the deformed village of victims of unethical surgery, Pepe and the other animals went back to Pepe's hometown, found the other elephants that taunted him, and tore them limb from bloody limb in a snarling frenzy that frightened even themselves. After a few hours, and a lunch break, they decided that was probably not the right thing to do. But by then it was too late and no one was quite sure how to piece together the ravaged elephant bodies, so they went back to their village and practiced safe surgery and everyone lived happily ever after.

Until, of course, the Bloodhound tracked the trail of gore back to their village and the remaining elephant pack torched their homes and extracted large sums of punitive damages and legal fees.

THEN everyone lived happily ever after.

Or, wait, maybe they didn't. I just assume they're happy. It's probably not the case, but it helps me sleep at night.

AN ELEPHANT'S TRACK
"IT kin be done, Nance, an' I'm agoin' to do it ef it busts me." Newt Pinson brought the forelegs of his raw-hide-bottomed chair down on the puncheon floor with a thump, and slapped his knees emphatically with his hairy hands.
"Five dollars air a mighty heap to spen' fer sech foolishness, Newt," replied his wife, turning the squalling baby over on its stomach and pounding it vigorously on the back. "Mo'over," she added, after a pause, "I don't see ez ye've got the five dollars, nohow."
Mr. Pinson stretched out one long leg and thrust a hand into his trousers-pocket. "Ye're mighty right, Nance, I 'ain't," he admitted, blowing the loose tobacco from the handful of coin fetched up from the honest home-made depths; "I've got jes three dollars and a half lef' outn what Sam Leggett paid me fer the yearlin'. But me an' the childern hev been a-talkin' of it over, an' they hev conclusioned to th'ow in ther aigg money; Dan fo' bits, an' Pete fo'; Joe an' Jed hez two bits betwix 'em, an' Polly M'riar says ez how she hev fifteen cents. I'm lackin' of a dime, but I reckin I kin scratch thet up somewhers."
"Thar's my two bits up yan in the clock," Mrs. Pinson remarked, with pretended indifference; "ye kin take that ef ye air sech a plumb fool ez to pike the whole passel of us inter town to see the circus."
"Shucks, Nance!" he returned, indignantly; "I ain't agoin' to tech yo' two bits." Nevertheless he got up and fumbled about in the clock-case on the high mantel-shelf until he found it. "Anyhow," he added, as he reseated himself, "I kin pay it back when ye git ready fer yo' nex' bottle o' snuff."
"Will they be a el'phunt?" demanded one of the freckle-faced urchins gathered around the heads of the family, listening, breathless, to the discussion.
"A dollar fer Nance, en' a dollar fer me," Mr. Pinson counted, gravely, taking no notice of the interruption, "an' fo' bits apiece fer Beck an' Dan an' Pete an' Polly M'riar an' Joe an' Jed. Childern half price" - he glanced casually at the flaming circus poster tacked against the chinked wall in the chimney corner - "not countin' of the baby. An' fifteen cents lef', by jing!"
"Do ye reckin I kin git in fer half price, paw?" This question, which came from Becky, the oldest of the Pinson brood, who stood five feet six and a half inches in her bare feet, might have been meant as a bit of covert sarcasm, had not the eager voice belied any such intention. Her father's eyes travelled slowly up from the hem of her homespun frock, as she stood leaning against the chimney jamb, to her pretty round face framed in its shock of frizzly red hair. "Waal, I be dinged, Beck!" he exclaimed, in dismay, "I keep fergittin' ez how ye air growed up!" His face clouded, and he looked ruefully at the pile of dimes and half-dimes lying in his large palm.
"An' Sam Leggett's gone to Kansas on a cattle drive," murmured the twelve-year-old Dan, with a meaning leer at Becky. A vivid blush overspread her face; she dropped her eyelids and squirmed her shapely toes. But Mr. Pinson was absorbed in a mute recalculation, which ended presently in a beat-out whistle and a mournful shake of the head.
Mrs. Pinson, with the colicky baby laid over her shoulder, was jolting her rockerless chair to and fro, and singing, in a sweet, drawling undertone:
                        "Far-ye-well, oh, far-ye-well;
                        When ye git to hev-ven ye will pa-art n-o-o m-o-o'!"
She interrupted herself to observe, quietly, "Ye kin tote the baby, Beck; an' I kin tote Joe; an' yo' paw he kin tote Jed, twel we git inside the tent. They ain't no charge fer children in arms. It says so."
"Lord, Nance!" exclaimed her husband, in an ecstasy of admiration, "ye air the beatenes' white woman on Jim-Ned Creek! Thet settles it oncet mo'! Fetch me a coal fer my pipe, Polly M'riar."
Becky heaved a deep sigh of relief, and sank down on her heels, reaching under her mother's chair at the same time for the snuff-bottle.
"Will they be a el'phunt?" persisted Jed, the tow-headed boy next to the baby, already in long trousers, which were hitched up to his shoulders with a single white cotton "gallus."
"Of co'se. They is al'uz a el'phunt with a circus," replied his father.
"I 'ain't nuver seen no circus," said Mrs. Pinson, in jerks between the long-drawn swells of her mournful lullaby.
"Nuther hev I," admitted Newt; "but I jes natchly know that ever' circus has got to hev a el'phunt an' a clown."
"Didn' I tell ye so!" cried Dan, triumphantly, following with a dirty forefinger the head-lines of the poster. "Ain't the el'phunts right here, a-dancin' an' a stan'in' on they heads, an' a-rollin' o' barrils? An' ez for clowns! they is four mirth-pro-vo-king clowns in this here show. It says so. An' five beau-ti-ful and ac-com-plished lady bare-back riders;" and he continued to spell out laboriously the manifold and unrivalled attractionns of Riddler's Mammoth Circu and Menagerie, billed - for one performance only - in Comanche at two o'clock P.M., Monday, the 18th of October. Come One. Come All.
Becky, struck by a sudden thought, stared at him, shifting the brush uneasily from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Like ez not," she broke out, abruptly, "Brother Skaggs'll preach agin it nex' Sunday. Sho's yo' bawn, Brother Skaggs air a-goin ter preach agin it."
Mrs. Pinson stopped singing; Polly Maria and the boys turned stricken faces upon their father.
His eyes twinkled under their bushy red brows, but his voice was decorously sober as he drawled: "Brother Skaggs hes gone to Confunce, an' he won't be back twel Sat'day week. Ye min', Nance," he continued, "it air thirty-one mile to town, an' ef we lay to git ther in time fer the show Monday, we got to camp somewhers 'bout Blanket Sunday night."
