Here I’m on my strip of solace
between the two canals going side-by-side. There is water, plenty of it. There
are well-watered reeds bordering the streams. Here at least the mankind is not
at war to grab more and more land. This has allowed mother nature to bloom a thin
ribbon of scrub jungle consisting of some trees, coarse grass and thorn
bushes—a scrub and grass ribbon going like a natural lifeline among the
pesticide and fertilizer smeared cropped fields on both sides. Walking on the
little footpath, and looking at the red disk of the sun slowly melting into the
silvery mist of the horizon augments silence and solitude to such proportions
as would be sufficient to heal the scars on one’s soul.
The bushes and the reeds have
plenty of prinias of various types. The dusky grey, rust brown and rufous
earthy brown denizens of the bushy world suspiciously peep at this encroacher
from the outside world. They flick their graduated tail up and down and jerkily
go hopping across their home bushes to ensure that the enemy has safely crossed
over to the other side. Some bushes have conversational, lively twittering that
changes to a plaintive, sharp tee-tee-tee,
asking me to go away. Little do they realize that I’m also looking for a bush
to hide from the bigger, bad world of humans.
One particular prinia, ashy
prinia, gives a kit-kit-kit call on
being startled by my arrival. Maybe it snaps its bill in irritation to produce
the sound. Another type of little prinia gives brr-brr-brr notes with its wings as it angrily hops among the tall
grass to make sure the enemy has passed his home bush. They have woven with grass
fibers (strengthened with cobwebs) domed or oval pouches in grass tussocks and
weed stems. Theirs is a little world centered around a few clumps of grass and
bushes. But there are plenty of caterpillars, small beetles, ants, larva to
supply calories for their agile flip-flops among the bushes. And when they
decide to have a veg supper, there is nectar from tiny wild flowers like Butea,
Erythrina and Salamalia. But they have to be very careful till the end of the
day when the last streaks of purple light are dying from the clouds in the west
after the twilight. Greater coucal, a beautiful dark handsome birdie prince with
rust brown wings, loves stalking them across the bushes even till the last rays
of the day. He is hunting for their eggs and even the grownups if they get
lazy. While most of the birds have started for their host trees and bushes, the
coucal still lingers among the bushes. Maybe it stays just nearby to start
hunting again with the next dawn.
