The night we lost Adira, the moon hung low over Munnar's misty hills. I can still see him standing against the silver-tinged tea estate. His tusks shone bright, gleaming in the moonlight. We shouldn’t have been there, so close to the edge of our shrinking world. But drought had driven us, and Adira, our eldest, led us to water he remembered from seasons past.
The crack of a rifle shattered the night. Adira stumbled, a confused rumble escaping his throat. Another shot, and he crashed to the earth. The ground shook beneath our feet. “Adira” meant “mighty,” but might offered little protection against human greed.
“Run,” my mother trumpeted, but I stood frozen, watching the blood trickle from Adira’s head, staining the soil beneath him.
Men swarmed from the shadows, their excited voices grating against the forest’s stunned silence. Knives glinted in the dim light.
“Why?” I whispered.
Mother’s trunk coiled tightly against her chest. Her eyes, usually warm and wise, had turned to obsidian. “Because his death is worth more than his life to them.”
I couldn't comprehend. Adira was our guide through uncertain days. Now he was nothing more than meat and bone and ivory, to be carved up by hands that knew nothing of his gentle wisdom.
“What will they take?” I asked, bile rising in my throat.
“Everything,” Mother said, her voice laced with quiet rage. “Tusks. Skin. Bones. Feet. Even his tail.”
I stared at Adira’s lifeless form, majestic even in death. The men swarmed like ants on a carcass.
"They think by taking our pieces, they can prosper. Fools." Mother spat.
Fear gripped me as the men turned, noticing us for the first time. Rifles swung our way, casual as walking sticks.
“Will they kill us too?” I whispered.
Mother’s body tensed. "Run," she said. "Don't look back."
Panic choked me. “But—”
“Our death will trigger a chain reaction, and every species in the jungle will perish. That can never happen.”
With a bone-shaking roar, she charged. Her tusks found flesh, and a man’s scream pierced the night. But she didn’t stop. She fought with the fury of a mother who had nothing left to lose.
I ran. Adira’s mutilated body blurred past as I fled. The forest swallowed me, branches whipping my face as grief and terror drove me deeper into the dark.
A gunshot cracked the air. Then another. Then came Mother’s trumpet that echoed through the trees. And then, silence.
I found myself in a clearing I had never seen before, the world suddenly vast and empty. I collapsed. Adira was gone. Mother was gone. My life was gone.
That night, I became the keeper of their stories. I carry Adira’s name now, heavy as his tusks. I guard the memory of Mother’s last stand. They’ve taken so much, but they can never take the fire that burns within me.
In my dreams, I still hear Mother’s voice: “Every species in the jungle will perish. That can never happen.”
I will never let them.