"Jes to think o' me goin' to town oncet mo'!" said Mrs. Pinson, meditatively, that night, when she and Becky were getting supper in the brush arbor behind the cabin. "I 'ain't been sence you was a baby, Beck. Yo' paw an' me went to Wash Dingwall's infair - he died with his boots on four year ago; en' Tempunce Loo - thet's his widder - she's married agin to Bijy Green. I rid behin' him, an' he toted you on his lap. Town folks air mighty bigaty," she added, warningly; "'n' ye mus' do up thet pu'ple caliker o'yourn, Beck, an' put on yo' shoes an' stockin's."
"Seems lak fo' days won't nuver go," fretted Beck, "an' ole Baldy air sho to lame hisse'f, or sump'n'. It's alluz that a-way whence a body air plumb sot on doin' a thing."
But the four days did go, and when the eventful Sunday afternoon came, old Baldy, unusually sound and spirited, was with Jinny, the gaunt gray mule, harnessed to the wagon; the patched and dingy cover was drawn over the bows, a bundle or two of fodder and a few ears of corn were thrown into the hinder part, and Mr. Pinson drove gayly alongside of the rail-fence in front of the cabin. The rickety house door was drawn to with a rock behind it to keep it shut. A couple of chairs were handed up for Mrs. Pinson and Becky, and they clambered in with the baby. The yellow cotton poke, well stuffed with corn-bread and bacon, and the battered coffee-pot and frying-pan, were stowed under the chairs. Polly Maria and the boys sat on a quilt spread over the sweet-smelling fodder; Rove, Ring, and Spot, the lean, long- eared brown hounds, yelped and whined against the wheels.
They jolted away, serious, as became a perfessin' fambly on a Sunday, but full of inward excitement. At night they camped on the pecan-fringed banks of Rastler's, and were off betimes in the morning. But not too soon to find the road lively with friends and acquaintances from all the settlements around, bound on the same joyous errand as themselves. They passed Joe Holder, with his wife and sister-in-law and the thirteen children of the two families, creaking along in a huge freighter's wagon drawn by five yoke of gaunt, wide-horned oxen; they were overtaken and outstripped by a noisy squad of girls and young men on horseback from the Fork Valley neighborhood; they kept within hailing distance for a dozen miles or more of old Daddy Gardenbrier and his wife, riding double on their blind yellow mare. The Mount Zion folks, they heard, were ahead of them by some hours, and an impatient youngster who trotted by on a paint pony threw over his shoulder the information that the Big Puddle lay-out was coming on behind.
"Lord, Nance!" Mr. Pinson exclaimed more than once that morning, "I wouldn't of took five dollars to of stayed at home."
"Nuther would I, Newt," Mrs. Pinson as often returned, with a kind of solemn delight on her thin, sallow face.
The long reaches of post-oak "rough" were heavy with sand; the shinn-oak prairies between were a tangle of roots that zigzagged across the road, and made progress slow and painful; the abrupt banks of the frequent "dry creeks" were steep; the October sun was hot; and by noon old Baldy had become utterly dispirited. He had, moreover, fallen a little lame, and he moved dejectedly along by Jinny, who long ago had flopped her big ears downward in sign of weariness and discontent.
The Pinsons under the dingy wagon cover were wellnigh speechless with impatience.
Suddenly Dan stood up, knocking his head against the low wagon bows. "Jes over yan," he declared, "pas' one little bit o' shinn-oak prery, an' crost a dry creek, an' up a hill, is town." Dan had been to town once with Sam Leggett to lay out his long-hoarded egg money in a four-bladed knife and a pair of store suspenders.
Polly Maria, slim and thin-legged, standing up beside him, pitched backward into the fodder as the wagon came to a sudden halt behind a group of dismounted horsemen, who, with their bridles over their arms, were squatting down, apparently searching for something in a half-dried mud-puddle to the right of the road. "Hullo, Jack!" called Mr. Pinson; "what ye lost?" One of the men looked over his shoulder. "Hy're, Newt? Howdy, Mis' Pinson?" he cried, springing to his feet and coming back to the side of the wagon, where he shook hands all around. "We 'ain't lost nothin'," he went on, putting a foot up on the hub of the front wheel and resting his arms on the hot tire; "we've found sump'n', though, you bet! A genooine elephant track in the sof' mud yonder, plain as daylight, an' no mistake."
Polly Maria and the boys scrambled in hot haste over the tail-board. Mr. Pinson threw down the reins, and held the baby while Becky and her mother jumped out.
"Wish I may die ef it ain't a el'phunt track sho!" he exclaimed, when he had joined the wondering circle gathered about the huge footprint.
"It looks to me lak ez ef it were hine-side afore somehow," said Mrs. Pinson, timidly.
"I have just been explaining to Mr. Jack Cyarter here and these other gentlemen, madam," said Mr. Tolliver, the old Virginian who taught the school at Ebenezer Church, "that it is a fact in natural history that the track of the elephant always presents that appearance." He removed his hat as he spoke, and made an old-fashioned courtly bow.
"Ye don't say!" murmured Mrs. Pinson, over-awed.
Jack Carter and his friends mounted their horses and dashed away, followed at a more sober pace by Mr. Tolliver on his slab-sided plough-mule.
The Pinsons climbed back to their places and jogged on, across the bit o' prery and over the dry creek - where they came near getting stalled - and up the hill. On its crest Newt Pinson involuntarily drew up. "By jing! this beats me!" he ejaculated, with widening eyes. The square at the foot of the slope was in an uproar. Horses stood nose to nose around the court-house fence, and were hitched to the scraggy mesquite-trees that shaded the town well. The dusty streets leading away from the plaza were blocked with wagons little and big, carts, ambulances, dilapidated hacks, high-swung red-bodied stages - every imaginable kind of vehicle - and all the intervening spaces, as well as the irregular sidewalks in front of the four in-facing rows of stores, were alive with men, women, and children, who elbowed one another, whooping, laughing, gesticulating - surging about in a state of the wildest, best-natured excitement. Beyond the unpainted little Baptist church, on the farther side of the square, the circus tents were visible. Flags and streamers were flying from their poles, and a vanishing burst of music came floating from them up to the top of the hill.
