Nandi had a long nose. It was a very long nose indeed. Perhaps you will not believe it, but his nose was as long as you are tall, my little reader.
And it was a wonderful nose. It was always moving, always feeling, always smelling. With his nose Nandi could rock the cradle, and brush away the flies that buzzed about the baby's face. With it he could pick up the smallest toys from the ground, or open the door of the hut.
But you, my little readers, have another name for this wonderful, long nose. You call it a trunk.
Nandi had two long, sharp teeth. They were longer than a man's arm, and they were very strong. With them he could lift heavy logs and move great stones.
But you have another name for these long, strong teeth. You call them tusks. And you have already guessed that the baby's nurse was an elephant.
The baby was a little Hindu boy, and he lived on the other side of the world. He had a brown skin, black eyes, and black hair.
The Hindu baby had played with great Nandi's trunk ever since he could grasp anything with his tiny hands. He had crawled around the elephant's feet and slept on the ground in the shadow of the great beast. For, in the warm country of India, where the baby lived, it is always summer.
One morning, the baby's father perched himself upon the elephant's head and rode away from his home. The child screamed with grief for his companion.
"Be still, love of my life," said the mother. "Thy father has need of Nandi. He can no longer be idle. There is harder work for him to do than to care for thee, O small one."