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Killer elephant "Osama" shot dead in Jharkhand
| Sat May 31, 2008 1:13pm IST
Posted on 05/31/2008 5:41:50 AM PDT by CarrotAndStick
PATNA, India (Reuters) - An elephant named "Osama bin Laden" that has killed more than 11 people and injured dozens over the past few months was shot dead in Jharkhand, officials said on Saturday.
The wild male elephant, had been terrorising villagers in two states, destroying their crops and homes.
Forest officials and a police team tracked down the rogue jumbo in Jharkhand late on Friday, where it was shot dead, Ravi Ranjan, a senior government official said.
"Yes, Osama has finally been killed and it took us 20 bullets to silence him," Ranjan told Reuters from Jharkhand on Saturday.
Hundreds of villagers gathered on Saturday to catch a glimpse of the dead elephant.
TOPICS: Culture/Society; News/Current Events
KEYWORDS: elephant; elephantterror; osama; terror
Rampaging ‘Osama’ gets death warrant
RANCHI: Osama Bin Laden, the name given to a rampaging tusker, has killed 10 people in the last nine days in the villages of Jharkhand, and an exasperated administration has now issued a “death warrant” against this terror.
The tusker was christened ‘Laden’ by villagers soon after it crossed over from Purulia, West Bengal, on May 21 after trampling five persons there. Since the day it entered Jharkhand from Bokaro via Beldih bordering Bengal, it has sent to death 10 and injured 22 people.
On Friday, when it was trapped in the forests of Bokaro in the midst of hundreds of vindictive villagers pelting stones, the angry elephant again smashed one of his tormenters.
Left without option, Jharkhand chief wildlife warden A K Singh on Friday declared the elephant “rogue”, paving the way for its execution which has been the demand of foresters both in Bengal and Jharkhand.
“West Bengal government has now declared the elephant ‘rogue’ and its hunters are out to kill it but since the tusker is now in Jharkhand, I have declared it a rogue too and the DFO, Bokaro, will now decide how to work out its execution,” said Singh.
Villagers of Bokaro had written a letter to the DFO urging him to have the elephant killed to prevent further destruction. The right to declare an elephant “rogue” vests with the chief wildlife warden.
posted on 05/31/2008 5:47:06 AM PDT
(The articles posted by me needn't necessarily reflect my opinion.)
I guess after he was bombed in Tora Bora, Osama was reincarnated as an elephant. Too bad it wasn’t a donkey.
posted on 05/31/2008 5:56:32 AM PDT
Osama is truly dead. NYT in mourning.
posted on 05/31/2008 6:12:26 AM PDT
(Et si omnes ego non)
Osama dead, NYT says “We can’t win!”
posted on 05/31/2008 6:51:57 AM PDT
(Does Obama know ANYONE who likes America, capitalism, or white people?)
20 shots to kill one elephant? ? ? ?
More range time is clearly called for.
One more thing - an AK-47 is NOT an elephant gun.
posted on 05/31/2008 6:52:08 AM PDT
(In a society predicated upon freedom, it is essential to examine principles,)
Wow Hillary was right. Oh OSAMA was shot, nevermind.
posted on 05/31/2008 12:43:40 PM PDT
(The problem with bad ideas is that they seemed like good ideas at the time.)
But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. (Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal.) Besides, there was the beast's owner to be considered. Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving. They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him.
It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. A white man mustn't be frightened in front of "natives"; and so, in general, he isn't frightened. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do.
There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward.
When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick one never does when a shot goes home but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time it might have been five seconds, I dare say he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.
George Orwell, in Shooting an Elephant.
posted on 05/31/2008 12:57:43 PM PDT
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