In the heart of the mystical Sahari jungle, hidden beyond the rolling dunes and whispering oases of Rajasthan, there lived an elephant unlike any other. Her name was Chandrika, meaning ‘moonlight’, but the world called her the Multi-Colored Elephant.
Her skin was not the ordinary grey of her kin. Instead, it shimmered with colors that changed with her mood. When she was happy, brilliant shades of blue and pink rippled across her massive ears and trunk. When she felt playful, gold and emerald patterns danced like sunlight through leaves on her thick, wrinkled hide. But when sadness clouded her heart, dark hues of indigo and stormy violet spread across her body like dusk swallowing day.
No one knew why she was born this way. Some believed a powerful forest spirit blessed her mother on the night of Chandrika’s birth. Others said she was cursed to carry her emotions upon her skin so she could never hide her true self. But Chandrika paid little mind to stories. She was too busy exploring every inch of the forest she called home.
Every morning, as dawn painted the sky in saffron and rose, Chandrika walked to the river to drink. Birds flew down to rest on her broad back, admiring their reflections in her mirrored patterns. Monkeys danced on her tusks, giggling at the swirling colours beneath their feet. Even the tigers watched her from the shadows with wonder and silent respect.
One day, as she bathed under a waterfall, a young boy named Aarav appeared. He was the son of a local farmer, sent to fetch water. He dropped his clay pot in shock when he saw her.
“An elephant… with rainbow skin!” he gasped, his eyes wide.
Chandrika turned, her ears fluttering with amusement, her skin blooming into hues of lavender and gold. She loved when people admired her beauty, but this boy’s eyes held something deeper than wonder – they held questions.
“Why do you look like this?” Aarav asked, stepping closer despite his trembling knees.
Chandrika lowered her giant head until her ancient, wise eyes met his. The jungle fell silent as if holding its breath.
“Because,” she whispered in a voice like rustling leaves and distant thunder, “I carry the colours of life.”
The boy blinked. “What does that mean?”
She smiled, her trunk curling playfully around a falling lotus petal. “Every being in this world hides their colours. They hide their anger behind forced smiles, their pain behind laughter, their jealousy behind false praise, their love behind casual words. But I… I cannot hide. My skin tells my truth.”
Aarav sat down on a mossy rock, listening intently. His young heart felt something shift, like a door opening to a secret room within.
“But isn’t it scary?” he asked softly. “For everyone to see how you feel?”
Chandrika looked up at the waterfall cascading in silver ribbons, her skin shimmering with tranquil blues.
“It was. When I was little, the other elephants called me strange. They avoided me, afraid my colours were a disease. I used to wish I was grey like them. But then I realised… my colours are a gift. I do not have to speak to express myself. I do not have to pretend. I simply am.”
Aarav thought of how his father scolded him harshly for dreaming about becoming an artist instead of a farmer. He thought of how he smiled at friends even when they teased him. He thought of how he hid his tears when his mother fell ill last winter. He wondered what it would feel like to let his true colours show.
“Will you come with me to the village?” he asked impulsively. “Everyone will love you.”
Chandrika’s colours flickered with hesitation. Deep brown and steel grey moved across her back.
“Humans do not always love what is different, little one,” she said gently.
“But I do,” he insisted, eyes shining. “Maybe… if they see you, they will understand it’s okay to be different.”
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The multi-colored elephant gazed at the boy for a long moment. Then she slowly nodded.
Together, they walked through the jungle, past rustling bamboo groves and singing brooks, until they reached Aarav’s village. As they entered, women screamed and ran, children pointed with shrill excitement, and men grabbed sticks in fear.
“Wait!” Aarav shouted, standing in front of her massive legs. “She won’t hurt you. She is special!”
But the villagers did not listen. They threw stones, shouting that she was a demon, a curse sent to ruin their crops. Chandrika felt her skin darken into shades of despair. She turned to leave, tears like silent diamonds rolling down her trunk.
But just as she stepped away, Aarav ran to her side. “Please don’t go,” he cried, hugging her thick, trembling leg. “They don’t understand. But I do. I will always remember your colours.”
Chandrika looked down at the brave boy clutching her, and her skin slowly shifted to soft pastel pinks and sky blues. She wrapped her trunk around him in a gentle embrace. Without a word, she turned and walked back into the jungle, leaving shimmering footprints on the dust road.
Years passed. Aarav grew up to become a famous artist. His paintings of multi-colored elephants hung in galleries across India, each canvas a reminder of truth and courage. When asked why he painted elephants in such unreal hues, he would smile and say,
“They are not unreal. They are what we all are inside – creatures of a thousand colours, if only we dare to show them.”
And somewhere deep in the Sahari jungle, Chandrika roamed free. Her colours changed with the seasons, her moods, and the songs of dawn. But she always carried the memory of a boy who saw her not as a curse or miracle, but as a teacher who revealed life’s greatest lesson:
To live without fear of showing your true colours is the most beautiful life of all.
