We walked through the mist of the early morning - the India of storybooks around us. Grass to our shoulders, the sound of birds, and - then, unexpectedly - a very distinctive smell.
Our guide got all excited. He waved us forward with as much caution as his enthusiasm would allow. Come. Come! The elderly Norwegian couple and I still puzzled over his change of pace and bewildered by the majesty of the forest surrounding us picked up our feet and within steps learned the object of our pursuit. Our clue - the source of the smell - lay in a steaming pile amidst plate sized impressions in the soft valley.
They're close. Come. Come! We scrambled up a rise and peered down. For things so large they blend remarkably well and in our excitement and camera fumblings we could barely make out their forms through the vegetation. Until a shift in the wind made her raise her head. She took the air, held it, and shook it until its bones hurt. A sound like something out of Jurassic Park rippled through the forest and left me looking for trees to climb as she began to move.
But then - I understood. She is Mom. The unconquerable, indomitable defender of the dearest prize. Our guide practically skipped as he rushed us to a safe distance. The calf is less than a week old. We spent the rest of the morning trying to get a glimpse. To capture the moments he curled his truck around her tail. Mom and baby joined their family group and we could no longer continue - too many heads to keep downwind of.
Elated we turned and followed our guide back to the entrance of the sanctuary.
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