Modoc: The True Story of the Greatest Elephant That Ever Lived

  After three weeks in the bamboo they emerged onto a vast plain. It stretched as far as the great mountains to the south. To the east and west the country merely sloped away and disappeared into nothingness.

  Its vastness seemed ominous, giving Bram a crawling feeling down his back caused by fear of the unknown. He knew the teak forest lay far away on the other side of the mountains, so after filling his camel-skin water bags and checking to see he had enough food supplies, he took a deep breath and said, “Move up, Mo!”

  And off they went, into an arid region known as the Klippzanii. Few trees grew in the vastness, most of them barren and wind-torn. The grass was sparse but enough for Mo if they stopped occasionally.

  Two hours out found them traversing a small stream of water that flowed off the mountains. Modoc took long sucking gulps of the cool mountain water.

  The second day was the same as the first. Thank God for the stream, thought Bram. Though it was small, it was constant.

  The days grew hotter, and Mo walked in the streambed, whisking the water against her sides, under her legs, showering her back along with Bram, who appreciated every drop. He soon rigged a linen sheet over the top of the howdah, forming a small enclosure, letting the sides of the sheet hang down over Mo’s sides, the top of her head, and her back, to protect her as well. He couldn’t see out but no matter, Mo would never leave the water and it was heading in the right direction. The constant showers wet the sheets and kept them both fairly cool. The heat rose from the barren floor, causing mirages to form against the horizon. It was like Dante’s Inferno with the images dancing in the sweltering void. The huge pachyderm silhouette against the evening sky appeared as a tribute to ancient times.

  Bram lay out on his mat. A slight breeze blew through the wet linen, cooling the space within. Mo’s monotonous swaying cast a drowsiness over him and he lapsed into a tranquil sleep. She seemed to know when he slept, as her motion never faltered but kept even, steady and free of disturbances.

  Bram’s dreams were of all rhythmic things, the tossing of the ship in the ocean, his mother rocking him as a child, the circus trucks lumbering across the countryside, sitting with his father in the big elephant truck, rolling with Gertie in the summer grass.

  One afternoon as Bram dozed on his mat atop Modoc’s back she stopped…abruptly! He woke to the sound of voices.

  “Oh! mighty sahib,” said a thick, deep, uncultured voice, trying to act theatrical. A variety of rough voices began to address the covered howdah.

  “Do you travel alone in this aberration?”

  “Are there two?”

  “Three?”

  “Maybe a woman?”

  “Pretty?”

  “Huh?” A titter of laughter could be heard from around Mo.

  “You must be very wise to travel and not see where you are going.” More laughter.

  “You must now come out of your apartment, m’lady…or ma’am.”

  Uproarious laughter.

  “Now, if you are alone and have no master, then we, with your permission, of course, will oblige you.”

  Bram heard a rustle of bodies running around. He heard four, maybe five, voices talking in a language he did not understand. Some whispered, others chuckled. Bram felt Modoc’s body tense. Reaching into one of the bags he pulled out his small knife and slipped it into his waistband. Cautiously he lifted an edge of the sheet. The tip of a long snake-curved steel blade pointed inches from his face. Three dirty, unshaven, jagged-toothed, grinning faces looked up the blade at Bram.

  They were dressed in bits and pieces of ragged cloth, each a different color, with long black dreadlocks that were in total disarray. A sloppy stained rag resembling a turban bedecked the tobacco-chewing leader called Hamid. He stood on a piece of broken tree log so he could reach the howdah with his sword. There were two other men, one leaning against a skeleton tree, the other standing at Modoc’s head, resting the tip of his saber on her toe. Five in all.

  “What have we here?” smirked Hamid, running the tip of the blade against Bram’s cheek. “Why, you are just a young cock. Where did you get this beast, huh? Did you steal it? Ha! Yes, of course you did, no boy would have such a fine beast as this.” He spat, some of it landing on one of his men.

  “Hey, what you do, that’s not nice, I—”

  Hamid whipped the blade from Bram to the man’s side, knocking him flat. The man grabbed his side but found no blood.

  “Next time I’ll use the edge, you idiot.” The sword sliced the distance back to Bram’s cheek.

