The Phajaan
Chapter
1
My name is Carlos
My name is Carlos.
The night the elephant thieves came for me, everything changed.
Now everyone calls me Rajah the Magnificent Painting Elephant, but I still remember—my name is Carlos.
My mom gave me my name.
I miss my mom.
If you want to know the truth, I don’t even paint.
Yes, I am one of the elephants that makes those paintings people pay a lot of money for, but I wouldn’t say I painted them.
I’m more like the brush.
I hold the brush and move it up and down and dip it in the paint, but I don’t decide what to paint. Someone else decides that.
Someone else decides just about everything for me. That doesn’t bother me. I’m used to it, I guess.
They say I’m one of the “lucky ones” because I have a place to sleep, I get fed, I’m “safe” and I don’t have to worry about anything.
That’s what they say.
But I do worry.
I worry about my mom. What if I never see her again? What if she’s forgotten me? Even if she saw me, would she recognize me? How could she?
When I see my reflection, I hardly recognize myself. The elephant staring back at me feels like a stranger now.
But I’d recognize her. She’s the most beautiful elephant I’ve ever seen. I remember how looking at her made me feel: safe, loved, and special.
I never understood how she made me feel until they stole me from her and she was gone.
Now I know.
When I look at other stolen elephants, I wonder if they know what it feels like to be special.
People say I’m lucky, and they’re right—I am lucky, but they don’t know why.
I’m lucky because I once felt special. Some elephants have never felt that. How would you know you’re special if no one ever told you?
You know?
Yes, I am lucky, but not because I have a bed or get fed every day. I’m lucky because I was loved and felt special. I knew who I was because my mom taught me.
I can still recognize myself, though, which not everyone can do you know. The bears here have no idea what’s staring back at them in the mirror, and cats are clueless.
Most humans think they recognize themselves, but I’m not sure what they see.
I do know that it’s not what I see when I look at them.
I remember the first time I recognized myself. It was a warm, sunny summer day. The first rains had cooled the air, making it perfect. My mom and I went to the river for a drink. Our reflections shimmered on the water’s surface.
“Oh my gosh, Mom, that’s us!” I exclaimed. My mom laughed, her trunk gently brushing over my brow—I loved when she did that. “Yes, Carlos—that’s us.” (We spoke in Elephant, but I’ll translate.)
I looked at myself and asked, “But Mom, when you look at me, how do you know it’s me? I look just like all the other kids.”
Mom laughed and said, “Not to me you don’t, sweetheart. One look at your big, beautiful brown eyes and I know you’re mine. You recognize me, don’t you?”
I laughed and said, “Of course I do! You’re the most beautiful elephant I’ve ever seen.”
Mom smiled at me with her eyes and asked, “Why do you think that?” I hadn’t really thought about why my mom was so beautiful before. I just knew she was. We’re both Burmese Pygmy Elephants, and I’m still not sure how to judge if someone is beautiful or ugly.
Humans seem to be good at it, but I’m not.
I remember looking at the skin around her eyes. She smiled so much that even when she slept, her face still looked like it was loving me.
Her trunk was beautiful too, with the inside closest to her being a little more pink. When we lay down to sleep, she’d cradle me with the pink side. I couldn’t imagine anything or anyone more beautiful.
When I was little and strayed away, I’d get scared seeing what looked like a forest of grey tree trunks moving around. But I always found her quickly. Her legs, even among a hundred others, seemed illuminated with love.
As I thought about it, I wanted to give her a good answer, but all I managed was, “Well, you…”
Mom smiled with her eyes again—Oh, I loved it when she did that—and said, “Sweetheart, I’m no different from other elephants. You think I’m beautiful because you love me. And I think you’re beautiful because I love you. We’ll always recognize each other because of our love. No matter what happens, no matter how many years go by, you’ll always be mine. Even if we can’t see each other, we’ll still love each other, and you’ll still be special because you’ll still be mine. I don’t need eyes to recognize you. My love will always find you. Nothing can change that. Ever.”
I smiled and took a big, long drink of water until I was full. I remember how full I felt—full of water and full of love.
Everything was perfect.
Later, as I closed my eyes to nap, I imagined endless summer days just like that, and all the adventures I’d have with my mom.
Back then, it was easy to dream with her around. Naps were special with her. Now, my naps are different, but back then, I knew everything was okay. I didn’t worry about anything, not even the bees.
Mom would protect me from the bees.
I never questioned it. Why would I? I didn’t know it was possible not to be safe, loved, or special. I took it for granted.
I’d like to think I’m a smart elephant.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: pay attention to what you take for granted. We seem to take good things for granted until they’re gone, and we get used to bad things until that’s all we have left.
