Elephant Aid International

Category: Mahouts

Progress Report on Chain-Free Corral Project at Kasara Hattisar

The framework for all six chain-free corrals at the Kasara hattisar is in place.

Support and brace posts are concreted. Gateposts mark the entrance to each new corral.

Heart work

Eyeing the progress of this project, my heart pounds. Here it comes, that joyfully intoxicating feeling cursing through my veins.

My eyes transport the image to my heart. My heart responds, sending a warm glow through my body, filling my eyes with tears. My heart swells with the promise of a better life for these elephants.

In this moment I stand in my personal space of pure peace. I caress it. Breathe it in deeply. I don’t attempt to own it, only experience it, knowing the feeling is a gift meant to be experienced not possessed.

Some people meditate, others run, cycle or climb mountains to connect to that place within where they feel most themselves, most centered, most peaceful.

This is the place of autonomy and personal freedom.

Such activity can literally become an addiction, in the best sense of the word.

Watching the chain-free corrals come to life before my eyes is my addiction. Knowing that my actions help reduce the suffering of captive-held elephants brings me great joy! It is heart work, soul fulfilling work. My meditation.

At times the joy is overwhelming and I just have to cry. Seeing elephants gain even a semblance of autonomy moves me to do more. Knowing that we are able to help bring some peace and freedom to their lives drives me.

I may never know any of these elephants personally. But that is not the point of my work. I am not here to expand my elephant family. I am here to better the lives of these elephants.

They know we are helping them. That is good enough for me.

Construction continues

The next step is to string the wire between support posts and hand-build the topes (post protectors).

Each corral is one full acre in size. It is equipped with six strands of wire equaling nearly one mile of wire per corral.

Ditches will be dug to bury the wires that enable each corral to operate independently.

Last, the steel box that contains and protects the energizer and batteries will be installed and wired to the solar panel that powers the system.

A perfect vantage point

From the open-air raised platform that I have claimed for my new office, I survey the work site. What a gift to witness this miracle unfolding right before my eyes.

A humble thanks to Kamal Kunwar, Chitwan National Park chief conservation officer, the entire hattisar staff, our IBEX fence crew and all of you who have contributed to this worthwhile project.

Together we are improving elephant welfare, showing due respect to these wise, kind and self-aware beings who grace our planet and our lives.

March 22, 2014
Himal Gaj

Himal Gaj is a six-year-old captive born elephant. His father is the dominant wild bull in the area. His mother is a wild born, captive resident of the elephant breeding center at Khosor, Chitwan, Nepal.

Himal Gaj was one of five young elephants trained together at the breeding center several months ago. Until their formal training, they lived with their mothers.

All five elephants were chained from the age of three months. Chaining is the practice all over Asia. Domestic livestock and captive elephants are tied or chained. It is the cheapest way to keep them in one place.

The training technique used with Himal Gaj and the others at the breeding center was a deviation from the traditional pujan, a brutal breaking of spirit. Introduced by a foreign NGO, a mixture of traditional methods was used—including the use of koonkie elephants, negative reinforcement and punishment—combined with positive reinforcement techniques known to be successful with domestic horses.

Unfortunately, once training began, Himal Gaj showed signs of aggression and resistance. He was frightened by the training process and responded poorly to his mahouts. A few months later his training was deemed unsuccessful.

No video, photographic or written records exist to document the daily training process and Himal Gaj’s progress and difficulties.

But it does not take such documentation to see that Himal Gaj is a very insecure individual.

Although Himal Gaj responds well when his mahout is riding, his weakness is responding to commands when his mahout is on the ground.

Himal Gaj is a good example of the importance of sound training techniques, mahout training and follow through.

Captive elephants are not domesticated—they are wild animals living in a captive environment. Even generations born in captivity are not domesticated. The scientific process of breeding selected individuals for specific traits is the process required to create a domestic species. This has never been undertaken with elephants.

In the case of all elephants born at the breeding facility in Khosor, the mothers are wild born living in captivity and the fathers are wild born living in the wild.

Himal Gaj’s mahouts are as gentle as I have seen anywhere. They are patient but frustrated. What the training process failed to do was give them the tools necessary to help Himal Gaj learn.

As a result, all are left feeling like failures. Without intervention, Himal Gaj is doomed to be a dangerous elephant for the remainder of his life.

The good news is that the mahouts and Kamal Kunwar, the chief commanding officer of Chitwan National Park, are receptive to Himal Gaj receiving additional training. His private training course will begin soon.

This is such exciting news. I feared Himal Gaj would remain a lost cause in the minds of the mahouts. But before his chain-free corral is completed Himal Gaj, will be well on his way to understanding what is expected of him and his mahouts will have gained the humane tools to understand and assist him in his training process.

March 20, 2014
Elephant abuse in Nepal: Are the mahouts really to blame?

It’s easy to look at an elephant shackled by both front feet to the ground, with open wounds, and blame the mahout.

But I challenge you to learn the facts.

Elephants belong to hotel owners

In Chitwan, Nepal, mahouts do not own elephants. Elephants are the private property of hotel owners, who use them to augment their income by offering elephant back safaris to overnight guests and daytrippers coming to Chitwan in search of fun and adventure.

Elephant back safaris not only provide a bountiful financial benefit for the owner, they are actually the life’s blood of Chitwan.

In Sauraha, Chitwan’s tourist destination, every shopkeeper, restaurant owner, hotel, bar, service provider, wilderness guide, money changer, street vendor and orphanage owe their survival to these elephants. Many falsely claim that without elephant safaris, this tourist destination would cease to exist.

Grueling work schedule

All day long, 24/7, mahouts and elephants give safari rides in the community forest.