"This beats me!" insisted Mr. Pinson again. With a deep-drawn breath he gathered up the ragged, homespun lines and drove down into the square, picking his way dexterously through the crowd until he halted alongside the shaky platform in front of Bush Gaines's store. "Holloa agin, Newt - that you?" grinned Jack Carter from behind the counter within, where he was helping himself to a plug of tobacco. "You're jest a minit too late to see the procession. It cert'nly is a fine show. The elephant was there, mighty nigh as big as Ebenezer Church. An' such a clown! You'd ha' laughed yourse'f to death to ha' seen him. His breeches are more'n a yard wide, and he 'ain't got a hair on his head!"
"Ef we hadn't of stopped to look at the el'phunt's track -" began Newt, regretfully; "but nuver min', Nance, it air a heap better to see it fust off fum the inside."
"Oh, a heap better," responded Mrs. Pinson, with cheerful alacrity. Bush Gaines, measuring off some jeans for a Mount Zion matron, called to Newt to bring his fambly in the sto' an' set down, an' pass the time o' day. But after a brief consultation with his wife, during which Becky took mental note of some town girls in looped overskirts and bangs - an observation which bore fruit at the next Quarterly Meeting - Mr. Pinson declined with thanks, and drove on to the town well - all but gone dry from the excessive strain put upon it - where Dan and Pete watered the team.
Afterwards they crossed the square and stopped by the Baptist church, in full view of the circus tents, whence arose at that moment a prolonged and sullen roar. "They're feedin' of the nannimals," explained Mr. Pinson, in a familiar, off-hand sort of way, whereat Mrs. Pinson shuddered and hugged the sleeping baby closer to her bosom.
Old Baldy and Jinny were unhitched and fed from the trough at the back of the wagon; the panting dogs lay down in the shade of the church; the children had a snack all around out of the yellow poke, and Becky and her mother fetched out the chairs and sat down to "have a dip."
"It air a haff'n hour yit twel the do's is open," said Mr. Pinson, finally. "Jes you an' the childern stay right here, Nance. I'm goin' to tramp down to the pos'-office an' git the las' 'lection news, an' sich. I'll be back the minit it air time, an' min' you all be ready, less'n we don't git no seats."
Mrs. Pinson nodded, and he strolled away. "This here beats me," he kept saying to himself. Comanche was indeed in an unwonted state of excitement. Riddler's was the first circus that had ever quitted the line of railway and ventured across the long sandy reaches of post-oak rough to the little isolated town in West Texas. And the whole surrounding country had pulled to its doors like the Pinsons, and responded to the invitation of the huge posters: "Come One. Come All."
Newt's progress was slow, owing to frequent encountering of neighbors and the necessity of inquiring after the health of their families. He did at last, however, reach the post-office, a ramshackle building next to the blacksmith shop. As he turned the corner he came upon a cake-and-lemonade stand. His hand went instantly down into his pocket, and came up with the extra fifteen cents, which he exchanged for three solid slabs of mahogany-colored gingerbread. "Fer Nance an' the childern," he explained, as the woman in charge wrapped up his purchase. The bleary old creature looked at him with a sudden kindly smile, and slipped a stick of peppermint candy into the parcel.
With one foot on the post-office step he paused to look at a man who had planted a gigantic yellow umbrella out in the dusty square, and standing bareheaded beneath it, was yelling some unintelligible jargon at the top of his lungs. Mr. Pinson hurried over and joined the ring of gaping spectators. On a bit of board in the shadow of the umbrella a couple of odd little marionettes of colored metal were circling in a kind of grotesque waltz. "Lots of fun for twenty-five cents!" shouted the showman, stopping now and then to touch up the figures with a stubby forefinger. "Lots of fun for twenty-five cents! The greatest toy invented in this age or any other. So simple that a crawling child cannot fail to manage it! Those who know the trick will please say nothing. Cheap, gentlemen, for twenty-five cents. Oh, I see the gentleman is going to buy!"
Newt grinned and shook his head regretfully.
"One for one, two for two, three gets the half a dollah!" bawled another individual who had set up a table near-by covered with wooden ninepins. Jack Carter and his crowd were throwing at these with little painted balls. A cigar, Jack explained to Newt, was the reward for one pin knocked down at a throw; two cigars went to the player who knocked down two; while the lucky thrower who succeeded in knocking down three received fifty cents. "One for one, two for two, three gets the half a dollah," went on the proprietor, monotonously. "Three throws for five cents. Step up, gentlemen, and try your luck! For a nickel! One for one, two for two, three gets the half a dollah!"
"Lord! ef I hadn't of bought this durned ginger-cake!" groaned Mr. Pinson in spirit, gathering the paper parcel more securely under his arm and moving on with the crowd.
A step or two brought him to an open wagon from which a patent-medicine man was holding forth. "Try the remedy," he whined, flourishing a stout black bottle and a pewter spoon. "Cures all diseases ! Try the remedy! Administered free of charge to any one in the crowd. This superb bottle filled with the remedy, only fifty cents. The wise man tries, the fool dies. Try the remedy!"
"This here beats me," murmured Newt, mechanically wiping the perspiration from his forehead and backing against the court-house fence, where he leaned, fairly exhausted with the variety and novelty of his emotions. "The haff'n hour mus' be nigh 'bout up. Dinged ef I ain't glad," he continued, letting the crowd drift on without him to where the health-lift man was exhorting the cautious ranchmen to "try the machine; try the wonderful machine, gentlemen. Excellent for the constitootion! Only five cents a trial. Try the machine;" and the reckless cowboys were emptying their pockets at the invitation of the vender of prize-boxes.
"Curious game that, sir," said a smooth voice at his elbow. He looked around, startled. A seedy but respectable-looking personage was standing by him with his arms crossed on the low fence. He jerked his head as he spoke towards a little knot of men hanging around the stile-steps leading into the weed-grown court-house yard.
