Complimentary worldwide shipping on orders over $400 · No import tariffs for most countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

“The elephant knelt before the moon in a pool that did not ripple.”

There was a time when the forest trembled—
not with wind,
but with footsteps.

He came with thunder in his heels,
this great elephant,
born with tusks pale as moonlight
and a voice that cracked the branches.
The trees parted when he passed.
The monkeys hushed.
The deer stilled their hearts.
Even the clouds took care not to shadow him.

He was not cruel, this elephant—only proud.
And proud beasts often forget
how much silence the world requires
to keep breathing.

He claimed the choicest banyan groves,
splashed through sacred ponds,
and drank where the tiger dared not.
Birds whispered in the branches:
He is too big for the world.

But none dared confront him.
None but the rabbit.

The rabbit was small—not only in size,
but in presence.
He passed through the forest like a shadow between leaves.
He watched.
He listened.
And when the elephant’s boasting grew so loud
that even the wind turned away,
the rabbit quietly made a plan.

 

The Rabbit in the Path of the Elephant

 

One evening, when the air was soft
with moonlight and jasmine,
the rabbit stepped onto a path
where he knew the elephant would walk.

The elephant looked down, surprised.
“Little one,” he rumbled,
“why do you stand in my way?”

The rabbit bowed.
“I do not block your path, great one.
I bring a message.”

The elephant lifted his head.
“A message? From whom?”

“From the Moon.”

The forest fell still.

“She is angry,” said the rabbit, gently.
“You have trampled her reflection
in her sacred pond.
You have stirred waters meant for silence.
She asks that you come and kneel,
if you wish her favor to return.”

The elephant shifted.
“I meant no harm.
I did not know.”

“She knows,” said the rabbit.
“Follow me.”

 

The Rabbit Leading the Elephant Through the Forest

 

Through winding paths
and sleeping vines,
the rabbit led the elephant
to a hidden clearing
where a still pond lay
in perfect quiet.

The moon floated on its surface—
whole,
unbroken,
watching.

“There,” whispered the rabbit.
“See how she shines?”

The elephant gazed into the water.
And in that silver gaze,
he saw not only the moon—
but himself.
Large.
Restless.
Proud.

For the first time,
he felt the stillness of the world
without him in it.

He knelt.

 

The Elephant Kneeling at the Moonlit Pond

 

The pond did not ripple.
The moon did not blink.
And in that moment,
something shifted.

The elephant bowed—
not to a god,
not to a rabbit,
but to a truth he had forgotten.

 

From that night on,
he walked softer.

He listened to birdsong.
He let the deer pass.
And when he drank,
he left the center of the pool undisturbed,
so the moon could continue watching.

As for the rabbit,
he said nothing.
He simply returned
to the shadows beneath the leaves—
where stories begin
and end
in silence.

 

Some say the moon still remembers that night.
Some say she watches for such moments always.
And if you come to a still pond beneath a silver sky,
you may yet see an elephant kneeling.


Also in Library

The Silence of Scales
The Silence of Scales

1 min read

A staircase inhales, and silence thickens between stone scales. Each step remembers serpents once carved, pearl-light gathering in its breath. In this luminous flash gem, a traveller climbs toward hush and revelation, where silence itself becomes flame. A tale brief as an exhalation, yet lingering like pearl-light beneath moss.

Read More
The Crocodile and the Moon Eel: A Tide-Bargain
The Crocodile and the Moon Eel: A Tide-Bargain

7 min read

A crocodile waits in hush where river bends to moonlight. From the silt, a pearl-lit eel rises, whispering a bargain of scale and tide. What is given is never returned whole: hunger meets silence, storm keeps watch, and the river writes its law in breath.

Read More
Field Note: Blue Hour at Angkor
Field Note: Blue Hour at Angkor

2 min read

The blue hour settles over Angkor like a hush in stone. Naga coils dissolve into shadow, carvings soften into silence, and hunger without teeth endures. A sketch becomes listening. Each fracture is a hymn, each hollow a river. A field note on patience, memory, and the stillness that lingers.

Read More