There's an elephant on my front lawn

Syeda Hameed Friday, March 11 and I'm on my way back home from the airport where I'd been picking up family. It's 5:20 am and I must have fallen briefly asleep as the car goes through the gates of my house in Lutyens' Delhi. Hang on the door handle, I freeze. Standing before me is a huge elephant, his gigantic contours clearly visible in the first light of day. Very quickly I realize I'm not dreaming. I caution the others and get out shakily. The elephant is still. He makes no move as we file past. My driver silently backs out of the gate and drives away. Inside the house, I reach for the phone. The landline is dead so I dial 100 on my cellphone. The operator answers immediately and asks me whether Kasturba Gandhi Marg is near Sarojini nagar. I give direction but without much hope of seeing any action shortly. By now the household staff is awake and someone suggests making a clanging sound with a thali and spoon bacause "elephants don't like noise." I have never driven out elephants from lawns so who am I to quibble? Thalis and spooons are produced and a loud clanging ensues. The elephant stands stoically for a moment, then slowly turns. earlier he had been standing diagonally to the house; now he has turned and is facing us. Someone ventures outside and strikes a lathi on the concrete in yet another attempt to drive him away. There is still no sign of the police. Stop the noise, he is getting angry, someone shouts. I remember seeing a mast haathi at Kaziranga so I ask them to stop the clanging. The poling ring while this is going on. was the complaint made from this number and was it about an elephant, they want to know. They ask for my landline number, which we report has been dead for two days. I stand at the window clutching my cellphone and praying furiously. Suddenly, the elephant returns to his original position and slowly proceeds towards the gate. As we watch, he gracefully walks out. We can see him, huge against the boundary wall, taking leaves and small branches off the tress that line our road for his morning meal. Only when he reaches the end of our road do we muster the courage to shut the front gate. When we step out expecting to see the devastation caused by our visitor, we find none. There is not even a hint of disarray. Only the dew has been disturbed; there are soft footprints where he had stood on the grass. The shrubs and flower pots on the side from where he entered are undisturbed, except for one which has toppled over, the stem of its double chrysanthemum unbroken.

I had heard that setting eyes on an elephant was a good omen, how much luckier to have had one magnificent specimen grace my lawn. He could have caused great destruction but he did not. I felt blessed but regretful that I had been too afraid to express my appreciation for this gentle giant in some way. A couplet I memorized as a child, came to mind 50 years later as a tribute to one of God's most awesome creations. It is almost as if these elegant lines are in elephant language and meant for suspicious, scared Homo sapiens: Sair ki, khub chuney phool bahaut shaad rahe Bagh baan jaate hain, gulshan tera aabaad rahe (Walked round, picked flowers was joyful and happy We depart O gardener, may your garden ever bloom)