Mahouts train, feed and ready the elephants for the rides. It is a grueling job for both. Up at 4:30am, the pair sets out on the long trek to the safari loading area as the rising sun lights up the morning sky.

During what is supposed to be a one-hour lunch and rest period, the elephants instead are taken to a riverfront area where tourists mount them to have their photo taken.

Walking back and forth to the safari ride area, tourist bathing area and home stable, while carrying hundreds of pounds of tourists for hours at a time, takes its toll on elephant and mahout alike.

At dusk, and even into the dark of night, elephants can be seen silhouetted against the sky trudging down the paved roads of Chitwan toward their home stable.

Mahouts: Overworked, underpaid and devalued

Elephant owners know nothing about elephants and rely on the mahouts to keep the elephants alive and working without killing tourists. This is a heavy burden to put on overworked, underpaid and devalued employees.

When mahouts “ask for more,” be it food for themselves or the elephants, they are chastised. Many owners view the mahouts as stupid, uneducated and unmotivated and blame them for the elephant’s unsanitary living conditions and poor health.

Yet mahouts are not provided even the most basic supplies to ensure the health and wellbeing of the elephants in their care. Owners fail to supply nutritious food but blame the mahouts for the elephant’s poor health. Stables are rancid cesspools because no provision is made for waste disposal. Many stables don’t even have a source of fresh water. For this, the mahout is unjustly blamed.

A marginalized community

The truth is that the mahouts are a marginalized community. The custom of treating them as poorly as the elephants is woven into the fabric of society and their living conditions are a mirror image of those of the elephants.

Mahouts learn their trade on the job, from senior mahouts. Their lot in life dictates they do as they are told without question. They hit the elephants because they are taught they must in order to ensure the elephant does not kill them.

Still, this does not excuse how the mahouts mistreat the elephants.

Abuse can be eliminated

Through education and culture shifting, elephant abuse can be eliminated.

Demonizing either owners or mahouts is not the solution.

The first step is understanding why the situation exists and accepting the challenge to help move culture forward.

Owners must be held responsible and mahouts and tourists must be educated.

This will result in improved welfare for the elephants in Chitwan.

How we can help

Developing sustainable assistance programs is essential. Live demonstrations, educational resources such as videos and manuals, translators and hands-on assistance are needed to improve mahout knowledge and understanding of new approaches to elephant care.

This is Elephant Aid International’s mission. By providing bi-annual foot trimming; training mahouts and vet techs in the skill of foot trimming; teaching positive reinforcement training philosophy and techniques; and constructing chain-free corrals, we are laying the foundation for positive change.

EAI doesn’t blame the mahouts. We give them the tools necessary to take better care of their elephants.

December 28, 2013
Foot Trimming in Bardia, Nepal

I’m back from Bardia. What an adventure!

It was a 10-hour drive through mountains on rough roads. The 19-year-old driver of our rental truck scared the daylights out of all of us with his speeding, passing trucks on blind curves and nearly missing oncoming vehicles. Oh man — it was a stressful ten hours!

But our foot trimming program was a grand success. We had a fabulous trimming team: Dr. Gairhe; Kiran the vet tech; Hira, Kirti Kali’s phanet (head mahout) from the NTNC hattisar; and I.

Our students included Chantelle, our intern; Surajan, a new friend and translator; and the vet tech from Bardia.

In two short days we trimmed the feet of 24 government and privately owned elephants.

Honestly, the condition of the privately owned elephant’s feet was criminal, similar to the privately owned elephants in Chitwan. Their pads were dry, cracked and severely overgrown. The nails were equally as dry and overgrown and many had splits and deep cracks.

Private owner, broken shelter

I am always shocked to see how poorly the privately owned elephants are kept, especially since they are the breadwinners for their owners.

The good news is that 24 more elephants received pedicures and their mahouts were introduced to foot care. With time things can change for these over-used, abused and neglected elephants…I hope.

A huge thank-you goes out to the trimming team. Without their enthusiasm and hard work we could not have accomplished our goal to provide foot care for elephants in Bardia!

You can make a difference in the life of a captive elephant by supporting our Foot Care project. Thanks for your help.

October 29, 2013
in the dark of night

A hauntingly familiar sound of clanking chains passed by my window, so close I thought perhaps my wall would be crushed. The clink clink clink of cold metal bracelets was unmistakable; an escapee was passing by my room in his effort to disappear into the freedom of the bordering National Park.

Switching off the lights to avoid attracting attention, I pushed open the screen door and stepped into the darkness.

The rattle of chains chilled me to the bone as a silhouette passed in front of me. First one and then a second, moving silently except for the clanging of the chain hobbles secured around the front ankles of the smaller elephant.

On this, the night before I leave Sauraha, I wondered why I was to witness another unbearable scene of captive elephant suffering.

The escapee had entered through the front gate at NTNC-BCC and slowed when he found himself fenced in. The second elephant, a koonki, was being used to subdue and calm the young male, whose ivory glistened in the moonlight.

When the bull stopped, the mahout began to speak in a soft but firm tone. He told his elephant, the koonki, to bite, which means to stretch out on her sternum. By assuming this vulnerable position, the elephant appeared to bring comfort to the escapee.

It was then that I saw a mahout precariously perched on top of the young bull, no doubt frightened half out of his wits, with nothing at all to secure himself.

As soon as the koonki reclined, a command was given for the bull to recline, which he did without hesitation. The reality is that he was frightened and I believe the mahouts involved realized this. As soon as he reclined the mahouts switched elephants and the koonki left silently.

A little more rattling of the chains and the hobbles were removed, and the young bull moved swiftly back from where he’d come–the government hattisar (elephant stable) next door.

