SEC-S30W5: Spooky Bedtime Stories | The Elephant under the Sacred Fig Tree

Dear @marvinvelasquez, Your contest reminded me of an old story that I heard during my visit to Haridwar, India in 2008 with my wife and another couple, where I saw a couple of strange statues and photographed them. Luckily I still have a few of those photographs in my gallery.

On my request, a priest of the temple told a story which was related to a king in olden times. It said, in ancient times, even the elephants of kings were considered the pride of their coronations. One such king owned an elephant named Moti. Moti had a huge body, a solemn gait, and eyes that seemed to understand everything but could not speak. The king loved him dearly. He was the pride of his procession, a strength in battle, and the pride of his court. People came from far and wide to see him.

But as they say, the bigger the body, the deeper the sorrow. Sometimes a strange fire would rise within Moti. He would remain calm, then suddenly his eyes would turn red. At that time, he would hear no call, no scolding, no pull from the mahout. It was as if he had disappeared into another world.

Outside the palace stood an old sacred fig tree. Its trunk was very thick, its roots deep in the earth, and people did not consider it an ordinary tree. Old women said that an ominous shadow lingered beneath it at night. That shadow would capture Moti. When night fell, a chill ran through the air, leaves swayed without a breeze, and Moti, bound in chains, restlessly thrashed his trunk. It felt as if an invisible hand was pulling his ears, a cold breath falling on his neck.

Moti's condition gradually deteriorated. He would wake up startled at night, screaming, digging the earth, and kicking up dust with his own hooves. Often the mahout would try to comfort him, but Moti would never recognize him. His trunk seemed possessed by some blind force. The villagers trembled as they passed by the Sacred Fig tree. Some would say, "This is the play of some unknown spirit." Others would say, "This is the shadow of the old mahout, whom Moti had unwittingly hurt."

Then came that fateful day, when the royal procession was underway. Drums were beating, flags were waving, and the king was about to mount the elephant. Then that dark force suddenly arose. Moti let out a loud shriek. His eyes glowed like embers. He ran, kicked up dust, and slammed the mahout, the elephant driver standing in front of him with his trunk so hard that he fell down and couldn't get up. Silence fell all around, the band stopped playing. The people retreated. The king's face burned with anger.

He said, "How can an elephant that doesn't belong to its own servant be my ride?" And instantly, Moti's status was stripped away. He was expelled from the palace. The elephant that had once been adorned with silks and gems was now forced to carry wood, lift stones, and bend under heavy loads all day long. By evening, it was back to the same fig tree, the same chains, the same cold shade. Moti's body was covered in wounds, but even deeper wounds appeared in his eyes.

The nights became more terrifying. The sacred fig tree leaves rustled as if someone was laughing from within. A strange smell filled the air. Moti would sometimes sob while still tied, sometimes rub his trunk against the ground, sometimes suddenly stand up and scream loudly. The villagers would pass by from a distance, forming a cross, calling out a name or reciting a mantra.

Meanwhile, one day, a snake charmer couple arrived in the village. A sage-like man, and his wife, who knew herbs and magic. Both of them saw Moti an from his expression, they thought that it wasn't just anger, but some invisible obstacle. They camped under the tree. As night grew darker, the man began playing the instrument. The tune was soft at first, then deep, then so resonant that the leaves trembled. The wife spread the smoke of the herbs, recited mantras, and sternly called out to the shadow.

The snake charmer's wife sat aside and recited some mantras, then a terrifying sight occurred. The wind swirled violently, the branches of the tree bent, and a dark figure writhed near the chains. It seemed as if darkness itself was burning. The spirit screamed, then retreated groaning. The melody of the flute and the impact of the chants began to break its grip. Suddenly, a woman's spirit entered his body.

Now Moti stood still for the first time. The frenzy in his eyes vanished, his breathing became steady, and his trunk slowly descended to touch the soil. By morning, Moti was completely transformed. No anger, no restlessness, no fear. When the king received this news, he came himself. He could see a peace in Moti's eyes and knew that he did not do it intentionally. He took him back in his care again.

It is said that after that day, Moti never bowed his head for long under that tree. And when a Pungi (snake charmer's instrument) played somewhere in the distance, he would stand still, as if he remembered that there was a power greater than darkness that of mercy, patience, and salvation.

The priest that told me this story went on, but I am stopping now and inviting my friends @ridwant, @suboohi and @jyoti-thelight

• Images my camera