Newt walked over and looked on. It was a simple-enough-looking game at cards. An innocent-faced little fellow with black hair and curly mustache was manipulating the greasy deck. The bet was five dollars. Two countrymen, unknown to Newt, with suspiciously stiff white collars above their coarse hickory shirts, and scrupulously clean finger-nails, won successively five dollars, and the dealer, much chagrined, seemed on the point of giving up.
Newt made half a step forward. His heart was beating violently and the blood was surging in his ears. "I'm a perfessin' member," he argued mentally with himself, while the cards were once more shuffled and spread out, "yit it air jes' 'bout the easies' thing in creation to tell which one of them cyards air the right one. An' Nance an' me'll hev mo'n time to trade out the five dollars whence the show air over. Shucks!"
And he counted out and laid down his handful of dimes and nickels, and hazarded a bet. He bent forward eagerly, and unconsciously stretched forth a hand. "This here monty air a mighty deceivin' game," remarked the blacksmith, with an air of conviction, as the dealer raked Mr. Pinson's money into his own pocket and walked jauntily away.
Newt turned about, half dazed by the suddenness of the whole transaction, and bewildered by the jeers of the by-standers. Just then, however, a noisy burst of music from the circus tents gave the signal for the opening of the doors; a wild rush immediately began in that direction, and in a few moments the square was deserted, except by the patent-medicine man and the owner of the big umbrella. These joked each other loudly, and slapped significantly their silver-weighted pockets.
Newt passed them with his head bent, heedless of the sneering laugh which they sent after him. As he approached the church he saw that Becky had the baby; she was holding him up and smoothing the pink calico skirts over his fat white legs. Mrs. Pinson looked at him with an unwonted sparkle in her solemn black eyes as he drew near, and lifted the chunky Jed in her arms. "She looks lak she did whence I war a-courtin' of her," he thought, with a sore pang. Joe plunged towards him with a joyous whoop. "Hurry, paw, hurry!" screamed Polly Maria; "we ain't agoin' to git no seats less'n we hurry." He put Joe aside roughly and strode on to his wife. His face was set and hard, though his mouth twitched convulsively.
"Lord-a-mighty, Newt Pinson, what ails ye?" ejaculated Mrs. Pinson, letting Jed slip from her arms.
"Nothin' ain't ailin' me ez I knows on," he returned, in a dry, harsh voice; "we got to go back home 'thout seein' o' the show, thet's all. I done bet away ever' cent of ourn an' the childern's circus money on a fool game o' cyards - yander. Oh Lord!" he ended with a groan. A single wild wail burst from Polly Maria and the boys. Then they huddled against their mother's skirts in mute agony.
A faint flush passed over Mrs. Pinson's thin face and the light faded from her dark eyes.
"'Tain't no diffunce, Newt," she said, lightly, catching the baby from Becky's limp and nerveless arms. "Jes ye hitch up, quick ez ye kin, an' le's get outn this here bigaty town. Me an' the childern air plumb beat out wi' these stuckup town folks, anyhow!"
Newt stared at her in silence, and slouched away. Her gaze followed him to the rear of the wagon; when he was beyond the reach of her voice she whirled around and blazed in a threatening half-whisper: "Ef ary one o' ye says a word to yer paw 'bout this here misfortin o' hisn, or 'bout hankerin' a'ter the show; er of ary one o'ye ain't thet gamesome an' lively, lak ez ef they wa'n't no sech a thing ez a circus, er a clown, er a el'phunt in this here livin' worl' - sho's ye bawn I'll shet the do' in Sam Leggett's face an' cowhide the balance o' ye twel ye can't set down fer a week!"
Becky's ruddy cheeks grew pale. "Yes, maw," she returned, in a subdued tone.
"Yes, maw," echoed Polly Maria and the boys, stolidly, not without squeezing back some ungamesome tears, however, as they stood in a row against the Baptist church and watched their father bring around Jinny and old Baldy.
Had they only known it, they might have seen while they waited, the Liliputian Lady and the Fat Woman go by in a shaky hack with torn curtains, and descend before the painted flaps of one of the side shows. But they did not know.
The wagon was turned around; they climbed over the wheels and settled themselves under the dingy cover. As they moved slowly across the silent square a tremendous shout from the spectators within the tent, and a pompous fanfare from the brass-band, announced that the Grand Entry had begun.
Newt stalked along beside the tired team downcast and miserable. "I've even fergot wher' I lef' the childern's ginger-cake," he muttered to himself, as his mind went over and over the incidents of that fatal haff'n hour.
A curious hilarity prevailed that night around the little camp-fire. Mrs. Pinson, usually silent almost to taciturnity, had become all at once loquacious. She painted to the family circle in glowing colors the pride and wickedness of town folks; she pictured the denunciatory wrath of Brother Skaggs when he should learn that perfessin' members of Ebenezer Church had been inside of a circus tent; she related the experience of sundry sinners who had been overtaken by divine vengeance while in the very act of laughing at the antics of a clown; she even lifted up her voice and sang some particularly flame-and-brimstone-promising hymn tunes. Becky, mindful of Sam Leggett away off in Kansas, seconded her efforts to keep the general cheerfulness up to a proper pitch. If it showed signs of flagging, however, a warning look, shot from beneath their mother's drooping eyelids, acted like a charm on Polly Maria and the boys.
Newt, who at first sat mournfully hugging his knees and gazing into space, presently caught the infection himself, and when, finally, he unrolled a patch-quilt and threw himself thereon, closing his eyes in peaceful slumber, it was almost with the conviction that the five dollars had been well lost in keeping a perfessin' fambly out of the worldly and soul-destroying circus tent.
Mrs. Pinson, sitting alone by the smouldering fire with the baby in her arms, looked at his unconscious face upturned in the dim moonlight; her gaze travelled slowly from one muffled, indistinct form huddled under the shadow of the wagon, to another; she sighed heavily, and her face relapsed into its usual sombre expression. "I wisht -" she muttered; then after a long pause, as she stretched herself on the quilt beside her slumbering spouse and wrapped the baby's feet in an old shawl, she concluded with a little touch of triumph in her whispered tones, "Anyhow, I hev seen the el'phunt's track!"