Not willing to witness the brutal scene I assumed would follow, I called out into the night, no pita (don’t hit). No response. As the elephant and mahout passed my room I called out again, which was when I saw a flashlight-wielding man walking behind the elephant.

“Government center hattie (elephant)?” I asked.

“Yes, Raj, from the government center,” he politely replied.

“The elephant is afraid,” I said. ”Do not add to his misery by beating him.”

“You are foot trimming lady, right?” he asked. “You trimmed Raj a few days ago–he had a bad nail.”

“Be kind, Raj is a wild animal,” I said.

”No, not a wild elephant, government elephant,” was his reply.

“Yes, a government elephant and wild,” I said.

There we stood under a bright near-full moon discussing the fact that although these elephants are living in captivity they remain wild animals, never formally domesticated and always to remain wild. When I said they deserve to be treated with compassion because of their circumstances, the mahout nodded in polite agreement. He spoke surprisingly good English and appeared to understand what I was saying. In seconds he vanished into the darkness, leaving me to contemplate what I had just witnessed.

For some time I stood listening to hear if Raj would be brutalized for his attempted escape. But this night I would not have to be reminded of the elephant suffering that permeates this tourist destination in Nepal. The only sound that pierced the night air was the soft repetition of forest birds and chirping insects.

March 25, 2013
Back in Sauraha, Chitwan, Nepal

Working in Asia the past two years I have learned a tremendous amount about how culture and tradition affect collaborative conservation efforts. Among the most important lessons is the need to ensure project sustainability. No matter how groundbreaking or beneficial the project promises to be, it must be sustainable to be successful.

Ways to sustain the project must be identified during the planning stage, otherwise the effort put into it will have been wasted. Sustainability determines success and people ensure sustainability.

Before returning to Chitwan, I wondered if our chain-free yard pilot project for Sweetie Kali, aka Prakriti Kali, would prove to be sustainable. Although I prepared myself for less, I hoped the mahouts had truly embraced this welfare project. Success hinged on their acceptance of this approach to elephant care, which is nearly the polar opposite to their tradition.

As I approached the elephant stables I saw Sweetie Kali foraging in her personal forest. The dense scrubs were a faint memory but the mature trees were standing tall, providing shade and enrichment, just as they had when we built the yard last May.

I was pleased and honestly a bit relieved to see that the chain-free fence was in pristine condition. The staff, under the direction of Chiran Pokheral, the officer in charge, did a fabulous job of ensuring the success of our pilot project.

It’s my nature to push headlong into the next project forgetting to take a moment to bask in the glow of a collaborative project well done. It is too easy to get swept away in the excitement of something new and forget to thank the people responsible for making everything happen.

In addition to Paspat and the mahouts, who were completely receptive to the changes in their routine that a chain-free yard required, many other individuals, including Chiran Pokheral, Dr. Gairhe, Ram Kumar, Babu Ram, Nandu, Vishnu and Dibyendu and his crew, made this project possible. Without their support and assistance, this project would never have come to fruition, much less become sustainable.

Special thanks goes to Chiran Pokheral who, after securing the required clearances, made sure I had access to plumbers, electricians and day laborers, and the cooperation of everyone needed to complete the project. Without Chiran we would still be dreaming about a chain-free yard instead of watching Prakriti Kali thrive in it.

Dr. Gairhe, the senior government veterinarian, also played a key role in the project’s success. A true conservationist, Dr. Gairhe’s endorsement and oversight of the project provided the much-needed assurance at the government level.

Now that I am back in Sauraha, it’s time to identify a location for the second chain-free yard. This yard will be for Man Kali and her three-and-a-half month old calf Hem Gaj. Once again we turn to Chiran Sir, Dr. Gairhe and the NTNC staff to lead us in our effort to improve elephant welfare in Nepal.

November 3, 2012
Bahabur’s surgery

Oct 17^th

[Warning: This post includes graphic photos.]

My first morning in Assam, I awoke to learn there was an elephant emergency.

Thirty-five-year-old, Bahabur, a skilled koonki (elephants trained to assist mahouts in the capture, training and management of wild elephants) who only days before successfully pulled a wild rhino from a mud bog nearly lost his right ear in a fight with a wild bull elephant.

Bahabur is intimately familiar with both captive and wild elephants. He lives with a non-related herd of koonki elephants whose job it is to assist their wild kin by participating in human-elephant conflict mitigation.

When wild elephants emerge from the forest in search of food and water, they raid crops and create havoc. In an effort to protect both elephants and humans, Bahabur and his herd, guided by their mahouts, becomes a formidable barrier between wild elephants and trouble, literally saving the wild elephants’ lives.

Many elephants are killed as result of crop raiding–poisoned, shot, electrocuted, their mouths blown apart by bomb-laden food. These koonkis are the front line of protection for their brethren and the villagers whose encroachment and farming activity create such a dangerous situation for everyone involved.

Bahabur stood motionless, his right ear ripped in half, dangling painfully under its own weight. The cartilage was ripped apart at the top ridge of his ear. The flesh that covered the back of his ear was torn from the ear, creating a huge gaping pocket between the skin and cartilage. It was a seriously gruesome sight and no doubt painful.

The attack had happened eight to 12 hours before, after Bahabur, just coming into his annual musth season, had uprooted his tether tree and headed straight into trouble.

Mahouts tracked Bahabur and received no resistance when they instructed him to return home.

The expert mahout staff managed Bahabur while Drs. Bhupen Sarma and Anjan Talukdar assessed the injury. In a natural self-medicating fashion, Bahabur had packed the gaping wound with dirt, which needed to be removed before surgery could begin.

