7 days ago
A mirror to timelessness
So polluted and murky have we made our waters that a Narcissus would be hard put to find a pool of pure water in our times. One so clear that he could gaze upon his reflection in the depths and fall in love with himself! Well, if one retreats from the madding crowds and voyages afar from road-heads into the foothills, there are jungle pools created in monsoon's wake that would indulge a Narcissus with a crystal-clear mirror held to his beautiful face. The Siswan jungle pool, with a nearby hollow. (Vikram Jit Singh)
A five-km trek into the ravines and along the rivulet feeding Siswan dam brought me to a transparent pool corralled by boulders. It was a piece of the blue planet in its purest manifestation. There were Paradise flycatchers in rufous morph sallying forth to hawk insects and plunging in for baths.
On the edges were Rock honeybees nibbling at moist earth, along with butterflies and esoteric insects. Tadpoles darted towards subaqueous cliffs of pebbles gleaming in rain lustre. Flowers were tiny, lean and adaptive, lacking in the ampleness of the buxom beauties of our manicured, soulless, sprayed gardens.
I did not know the names of all these insects/ wild flowers. Neither did a quest arise in me to know the nomenclatures that imprisoned their infinity. And, by the way, would the flora and fauna ever know the names allotted to them in some gloomy lab?
Neighbouring the pool was a cave-like hollow in the hillock wall. Hollows form when turbulence of rivulet flow drives into the sides. These provide shelter in the searing pre-monsoon. I had observed a Barking deer, peacock and Red junglefowl share limited space in one such hollow along a dry rivulet. The unlikely trio had amicably sought shade from June's white heat.
The pool held a mirror to timelessness. There were no ecological distortions here in the guise of sand-mining, flora hacking or smoking of beehives. The unpretentious scene was a blessed isle of planetary life as humans rarely ventured into this supposedly 'godforsaken spot'. As I gazed, time stood still. Nature swept me in a time machine on a voyage anti-clockwise. The inner cosmic spirit released a shooting star of a thought: much hasn't changed by the pool though countless moons have, since, sailed into the dawn.
A House crow tugs at the tail feathers of a Eurasian Collared dove stricken by heat stroke at a pondside in New Chandigarh. The crow was seeking to peck the dove to death and eat it. Puckish crows are also known to tug at the tail feathers of much larger birds such as vultures to harass them and revel in their discomfiture. (Anuj Jain)
The crow is no birdbrain!
A former, long-standing member of the National Board for Wildlife, an ex-director of the BNHS and an author, Asad Rahmani has devoted a lifetime to wildlife conservation and a scientific understanding of the natural world. He is thus well-placed to liberate the House crow (Kaala kauwa) from superstitions and ignorance, cultural prejudice and the shackles of a colour-conscious society, which associates 'fair skins' with intelligence and virtue.
In a recent essay published in 'Hornbill', the prestigious quarterly magazine of the BNHS, Rahmani writes of the crow's larger family, the corvids with a dash of wry wit: 'Recent research shows that birds, particularly members of the corvid family, are intelligent and capable of complex behaviours, problem-solving, and even tool use. Therefore, if someone calls you a birdbrain, take it as a compliment!'
House crows exhibit complex cognitive abilities, including long memory, facial recognition, and advanced problem-solving, adds Rahmani. He narrates a delightful anecdote from his early research days to illustrate the crow's cognitive capabilities. 'In 1980, I was sent to Point Calimere Wildlife and Bird Sanctuary in Tamil Nadu by the BNHS to learn bird ringing. The training was rigorous, with only Sundays off. Coming from North India, I packed a white 'kurta-pyjama' to wear during non-office hours. One hot Sunday afternoon, I heard a commotion outside our rented house,' wrote Rahmani.
'A pre-fledged crow had fallen from its nest, prompting its parents and companions to raise a racket. I picked up the injured chick and placed it on a high branch to protect it from nearby cats. The cawing and dive-bombing intensified, drawing attention in the sleepy village. From that day forward, the crows recognised me. Whenever I stepped outside, they would caw angrily and dive-bomb me, even when I wasn't wearing the conspicuous kurta-pyjama. Clearly, they could recognise my face regardless of attire. When I returned to Point Calimere two decades later, a new generation of crows had taken over – and finally, I was spared their wrath,' he quipped.
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