Chapter 21 — Where Old Elephants Rest

The Vietnamese Elephant Conservation Fund's veterinary emergency team specializing in large elephants arrived at the camp at nearly four in the morning, a specialized truck filled with heavy medical equipment rolling down the bumpy red dirt road, headlights piercing the thick darkness. The team's head doctor, an older man with more than twenty years of experience treating elephants, quickly assessed the situation with Tuan Khoi and decided to give emergency fluids and inject specialized painkillers right on the spot, because Sao Mai's condition did not allow him to move to a further medical facility.

"We need to install a large-scale infusion system. This elephant needs at least a hundred liters of fluid in the next six hours to avoid severe dehydration due to vomiting," the team's head doctor ordered, his voice firm and professional. The whole team got to work immediately, setting up a field tent right at the elephant field, hooking up an intricate system of infusion lines connected to Sao Mai's ear vein, the largest and most easily accessible blood vessel.

Ha Lam stood next to her, helplessly watching the medical team work. Her hand tightly grasped Sao Mai's ear, feeling the faint vibrations transmitted through the old elephant's wrinkled skin. She had never felt so afraid, not even during the days when she faced Hoang Kim or when her father was hospitalized in the emergency room - the fear of losing Sao Morning took on a different, deeper and more primitive nuance, as if a part of her childhood, a part of the camp's soul, was hanging in the balance between life and death.

During the night, there was a moment that almost stopped everyone's heart - around three in the morning, Sao Mai's heart rate suddenly skyrocketed, the old elephant began to stagger as if he was about to collapse, causing the team's head doctor to shout loudly and order an increased dose of emergency heart medication. The group held their breath. Ha Lam held Tuan Khoi's hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, while Bay Kinh stood behind and quietly recited prayers in both Vietnamese and M'nong that he had learned since his youth.

"Don't leave us, Morning Star," Ha Lam whispered, her voice cracking with fear, "you've lived through so much, you can't be broken by this."

Several extremely tense minutes passed, seemingly endless, before Sao Mai's heart rate began to slow down, gradually returning to a controllable level. The head doctor breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead even though the night was chilly. “He just got over a real crisis,” he said, his voice still shaking with tension. "We must continue to monitor closely and not be negligent for even a minute."

By morning, after many hours of continuous infusion, Sao Mai's condition showed signs of being a bit more stable - her heart rate had somewhat decreased, and her tremors had lessened, even though she still refused to eat or drink anything. The team leader, his face showing signs of fatigue after a sleepless night, informed the group.

"It's past the most dangerous stage tonight, but it's not completely safe yet," he said, his voice cautious. "Colic in old elephants often has a very high risk of recurrence in the first seventy-two hours. We need to stay here for close monitoring for at least the next three days."

The first sunlight of the new day began to peek behind the Chu Rinh mountain range, dyeing the entire valley in a gentle pink color, in complete contrast to the tense atmosphere that still covered the elephant field. Ha Lam, exhausted after a white night filled with anxiety, leaned her head on Tuan Khoi's shoulder, letting the last suppressed tears flow.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from staying up all night crying and praying in silence. "If it weren't for you and your team, I don't know what would happen to Morning Star."

"He's a warrior," Tuan Khoi replied, his voice equally tired but still trying to stay steady to comfort her. "Thirty years of living through so many events, it's not easy to fall."

News of Sao Mai's condition spread quickly throughout Chu Rinh village, and from early morning, groups of people from the village began to arrive at the camp, bringing food, water, and sincere prayers according to traditional customs. Ama Not personally brought a bunch of special leaves, explaining that according to M'nong beliefs, these are the leaves used to "call the souls" of living beings in danger, giving them more strength to overcome.

"I know modern science has its ways," the old man said to Ha Lam, placing the bunch of leaves carefully under the tree where Sao Mai was resting, "but our grandparents also had their ways. The two are not contradictory, daughter, just two different ways of expressing their wish for him to live."

That image — modern veterinary experts working tirelessly alongside the traditional rituals of the indigenous community, both working toward a common goal of saving the life of an old elephant — made Ha Lam feel more deeply than ever about the true meaning of what she was trying to protect. This is not just a simple elephant farm, but a place where scientific knowledge and indigenous wisdom, between modernity and tradition, between humans and animals, are all intertwined into an inseparable whole.

Mr. Thach, after being persuaded to rest for a few hours because his health did not allow him to stay up all night, returned to the elephant field as soon as it was dawn, sat down next to Sao Mai all morning, not leaving for even a minute, his hands constantly caressing the giant body of the old elephant, muttering old stories that only two people, one older and one older, could fully understand.

"Do you remember, Morning Star," he whispered, his voice trembling with both age and emotion, "the first day I met you, you were very young, cowering in fear in the corner of the cage because you had just left your mother. I promised you that I would take good care of you and would never let you suffer again. Thirty years later, I still keep that promise, and I will continue to keep it, as long as I live in this world."

At noon, when the sunlight was already high, Sao Mai began to show the first positive signs - it gently moved its trunk, gently touching Mr. Thach's hand that was placed on its head, a small gesture but enough to make the whole group of people standing around burst into new hope, even though the team leader still cautiously reminded that the road ahead was still long and full of uncertainties.

Y Khun, who had stayed at the camp since last night to help with chores for the emergency team, stood silently watching that scene, his face clearly revealing the emotion that he usually hid with a cold exterior. He approached Ha Lam, his voice was rare and soft. "When I was little, I often climbed on Sao Mai's back to play with her, remember? She was very gentle and never threw me down no matter how naughty I was." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Looking at it lying there, I realized it's not just your or my family's elephant, it belongs to all of us, to this whole Chu Rinh village."

Those words, simple but sincere, moved Ha Lam to tears again, not because of sadness, but because she felt the deep connection that was gradually being healed between her, her family, and the whole community that had carried so much pain and resentment for the past thirty years. She took Y Khun's hand, squeezed it gently as a wordless thank you, then they both turned to look at Sao Mai, waiting for the next little sign of recovery from the old elephant that was gradually regaining vitality after the terrible night that had just passed.

By afternoon, news that Sao Mai had overcome the most dangerous stage spread beyond the camp and Chu Rinh village, continuously updated by Xuan Mai on the official social networking site, accompanied by honest, unvarnished images of the last night of emergency. Thousands of comments of encouragement and wishes poured in. Many people who have followed the camp since the national television report are now also following Sao Mai's situation as if they were following a familiar person.

The head doctor, before resting after a long night without sleep, spoke privately to Ha Lam, his voice somewhat thoughtful. "I have treated many old elephants in my life, Ms. Lam, but rarely have I seen an elephant with a strong will to live like this one. Perhaps, it felt that there were too many people who needed it to stay, so it also tried to cling to life with all its might."

That comment, although more emotional than pure science, still warmed Ha Lam's heart, as an affirmation of everything she had always believed in - that the bond between humans and animals, when built with sincere love over the years, has a power far beyond what science can fully measure or explain.