Without complaint Bahabur reclined in a half-sitting position, giving the veterinarians access to the wound. No one yelled, hit or in any way badgered Bahabur. Instead they spoke calmly and confidently, patiently waiting for Bahabur to respond to their commands and get comfortably situated.

In soft tones, treatment instructions were given. The wound was cleaned, flushed out with clean water and Betadine.

The veterinarians and mahouts worked seamlessly together, voices low as they repaired the half-severed ear of this full-grown bull elephant.

From time to time Bahabur needed to stand in order to readjust and, I believe, to distract himself from the pain. After a few seconds standing he would once again respond to the patient command given by his mahout to recline.

With only a local anesthetic to deaden the pain in the area to be sutured, Bahabur’s ear was expertly reconstructed; the torn cartilage stitched together with sutures and ripped flesh reconnected. The result was amazing.

Bahabur is a mesmerizing example of this highly evolved, profoundly intelligent species, who for so long has captured my respect and awe.

October 18, 2012
Drag Chains and Training

Elephant’s World posted two videos on YouTube last week of me training a young elephant named Jon (you can view them here and here). I was surprised to see the videos and happy to know they exist.

Many people found the videos interesting and some have asked why Jon is wearing a chain. The chain is called a drag chain; in Asia it is used to prevent an elephant from running away. One end of the long chain is fastened around an elephant’s wrist and the other end drags behind.

When a mahout is afraid that his elephant will run away, he puts a drag chain on him. If the elephant runs, the mahout wraps the loose end of the chain around a tree to stop him.

The mahouts at Elephant’s World were resistant to non-dominance training and even more resistant to removing Jon’s drag chain. In order to be allowed to demonstrate positive reinforcement target training, I agreed to the drag chain for the first two sessions. One end of the chain was on Jon’s ankle and the other end was loose.

My adherence to their tradition gave the mahouts time to get comfortable with the new training method I offered. They observed firsthand that Jon was more interested in the training game than in trying to get away.

Jon showed such promise that after the second training session the mahouts agreed to remove the chain.

There have also been questions about the “stick” used during training. The stick, or target as it is called, is a flexible pole with a soft cushion on the end. Watch my training tutorial to see how the target is used and learn the basic concept of target training.

The goal is to teach an elephant the name/word for different body parts, such as foot, head, ear, side, etc. Once understood—which takes most elephants only minutes to grasp—the elephant will voluntarily offer that body part when asked. The key is to ask, not demand, and always provide praise and a treat as a reward.

Before watching the videos of Jon’s training sessions, I suggest that you view the tutorial a couple of times. Then watch Jon’s first training session and see if you can identify what body parts Jon is learning. Notice that when Jon becomes frustrated he walks away, but returns almost immediately to try again.

Positive Reinforcement Target Training gives the elephant the freedom to walk away, take a moment to reflect on what is happening and return when he is ready to try again. Walking away reduces frustration and increases the elephant’s willingness to participate.

You will also notice in the video that Jon offers behaviors–kneel and lie down. This is common in initial training sessions. Many times the elephant will offer what s/he already knows before starting to “problem solve” and figure out what the trainer is trying to teach.

Learning to think for themselves is the first thing the elephants learn. After that, training is a breeze.

August 12, 2012
Sweetie Kali’s Water Trough

Paspat, mahout supervisor

When Paspat, the mahout supervisor at National Trust for Nature Conservation, asked about a water trough for Sweetie Kali, I nearly fell off my chair. Seriously— his question was a shocker because captive elephants are not given free-choice access to anything in Asia. The belief is that allowing them to make choices will spoil them for their mahouts. The great fear is that if elephants experience a sense of freedom and are content, they will refuse to respond to their mahouts.

The fact that Paspat asked for a water trough reinforced my belief that he genuinely cares about his elephants’ welfare. Even in the United States— land of the brave, home of the free—many captive elephants are not given free-choice access to water.

I was deeply touched by Paspat’s request—so outside of the normal thinking of mahouts—and I assured him I would make it happen. The grin that spread across his face when he understood my response was priceless.

It struck me that this might be the first time Paspat was in a position to create a practice contrary to tradition. A chill ran up my spine as I looked long and hard at this man, who supported the chain-free yard concept and suggested free-choice water. Even though we do not share one word of a common language, I felt the connection loud and clear.

First stop: the concrete factory

After securing the required authorization to add a water trough to Sweetie Kali’s yard, I posed my challenge to Kiran, the veterinary tech/nail cutter extraordinaire. He was excited to help.

I explained what I needed: a sturdy, bathtub-shaped, concrete drinking trough, with inlet and outlet holes, heavy enough that Sweetie Kali cannot knock it over.

In his broken English Kiran said he knew a man who could make the trough for us. So off we went on his motorcycle, zooming down the pothole-rutted village road toward the other side of town.

We arrived at the concrete factory. There was a yard full of custom-made concrete posts for building supports and culverts used for septic tanks but I did not see anything that vaguely resembled a water trough.

I also did not see a single person.

Kiran parked his bike and charged over to a three-sided shack, calling out to someone. There was a man inside who was fast asleep.

Kiran entered the building without so much as knocking. The man, who was lying on a thin mattress on a wood-frame sleeping platform, was the soundest sleeper I ever saw. Kiran was nearly yelling—and the guy did not move. It was only when Kiran shook him that he awoke.

Midday is nap time as it is too hot to do much else. The bewildered look on the shopkeeper’s face was not as result of being woken abruptly but out of surprise to see us out and active in the sweltering heat.

The man rubbed his sleepy eyes as he sat up, trying to understand what Kiran was asking. I watched—which is how things work when you don’t speak the language—once again ever thankful for Kiran’s willingness to be my translator.