  Bram decided that he was the boss not because of his brains, but because the men feared him.

  “What do you want?” asked Bram in as adult a voice as he could muster.

  The quiet of the void was rocked by their outburst of laughter.

  “We want him…or,” looking under Mo, “is it a her?”

  “She is mine and not for sale, so get out of the way. We’re in a hurry.”

  “Ah, but a little cub like you wouldn’t leave us poor starving men out here without any food or transportation.” The whinny of a horse was heard nearby. Gently pushing the sword aside, Bram leaned out and saw three horses tied to some shrubbery.

  “You come down now, boy.”

  “No, you let us be.” He started to give the signal to Mo to move on.

  “No! No! That would not be wise. ’Cause then my good friend Ranji would have to do a bad thing.”

  Bram saw one of the men had worked his way around to Mo’s hind foot and laid his small dagger against her back tendon. “You have heard of the Achilles’ heel, haven’t you, boy? One slice in the right place and the foot becomes useless…for life. Even the biggest animal can fall from one quick cut, never to rise again.”

  “If you want her, why would you hurt her so badly that she can’t walk? What good would she be to you then?”

  The bandit, embarrassed by the boy’s logic, waved his saber in frustration. “Look, boy, I have no patience, especially with one so young as you. Now are you coming down?”

  “No!”

  Hamid raised his sword as though to strike Mo but instead slid the blade under the howdah cinch strap and with one slice, cut it in two. Then with the help of the other men he pulled on it until it, along with Bram, came crashing down. Modoc whipped around, not knowing what had happened. Bram’s supplies were strewn everywhere.

  The bandits rushed in, pushing, searching, pocketing, fighting among themselves over the items. Bram tried to stop them but was thrown aside. Hamid grabbed him by the arm and put his dagger to Bram’s throat.

  “Look here, sahib!” The big man’s voice was now firm and resonant. “You go to that tree, sit down, and leave us be.”

  Bram, weighing the situation, realized there was nothing he could do. He wrenched his arm free and headed for the tree. Modoc, seeing him go, emitted a low rumble and started to follow him.

  “It’s okay, Mo.” She stood where she was, not quite certain what was happening.

  “You are a very smart boy to do that. I am impressed, veeerrry impressed,” said the man who had been hit by the sword.

  The ransacking was over quickly. Everything lay askew on the ground.

  “There is nothing of value here,” yelled one of the men, “but the elephant.”

  Bram looked up. “What do you mean? What…what are you saying?”

  Two of the men mounted their horses. The others pulled ropes from their belongings.

  Hamid walked over to Bram. “I do not like whites. Especially young males—and especially you in particular. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “We are going to leave and we are going to take your elephant with us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now if you or your elephant do anything to provoke us, I will shoot your elephant first so you can see her die, and then I will shoot you. Do you understand that?”

  Bram stood in shock. Hamid picked him up by his shirt, holding him close. Bram smelled t
he stench of his body.

  “Do you?” he yelled.

  Before Bram could speak, a mighty rumble was heard. Modoc, head low, her trunk balled up, came full tilt at Hamid. Dropping Bram, he screamed.

  “Stop her! Stop her—or I will shoot!”

  From out of the rags on his body he hastily pulled a gun, aiming it at Modoc.

  “No! No! Stop!” Bram screamed at her. Just as she was about to lift Hamid, Mo stopped and stood shuddering, a low deep guttural sound coming from deep inside her.

  Hamid, badly shaken, brushed himself off and spoke with a quiver in his throat he could not hide.

  “You stupid imbecile, you made her do that! We are taking your elephant! Now either you help us or I’ll kill her where she stands.”

  “If you kill her, what have you gained?”

  “It is our code, jackass! That which we cannot have, neither will our enemies, and you, sahib, are now our enemy. Now do with your beast what you will and let’s get on with it.”

  Bram went to Modoc, smoothing her anger. “Easy Mo, it’s, okay, easy girl.” She answered him in squeaky baby talk, her trunk wrapped around him.

