To be guaranteed a viewing of Sri Lanka 's wild elephant population I needed to head north, to Minneriya National Park , venue for the second event in my social diary. This was to be a bit special - a natural assembly of up to 300 elephants that congregate around the shores of Minneriya Tank in the dry season to bathe, drink and feast on the emerald grass around its edge. Known simply as The Gathering, this is the largest congregation of wild Asian elephants in the world -yet hardly anyone knows about it.
The sun's heat was waning as we headed out into the park, the dry, crunchy undergrowth and deep-red earth a sharp contrast to the lush greens of the Knuckles. Nadeera, a softly spoken naturalist, sat next to me in the jeep as we bumped along. "There's no point getting here earlier,"he explained. "It's only in the cool of the evening that the elephants come out from the shade of the jungle."
As we chugged out of the forest, Minneriya Tank appeared before us, a shining mirror that glinted out into horizon so I couldn't tell where lake finished and golden plains began. A fish eagle rode the thermals above the water, scanning for food, while a small mongoose darted across the grass between the myriad mounds of... yes, there it was... elephant dung.
It peppered the plains like the world's worst molehill problem and there, in its midst, plodded its makers a solemn but beautiful band of grey walking slowly towards the lake like giant iron filings being drawn to a magnet. Splashes of white danced between their legs - opportunistic egrets trying to catch the cloud of insects being kicked up by the herd.
"Can you make out the different families?" asked Nadeera. We drove a bit closer and cut the engine. What had seemed like one giant group from a distance was actually made up of smaller family units, each with its own youngsters, mothers and dominating matriarch.
The more I watched, the more I noticed - playful teenagers bumping into the legs of their elders; stroppy eles lying down on the ground and refusing to budge; the tiny newborn, not more than a month-old, surrounded by its mother and aunts like a diminutive pop star and her huge bodyguards. Even through binoculars I could only catch glimpses of her, but in ' a rare moment of clarity, I watched as the other adults gave the mother and child some space and it started to suckle.
As the herd edged into the water, a lone bull emerged from the forest and wandered towards them. He looked edgy and skittish, hormones dribbling down its face.
"He's in must," said Nadeera as we reversed out of his way. One of the other jeeps wasn't so sensible and provoked a spirited charge that could have turned nasty. Instead, the bull veered off at the last second and flounced into the lake where he swam out to an island, trunk held aloft like a snorkel, to take the elephant equivalent of a cold shower.
Oblivious to the drama, the main herd sauntered on along the carpet of fresh grass shoots as the remaining shafts of sunlight cast their glow between the blue hills on the horizon. For all the glitz and drama of the Esala Perahera, this was how elephants were meant to be. It couldn't have been more beautiful - and not a fairy light or a golden tusk between them. |