Finally the man seemed to understand what we wanted and began asking questions. Kiran included me in the three-way animated conversations, complete with crude drawing on the shop’s dirt floor. We decided on the width, length, height and wall thickness. I kept emphasizing to Kiran that it had to be heavy and strong enough that Sweetie Kali cannot pull it over or break it.

We decided on a free-standing version because if the trough was ground-level, dirt would get into it.

There was much discussion about the wall thickness and amount of steel bar required to make it strong enough. Explaining the inlet and drain holes was a bit challenging. When I finally saw the shopkeeper’s eyes light up in comprehension, I knew he understood what we wanted.

I kept pushing for an estimate but the shopkeeper was reluctant to give one. He had never created a trough before and clearly did not want to underestimate the cost. After much prodding on Kiran’s part, though, we had a bid in hand and commitment that he would start on our project the next day. I was so excited!

How would he actually make it?

At no time during the process did I think to ask how he would create the mold for the trough. He would build a frame out of two by fours and plywood and pour the concrete in, of course. How else?

The concrete factory was halfway between Kiran’s house and Sauraha. He passed the shop each morning on his way to pick me up for foot trimming and kept me apprised of the progress. Indeed, work had begun immediately, as promised, with an estimated curing time of ten days.

The wait was excruciating, so after about five days I just had to check on progress myself.

When we arrived the yard was empty. My heart sank when I saw nothing that resembled a water trough. But as we drove slowly toward the back of the yard, which borders a neighbor’s cornfield, I saw it.

The mold was not what I expected but, considering available resources, it made perfect sense. A hole the exact dimensions of the outside of the trough had been dug into the earth, then the concrete was poured and molded by hand. It was stunning!

I could not help but ask how he would get that heavy trough out of the ground. Kiran laughed and explained that several men would pull the trough from the ground by hand and load it onto a wagon for delivery. I did not think to ask how it would be off-loaded into Sweetie Kali’s yard.

The trough arrives

The day finally arrived and the wagon carrying the water trough was backed into Sweetie’s yard. All the mahouts gathered around, very willing to be of assistance.

I watched as the deliverymen discussed the best way to unload this 700-pound tub of concrete and steel. The weight and slick bottom of the trough made it a dangerous situation.

They decided to park the wagon at an angle, place a large tire on the ground just below the tailgate and slide the trough off the trailer onto the tire. I kept my nose out of the planning but two things nagged at me—the steep angle of the trailer and the weight of the trough. But, the deliverymen were in charge, so I kept my mouth shut.

Then it happened, catching the men by surprise. One tug on the trough sent it careening toward the open end of the wagon—and all the men. As it picked up speed, the men scattered. I heard my own “oh no!” pierce the silence as the trough became airborne, turned in mid-air and landed with a thump on its side, feet from its intended landing spot on the tire.

I scanned the scene to see if the trough had landed on anyone. The area was clear and everyone looked fine. But then I noticed Paspat rapidly exiting the scene with Babu Ram close behind. He was holding his hand high in the air. It was then that I saw blood running down his hand.

Paspat had caught his hand between the trough and the bed of the trailer, slicing across the top of it from thumb to baby finger. It was not a pretty sight.

Nandu fired up his motor cycle. Paspat climbed aboard, but not before washing the blood from his good hand so as not to soil the bike. With the entire group looking on in silence, Paspat was raced to the local clinic, hand held high above his head to help slow the bleeding.

The men wrestled the trough into place in a most unceremonious manner. The accident had dampened everyone’s spirits.

Within minutes we learned that Paspat had no broken bones, but the muscles in his hand were pressed back toward his wrist. The muscles were massaged back into place and he received twelve stitches. The biggest concern was infection. Paspat is diabetic so the doctor was concerned about how well he would heal.

Hand healed, trough in place

More than a week has passed and I am happy to report that Paspat’s hand healed without complication.

As for the trough, it is a work of art. Every angle is perfect, all the surfaces smooth to ensure that Sweetie does not scratch her trunk and that it is easy to keep clean. I marveled at the amount of work that went into the mold and the craftsmanship it required. I could not have been happier.

Sweetie Kali wasted no time making use of her trough. The mahouts seem to enjoy watching her almost as much as she enjoys splashing, bathing and drinking.

Some of you commented on the newspaper that covers the outside of the trough, making it look like papier mache. The newspaper was used to line the inside of the earthen mold to keep the concrete clean; now it’s nearly one with the concrete so the mahouts decided to leave it.

A huge thank-you goes to the mahouts for their willingness to try something new and to all the supporters who underwrote the cost of adding this trough to Sweetie Kali’s yard.

Thank you all so much.

June 18, 2012
On Patrol

When Nandu learned that I wanted to accompany Sweetie Kali on her anti-poaching patrol he directed me to Ram Kumar who graciously cleared my request with Paspat, the mahout supervisor. Realizing how much is lost in translation, I felt it best to experience Sweetie’s patrol duty first hand. I planned to walk instead of ride, which, for the most part, I did.

It was reassuring to watch Sweetie Kali voluntarily exit her yard without hesitation. The deepest concern shared by mahouts was that after being chain-free she would refuse to respond to her mahout. That fear has proven to be unfounded.
Puntea, Sweetie’s phonet (lead mahout) used a burlap bag to “slap off” the thick layer of fine dirt Sweetie had spent the last several hours throwing on her back. In places where the dirt was very thick he struck her firmly with blunt side of his crew pa (machete), creating an avalanche of silt cascading to the ground.

This approach to sweeping dirt off Sweetie appears a bit rough and indeed it is. But she showed no concern, moving gracefully from a lying, to half-sitting and then standing position to accommodate the process. I did catch myself questioning—for the umpteenth time–why the mahouts handle their elephants in such a rough manner. Nothing is gentle — not a touch or a word; no silent tactile moment of praise.