  Bram knew he had no choice. He figured they wouldn’t hurt Modoc unless she did something to put their lives in danger. It was obvious they knew nothing about elephants, and for that reason alone, the situation could become very dangerous. He figured he would follow them, maybe get some help or even steal her back. But first he had to get her to go with them.

  “Mo, I want you to go with these men. They won’t hurt you.” He knew she didn’t understand him literally but could feel his intention. It was also important that the men thought she understood him. Mo listened not to the words but instead to Bram’s intentions, which to her spoke louder.

  Hamid and his men circled Modoc. Two horsemen threw ropes over her head. The others stood ready to leave.

  “Let’s hope you have taught her well,” Hamid said as he mounted his horse.

  He took his position in front. Two on horseback rode on either side of Mo, each with ropes stretched out around her neck. The other two brought up the rear. Hamid looked back, saying to Bram, “You are one smart fellow, and for that I give you your life and your belongings. Do not be stupid and try to follow, sahib.”

  Then he gave a signal to his men. They moved out. As Mo felt the ropes pull on her neck, she stood her ground until Bram told her, “Move up, Mo, it’s okay, girl. Move up!”

  She moved ahead slowly, looking back, not understanding why Bram was not coming. “Bye, Mosie…bye.”

  She answered back with a squeak. They rode off over the vast flat land.

  Bram stood and watched, hoping Modoc didn’t try to escape. His only hope was to think of something quickly.

  A warm wind had blown in from the north, whipping the dust into the air. The simmering heat from the desert floor rose and appeared to create grotesque images on the horizon. Lakes without water, trees without roots, forms of fantasy concocted by one’s imagination. Bram watched as the men, Mo, and the horses became one long thin silhouette, dissolving, separating, connecting in a string of occurrences. All unreal surrealistic changes, things that were once living forms were now but thoughts of a heat wave.

  From the waning images there appeared a hovering dot. It grew as its form changed and separated. Pieces came together, then parted, until finally a steady picture of something coming was formed. Bram wiped his eyes, the dust having blurred his vision.

  Something was coming! Mo? Did she escape? Or was it a rider coming back? For what? Were they coming back to kill him? Of course, that’s it! They couldn’t do it with Mo there, and he had seen their faces and could identify them to the authorities!

  The rider was coming fast now, his rags of clothing blowing in the wind.

  Bram’s heart raced, gulping his breath. He could see the man now. Sword drawn, he leaned forward in the saddle, intent on his mission.

  Cupping his hands to his lips and with all the vocal power he could possibly summon, Bram screamed, “MMMOOODDDOOOCCC!!!”

  His voice broke the stillness like a crystal falling, shattering into a thousand pieces. The scream carried on the hot wind, blowing against the dark rider, past the mirages to the giant ears of Modoc. Ears that could hear what no mortal can. She stopped, stood stock-still. Her head was held up high, the tip of her trunk stretched into the wind, then it dropped. The tip started a rhythmic thumping in the dirt.

  Thump…thump…thump. And from the innermost recess of her being came an ancient primitive sound, a whine of anguish seldom heard by any living thing…uttered only at the time before a kill. The two horses, one on each side of Modoc, sensed death. They were privy to the voice that only animals hear. They carried their riders who still held the ropes looped around Mo’s head. In front, Hamid forced his steed to strut a proud and indignant step. The other was behind Modoc. In one great terrifying explosion of energy, she spun her huge body, the ropes pulling the horses off their feet, spilling the men. One man was picked up and whipped to the ground. Stepping on his head, she encircled her trunk around his body, and with a quick snap dismembered him. She stepped on the other’s head, squashing it instantly.

  Modoc had never killed before, but the voice the wind carried gave her the right.

  Hamid, in sheer panic, threw his knife with abandonment. It struck Modoc with a thud, blood gushing down her chest. He reached for his gun but with one mighty thrust, Modoc picked him up, threw him under her knee, and knelt on him! His body popped open, its innards exploded. The last man ran away screaming for Allah. Modoc didn’t pursue him; it was not revenge she sought. She was on her way, racing for Bram, trumpeting as she ran.

  The rider, unaware of the fate of his comrades, raced his steed to a skidding stop. He was off his horse before the dust settled. Bram recognized him as the “spat on” bandit. He slowly slid a long saber from its sheath and moved toward Bram.

