After a full day of rain in Africa, the sun goes down, hiding behind the majestic purple clouds. The clouds, in turn, gradually disperse to reveal a bluish-black and velvet night sky. It is adorned with small glittering sequins - stars both big and small and stars both near and far.

Whenever it rains in Africa and the night grows dark, the elders sit around the crackling fire, and the children and young people gather around. If the elders are kind and in a good mood, they tell stories of the days gone by and the days that are still far away in the future. Myth and history make love under the night sky, and stories are born - stories of magic and wisdom and stories of love and longing. On one such magical night, the story of the elephants’ graveyard breathed its first.

Old Toto lit his clay pipe and looked up. The rain clouds had long gone, but they had not drifted very far. The flashes of lightning were still visible over the western horizon. The smoke from his clay pipe rose and formed shapes and images, in line with the audience’s imagination. Some saw a great white rhinoceros floating above the pipe, while others saw a thousand butterflies with fluttering grey wings. The butterflies danced and floated up, and slowly dissolved within the soft embrace of the night air.

‘Toto! Tell us of the old days.’ Banto begged while caressing the sharp blade of his spear. ‘Tell us of the times when Africa belonged to the heathen gods. Tell us of the times when the white men came like a bad dream and captured our lands. Tell us of the times when the white saw the black and learnt to hate and discriminate.’

Toto remained quiet for some time, and when he spoke, his voice was alive with the booming thunder of the long-departed clouds, ‘Let me tell you an ancient African myth - the myth of love, death, and the elephants’ graveyard.’

His pipe blew fresh smoke, and Banto could see the smoke turning into an elephant. The old Toto was indeed a wizard.

‘The myth says that whenever an elephant grows too old either in spirit or body, he starts walking in search of the elephants’ graveyard. The myth also says that the graveyard lies somewhere hidden, on the grey, misty slopes of Kilimanjaro. It is filled with old elephant skeletons - pale ivory waiting to be collected by the greed of man.’

Toto took a deep puff while scrutinizing his captivated audience from behind half-closed eyes.

‘Man had a firm belief in this myth. Man always believes in his greed, and this belief is stronger than his belief in God or religion. But greed always brings along a dark curse, and that curse is always unwelcome. No matter how unwelcome the curse is, it always accompanies the greed. Man cannot avoid its dark and putrid presence.’ Toto fell silent, and his eyes searched the night sky for a long time.

‘You were telling us…’ Banto hesitatingly prodded the old man, ‘You were telling us about the elephants’ graveyard, respected Toto.’

‘Oh yes!’ Toto looked around at the curious young faces surrounding the crackling fire and smiled at their impatience.

‘The legend says that there once was an elephant called Baba. He was a grand elephant with ivory tusks as long and massive as fully grown crocodiles. His skin was the colour of rain clouds - dark grey and filled with creases. He had a heavy tread and when he walked, trees trembled and birds flew off their cosy nests.’

‘But despite his great power and intimidating presence, Baba was a kind elephant. He let the birds rest on his trunk and play for hours on end. During the rains, small animals found refuge under his huge belly. Baba kept standing in the cold rain but did not move.’ ‘Baba’s kindness was not limited to animals and birds. Rather, he was also kind to the poor villagers. He brought water for the old from the river and helped the villagers build their straw huts. Sometimes he even let the small children ride his mighty back. But then one day……’

Toto left the sentence hanging in the air. The tobacco in the old clay pipe had all turned to grey ash. He carefully knocked the pipe bowl on the soft earth between his feet and refilled it carefully, one pinch at a time. The young audience waited patiently for the ritual to end. They had witnessed the ritual a million times but were still fascinated by its elaborate routine.

Toto knocked out the ash and cleaned the bowl with an old rag wrapped around his fat thumb. He carefully undid the drawstring tied around the tobacco pouch and took out pinches of tobacco, one after the other. Each pinch went into the bowl, followed by a mild pounding. The flint match sparked. The flame touched the mouth of the bowl and was suddenly sucked inside. The tobacco caught fire, and the first grey clouds of acrid smoke rose from the bowl.

‘Hunhh!’ Toto finally ended the ritual, inhaled a lungful of the bitter smoke, and grunted with pleasure.

‘What was I saying?’ Toto looked questioningly at Banto.

‘You were telling us about Baba the kind elephant. But then you seemed to drift away.’ Banto offered respectfully.

‘Yes! Yes!’ Toto nodded his head.

‘Then one day… the white man came to the village. He saw the majestic ivory tusks of Baba, and his beady blue eyes came alive with greed.

Come, let me take the elephant’s ivory, and I will make you rich beyond your wildest imagination. He darkly whispered ugly words into the ears of the village elders.

It is not possible. Baba has always been our friend. Baba has always been kind to us. We cannot even think of harming the poor creature. The villagers responded, shocked by the cruelty of the white man’s suggestion.

But the white man kept on whispering and the villagers kept on refusing until one day, their refusal turned into silence and then the next day, their silence turned into submission.’

‘Why?’ Banto asked suddenly.

‘Why what?’ Toto looked at the young man irritably.

‘Why did the villagers consent to the white man’s offer?’ ‘Because deep under the white and the black skin, flows the same red blood. Deep within the white and the black chests, beats the same heart. And deep within the white and the black minds, coils the same serpent of greed.’