Reconsidering the decision to walk

In seconds we were on our way, me with a satchel of essentials — camera, water, hat, umbrella and Chap Stick — and Puntea perched on Sweetie Kali’s back with the multi-functional burlap bag as a seat cushion. He carried a small wooden switch and badly tattered umbrella. I noticed immediately that he was not carrying a bottle of water and mistakenly took it as a sign that our outing would not be rugged.

Keeping pace with Sweetie on foot was no problem. Her mahout allowed her to amble at a comfortable speed.

Our first stop was the river — spectacular. With ease, Sweetie Kali submerged herself in the water with Puntea still perched atop her back. He managed not to get so much as a toe wet — for what reason I don’t know, since it was already sweltering hot. Following one word commands, Sweetie tilted from side to side in the strong current, bobbing like a buoy.

At this point I realized my plan to make this excursion on foot was flawed. The current would make crossing a challenge but the bigger issue was slithering down the river in our direction—a large crocodile. Apologizing to Sweetie for the extra burden, I clambered aboard and we crossed safely to the opposite shore.

Grass: food and trimming tool

In front of us lay a vast grassland, high as an elephant’s eye, as the saying goes. In stark contrast, in the hazy distance rose a mountain range dense in vegetation, its forest seeming to pulsate in the early morning heat.

As Sweetie effortlessly ambled through the tall grass she reached to the side, grasped a trunkful of grass, pulled it tight and, with her next step, severed it at the soil line with a strike of her foot. All this without missing a step.

I remember watching in awe at the Sanctuary the first time I watched Jenny cutting grass in the same manner as she grazed. With each step she’d grab a trunkful of grass, casually swung her foot forward and effortlessly sever the grass with her toenails. There is quite a hypnotizing, even relaxing, rhythm to this action. The abrasive quality of grass works as a natural trimming tool; this is one way elephants keep their nails, cuticles and pads trimmed to a healthy length.

Joining the patrol

We traveled in complete silence for some time, umbrellas balanced overhead to shade ourselves from the scorching sun. But soon the silence was pierced when from out of nowhere we were joined by two young elephants and their mahouts. For the next five hours the mahouts chattered nonstop, like school girls at a slumber party. Since I don’t speak the language, I soon drifted off into my own world, taking in every scent and plant and animal sighting.

Two hours into our patrol we approached a circle of high arching trees where many elephants and mahouts had gathered. Some mahouts were sprawled out, fast asleep on elephant back, while others napped on the ground while elephants grazed close by.

In the middle of the partially shaded clearing an energetic young mahout was putting his equally young elephant through what appeared to be a training exercise.

I breathed a sigh of relief to think we were about to take a break. I was ready to continue this excursion on foot as planned. But instead of stopping we crossed through the clearing, exiting the other side.

The next hour-and-a-half was spent in serious patrolling, or at least that is how it appeared. The mahouts ventured off the trail continually, ducking under low hanging trees scouring the undergrowth for “something.” Obviously they never found what they were looking for or I would know what it was.

Rest stop

Then we came upon a circle of towering shade trees that created the perfect place for a rest stop. We no sooner disembarked when all three elephants moved outside the circle to cover their bodies with a fine layer of dirt flung effortlessly onto their backs.

I watched silently, wondering if they would exchange tactile greeting or show any sign of recognition. Although they stood centimeters from each other, they acted as if the other did not exist. The lack of physical interaction seemed so unnatural, and unfortunate. These three girls, close to the same age, have so much in common, including knowing that forming relationships with each other was discouraged by their mahouts.

They grazed the tall grass while we napped, burlap bags used as bed rolls. About fifteen minutes into our slumber Sweetie Kali tiptoed over to my sleeping spot. I felt her approach. When realizing she intended to make a personal visit I casually propped myself up into a sitting position from where I could quickly stand if need be — and cleared my throat. I would have loved to share a special moment with Sweetie but the truth is, we do not have a relationship and having her so close could be dangerous.

I know from experience that even while asleep, mahouts are on high alert. Hearing my unspoken warning sign, Puntea got to his feet and Sweetie retreated to the company of the other elephants.

My role

One trade-off that I have reconciled myself with is that I am a distant figure in the lives of these elephants. It is not appropriate to insert myself into their lives. I am here to improve their welfare. It is not about me having the chance to form a close relationship with them; it is about me encouraging the mahouts to form a healthy relationship with them. When we establish the retirement home things will be different and I will have a close relationship with all the residents, but for these elephants who are not under my direct care, a relationship between us would only complicate their lives.

The mahout-elephant relationship

The day was long and hot for everyone concerned. When we reached an offshoot of the river the elephants submerged while the mahouts quenched their thirst from a spring oozing from the side of the bank. All parties drank their fill.

The next hour was spent leisurely grazing the sandy grassland that borders the river. When we finally crossed we were immediately immersed in a dense vibrant forest. The temperature dropped by at least ten degrees, the trees blocked the glare and penetrating heat from the sun.

Umbrellas were closed and stored, mine in my satchel and others, hung by the handle from the back of the mahout’s shirt. What a novel idea and handy hanging location; the neckline of the shirt works perfectly.

Tree branches invaded the trail, making passage difficult. I was told that the noise in the trees was monkeys but I never caught a glimpse of one. Spotted deer and birds were abundant. At least one tiger had walked the same sandy path recently, leaving behind huge paw prints. Seeing the size of the prints made me reconsider—once again— my decision to walk instead of ride.

