With a snap jerk of the lever, the old generator burst into life. It emitted a slight humming sound at first. This was followed by a loud rumble and soon the entire yard lit up in a mosaic of small blinking lights that weaved a mesmerizing pattern of gossamer against the black canvas of the forest behind. Seemed like Dipawali was here again, but it was still the month of August. The heat was unbearable although the hour hands of the clock were pointing towards midnight. Meanwhile, a swarm of mosquitoes were probing their proboscises deep into the skins of both boys, who were clad only in their torn pajamas. But Lale and Bhudhan were least bothered. Their eyes were transfixed on the flashing lights, their faces inspired in awe. Wiping off the sweat from his brow, Jaggu gathered his strewn wrenches and placed them carefully in his worn out tool box. “You boys stay awake ,” he said. “And watch out for elephants”. That night, however, the elephants did not come.
A couple of months ago Ms Becky, a volunteer from South California had arrived at Jaldevi Lower Secondary School to teach seventh graders English Grammar. One hot afternoon, while she was explaining the differences between gerunds and past participles to her pupils inside the poorly-lit, thatch-roofed, earthen-floored classroom, she had a hard time gaining their attention. In order to alleviate the boredom of her wards, she had narrated to them the inspiring story of Richard Turere, a Masai boy who had invented lion lights. She told them how Turere had come up with the idea of using flashing LED lights to conjure images of moving people, thus keeping the lions at bay during the nights, ensuring the safety of his father’s cattle. The story certainly struck a chord with her students because the village of Chandrapuri had long been battling marauding wild elephants.
“Can we use that for warding off elephants as well, Mam?” Bhudhan had asked excitedly, in his broken English.
“Why? I never thought about it. I suppose you can,” Becky had answered presumptuously.
From the next day onwards the group of children, led by Lale, the eldest of them, had all formed a team to devise a connection of lights to scare away the elephants.
Chandrapuri had always been a black spot. It lied on the outskirts of the Chitwan National Park, and herds of wild elephant migrating from India invariably used it as a corridor. During hot summers, when the mating season was in full swing, tuskers appeared unbeknownst to the villagers, and ran a rampage. Besides, the dense sugar cane fields along the banks of the Rapti River proved especially tempting to the parade of pillaging pachyderms. Last year, after several rounds of pleading with government officials for security went unheeded, the villagers took it upon themselves to form a vigilante group to guard their fields. Young men who had volunteered were provided sticks and batons, and the leaders among them were armed with three Knot Three rifle. Further, they were instructed to repeatedly beat the Nanglo. The sound produced would supposedly scare the elephants away. However, fearing that armed rebel groups may start operating on the pretext of protecting villages from rogue elephant herds, local officials had outlawed such groups, assuring villagers that paramilitary troops would soon be provided to keep the elephants at bay.