L'araignée et l'éléphant
Par Josée Charbonneau
Il était une fois une araignée qui avait bien du mal à se faire une place dans son monde. Elle avait de très grands yeux. On aurait dit qu'elle pouvait tout voir venir dix milles à la ronde. Alors quand aménagea dans la même maison qu'elle un éléphant, notre araignée devint vite découragée.

Tout d'abord, à chaque pas que faisait l'éléphant le sol tremblait. L'araignée finit par avoir mal au cœur de tous ces tremblements. Ensuite l'éléphant qui lui, avait de tous petits yeux, ne la voyait pas et ne s'était jamais aperçu de sa présence, si bien qu'il passait toujours près de l'écraser sans même faire exprès.

L'éléphant vivait dans la cuisine et l'araignée dans la chambre attenante à la cuisine. L'araignée ne détestait pas aller faire un tour à la cuisine pour grignoter les miettes sous la table, mais ces derniers temps, elle n'osait plus y aller tant c'était dangereux.

Elle avait bien essayé de signaler sa présence à l'éléphant. L'araignée l'avait bien observé et il ne semblait pas méchant pour un si gros éléphant. Le problème venait du fait qu'il ignorait sa présence. Un jour l'araignée avait grimpé sur la poignée de porte et avait crié pour attirer l'attention de l'éléphant mais cela n'avait rien donné. Une autre fois, après deux jours d'expédition périlleuse, elle avait grimpé au ventilateur au dessus de la table de cuisine avec l'intention de descendre sur son île près du visage de l'éléphant. C'était dangereux mais ça donnerait sûrement des résultats. L'éléphant se préparait à manger de la soupe aux pois, ce qui n'augurait rien de bon car suivait toujours une soirée mouvementée après un souper à la soupe aux pois. Or donc notre araignée se mit à descendre le long de son fil lorsque l'éléphant décida d'actionner le ventilateur, sûrement en prévision de la soirée mouvementée…, enfin vous me comprenez. C'est ainsi que l'araignée partit au vent et atterrit en catastrophe par terre. Complètement apeurée, elle retourna sur le champs dans sa chambre.