Soon and without a verbal farewell, our fellow patrollers turned off at different paths, disappearing into the dense bush, on their way to a different hattisar. As we traveled the last mile of our patrol I was lost in thought about the relationship between mahout and elephant. It is a strange one — no outward display of affection, no praise, continual directions and corrections. It takes a strong individual to do this job day in and day out, both elephant and human.

June 2, 2012
Update on Nepal pilot project

Starting on May 8th, 2012, I put everything on hold while I focused exclusively on Sweetie Kali’s new chain-free corral. The bandh (country-wide strike) caused a bit of delay in the beginning, forcing the fence crew to wait several hours at the Nepal boarder before entering. Clearing customs with 400 KG of power fence materials added to the delay.

Upon arrival, Dibyandu Ghosh, the contractor, explained that his fences are not only functional but beautiful as well. He was not exaggerating. No matter the challenge—including keeping a captive elephant in while at the same time keeping wild bulls out—he never balked and consistently came up with solutions that were both functional and visually pleasing.

Realizing that I did not speak the local language, Dibyendu quickly identified the go-to man, Paspat, the mahout supervisor. They hit it off immediately, as if they had worked together for years.

Once construction started, it progressed quickly. Each morning Sweetie Kali would leave her stable for a day of patrolling and grazing the forest, leaving several men working diligently around her yard. Each evening she returned to be chained in her stable with the men still busy at work. She was soon encircled by the project.

As the fence began to take shape, the mahouts became more interested. Seeing is a powerful tool to grasping a concept. By the end of four days, the corral had been completed and everyone gathered to witness Sweetie Kali’s release.

I wouldn’t say that anyone was apprehensive, but there was definitely a feeling of doubt. One researcher with years of wild elephant and rhino experience commented that the mahouts would now have to be with Sweetie Kali constantly since she would be off chains. His comment caught me off guard but showed clearly that the chain-free concept was difficult for them to comprehend. While I tried to explain that the fencing is what contains her, making a mahout unnecessary, his reasoning was revealed. He stated his concern that without the mahouts Sweetie Kali would not be able to function, would not know what to do, where to walk, even how to walk. I was dumbfounded. My response was, just watch, she will do just fine.

I thought long and hard about this mindset — that elephants cannot function without their mahouts ordering them around. It actually made me sad to have to accept how misunderstood elephants truly are.

The chains come off

When Sweetie Kali’s chains were removed for the final time, she stood motionless next to her mahout. Indeed, she was waiting for instruction, expecting discipline if she acted without direction.

Her mahout obviously did not comprehend his role either. When he was told to walk away from Sweetie Kali and leave the yard, he stood frozen, apparently confused.

When the mahout finally left the yard, it took a matter of moments for Sweetie to realize she was chain-free. She took a tentative step away from her stable area and abruptly stopped, ears perked, anticipating a sharp correction. When no correction was forthcoming, she relaxed a bit and began to walk the fence line. Unable to let go, the mahout also hovered at the fence line. Sweetie Kali was clearly apprehensive. The other mahouts, administrators and vet techs looked on in anticipation.

I grabbed some kuchi (rice and molasses wrapped in grass) and tried to get the mahout to walk the fence line into the forest and throw the kuchi deep inside. As always, training the elephant trainers is always more difficult than training the elephant, so it took several attempts, in his native tongue, for the mahout to understand that he was not to hand feed the kuchi, but to disperse it in the habitat.

Chain-free environment and free-choice food are two equally incomprehensible concepts to most mahouts. But after much-repeated instruction from his peers, Sweetie Kali’s mahout finally, almost reluctantly, hurled the last kuchi into the forest.

That was Sweetie Kali’s signal that she was free to roam the premises. The last thing everyone saw of her was her petite backside as she disappeared into the dense brush. I felt like saying, “Sweetie Kali has left the building!” but realized my humor would be lost on this crowd.

Bundles of fresh cut grass were deposited on the edge of her forest to be consumed at her leisure and the tech set up watch to record Sweetie Kali’s behavior until dark.

Reinforcing: No chains

The next morning, Sweetie was still nowhere in sight, which pleased everyone tremendously. As I sat in the open-air mahout hut reveling in the success of the project, Sweetie’s mahout entered her yard. Watching silently, I wondering if the schedule had changed; was she going to the forest early or was there a special tracking program? But then I realized that the mahout intended to chain Sweetie Kali under her shelter.

I leapt from my seat. With as much composure as possible I rallied the mahouts, telling them, “No chains, no chains.” My heart sank but then Paspat, the mahout supervisor, appeared out of nowhere. Usually a quiet, mild-mannered guy, he barreled over to the mahout with raised voice and expressive body language to deal with the situation.

The mahout explained that he wanted to stick to Sweetie’s normal morning routine, which of course included chaining, but was told, in no uncertain terms, that chaining was not allowed. He now clearly understood his directions. When the drama died down I suggested that the chains be removed from the stable area so they would not “accidentally” be used.

New routines

That afternoon when Sweetie returned to the hattisar and was released into her yard, she knew exactly what to do. Without hesitation she made a beeline for the forest and did not come out again until it was dinnertime.

Before mealtime, kuchi and bundles of grass are stored outside each shelter, inches from the elephants’ reach. The routine is to feed the kuchi first, placing them at the elephants’ feet, and then piling the fresh-cut grass within reach. The elephant knows from years of experience that dinner is served precisely at 6 pm.

Being chain-free meant Sweetie Kali was free to approach the inviting pile of food and beg to be fed early, thereby creating a situation where she might begin to bob in frustration.

Everything had been progressing so well, I wanted to avoid creating such a situation. Getting the mahout to disperse the cuchie in the forest earlier than Sweetie Kali’s normal feeding time was not a problem, but then I saw that he put all her grass in one pile under her shelter.

