[nukkad] Bird in the Night

["HOMI KAIKOBAD" <>]

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BIRD IN THE NIGHT

A few nights ago a solitary bird was heard chirping far away into the night
in our neighborhood in one of the tall trees which front people's lawns. It
trilled and twittered and warbled and trilled again, and this went on
non-stop all night.

This happened again the next night and the night after that, and it was an
unusual and eerie experience. It did not rest for even a few moments and as
the nights went by began to sound more and more desperate.

I saw neighbors talking in a group and went and joined. No one had a clue
why a solitary bird would set up this outcry every night, and some who were
familiar with bird calls said it belonged to a migratory flock which had
already flown.

Someone suggested we should wait till night and trace out the tree where it
sat and see if something troubled it, maybe a cat or something worse.

Four of us armed with torches and walking sticks ventured forth around
midnight and narrowed down the tree. The bird went on, entirely ignoring our
group. Someone brought a ladder and one of us, Bob, younger and a rock
climber, volunteered to climb up and see for sure what was going on. By this
time some twenty people had gathered at the foot of the tree.

As he went up the bird continued unabated, and even when Bob shone the torch
beam directly at the bird, it did not stop, oblivious to whatever was
happening around it, completely engrossed in it's calls, sounding really
desperate.

Bob began to descend and was soon standing with us in the eerie circle of
camp lights on the sidewalk and the hand held torches. We waited for him to
tell us what he saw.

In a level voice he informed us that he found a small bundle of feathers in
the nest by which the bird sat. In was it's mate, apparently dead since
these few days.

Someone informed that this species mates only once and for life and when one
dies the other pines away trying to call back it's soul mate to life, not
comprehend that death had taken it away, and that it would never return.

That night all the homes on the street left the front porch lights on. The
calls went on all night, and I suspect many of my neighbors kept awake to
participate in this muted love ritual of a lowly bird for it's lover.

I fell asleep towards dawn, awakened, washed and went for work. I returned
in the evening and I had forgotten the whole incident.

I awakened around midnight, sure something was wrong, and realized there was
a terrible silence. The bird sounds were no more. I ventured forth outside
to see a small group by the tree. I reached there and before I could say
anything, Bob came forwards and gently informed me that our bird died at
dawn and fell to the sidewalk. He saw it and carried it back up the tree to
the nest and laid it by the side of it's mate and covered it with twigs and
leaves, like a native Indian funeral pyre.

Since that time many nights when I can't sleep, I sometimes feel I can hear
the bird cries again, and know that this is not possible, it is dead.

Maybe it's love lives on? Who knows.

Arya.

































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