Après cet épisode, notre araignée ne savait plus quoi faire. Privée de sa liberté, ne pouvant aller où ça lui plaisait, elle commença à dépérir. C'est alors qu'une mouche vint la visiter. La mouche lui dit qu'il ne fallait pas renoncer et qu'il y avait forcément une solution à son problème. La mouche lui dit aussi qu'elle était plus forte qu'elle le pensait. La mouche avait un plan mais l'araignée devrait travailler très fort. L'araignée qui voulait s'en sortir, écouta la mouche.

La mouche lui dit qu'une nuit, pendant que l'éléphant dormirait, elle devrait tisser une grande toile entre la porte de sa chambre et la table de cuisine. Une toile si grande et si forte qu'elle arrêterait l'éléphant. C'est ce que fit l'araignée. Aussitôt que l'éléphant fut au lit, l'araignée se mit à tisser sa toile et elle tissa toute la nuit. L'araignée, par moment, doutait fortement qu'une toile d'araignée puisse arrêter un éléphant mais elle ne cessa pas de tisser car elle avait besoin de sa liberté. Quand la mouche voyait que l'araignée se décourageait, elle se mettait à chanter. Sa chanson redonnait du courage à l'araignée.

Au petit matin, l'araignée fut très surprise du travail qu'elle avait fait. Non seulement, sa toile était grande et solide mais elle était belle aussi. L'araignée sut que le plan de la mouche fonctionnerait. Mais quoi dire à l'éléphant? Elle n'eut pas le temps d'y penser plus longtemps car le sol se mit à trembler, l'éléphant s'était levé.

L'éléphant arriva dans la cuisine et comme il avait les yeux encore plus petits le matin, il ne vit rien et s'enfonça dans la toile. Il tomba dans un grand fracas face contre terre. L'araignée et la mouche s'approchèrent d'une de ses oreilles. La mouche qui sortit de nulle part un violon se mit à jouer une douce musique. La mouche fit signe à l'araignée de parler. L'araignée se présenta à l'éléphant comme étant celle qui vivait dans la chambre. Elle lui demanda, si ça ne le dérangeait pas trop, de faire attention à elle. L'éléphant, qui ne pouvait bouger à cause de la toile, lui dit qu'il avait peur des araignées. L'araignée lui demande pourquoi. Il ne savait pas vraiment pourquoi, il pensait qu'elles étaient dangereuses. L'araignée le rassura et lui dit qu'elles étaient inoffensives. Dans ce cas, l'éléphant lui promit de faire attention à elle mais il lui dit aussi de bien se faire voir.

À partir de ce jour, l'araignée porta ses plus belles et ses plus brillantes couleurs et put ainsi se promener comme bon lui semblait dans toute la cuisine.

The Spider and the Elephant
By Josée Charbonneau
There was once a spider who found it difficult to find a place of his own. It had very large eyes. It could see quite a distance up to ten miles. Then an elephant came to live in the same house. Our spider quickly became discouraged. First of all, with each step which the elephant took, the floor shook. The spider became sick with all these tremors.
Then the elephant which had small eyes, did not see the spider. It never sensed the spider's presence, so that it always passed close enough to crush it. The elephant did not do this purposely. The elephant lived in the kitchen and the spider in the room next to the kitchen. The spider liked going to the kitchen to make a web to nibble the crumbs under the table. But lately, it did not dare go there any more because it was so dangerous.
It had really tried to announce its presence to the elephant. The spider had observed the elephant. It did not really appear to be so malicious for such a large animal. The problem came owing to the fact that it was unaware of the spider's presence. One day the spider had climbed on the door's handle and had shouted to draw the attention of the elephant. But that had not worked. Another time, after two days of perilous moving about, it had climbed atop the ventilator at the top of the kitchen table. It had intended to go down to the island close to the face of the elephant. This was dangerous but he would surely get results. The elephant prepared to eat soup with peas, which was not a good thing for the spider. Anytime the elephant had eaten a supper of soup and peas, he became more animated.
However when our spider started to slowly go down its web, the elephant decided to turn on the ventilator in preparation for the fun evening. Do you understand what I am saying? Oh no, the spider spins in the wind and lands on the floor by the elephant.
Completely frightened, it turned and ran to its room. After this episode, our spider would not leave its room. Deprived of its freedom and not being able to go where it liked, it started to die. At this point in time a fly visited it. The fly says to him that one did not have to give up and that there was inevitably a solution to the problem. The fly also said to him that it was stronger than he thought he was. The fly had a plan but the spider had to work very hard. The spider which did not want to move, listened to the fly.
The fly said to him that one night, while the elephant was sleeping, it should weave a large spider web between the door of its room and the kitchen table. A web so large and so strong that it would stop the elephant. It is what the spider did.
As soon as the elephant went to bed, the spider started to weave the web. It wove all night. The spider strongly doubted that a spider web can stop an elephant, but it did not cease weaving because it needed its freedom. When the fly saw that the spider was discouraged, it started to sing. The song helped the spider to regain its courage. In the early morning, the spider was very surprised at how much work it had completed. Not only was the spider web large and solid, but it was beautiful too.
The spider thought that the plan of the fly could work. But what to say to the elephant? It did not have time to think what to say because the floor started to shake. The elephant had risen. The elephant arrived in the kitchen. Its eyes seem even smaller that morning. It did not see anything and crashed into the fabric. It crashed face down against the floor. The spider and the fly approached one of its ears. The fly which had a violin started to play soft music.
The fly indicated to the spider that he should speak. The spider told the elephant that he also lived in the house. It asked him, if he did not disturb it too much, to pay attention to it. The elephant, which could not move because of the web, told the spider that it was afraid of spiders. The spider asked him why. The elephant really did not know why. He thought that they were dangerous. The spider reassured the elephant that spiders were harmless.
In that case, the elephant promised to pay attention to it. But the elephant also said to the spider to be sure to wear bright colors. So from this day, the spider wore its more beautiful and brilliant colors. He could thus walk in the kitchen as he could be seen by the elephant.

