90 A Parliament of Birds
Sitting in the middle of the riverbed in the early evening: on the far side a small stream still flows, the little that remains of the river; a family has gathered there, bathing themselves and washing their clothes, beating the cloth against the rocks; and a little upstream, an old man clad only in a loin cloth sits quietly while he waits for his dhoti to dry.
There is a body of water near where I sit also, but it no longer flows, and every day sees it reduced in size. It’s still big enough though to attract the attention of the Pied Kingfishers, who come out here about this time, in pairs for the most part, to see what they can catch. They have a tremendous hunting technique: hovering l0 or 20 feet above the surface until they spot their prey, and then, closing their wings, they dive into the water, often changing direction just at the last moment so as to enter a little sideways, especially where the water is shallow. Emerging from the water they land on the rocks and bash the life out of their victim before swallowing it. That is, if they were successful in the attempt, for despite their great agility they seem to miss more than they catch. Then it’s back to the air, hovering, searching, and diving – sometimes they avert their dive just above the water; or perhaps they will move upstream to see if they have better luck there.
The Kingfishers retire early, about half an hour before sunset, but it’s only then that the first of the Crows even begin to make a move, and they are still flying from bank to bank well after sunset. They often land on the sand midway and have a last-minute feed, or simply gather together in small groups before flying on to their communal roosting trees.
One night I was witness to a veritable parliament of these birds, both the House and the Jungle variety, who gathered on the riverbed nearby just across from the still waters where I sit. There must have been a couple of hundred of them assembled into several different groups, all of them caw-cawing vociferously. All the time more were landing and adding their voices to the general mayhem; every one of them had something to say and not one of them was going to wait for the others to finish. The uproar continued for a good half hour before some signal caused a great flurry of wings as they all took to the air at once and continued their journey, still arguing as they went.
After they had left the silence returned once more; the sun had set by then, and the clouds above the horizon were being adorned with the hues of many shades of red and pink. The stars were appearing, and in the empty sky above a solitary eagle quietly made his way home.
Evening at the rocks: following the start of the monsoon the marshes have water again, and frogs call out to one another from their hiding places. In the air a solitary eagle rides the winds and air currents, effortlessly gliding around the heavens in circles, less, one feels, in search of prey, than for the sheer pleasure of it. I turn round to follow his course, and am greeted by a marvellous sight: behind me have gathered heavy dark clouds, and rising from the north, a bright rainbow rises into the sky and merges into them. The heavens tonight are full of splendour, and light and shadow play throughout the sky; at the horizon, cotton-wool clouds are lit up peach and pink by the setting sun, while between the clouds shafts of light pass across the sky illuminating a small drifting white cloud that moves slowly against the darkening backdrop. The rain clouds are now directly overhead and large drops of rain fall hesitantly round about, as the winds chase them in the direction of the setting sun. I watch their progress as night falls, so far they travel, following the rivers course upstream, while overhead everything is clear once more.
A million sea shells
lay strewn across the sand;
creatures of another world
now long since departed.
Different designs they
left behind, frozen forms:
flat ones, whorls, and spirals,
each one of them is special.
These sad empty coffins
have so much to speak of,
but no one, or so it seems,
listens to what they say.