After toiling through the hot hills of Bastar for days, Aziz got news that the tigress was at Dhanora itself while tracking it, his group was waiting in a clearing wondering what the next step should be, when she suddenly charged at the group. Aziz reacted as if by instinct. When the tigress was six paces from him, he fired. She deflected, spun round like a coin and slid down into a nullahfatally wounded. A few days later, he bagged a full-grown cub of the tigress, which had also turned into a man-eater.

Far and wide in the jungles of the Abhujmar hills, Maria tribals sang and danced at the destruction of the Dhanora demon and her cub. The Maria dance is an unforgettable experience. The beautiful race that believes "whoever danceth not, liveth not" can dance with extraordinary rhythm and grace. Then occurred in the town of Damoh, an incident which shook us to the very marrow of our bones. An elephant went musth, killed some persons, and the collector decided that he would have to be shot in order to save lives, and unwisely decided to do it himself. A section of armed police, however, was deputed without his knowledge to back him in case any serious mishap should occur. With dreams of a photograph in newspapers with his leg on the elephant and his hand showing the Magnum rifle, the collector, an experienced shikari,went out after the elephant, took a shot at the poor animal, missed, and injured him in the leg. Thereafter it seemed as if we were dealing with not just one elephant that one seemed to be a herd as he went thrashing about in anger, uprooting trees, threatening to push a bus-load into a nullah and making piercing, piteous cries which could be heard for miles. The SAF was soon pressed into service, and the animal took several more shots till a burst from the LMG put him out of his misery.

Such was our luck that the day the elephant was felled turned out to be the day of the Ganesh chaturthi festival. A hartalwas observed in the town. Processions were taken out. Women observed mourning. The topic was taken up by the media. Sixtynine shots were actually counted on the poor animal by a journalist. The legislative uproar was such that it was mentioned for years, an elephantine one in the true sense. We hung our heads in shame. What was the hardest to bear was the way in which men like Ron Noronha (chief secretary) trotted out on each occasion, remarks about the shooting ability of the SAF-69 shots, 69 steps to murder, 69 reasons for police brutality and inefficiency. Nobody seemed to remember the dacoits shot dead, or the crack shooting which had won honours in numerous shooting competitions.

Ron said a few months later, "I have got another problem for you. I’m coming over to break it gently to you".

"Ron wait. What is it about?", I said suspiciously.

"Another elephant".

I felt it was an appropriate moment for abuse. But Ron is a past master and to equal him would be beyond my poor vocabulary. So I went to his house and met him in a room which had fish-nets, rods of various kinds, a tin of leaking mobil oil, spent bullets, several smelly tyres, an old boat and all the bric-a-brac of a shikari turned angler, who was also chief secretary.

An elephant, I was told had run amuck in Bhopal, killed the mahant who owned it and had hurt and frightened the people of a number of villages. "Ron I pleaded, "can’t you find some shikari as bad as you to do the job? Someone who could have photographs in all the papers".

"The police have got to kill it. It’s a cabinet decision — taken after hours of futile discussion. ......Send Russel. He is a crack shot. Won’t miss the poor animal as they did in Damoh-69 rounds. My God! Don’t you think you ought to be answerable for the serious loss of ammunition, apart from cruelty to the poor animal?"

I went slowly to my room in the Police Headquarters, thinking of all the awful possibilities that would arise, all the criticisms that would be hurled at us for doing a job which nobody else was prepared to do. I send for Russel from the lines next door. When he came, I told him the story and said that he should take out a squad of the Special Armed Force and destroy the animal.

"I am sorry, sir. I can’t do it", he said.

"Why? If I may ask", I said.

"On principle, Sir. I am sorry. I refuse to kill an elephant. On principle".

"What do you mean principle? It is a government order — cabinet", I added lamely.

"Sorry Sir".

"What the hell do you mean?". I said, "You can open fire and kill a human being but you refuse to kill an elephant? The beast has gone mad".

"I had never killed a human being. Still I may do that. But, I can’t kill an elephant".

The sheer cheek of the man made me absolutely speechless with anger.

"If you don’t go", I shouted, "you will get hell".

He went out — came back and told me that he would go — and left the room in a hurry.

But doubts soon began to appear. Day after day I waited for the report. There was no news either of Russel or the elephant. I began to get worried. Perhaps he had been killed — trampled into some jheel of water — kicked into a tree stump or left dead somewhere in the jungle.

Search parties were sent out. They came back with the news that the elephant had left the area, and Russel had sent back the armed squad that was with him as he did not need it. But nobody could say what had happened to Russel. No news at all.

Seven days later, a mud-spattered Commandant Russel walked into my office. He had the growth of a week’s beard. His trousers were torn at several places, his eyes seemed half closed, and he looked very very tired and hungry. He saluted sadly.

"I have got him", he said slowly.

"Good. Congratulations. How many shots did you have to put into him?", I asked.

"Sir, he said testily, "I do not shoot elephants".

"Then what did you do?", I asked, stupefied.

"I have brought the elephant back with me. He has been tied up in Police Headquarters".

While looking at the elephant, cozily munching sugarcane at the centre of an adoring crowd. I asked Russel how he had done it.

"It was not easy", he said "we kept on following him day after day, trying to be friends. First he was very angry because there were too many of us. So I sent back the section of armed police. Then he became less difficult. Finally, he took the sugarcane and fruit I had kept for him, and lastly he began to eat out of my hands. Then I led him back into Bhopal. I am very sorry about the delay. But, you know Sir", he said sadly, "he seems very cut up because he killed the mahant. He was crying, I am sure. He told me that in so many words. In fact, there were tears in his eyes".

When he retired a few months later, I wrote to him, "Men like you have made the Madhya Pradesh Police a force to be proud of". I recently got a picture postcard from Australia inquiring about the health of "his elephant".