Mouse matters

Ratna Rajaiah

Lord Ganesha is still in the air. We brought him into our homes 12 days ago. We sang his praises, propitiated him with his favourite food, and even gorged on some ourselves! Last Friday, we immersed thousands of his idols (1.7 to 1.8 lakh in Mumbai alone, according to one estimate) in rivers and lakes and tanks and the ocean, begging him to grace our homes with his presence once again next year. And even Kaun Banega Crorepati had a Ganesha question.

Vinyaka. Vigneshwara. Mangalmurti. We have as many names for our beloved Lord Ganesha as we do for a dear and familiar friend. We know that he is the beloved son of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, elder brother of Kartikeya and has a bit of a sweet tusk, or tooth. (Some say that the modak, or sweetmeat, that he holds in his hand represents the sweetness of the realized soul.) That the Mahabharata would not have got written if it were not for our Ekadanta. That without his go-ahead, not much ever gets done…

And there are some other things that are not so familiar about Him. That he has two consorts - Buddhi (wisdom) and Siddhi (prosperity and success in undertakings). That amongst his 32 forms, he is shown in the posture of a yogi (Yoga Ganapati) and dancer (Nritya Ganapati). Two beautiful idols of Nritya Ganapati are in 900-year-old Lakshminarasimha temple in Nuggihalli, Karnataka and in the famous Jagannatha Temple in Puri. Many of us are also not aware that among the fruits found held in his many arms (going up to 16 in Viraganapati!) are the jackfruit, the rose apple and the pomegranate. That he sometimes also rides a lion. And what is also not so well known is the reason why he favours a mouse as his mode of transport. (Or rat, because it is only English that differentiates a rat from a mouse. Our Indian languages are more accommodating - so mooshika, chooha, eeli, yeli could refer to both a rat or a mouse.)

It does make you wonder, does it not, why He that can fit the entire universe into His stomach, the mighty Lambhodara to have a grander, more personable, or at least a slightly larger creature than a mouse (or rat)? Should not the Siddhivinayaka, the Buddhinatha, the Vigheshwara be riding a slightly more impressive steed?

What makes the difference is that creatures of the animal kingdom are viewed in a different light to the Western perspective, in the Indian (and I think the Eastern) context. In the Indian conception, all creatures have the capacity for both the gross and the divine. (And that includes us humans!) So, a boar can be an avatar of Lord Vishnu, a monkey a God, a crocodile the vehicle of Varuna, bees can be marshaled to form Kamadeva’s bowstring, a fish can imbibe divine knowledge to become a great sage, and the rhino and the goat can be emblems of the 11th the 17th Jain tirtankaras. And a scorpion, a dog and a frog can inspire yogasanas. And Lord Ganesha can turn Himself into a crow. Which is how, by the way, the river Kaveri came into existence…

It was an exceptionally hot summer in South India and to ease the parched land, sage Agastya went to Lord Shiva for some holy water. Shiva put Kaveri - who was worshipping him at the time - into Agastya’s kamandala. But Lord Indra wasn’t pleased by this and asked Lord Ganapati to somehow upset the kamandala. Which He did, by turning into a crow and sitting on the rim of the kamandala to overturn it. A quarrel erupted between the “crow” and Agastya. So Lord Ganapati revealed himself, blessed Agastya and filled his kamandala with holy water, which Agastya then distributed among the devotees. This holy water became the river Kaveri...

(Source: Puranic Encyclopaedia by Mani Vettam)

But back to the mouse, or rat...both rodents low in the animal pecking order. One a timid, timorous object of pity, the popular choice for laboratory experiments, the other a pest, an object of disgust and aversion, a self-serving creature that lives in the sewers, carries diseases and deserts your sinking ship. Why would such a creature be the great Ganesha’s SUV? Because those are only some of the aspects of the rodent - the not so nice ones. As the great Ganesha’s choice of vehicle, it symbolizes something very different. And here are some interpretations…in the eyes of the Creator, the biggest and smallest of creatures are equally important. Also, the mouse’s ability to move quickly, even in the dark, represents the grace of Lord Ganesha, which can penetrate the smallest, darkest nook and cranny. And that the mouse, a creature of the dark, signifies that which can lead man from darkness to light. Or that its ever-darting self, whiskers always a-twitch in search of a choice morsel, represents our wandering, wayward mind, forever lured by pleasure. And when Lord Ganesha rides it, it signifies the conquest of that whimsical mind by His grace.

But I’d like to think that the other reason for the mouse being Lord Ganesha’s vahana lies in an Aesop’s fable that I never tired hearing from my father when I was a child…

He was the king of the jungle. A glorious, golden, fiercely magnificent beast, who could silence the entire jungle with one mighty roar. And to tell you the truth, the lion fancied himself quite a bit as king material. It was for not for nothing that I’m the Kingy, he’d think as he spied his gorgeous reflection in a jungle stream while practicing his daily roar scales. Who else had eyes that glowed like molten gold, melting the darkness of the night? Who else had such a fabulous tail that swished to and fro in such stately grace? Who else had a mane as splendorous, flowing out all around his face like tongues of yellow fire? Who else could pin down a deer with just one cruel paw or polish off 35 kg of zebra meat in one sitting? And who else had a such a roar, rolling like thunder through the very soul of the jungle...

