Once upon a time there was a woman who had 100 children. Mischievous, lively children. Children with dirty faces and tangles in their hair. Sweet children who looked like angels when they were sleepy.

As you can imagine, she was very busy with these children. She washed them and fed them and taught them stories and songs. When they were old enough, she sent them off to school and welcomed them home again. The grandmas and grandpas and aunties and uncles and cousins were kept busy too. What a family.

But one day the family was broken. Little Sarya, always a daring one, tried to swim too far and she drowned. They carried her home and everyone gathered around. All the children and grandmas and grandpas and aunties and uncles and cousins came to share the grief for Sarya-the-daring.

They told each other their stories about her: the way she never complained if grandma plaited her hair too tight, the way she sometimes forgot to eat lunch because she was busy playing make-believe games, the way she was afraid of the dark.

They folded her clothes. They remembered her favourite foods. And they cried. All of them cried for days and days. Even after the funeral someone would be crying. The neighbours cried a bit too, but they were a little puzzled by so much grief.

More than all the others, her mother cried. She cried a river of tears every day. The floors didn’t need washing in those weeks because someone was always mopping up tears.

"Oh," said one of the neighbours, "Why cry so much, you have 99 other children."

Mother’s eyes were dark with sorrow and she didn’t answer.

Auntie Vashti held her hand and said, "We’ll help you carry the grief. We’ll all help."

And they all did help, but it wasn’t enough.

Uncle Mono looked mournful and said, "If only my donkey could carry grief, he’s a strong one."

Grandpa said, "You’d need a big animal to carry this heavy load."

Grandma said, "You’d need the elephant who holds up the world."

Mother looked thoughtful.

That evening as the last light was fading from the sky, the aunties were putting the younger children to bed and the cousins were cleaning up the kitchen. Mother walked out on the verandah and combed her long hair. She closed her eyes and sang a wordless song to the elephant that holds up the world. As the dark grew deep, she combed and sang. In a while she heard a broken branch noise and opened her eyes wide. "He’s coming!" she thought.

Still combing and still singing her wordless song, she listened as the animal approached through the trees. Then, in the dim light she saw the huge beast swaying in the shadows and all was quiet.

"Oh elephant who holds up the world, my Sarya has gone and my grief is too much for me to carry," she said softly.

Slowly, the big animal knelt one knee and then the other. Mother knew she would have to go closer, but she was afraid. Nevertheless, she tied back her hair and stepped across the hard earth towards the shadows. She came close enough to feel his breath. She repeated, just a murmur, "My Sarya has gone and my grief is too much for me to carry."

The elephant’s ears flicked in the darkness, his head lowered.

Mother leant against him and felt his strength. He was huge and her weight against him was nothing more than a cotton scarf or a garland of marigolds.

"Oh, elephant who holds up the world, carry some of this grief, I am too small for it," she said. A small breeze passed over them and she felt lighter.

The crickets resumed their chirruping.

After a while, Mother stood up and walked back to the house carrying her sadness more lightly.

In the days that followed, Mother and Father and the grandmas and grandpas and aunties and uncles and cousins all carried the sadness, helped by the elephant that holds up the world. The elephant was with them every day. Cousin Bakta joked that in some mysterious way they had all become little elephants.

Way into the future, when Mother was a grandma herself she often told her grandchildren about the elephant who holds up the world and is strong enough to help carry even the heaviest burdens. And she told the children about the elephant-soul that lives inside each one of them.