The Sultan's Elephant

Imagine this... it's Sunday afternoon, you're in Piccadilly Circus, and it's incredibly busy. Nothing unusual, you say? no, except this time, there are no cars, and it's packed only with people, as far as the eye can see.

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You notice they're all craning in one direction... you turn and look, but you can't see anything... a child's voice calls, 'He's coming!' and you look further down Piccadilly, in the direction of Green Park.

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And there, in the distance...

...no, that's impossible. It looks like -

- no, such things simply do not happen, not in the centre of London. It looks like -

- well, it looks like an elephant.

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You hear a sound now, a throbbing, and a thumping; it's in time with the creature's movements, and now you see he's definitely getting closer. His ears are flapping slowly; his trunk is coiling and twisting, and his eyes blink, his long lashes feathering the air...

...you hear music; the thumping is louder now, it's tribal drums, and there are singing voices, and guitars; a hypnotic and infectious tune that, in other circumstances, would have you dancing. But not today, not now; there's this elephant; and he's getting closer, and your jaw is dropping in awe, and - yes - delight.

His trunk raises itself up, and water sprays over the crowd; you hear squeals and laughter and people shouting... you can see his huge legs moving; pacing deliberately as he comes nearer... the leathery ears flap, he looks around him, and keeps coming. He's closer and closer; you can see the enormous curved tusks, banded about with gold and crimson; there are rows of brass studs in his ears, and they glint in the sunlight... suddenly his mouth opens, and he bellows; trumpetingly, deafeningly. He's HUGE, the people are tiny before and around him... he moves on, and they scatter, but you hold your ground; he's impossibly close, and impossibly large; he looms above you.

There has never been anything like this. You are grinning as widely as a person can grin; the impossibility, the absurdity, the incredible beauty is almost too much to comprehend.

He stops beside you. He is near enough to touch and you look up, almost vertically, past the howdah on his back and into the sky.

His massive feet shift; he bellows again, and slowly begins to move once more. He paces around the circus, passes Eros and the Trocadero, and slowly disappears south east. The drums and music fade...

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(There's obviously more to this story, but I think you should find it out for yourselves... Hint: a Google search on my subject line will set you in the right direction ;)).

Update: click here for some amateur (but pretty well edited) footage of the event, on YouTube.