Don’t get me wrong—taking things for granted can be good. I wish I had someone to take for granted now. If my mom were here, I’d close my eyes, take her for granted, and nap.
I remember the last time I took her for granted. We were in the watering hole, and she showed me how to stand on my hind legs and lift my front legs. I kept falling backward into the water, laughing at how funny we looked—two pygmy elephants trying to dance like bears.
Afterwards, in the shade of a giant mango tree, my mom and I lay down for a nap. Snuggling under her chin, her big trunk cradling me with love, I giggled thinking about us toppling over in the watering hole.
It’s funny how you can go to sleep in one world and wake up in another. That’s why I always say a silent prayer before I open my eyes. That night, I fell asleep giggling, thinking I’d wake up in the same world.
But that was the night the elephant thieves came and changed everything.
“Carlos,” my mom whispered urgently, “Don’t move.” I opened my eyes to pitch darkness. Even with my good night vision, I couldn’t see a thing.
“Mom?” I whispered back, fear creeping into my voice. “Shhh.” Her whisper was sharp. “Don’t make a sound. Stay still. I’ll be right back.”
I had never heard my mom’s voice like that before. I lay there, frozen, unable to see anything. The only sound was my own heart as I held my breath.
Suddenly, I heard the growl of enormous animals, and then there was light—so much light that I couldn’t see. It was like the sun was shining right in my eyes from every direction. After blinking a few times, I realized it wasn’t the sun. It was coming from gigantic metal beasts with big yellow eyes, appearing out of nowhere in the dark.
Holding my breath, I saw a human figure emerge from one of the metal beasts. He moved toward me, his outline against the blinding yellow lights. He stopped, looking right at me, then raised a big stick to his shoulder, pointing it at me. I heard a “Cht-cht.”
Suddenly, my mom charged out of the darkness, head down, moving fast. She barreled into the man, her trunk wrapping around him, hurling him into the air like a rag doll. I heard a loud bang that left my ears ringing. The man landed with a heavy thud.
My mom stood over him, her face a mix of rage and fear. She lifted her right leg over the man’s head, ready to crush it. Without looking at me, her gaze fixed on the man, she yelled in the most ferocious voice I’d ever heard,
“Run, Carlos!” Her eyes darted to me, glowing with fire from the yellow lights of the metal beasts. They weren’t filled with love like usual; this time, they weren’t smiling at all. “Run!” It was the last word I heard her say.
Even though elephants can't technically run—we always have at least one foot on the ground—I got up as fast as I could and bolted into the dark jungle.
My legs wobbled with fear, but I kept going until they burned. I told myself to keep going, believing my mom would find me like she always did.
I was little; I didn’t know any other possibility.
Suddenly, everything started spinning, and I stumbled into a ravine. I hit the ground hard, scraping my head and knees. Covered in mud and plants, I decided to stay hidden and wait for my mom.
My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else, and tears blurred my vision. As I lay there, the thought of my mom worrying about me filled my mind.
I thought about the rumble call—the deep, powerful sound older elephants use to communicate over long distances when someone is lost. I knew I was too young to try, but I wished with all my heart that I could make that sound to let her know where I was.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. It seemed like hours before I heard the thieves shout, "There he is! Get him!”
Panic surged through me. I got up and moved as fast as I could until I heard a loud "Bang!" and felt a sharp, searing pain in my right leg.
I tried to call for my mom, but mud filled my mouth as I fell face-down.
I tried to lift my trunk to breathe, but I was crying so hard it was filled with phlegm. I spat it out, took a deep breath, and cried, “Mom!” But it was like one of those dreams where you try to scream but nothing comes out.
Only it wasn’t a dream.
It was way worse.
My body, trembling with fear, stopped moving and felt like it was filling with heavy sand from head to toe. A strange sensation spread through me—like fire and ice racing through my veins, making me feel heavier and weaker with every heartbeat.
I didn't know what was happening, but it was terrifying. I tried to cry out for my mom, but instead of yelling, my lips barely moved as I whispered, “Mom… Mom… Mom.”
The world around me started to blur, colors and shapes blending together. My vision tunneled as darkness crept in from the edges.
A shadow loomed over me.
A face came into view, eyes locking onto mine with a cold, piercing stare. I didn't recognize him, but his scent—a mixture of sweat, dirt, and something metallic—filled my nostrils. He leaned closer, and his breath was hot and sour.
“You can keep the others,” he yelled to the other thieves in a dark, gravelly voice. “This one’s mine.”
I whimpered, “Mom… Mom… Mom,” as the darkness closed in.
The last thing I heard was the man yelling, “Get the box!”
