Jumbo woes

A female elephant called Roopkali was hit by a water tanker on the road in an eastern suburb of Mumbai recently. It lay on the road for hours, as people thronged the area, some trying to help, some gawking, some criticising, others inventing scenarios that could mean the worst case for the poor animal. Six hours later, the beast was in its new and hopefully temporary home at the animal hospital in Mumbai, being given the best care by the most qualified people who could save its life. With all her will, the elephant seems to want to get better, a friend who works there tells me, and is cooperating totally with her nurses and doctors. But she needs more help than is easily available – a crane to help her stand, since her back legs are badly hurt, medicines, food and, of course, all the love that she can get. Which is coming in a-plenty, since the elephant is a symbol of the Lord who has just left our city. And, more than anything else, people are responding to the huge, gentle, friendly animal who cries real tears when she is in pain or is grieving.

The hospital is a place I cannot go to, not after my last visit there. It was where I took my beloved baby, a lovely black and white three-and-a-half-year-old cat who had slept on my pillow since he was four weeks old. He was very ill, treated by many doctors, and finally needed more expert care than he would get at home. For ten days he was put on drips, given medication and examined carefully, his blood tested every day, his systems gradually failing. And I watched him go. Then, in one final, horrible stroke, I signed the form that would release him from the agony and send him to what is, hopefully, a far better place for him to be. He died as I held him, killed by a dose of potassium chloride and some other cocktail, injected into his collapsed veins. And then the light went out in my life. But now it has started coming back, after the darkness got blacker at the end of last year. Which is another story that does not need to be told right now…

The hospital in Parel, Mumbai, is a lovely place. My friend there, Saroj, handles the nutritional needs of all the patients, and smiles as each one recovers, even as she cries with each inmate that dies. For now, she tends to Roopkali, the elephant, finding her the best and most easily digested food, making sure that dinner is on time and locating people who can help disseminate a public appeal for help. Saroj is adopted by people who meet her and find her a kindred spirit – like me, for one – and becomes a combination of good buddy and den mother to them all, providing a shoulder, hankies, support and good advice. The rest of the crew at the hospital is as valuable to both the animals they look after and their owners, providing care and food and medical aid, as well as a whole lot of love that can be shared equally, no matter how many patients they have. I am sure there are problems and bad eggs in the vast complex, but I never met any.

For now, Roopkali is in good hands. The best available. With a little luck and help, she will be back on her feet, literally, soon. It is up to Mumbai to keep her there…and safe.