By Deepak Budki
I had recently shifted my office out of the
valley as it was practically impossible for me
to work there and do justice to my work. At
last the orders had been received from above.
Accommodating so many people as would fill a
three storied building was a difficult task.
After a long search a departmental building
located right on the railway station and
having some spare capacity, though still not
sufficient enough, was identified.I
collected all the officials and gave them a
long pep talk on how to adjust to the new
surroundings and adapt to the changed
circumstances. This called for their utmost
dedication and sacrifice. They were not to
expect the same facilities as were available
to them previously. With faces crestfallen and
future uncertain they readily agreed.
We lost no time to set our house in order.
As for myself I chose a small room facing
towards the railway platform. I personally
supervised the decor of my room. On one side
of the room facing the entrace door the office
table and the chair were placed while on the
other side the sofa set which had been shifted
from the valley was adjusted. A large sized
photograph of Mahatma Gandhi was hung on the
wall opposite the window facing the platform.
Through the window you could see a large tract
of fallow land extending beyond the platform
across the rails with urchins defecating
besides the bristly cacti, stray cattle
bracing the scorching heat in search of food
and the dogs scavenging the garbage. The
scenery was totally different from the one we
were used to in the lush green valley beyond
the Pir Panchal ranges. There was no cool
breeze blowing in the mornings, no cold water
piped down from the Cheshma Shahi, the eternal
royal spring and no cool shadows under the
majestic Chinars to rest underneath. It was a
different world altogether.
A few glass panes of the
window had been broken and nobody attended to
them because there were other important things
to do. Often hot and dusty winds would blow
through them and produce burning sensation on
my cheeks.
One day while I was sitting in my chair I
spotted a sparrow with a dry twig in its beak
darting down from the blue expanse above. It
sat on the window -sill for a while deep in
contemplation and then flitted across the room
to deposit the twig behind Gandhiji’s
photograph. Then came another sparrow with
piece of straw in her mouth and followed suit.
Sometime in the past, God alone knows when
they had agreed to live together and build a
nest for themselves. A nest -where they would
spend an entire season together, mate, lay
eggs, hatch them to see young ones popping out
their tiny beaks, and feed them till they
would take to their wings. They flew time and
again in search of more such material and kept
depositing the same behind the photograph
unmindful of my presence. I watched them for a
long time and appreciated their skill and
patience.
The sparrows too seemed
to have migrated from some far off uncongenial
place and were eager to cohabit since the
monsoon was fast approaching. While watching
them I felt that building a nest was as
instinctive as eating, breathing or drinking
for the whole animal world.
Day in and day out I saw
these two sparrows building their nest straw
by straw. They collected dry twigs, pieces of
bark and straw, cotton wool, fallen dry leaves
and feathers from places far and near and
brought them into the room with a sense of
elation and anticipation. Many a time they sat
on the window-ledge and looked towards the
nest with eagerness and urgency. In the
process, more often than not, they forgot
their own food. The very idea of a comfortable
nest with their offspring protruding their
tiny beaks evaporated whatever tiredness they
had felt and this made them redouble their
efforts. As a result it dawned upon me that it
was not only the human beings who dreamt of a
sweet home but birds too enjoyed the idea of a
nice home of their own.
The two weavers kept we
aving their nest meticulously with all
finesse, intertwining the warp and the weft
made of dry grass blades and straw. They used
the cotton wool and the animal hair for
cushioning the nest and to give it a soft
touch. Simultaneously, they started to live in
the nest though their efforts to embellish it
still continued. I had become accustomed to
their presence and with the passage of time
had lost interest in these harmless creatures.
Nature rewarded them
soon thereafter with bounteous monsoons. The
atmosphere was filled with the songs of Koel
and the croaking of frogs. There was romance
everywhere. Young maidens riding on the swings
welcomed the showers. Not to be left behind,
the he-sparrow started petting and necking the
she-sparrow with his small tiny beak, often
expanded his wings as wide as possible to
impress his sweetheart of his majestic
presence and after assuring himself that his
female partner was ready to receive him rode
on her back while twitching his tail. For both
of them there could be no better moment of
ecstasy as this one.
After some time I had to
proceed on leave for about a week and could
not keep a track of these two tiny lovers who
had taken refuge in my room for making love.
My room remained close during the week. The
two lovers had their heyday in my absence. No
watchful human eyes pursued them any longer.
There was no human interference whatsoever and
apparently that they had a real good time.
They had possibly thought that I had abandoned
the room forever. They sat wherever they
liked, on the blade of the fan, on the writing
table or on the chairs. Twigs, straw and
feathers had been strewn everywhere and the
room had been littered with offensive smelling
faces of these birds.
After having spent the
week on leave I was eager to join my office,
and therefore, reached my office early in the
morning. Nobody had yet come to the office
except the chowkidar and the sweeper. I asked
the chowkidar to open my room. As I entered
the room I was horrified to see its condition.
There were pieces of straw, feathers and twigs
strewn everywhere. Worse still the two birds
had defecated at many places and their excreta
stuck to the upholstery of the sofa and the
chairs besides the glass top of the table. I
watched helplessly and did not know how to
react. Slowly the anger welled up inside me
and I was besides myself with rage. I
immediately called the sweeper and ordered him
to clean the room. As if that was not enough,
I asked him to remove the nest from behind the
photograph. Shortly thereafter the sweeper
reported to me that the nest had a few eggs
inside it and it would not be proper to throw
them away. He was too religious to think of
destroying a nest having eggs in it. I could
notice from his face that he was reluctant to
carry out my orders and therefore did not
press for the same as it could hurt his
religious sentiments. So I took it upon myself
to remove the nest from behind the photograph
and throw it out of the window. The tiny eggs
broke open as soon as they fell on the ground
and the fluid in them oozed and spread over
the surface. The chowkidar and the sweeper
kept looking helplessly. So did the Mahatma
from behind the glass frame.
I left the room for the
sweeper to clean it and mop the furniture and
as soon as he reported completion, I returned
and took my seat in the chair and started
disposing of the office files.
Almost after an hour the
she-sparrow came flying from the heavens above
with a grain of wheat in her mouth which she
wanted to share with her mate in the
exclusivity of her nest. She sat on the
window-sill for a while with her eyes radiant
with hope and promise. She flew straight
towards the photograph but to her dismay could
not find her nest there. She kept hovering
around the place in utter disbelief and
distress not knowing what had be fallen her
sweet home. All her dreams had been belied and
plans shattered. In deep anguish and
frustration she flitted across the room
unmindful of the rotating fan above. She had
simply gone mad. In one of the rapid moves her
body struck the fast moving blades of the fan
and within moments her wing was torn into
pieces, the feathers scattered on the floor
and she herself fell dead on the floor.
Then came the he-sparrow
with mirth and joy writ large on his face and
sat on the window-sill. As he peeped into the
room all his happiness evaporated like ether
and he became sullen at the sight of his
companion. He too flew towards the photograph
to find for himself what was in store for him.
Shocked and bewildered he darted down to his
partner and hovered over her dead body for a
long time with the expectation that she may
hear his call and wake up. But that was not to
be. His mate was silent as a stone. He was now
convinced that she would not hear his call nor
would the destroyed nest be rebuild. Dejected,
he flew back and sat on the window-sill where
he kept brooding for sometime. He had lost his
mate, his home and his offspring to my wanton
desire. His life had become desolate and held
no promise for future. Quietly, he gathered
his courage and flew away into the vast blue
expanse towards the milky horizon never to
return and I watched him in horrified silence.
Source:
Kashmir Sentinel
