Funeral
of An Elephant
How many
men does it take to shoulder the casket of an elephant? How many teak planks needed to make an elephantine coffin? How many wood
craftsmen? How many gallons of paint and polish? How many tons of tall nails
with textured heads?
Will
they attach two pairs of gigantic trousers to the humongous coffin to make room
for the elephant’s legs, and three holes in the front for the trunk and the tusks? Should the casket be
draped in Indonesian batik or a national flag? Eloquent eulogies have been
penned. Top florists have been commissioned to come forward with fancy sympathy
flowers and designer wreaths.
Perhaps
an elephant is heavier dead? When an elephant dies, everybody gets on edge. Even
the ivory poachers have sent their condolences. Security is all-time tight. The
rumor mill in overdrive – radicals will highjack the casket and turn the
funeral into a protest. All the tribal leaders will be there. They will need six deck cranes to lower the bulky box into the grave the size of Lesotho. 21-gun salute for such a mammoth may be too low-key,
too ungenerous.
Of
course the embalmers want the elephant embalmed.
‘Keep
it in a mausoleum. It’s good for tourism.’ they insist.
Lucky
us, the funeral director says the elephant must rest.
‘After
all it wasn’t a white elephant.’
