This is a story of an elephant who became a rogue,
And I, a young lad of 14, as was then in vogue,
accompanied my father the local Forest Brass,
On a forest inspection, and noticed on the grass,
On that day of 19 Jan 1970, the footprint of a JUMBO,
With dew all around it, and none in the hollow.
Do you realize dear reader, why this is a clear sign,
Of an elephant’s presence at that point of time?
We were in a jeep with passengers one less than nine,
And ahead of us was a fire line,
Which as you know, is a clearing between two woods,
That prevents one from burning if the other should,
Across the fire line, lay a freshly uprooted tree,
When one of the passengers yelled a sound eerie,
“HATHI” he shouted, and we all looked ahead,
Our hearts pierced with fear and dread,
A jolt shook us, and numbed my mind,
Before it was realised, we had been struck from behind,
The driver “Giri” in a flash of divine inspiration,
Thought once of jumping out,
but bravely reverted back to his obligation,
And drove right into the river a few miles ahead.
And through a poacher’s track which we just then found,
Into the security of “Banbasa” army camp,
Which from that place, Guliapani was ten miles around.
The Lord spared us so that I may write this story,
And ponder why men or mammoths make lives sorry,
Is it the degradation of those who were once held in esteem,
That make rogues behave the way they do, and let off steam?