Elephants, Tigers, and the Philosophy of Life

Our morning in the park was very enjoyable, meandering through dirt roads that crisscross the 900 square km park stopping now and then to look at laughing monkeys lounging high in the trees, four species of deer grazing amongst the shrubs, brilliant emerald peacocks (and accompanying homely peahens) picking their way across the grasslands, water buffalo sloshing through muddy streams, and many, many birds including a superbly named changeable hawk eagle.  We had an accompanying guide who spoke little English but between Shashi’s translations and his frequently referenced species guidebook we were able to get the full flavor of the preserve. 

 

Around 9 o’clock we received word that a tiger show had opened and we rushed to the central complex to buy tickets.  By the time all was settled, we had about 50 cars and an hour wait ahead of us, so we settled in for a breakfast of boiled eggs, toast, and fruit along with a few amusing encounters with a family of nearly domesticated monkeys.  At one point during a group restroom break the kids were left alone in one of jeeps and were accosted by a grumpy monkey searching for food.  They managed to frighten him off, but not before he left a little calling card on the driver’s side door handle…  Before long we were off and formed yet another orderly line along the road next to the elephant pickup/dropoff area.  The tiger was barley 30 meters from the road, which called for a code of silence which was actually enforced quite strictly.  On our turn we mounted the beasts by ladder for a gentle, rolling ride through a gully and up a hill to a big shrub in which the tiger lay, patiently contemplating the best means to extract himself from his observational predicament.  I was on an elephant with the kids, but they put me to shame with their mature excitement as I was bounding around twisting this way and that to get a look and a picture of his regal eyes gazing at us from his woody chambers.  Suddenly, the tiger decided he’d had enough and made a break for it, leaping over a few fallen trees trying to make his way back into the forest.  But our elephant guides were well-versed in tiger trickery and, after a brief and exhilarating chase, had him subdued again in an exposed patch of sun.  You better believe it was snap snap from there and I hope you’ve been able to see some of the great images we captured of a magnificent animal (I’d put them up but I still haven’t figured out this silly photo feature).  On our way back to the hotel I had a funny realization:  that elephant ride was the most organized and efficient system of transportation we’d had so far in India.  I guess economically (come on, you knew it was coming…) the incentives are well aligned for the park officials to get the maximum number of viewers of the maximum number of tigers because you better believe they make maaaad bank off the foreign tourists (our rates were 3x higher than native rates).  The drive back to Mungeli was again well-packed and bumpy but this time also laced with a slew of 70s and 80s dance tunes and an absolutely fantastic display of sleeping power by Shaiku, who’s unbelievably limp body was draped across my lap, his head smacking against my knee in a mirrored response to the road’s concavities. 

 

Being New Year ’s Eve the Henrys naturally put on a grand party for the staff and their visiting family and guests.  Again, our staunch American manners had an interesting time adapting to the relaxed nature of the gathering, without being chaperoned we grappled with terse social interactions, overly conscious of cultural taboos.  Hahaha but the food was excellent, BBQ chicken wings, German potato salad, and some kind of awesome fruit pudding, an obviously welcoming (and appreciated) gesture to appease our blander palates.  Anil played a fine host, flitting around the house, carrying the party with him, but the best way to engage strangers is to give them an activity, and fireworks being left to the kids, we soon found ourselves corralled around the karaoke machine.  Unfortunately for our tone-deaf group, the Henry clansmen are massive musicians and the rules of etiquette required our participation.  But Tadd did us proud, belting out renditions of classic rock songs that I didn’t realize had reached India, and closing with a group performance of YMCA much to the other guests’ amusement.  We left a little early, citing exhaustion, but in hindsight I wish we had stuck it out for the ball-drop.  In fairness though, we went down hardly bothered by the ripping explosions that speckled the wee hours of 2009.

 

(after writing this next section, I realized its incredible cliché, but I think the cloth image works, so just let it happen) The next morning, as I lounged on my bed after our first proper night’s rest in too many days to remember, I admired the wonderful designs on my sheets and spent some time thinking about the beautiful and intricate things we create, putting tangible form to an expressive desire.  Our journey through India so far had been a whirlwind of sightseeing and entertainment, a tourist trip which, while exciting, was not the sort of experience I had expected.  I know I was not alone in wanting to get into life at the hospital and start giving back.  From there my thoughts progressed to the relationships among action, beauty, and purpose, a theme which continued through the New Year’s church service where familiar ritual was shared in a tongue we did not understand. As the women of the congregation stood taking communion I was taken in by the intricate beauty, sharp colors, and flowing forms of their saris.  The superb quality of their dress stood in sharp contrast with the surrounding conditions, where rustic simplicity is the rule.  Expanding this idea further highlights a broader, seemingly contradictory, condition I’ve discovered in life, where it is often necessary to go back to our physical and emotional basics to find true spiritual refreshment (a lesson I call the Walden theme after living through it in the Smokies).  Our so-called pilgrimage was for exactly this purpose, and it was marvelous to behold in that special moment.  But recognition of truth is only the first step in crafting a life, as learning to distinguish the worth of threads is only the first step in producing a precious cloth.  Submission to truth is our true purpose, and we must learn this trade from a master before we can hope to ply it ourselves. Discipline and hardship become our allies as we become comfortable being uncomfortable, unlearning self to make space for love.  After submitting to simplicity and opening our worlds we are finally made worthy to take our turn at the loom and with aching fingers and sweaty brows to pass the shuttle in rhythmic labor, and by finding joy in the outcome, coming to find joy in the process – weaving an intricate pattern with our devotional threads to create a design with our lives, our sweetest silk, which will be pleasing for God to behold.

 

~ by packerk on January 8, 2009.