Just a couple of days ago, the eventful 2002 came to a close. A few days to January 1, 2003, the thought of ageing with every passing year created in me a disconcerting feeling. And as if to drown the thought, I switched on some music and the air in the room was filled with the Bryan Adams number “Let’s make a night to remember/January to December”. Wazir Khan, who was sitting across the room, suddenly looked up from his book and asked, “Do you believe in the existence of a guardian angel?”
“Frankly, I don’t. But there were a number of occasions in the past when I was in deep trouble, but at the last moment, I had had a fortuitous escape. I presume that’s what one would call the act of a guardian angel. You must have had countless such experiences during your hunting expeditions?!”
Wazir Khan, a well-known tea planter and a conservationist, was once an accomplished hunter and one of the very few people in the state holding an “elephant control licence”. Whenever any wild elephant created havoc by killing people, destroying property and declared a rogue, Khan would invariably be notified and would readily offer his services.
He sipped the hot coffee from his cup and smiled. “Yes, indeed. I did face imminent death on a number of occasions and had providential escape. “Agar duniya mukhalif hei to kya hei, humey to bas khuda ka asra hei. (How does it matter if everyone in the world is my enemy, after all God is my saviour).”
“Do you mind telling me one such story? Your stories are always very interesting and exciting.”
“Thanks for the compliment. You see, this happened a long time ago, but it was such a chilling experience that I still remember it vividly, particularly since my friend Abhijit Chanda, may his soul rest in peace, was associated with it.”
“You mean Abhijit Chanda who was with the Finlays and subsequently with Tata Tea? I knew him when he was the manager of Naharkatia tea estate.”
“That’s him. He belonged to an illustrious family and was indeed a gem of a person. Very few, perhaps, know that he was an excellent painter and may have been the first tea planter to hold an exhibition of his paintings in London. I was then the manager of Pertabghur tea estate on the north bank. One day, I received a message that a rogue elephant had caused rack and ruin in Tarajulie tea estate, which was only about an hour’s drive from my garden. Besides destruction of labour houses, several animals and even human beings had fallen victim to the ravages caused by the rogue pachyderm. The manager of the garden, Clive Roberson, was away on leave and Neelam Sehgal was acting as manager.
“So I decided to leave immediately, armed with my .475 rifle. As you know, the light aircraft of our company was based at Pertabghur and Captain Mukherjee, the pilot, was also based there. Captain Mukherjee, formerly of the Royal Air Force, has held a record of 29,000 flying hours in single engine aircraft. When he heard about my plan to go to Tarajulie, he also expressed his desire to come along with me. I was a little hesitant since he was unarmed and it was very dangerous to face a rogue elephant unless one is adequately trained and experienced. However, Captain Mukherjee insisted on accompanying me.
“By the time we arrived at the garden, it was already dusk. We met Neelam Sehgal and took stock of the situation. The rogue elephant had apparently caused panic among the workers and the staff in the garden and they wanted it to be destroyed immediately. It was a moonlit night and we decided to start our little expedition without delay. Neelam also came along with us. Abhijit Chanda was then at Naharoni tea estate, which was not very far from Tarajulie. So I approached him, coaxed and cajoled him to come along with us. After initial hesitation, he obliged and came out with his .470.
“Abhijit Chanda was a good marksman and I felt a lot more comfortable with him in my company. I returned to Tarajulie and all four of us proceeded towards the large bamboo grove where the rogue was last seen. After having walked some distance, we heard the sound of beating of canisters and a crowd chasing elephants away from the paddy field. As we proceeded a little further, we could hear the sound of breaking of branches of trees and trampling of dry twigs. Shortly afterwards we saw at a distance of approximately 50 yards a herd of 15-20 elephants. In the bright moonlight, we could clearly see the herd of tuskers, makhnas and calves walking through the paddy field towards the bamboo bari. The female elephants are particularly protective of the calves. As they walked with the calves in the middle of the herd, they would stop in between and look around for any pursuer and then would proceed again.
“I asked Captain Mukherjee and Neelam to go back. Hardly had they left, when the rogue, which was at the head of the herd, suddenly turned around and came charging at us. The elephant came so close to me that I did not have time to shoot. I started running and so did Chanda. I heard him cry out once, but I could not see where he had disappeared. Out of pure impetuosity, I ran into the tea plantation and that was my mistake. I could not run fast enough through the bushes and soon the rogue came quite close. I desperately turned around and without even aiming, pulled the trigger of my gun. The .475 is a heavy gun and the impact of the recoil was so great that I was thrown on to the ground and the jumbo almost came upon me. There was neither time nor any opportunity for me to reload the gun and I thought that it was the last day of my life. Then there was a sudden blast and I saw the elephant tumble to the ground. I slowly managed to be up on my feet and regained my composure. I saw to my relief that Chanda was standing close to me and for once I felt that my life had been saved. Perhaps that what was the act of my guardian angel!
“But barely had we heaved a sigh of relief when suddenly we saw the elephant struggling up its feet again. But this time, he did not appear to be in an aggressive mood. It looked like as if the mammoth animal was going to go away. Meanwhile, we had noticed earlier that there was a steep fall of about six feet at the edge of the tea plantation to the nearby paddy field and the land was slippery from a recent shower. As we were trying to trudge back to where we had left our car, Chanda suddenly slipped and fell straight down to the paddy field, rifle and all, and called out for help. At this, the elephant turned around. In the meantime, I somehow managed to pull Chanda up from the paddy field. He aimed his gun at the elephant and got ready to fire. But the rogue fell down again, this time never to get up. We went back to our car and Abhijit Chanda broke his rifle to inspect the barrel.
“Lo and behold! There was almost two inches of thick lump of earth inside the barrel obviously from his dabbling in the mud in the paddy field! Had he shot the elephant, the barrel would have burst and that would have happened to him is anybody’s guess. It was perhaps the guardian angel again who had saved Chanda’s life.”
Without any further word Wazir Khan returned to the book in his hand — a recent edition of Edward Fitzgerald’s magnum opus: a translation of the famous Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
