The elephant who never mated, yet became a mother to many

Time of India

2 days ago

Bhopal: She came from the southern jungles, responding only to a language no one in this state spoke, and stood silent before the local mahouts — including Maniram, the man who would spend nearly 30 years by her side.
"When I first called her, she didn't even blink," says Maniram Gond, the mahout who would eventually become her shadow. "Initially she used to only understand the south Indian language (Malayalam). I spoke Hindi and Gondi. We were strangers — two beings from different worlds."
But somehow, without words, they built something stronger than language. Vatsala — the gentle giant who once hauled timber in Kerala's forests and later patrolled the tiger lands of Madhya Pradesh — lived to be over 100.
She witnessed generations of elephants come and go, survived brutal injuries, lost her sight, and yet always responded to one voice: Maniram's.
This week, she fell for the last time, leaving behind more than just silence in the Panna Tiger Reserve.
To the man who called her his first and last elephant, it felt like losing a part of himself.
Vatsala was brought to Narmadapuram from Kerala in 1971. She was already around 50 years old and had spent years working with handlers in the south, apparently responding only to Malayalam commands.
In 1993, she was moved to Panna Tiger Reserve. A year later, Maniram was transferred from Narmadapuram and was assigned to her.
"At first, it was frustrating. She wouldn't respond to anything. But elephants are like people — they can feel intentions. Slowly, she began to understand my tone, my touch. Even without a common language, we figured each other out."
Back then, Maniram earned just two rupees a day. Now in his 50s and earning Rs 24,000 a month, he still says Vatsala was the best part of his job.
Vatsala was known in the reserve for her gentle nature. "She never gave me trouble — not once in all those years," Maniram says. Then, chuckling, he adds, "Except that one time. She ran away with the howdah strapped to her back. Took us a whole week to bring her back. That's the only mischief I remember."
Her calmness was legendary. Schoolchildren visiting the park would run around her, even play beneath her belly. "She never got angry.
Never moved. She was like a grandmother."
Indeed, while Vatsala never mated, she took on the role of caretaker for young elephants in the reserve. Many called her 'Dadi' as well. "She looked after all the calves. She'd guide them, protect them. But she always stayed away from male elephants. Always."
That refusal to mate led to one of the most traumatic chapters in her life. In 2003 and again in 2008, a male elephant named Rambhahdur violently attacked her.
"He wanted to mate, and she wouldn't let him," Maniram says. "He became aggressive and attacked her. In one of the attacks, her stomach was torn open. Her intestines came out. It took nine months of treatment to save her."
Despite the pain, Vatsala healed — and never once turned aggressive in return.
By 2004, her eyesight had faded severely. The forest department officially retired her from active patrol duty, recognizing her age and growing frailty.
From that point on, Maniram was assigned solely to care for her.
"She couldn't see, but she always knew when I was near. Even in her last years, when she was fully blind, she'd lift her trunk the moment I called her name."
Now, with Vatsala gone, Maniram feels adrift. "I don't know what I'll do next. For the last three decades, she was my only responsibility."
Though proud of his work, he's firm about one thing. "I won't let my son take this job.
It's dangerous. Rambhahdur — the same elephant who attacked Vatsala — killed a mahout and a ranger. This work takes everything — your time, your strength, your heart."
Still, he knows he was part of something rare. "She was my first elephant," he says. "And my last. No one else will be like her."
Though her name may never appear in any record book, Vatsala's story — one of resilience, quiet grace, and an unlikely friendship that transcended language — will be remembered for generations in the forests of Panna.
On Tuesday, Vatsala fell into a pit near the Hinauta Elephant Camp and could not get up. Her body, which had carried strength and survival for more than a century, had finally given in to time.
"She fought many battles in life, but this time, her body just gave up," said a senior officer who had been part of her care team.
Vatsala's remarkable age had drawn the attention of officials who wanted her recognized by the Guinness Book of World Records as one of the oldest living elephants in the world.
Samples of her tusks were even sent to labs in a bid to verify her age through scientific analysis. Documentation was nearly complete.
"Without official records from her early life or veterinary documentation from the time of her capture, we couldn't meet the strict criteria set by Guinness. We were so close, but we just didn't have that one paper," said an officer.
Despite that, Vatsala remained a living legend in the eyes of the people who knew her.
She spent over 30 years in Panna, not only surviving near-fatal injuries but serving as a silent sentinel of the forest — dignified, strong, and wise.
When contacted APCCF (Wildlife) L Krishnamurthy said that there was no forensic system available to find out the exact age of the elephant. "She would be remembered forever," said the officer. R Sreenivasa Murthy, a 1987 batch IFS officer and former field director of the Panna National Park also remembered Vatsala as a calm elephant. "Elephants are social animals and they follow matriarchal" he said.