‘What happened then?’ Banto asked sadly. ‘Did the villagers kill Baba?’

‘No.’ Toto smiled at Banto’s sad, long face. He knew that the boy had a kind and sensitive heart.

‘The children heard of their elders planning to kill Baba. They went running to their friend and whispered the plan in his flapping ears. At first, Baba grew angry and thought of devastating the village and trampling the bodies of the greedy villagers under his mighty feet. But then his kind heart thought of the children, and he grew sad. He took one last look at the young faces of his friends and left the village that night, never to return.’

‘When the animals and the birds saw Baba leaving, there was all chaos.

Please don’t go, Baba. The birds flew around his head and pleaded with their chirping voices, but Baba walked on dejectedly.

Baba, please don’t leave us. The rabbits jumped on his broad back and shouted in his ears, but Baba walked on.

Father, please stop Baba. The little cubs went to the mighty lion and begged him to interfere.

Let him go. His heart is broken. He will not stop. The old lion shook his mane sadly.

But where will he go? The cubs asked. He will go to the elephants’ graveyard. That is where the elephants go when their hearts are broken. The lion looked at the gradually receding silver-grey back of the kind elephant.’

‘Will somebody please light the fire again? The cold night air is seeping into my tired bones.’ Toto growled, and Banto jumped to his feet.

The fire was relit, and Toto adjusted the blanket closely around his bony shoulders. His audience sat entranced. They were lost in the world of wise lions and heartbroken elephants.

‘So Baba walked and then walked some more.’ Toto picked up the story where he had left it.

‘Baba’s eyes were fixed on the top of the Kilimanjaro Mountain, which mostly remained obscured by dark clouds. He walked on, and with each step, his soul grew weary and his steps grew tired. He walked on, and with each step, the pieces of his broken heart rattled within his chest. He knew he was walking towards his end, and that was not a very pleasant proposition.’

‘One golden sunset, Baba reached the foot slopes of the Kilimanjaro Mountain but was too tired to move on. He just fell on the ground and closed his eyes in exhaustion. Evening turned into night, and night turned into another day, but Baba did not get up. He did not want to get up. There was nothing except death waiting for him, and death could wait some more.’

‘But then one morning, two drops of warm salty water fell onto Baba’s face. He woke up with a start and saw the most beautiful female elephant standing tall over him. She had a coat of silver velvet, and her ivory shone like crescents. But the most attractive thing about her was her dark brown eyes, which were moist with a kind warmth.’

You poor elephant! All exhausted. She smiled at him kindly. What are you doing lying up here all alone? Where are you going?

I am Baba. The love-struck elephant smiled. And I was going to the elephants’ graveyard, when I grew too tired to move on.

You are so young and handsome. Why do you want to go to that dark place? She asked him shyly.

Listen to the rattle inside my chest. My heart is all broken. Baba got up and shook himself.

She listened to the rattle, and her eyes grew all teary.

But who are you and where are you going? Baba could see tears sparkling in her eyes and tried to divert her attention.

I am Bibi. Once I lived on the shores of Lake Tanganyika. I took care of my clan and protected them against all evil. But then a hunter shot me with a heavy rifle. I recovered but couldn’t give birth anymore. My clan called me cursed and abandoned me. My heart broke, and therefore I decided to go to the elephants’ graveyard. She wiped her tears with the tip of her trunk.

But you are so kind, and you have a soft heart. How could your clan be cruel to you? Baba caressed her neck with his trunk.

At his touch, she shuddered and then looked back at him with her soft brown eyes.

You are kind too, Baba, yet you are here, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. Kindness means giving everything and not taking anything for yourself. Kindness means exhaustion and weariness. Kindness means understanding life and understanding that life is cruel. First comes the hurt. Then comes the silence. Silence is followed by understanding.

Baba thought about what Bibi said. He pondered on her words.

But why have we met then? Why now? He asked her. Perhaps our task hasn’t finished yet. Perhaps we are not yet destined for the elephants’ graveyard.’

‘The two elephants stood looking at each other for a while. Then they looked up for an answer.

God, sitting on His mighty throne up in the heavens, smiled at their shy confusion and mended their exhausted and broken hearts. He healed their hearts and filled them with the light of love. They hugged and kissed, and their kindred souls became one. They forgot all about the elephants’ graveyard and walked into the sunset, their mighty trunks intertwined.’

‘It’s late. Bedtime for all of you.’ Toto looked at the faint hint of dawn in the East.

‘But what happened to Baba and Bibi?’ Banto asked him, frustratingly. ‘Where did they go?’

Toto smiled kindly at him.

‘Legend says that the spirits of Baba and Bibi still roam the slopes of Kilimanjaro. They meet all the weary souls, desirous of entering the elephants’ graveyard. They attend to their broken hearts and mend their exhausted will to survive. They have become the custodians of the broken hearts and guardians of all the kindness left in the world.’

Toto finished the story. He got up and slowly walked towards his hut. His old and gnarled wife was waiting at the doorway, her face lit by a lovely toothless smile. The flames from the dying fire cast their shadow long. Banto was startled. Those weren’t the shadows of a stooped old man and his wife. Those were the shadows of two elephants, grand and majestic, their mighty trunks intertwined.