His fellow mahouts were all talking at the same time, telling him to take the grass to the forest. But he simply ignored them and walked away.

This time Paspat did not come to the rescue. I was the only one who did not know he was off-grounds. Luckily, another official appeared and after several phone calls got the mahout to return. In a melodramatic display of unwillingness, he dragged the grass to the proper location—and then stomped off, muttering that he would not take orders from junior mahouts.

By the next day Sweetie Kali’s mahout was over his seniority snit and began to show great pride in the accomplishments of his elephant.

Many thanks

That’s it, the entire story. Every day, Sweetie Kali immerses herself in her personal forest when she is back at the hattisar. She comes out to play in the dirt pit or chase birds and was seen and heard dashing in and out of the trees during the last big storm, but otherwise she is basically unseen except by Ganash, the young tech assigned to her behavior study, which he has taken on with great seriousness. Recording her behavior is an important tool for documenting her response to chain-free living.

When Sweetie Kali leaves for her daily patrol of the forest, I inspect for habitat damage. I am pleasantly surprised at how little damage there is. She excavated a relatively small sleeping area, sheltered by huge trees and another smaller area for dusting. Aside from the thick curtains of edible hanging vines that are rapidly thinning, the damage is minimal.

I have so many people to thank for the success of this pilot project including all the staff at NTNC-BCC, the forest department, Naresh, Ram Kumar, Chitran, Dr. Gairhe, Paspat, Nandu, Babu, Kiran, Ganash, Veena and Vishnu at IBEX Gallagher, Dibyendu and crew and especially the mahouts, because without their cooperation, the project would not have been possible.

And finally, I thank Sweetie Kali for unknowingly volunteering to participate in this important pilot project, one that will undoubtedly have a huge impact on how captive elephants are kept in Nepal.

Please visit EAI’s Facebook page so I can keep you updated on our progress as it happens!

May 23, 2012
Breeding Center

Kiran, the government veterinary technician, and I finished trimming feet at the Government Breeding Center yesterday.

I was so pleased that things really changed from the first day. I spoke with Kiran about the mahouts hitting the elephants; he was great. Without hesitation, he engaged the mahouts, men he has worked with for many years, and explained why they cannot hit their elephants. From his intonation and body language, I could tell that Kiran took my request very seriously and the phonits (lead mahouts) and mahouts listened intently. . They respect Kiran and followed his direction without hesitation, which was that at no time should they hit the elephants.

When the first nervous elephant laid down, the mahout unconsciously went to strike her instead of allowing her time to lay her arthritic body gently to the ground. The other mahouts and Kiran cried out in unison – “no pit nau” (show respect-don’t hit).

Stopping in mid-swing, you could see that the mahout had not realized he was about to hit his elephant; the action is so ingrained there is no thought associated with it. Like breathing, it is automatic. For the next 90 minutes, the mahouts needed to remind each other only a couple of times, and the reflex to hit was quickly under control.

It was great to see the mahouts monitor each other in an effort to comply with our request. There was even laughter when a mahout would absentmindedly raise his stick and other mahouts would verbally jump all over him. All of the mahouts and phonits got into the act of making sure no elephants were harmed during my time at the center. Joking around with the mahouts and having Kiran present made it possible to create a calm and abuse-free environment. As expected, the elephants relaxed into their pedicures.

The elephants at the breeding center spend the day out in the forest browsing and the nights chained under a shelter. Mothers and calves are allowed to stay together until the calf is around five, and I must say, the center runs quite smoothly.

With a good mix of young and senior phonits and mahouts, we had lots of guys jockeying for a turn to trim feet. The competition between men and boys did not hurt a bit, and then add to the mix that a woman was doing trimming. By the second day I was able to instruct the mahouts to do the heavy cutting with the cycle knife (which I refuse to touch), leaving me to do my favorite part: intricate trimming and shaping with my prissy exacto blade. At first the guys laughed at my knife but the smiles melted from their faces when they tried to trim with it. They quickly learned that my knife was designed for precision work, not brute strength, and that it takes some time to get a feel for it. In the end, the guys were opting for the girly knife and doing some really fine trimming on their elephants’ feet.

Dr. Geare, the head government vet, checked on our progress several times over the past two weeks. He encouraged his staff to learn as much as possible, stating that with proper foot care the center would save money. He said that in the past many elephants developed foot problems requiring drug therapy, antibiotics and anti-inflammatory treatment. He was optimistic that by learning foot trimming skills, the phonits and mahouts could ensure better foot health for their elephants and reduce the need for drug therapy.

Each morning on our way to the breeding center we stopped at a local produce stand to buy a stock of bananas. Kiran was a champ, never complaining about having to taxi me around on his motorcycle. The road to the breeding center is…well…how do I say? — rocky! Potholes are not the concern; it’s all the boulder-size rocks used to make the paved surface. Watch out when you fall…ouch!

We did take a spill, once. Luckily we were driving quite slow, crossing another road, when a baby goat, in hot pursuit of breakfast, darted right under the front tire. Kiran successfully avoided the youngster but spilled the bike as result. I saw it coming and was only concerned that we not hit the goat. The local shopkeepers rushed out to brush the dust from our clothes and make sure we were okay. I craned my neck to see the condition of the goat. She was safe and sound a few feet away, suckling from her mom with her twin sister, unconcerned about the commotion she had created. In Asia animals may be treated differently but they are valuable, more valuable than the motorcycle we rode on. If Kiran had harmed or killed the goat he would have had to reimburse the owners for her value. Needless to say, every precaution is taken to avoid harming someone else’s livestock.

March 21, 2011