And so Kingy the lion ruled the jungle, mostly by the rule of roar. One afternoon, too hot even to blink, Kingy lay bored, thinking how he was going to go through the dratted heat when suddenly a tiny mouse (or rat, maybe?) had the temerity to scamper past the royal line of vision. In cooler times, he would have ignored it. But now, he desperately needed to be amused and out shot a massive, bored paw and mouse was on its way to become a royal snack. When suddenly,

“Oh, please, please, Your Royal Highness…” Not only had the mouse dared to scamper across the royal line of vision, it also had the cheek to squeak, even as it teetered on the jaws of Death - literally. Naturally such daring surely deserved a fair hearing - which it got.

“Oh, please, Your Roaring Mightiness, please let me go.”

“And why in My Name would I do that?”

“Because, Your Golden Gorgeousness, I may be of use to you some day...”

Kingy laughed so hard, he almost fell out of his mane. A mouse helping a cat? (After all, for all his grandeur, Kingy was a cat.) And a cat letting go of a mouse? But the sheer nerve of one so mousy both amused and impressed him. And so he let the mouse go…

A few weeks later, it was Kingy’s turn to be caught. Too engrossed in practicing his 10-minute roar for the annual Royal Roarimpics (Kingy had won two gold medals in a row and was looking for a hat trick), he did not see the hunter’s snare. And so, there he lay, caught in the hunter’s net, fretting and fuming, and, truth be told, quaking from some very un-leonine fear. When suddenly, he heard a faint scampering.

“Good evening, Your Tawny-ness.” Now where had he heard that squeak before? He looked to see. It was the mouse!

“I suppose you have come to gloat over me with some twaddle like Look, How the Mighty Have fallen. Well, gloat away. Every mouse has his day…”

“Every dog, Lord Thundereshwara. But I come not to gloat, but to help you.” (The mouse had the habit of borrowing freely from Shakespeare, a particular favourite.)

“Listen, I’m not really in the mood for your mousy, er, lousy jokes..”

“But I’m not joking, Your Highness. Watch!”

And as Kingy watched in amazement, the mouse got to work, snipping away at the ropes of the hunter’s net with his sharp little teeth. Before long, he had snipped enough of the ropes for Kingy to get out of the net.

“I don’t know what to say!” muttered Kingy. Being grateful wasn’t something that came easily to kings.

“Nothing to say, Your Highness. You gave me back my life that day. I said I’d help you. So I did. We mice never forget. Now hurry up and get out.”

“I thought it was elephants who never forgot,” said Kingy, quickly scrambling out of the net and loping off. Mice, too, your Highness, and you’re most welcome, thought the mouse, as he watched the mighty King of the jungle disappear into it..

So, here’s what I think is the message from Lord Ganesha this year - in honour of his trusty mooshika vahana. If you are a mouse (or think you are), don’t underestimate yourself. And if you are a lion (or think you are), don’t underestimate the mouse.

Mushikavaahana modaka hastha,
Chaamara karna vilambitha sutra,
Vaamana rupa maheshwara putra,
Vighna vinaayaka paada namasthe

Five Gray Elephants
Five gray elephants, marching through the glade,
Decide to stop and play like they are having a parade.
The first swings his trunk and announces he'll lead;
The next waves a flag, which of course they need.
The third gray elephant trumpets a song;
The fourth beats a drum as he marches along.
While the fifth makes believe he's the whole show
And nods and smiles to the crowd as they go.
Five gray elephants, marching through the glade,
Having a lot of fun during their parade.
The Enormous Ears
Everett Elephant had enormous ears.
Edgar Elephant had enormous ears.
"My ears are the most enormous," said Everett Elephant.
"My ears are the most enormous," said Edgar Elephant.
'I will decide," said Edward Elephant.
Edward Elephant measured Everett Elephant's ears.
Edward Elehant measured Edgar Elephant's ears.
"Everett Elephant and Edgar Elephant's ears are the same size," said Edward Elephant.
Everett Elephant and Edgar Elephant both have enormous ears.
One Gray Elephant
One grey elephant
Walks his way.
Two gray elephants
Swing and sway.
Three grey elephants
Splash and squirt.
Four grey elephants
Shuffle in the dirt.
Five grey elephants
On the go....
All the grey elephants
Walking in a row.
Grand To Be An Elephant
Grand To Be An Elephant
An elegant Elephant waltzing along
Was heard to sing out this marvelous song.

How grand to be an Elephant, yessireeeee;
As strong and brave as anyone can beeeee;
Also smart, and kind, you must agreeeee,
So swell and grand, it simply seems to meeeee,
That everyone should an Elephant want to beeeee.

OH! How grand to be a mighty pachyderm,
It's quite a bit handsomer than a worm.

I could have ended up a bumble bee;
Instead He made me just the way I ammmm,
So big I can unearth a giant treeeee,
And no one dares turn me into a hammmm.

An Elephant, it's truly fine to beeeee;
For nothing else on earth from A to Zeeee,
Quite compares to the lovely likes of meeeee-eee.
I surely must be nature's apo-geeeee.

I've tried to think of a better thing but cannnnn't;
The very best thing to be is an El-eeeee-phannnnnt.
©1997 Wayne Hepburn

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This page updated 1/11/2008