  “How can you kill when it’s against your religion?” asked Bram, trying to avoid the inevitable.

  “What do you know about us? I kill for survival and with you alive, my survival cannot be assured.”

  The man took a swipe at Bram, who, being quick and young, sidestepped the thrust. He thrust again. Bram ducked and ran for the tree. The bandit moved in and with a mighty swipe barely missed Bram, but took off a three-inch limb with one blow! Bram raced to the scattered items from the howdah and as the man dashed in, he threw them at him: clothes, rope, foodstuffs, anything he could reach. The bandit, furious, came at Bram with a vengeance. Bram slipped and fell, trying his best to stay out of the reach of the saber.

  Then he saw…Modoc! Dust flying, ears flapping, coming fast. He had to keep out of reach for just a while longer. He picked up a long piece of bamboo and with all his strength hurled it at the horse. It hit him on the rump and he took off, racing across the plains. The bandit was seething! He approached Bram with his saber, held with two hands. Bram screamed. Modoc’s trumpeting answer was heard by the bandit. Looking over his shoulder, the bandit saw the rage of an entity of nature, a blur of dust and legs, running full out, ears forward, sweat flying, trunk loose, whipping in every direction. She was a wild thing, a killer about to kill, a god of nature. Bram rolled away. The bandit stood facing Modoc in total disbelief, his weapon hanging loose in his hand.

  Mo never stopped. She ran directly into and over the man; the body burst, his blood squirting…body parts were thrown in all directions. Bram had never seen Mo kill anything before. Her vengeance scared him. He had never realized her strength and stood in awe. Mo stomped and slid her feet across the body until it was a thin hide of an unidentifiable thing. Then with the blood still running down her chest, she came to Bram, encircling him with her bloody trunk, holding him tight. Her body trembled from the heat and exhaustion of the battle. Bram reached up and quickly and smoothly pulled the knife from her chest, her blood oozing down his hand. He laid his head against her quivering leg muscles. His body and heart flooded with the impact of i
t all. He broke into an uncontrollable sobbing…a mixture of love and grief.

  24

  A HUNDRED YARDS DOWNSTREAM Bram found a place where the water widened. With Bram scooping the dirt with his hands and Modoc repeatedly dragging a front foot, they succeeded in creating a fair-sized shallow pool. He had Mo lie down in the middle so he could pour cool water over her injury.

  Sucking in the water, she blasted it deep into the six-inch wound. She sometimes winced from the pain. Using a scrap of cloth, he cleaned and dried the hole as best he could. He knew he had to get her to a doctor to prevent infection from setting in. Cutting off a piece of the damaged cinch, he fashioned a huge bandage, which he put around her chest, supported by another rope over her shoulder.

  Due to Modoc’s weakened condition, he decided to leave the howdah behind. Putting anything worth salvaging into two bags, he tied a rope between them and hung them around his neck. Bram walked by Mo’s side, leaving a pool of crimson red as they followed the stream, heading toward the mountains in the near distance.

  It had been two days since the abduction and Modoc had slowed down considerably, occasionally dragging her feet in the dirt. Her ears hung forward, head low, eyes droopy. Her bleeding had subsided but there was considerable swelling and pus oozing from the wound.

  On the morning of the third day they arrived at the edge of the mountains, where a quaint village nestled near a small sheltered valley. The community, poor as it was, existed on the side of a hill that had not been graded. No one bothered to cut horizontal floors in the houses to walk on, but rather built them on the natural slant of the hill. Although not too severe a slope, it nevertheless caused a ball to roll from one end of a room to the other with ease. The slant was everywhere, and the local citizens didn’t seem to mind walking, sleeping, sitting, or eating in this strange position. Bram was to discover the reason for this unusual phenomenon was the yearly floods that came with the monsoon season. The downpours were so heavy, the floods would roar down the mountainside, literally lifting some of the old structures off the ground. Trenches were built to avert the onslaught but it proved too powerful, and hence holes were cut into the backs of the buildings to allow the water to run its course through the houses without washing away the floors, or the houses themselves. Seeing it happen every year, they had decided long ago not to bother with repairs.