80 The Birds in the High Hills
It may be thought that a forest is a good place to watch birds, but in fact that is not always the case: some birds prefer to spend their time in the treetops, and here that can mean that they are over a hundred feet in the air; others, it is true, come to ground, but they often do so because the jungle undergrowth provides them with such good cover. It is not surprising then that a number of birds were more often heard than seen.
I never once saw the Brown Wood Owl but his characteristic hooting and screeching revealed his presence each night, and the latter can be so hair-raising that there are many myths associated with him among the locals, particularly as a bearer of bad tidings. During the day the Brown Headed Barbets keep up a constant call back and forth one to the other from the treetops, and the forest would take on a different soundscape altogether if either of these two birds decided to move out. Junglefowl also inhabit these woods, and the male of the species, who is beautifully decked out in red, black and gold, would occasionally drop in with a great flutter of wings, announcing his presence most dramatically with his three-note trumpet call. The females are noticeably more shy and retiring, both in colour and in habit. These wild birds are the direct ancestors of our modern laying chickens.
The Crimson Woodpecker was also heard knocking around the place, as this habitat suits him as much as is possible, and it was not at all unusual for the forest to ring out with the sound of this bird powerfully thud-thudding against some tree or other, trying to uncover a tasty morsel or two. The scream of this bird is so terrible that one of my friends here became convinced it was trying to paralyse its prey before eating it!
Emerald Winged Parakeets have also found a home here, though they rarely venture deep into the forest, but at the edge they could be seen, and more particularly heard, as they crashed from tree to tree. I’ve heard a number of Parakeets over the past few years, but these ones have a peculiar bunch of noises that sound like electronic whirrs; they have a different voice but the same habits as other members of their family, being both destructive and wasteful. Accompanying them in the treetops was the Hill Mynah, which for a long time I mistook for the common mynah which he closely resembles. I could never figure out why they were not seen on the ground, until his unusual call, which sounds like a baby trying to learn some alien language eventually served to identify him.
Of the birds with a more agreeable voice, first place must go to the Shama, which has a truly wonderful liquid whistle, and is also a good imitator I’m told. This is a popular cage bird and often sells for a very high price. The Orange Breasted Blue Flycatcher also has a pretty whistle. Pairs keep in touch with each other as they make their way through the lower trees and undergrowth; and his cousin the White Breasted Fantailed Flycatcher was also heard around, though I only rarely saw one. It was a similar story with the manic Brainfever bird (the Hawk-Cuckoo), and the equally obsessive Wood Dove whose domain is more in the tea-estate than the forest. The first bird up in the morning was the Magpie-Robin, and as I stood in the courtyard awaiting the sunrise I was greatly entertained by these fellows trying to out sing each other.
High in the sky and quite often heard but because of the forest canopy only rarely seen, the Serpent Eagles circled about keeping up a constant and very distinctive cry back and forth as they strove to remain in touch with each other while riding the air currents rising above the hills. Another eagle, probably the most majestic bird I’ve ever seen, is the Black Eagle, and though I hardly think the forest is its natural environment, nevertheless I saw this bird twice during my stay here. The first time I was looking out of the kutir window when I saw a huge shadow passing over the trees, and soon its owner came into view, regally gliding his way through the jungle. I watched him for a while until he grew tired of the difficulty of being such a large bird in such a dense jungle and decided to leave once more for the fields.
The Black Eagle must be all of 6ft across his wings and stands, I suppose, at one end of the spectrum, while the Three Toed Kingfisher who knocked himself out on one of the meditation hall windows one day, stands at the other. It no more than a couple of inches across, he is by far the smallest kingfisher I’ve seen; and among a family that is renowned for its beauty, he is also the most beautiful. I had a good chance to inspect his exquisite yellow green red and blue feathers and long vermilion beak at close quarters for it was thought best to keep him safe until he’d recovered his wits a little after his knock, and only after an hour or so was he allowed to make his way off again.
One day I emerged from my kutir in order to do some walking meditation, and to my surprise found myself in what seemed to be an open-air menagerie, as a pack of assorted small birds were going through the forest together in search of food, and among their number I saw White Breasted Drongos, Ioras, Tailorbirds, Tickell’s Flowerpeckers, and Purple Sunbirds. There were Grey Tits, and both Little and Orange Minivets – the female of the latter being not orange at all but yellow. Other birds seen in the lower jungle trees include the Indian Blue Chat, and Blackbirds, who could more appropriately be called ‘dark grey birds’, and both Red-Vented and Black Bulbuls.
On the forest floor and in comic disguise is seen the gaily coloured Indian Pitta, who is green on top, yellow underneath, with a red bum – you may think that is enough, but he also wears a black and white Lone Ranger type mask. He has the habit of running off quickly and then standing stock still trying not to be seen – some hope! The Forest Wagtail on the other hand is a true master of disguise, his grey body and zebra-like wings often serving to camouflage him completely, to the extent that you can almost trip over one without noticing him until he hurriedly flies off. It may be worth noting that this is the first place in Asia I’ve been where there were no crows, though they’ve made their way as far as the nearby village.
The Common Babbler, though around, was decidedly uncommon, as was his Scimitar brother whom I saw only a couple of times, though once long enough to see him make his powerful 3-note call. However the babblers hadn’t deserted me altogether, though I was a long, long time trying to identify the most common and confiding bird in these woods, owing to extremely poor illustrations in the books. When I’d finally got it down to two possibilities between which I could not decide, he turned up on a 4 rupee postage stamp as M. Pellorneum Fuscocapillum Fuscocapillum, otherwise known as the Brown Capped Babbler.
Walking back to my hermitage
on a wonderful moonlit night;
the treetops shine silvery white,
and a myriad leaves overhead
are glistening in the breeze.
Beyond, wispy clouds process past
the illustrious orb as it
silently crosses the jungle.