The Paradise Flycatcher

by Deepak Dalal

  Mitalee

  Do you have any news on Snowdrop? If you don’t, I’ll sign off and delete you from my friend list.

  Maitreya

  Don’t. Here it is. There’s a link copied here for you. Click on it and have a look.

  Maitreya opened the link himself while he waited. A photo of the white-headed squirrel popped up on his screen. Mitalee’s response was swift.

  Mitalee

  SNOWDROP! This is my Snowdrop! Who has done this? Who are these wretched people?

  Maitreya

  I don’t know, Mitalee. But Chintu and Arjun are involved. They know about this. This is the PetExotica website. Remember? They kept repeating the words ‘pet’ and ‘exotica’ and laughing? So I checked on the Internet.

  Mitalee

  I’ll get them arrested! Jail them. How dare they? Pigs. Porcupines!

  Maitreya

  Take it easy, Mitalee. You can’t get them arrested. There is no proof they are involved.

  Mitalee

  Proof! Can’t you see? Snowdrop’s photo is before your eyes. What more do you want?

  Maitreya

  PetExotica is not their website. I’ve checked. There are loads of other animals for sale on the site: zebras, hyenas, turtles. They even have endangered ones. There are birds too. This website is a big operation. Too big for wannabes like Chintu and Arjun. Way out of their league.

  Mitalee

  Then who are they? How do we stop them? How do I get my Snowdrop back?

  Maitreya

  I’ve studied the website, Mitalee. Searched it thoroughly. There is no address on the site. The only contact is a messaging facility. This is a well-organized operation that only deals in exotic animals. They would never sell anything as common as a squirrel. But Snowdrop’s white head makes him exotic—it’s unique and rare. That’s why they’ve put him up for sale.

  Mitalee

  My Snowdrop IS rare, he IS exotic. He is the most wonderful squirrel in the whole wide world. I want my squirrel back!

  Maitreya

  We’ll get him back for you, Mitalee. But we have to do this carefully, intelligently. Now listen.

  The people who own the website don’t have him.

  See, I responded to their photo of Snowdrop—I messaged them that I wanted to buy the squirrel. But I put down a condition: I said I wanted to see the squirrel before paying. They replied promptly. They said this wasn’t possible. They don’t keep the pets they sell. Only when they get the money do they collect the pet and deliver. I asked them where the squirrel was being kept. They replied that he was being held where he was captured—in Maharashtra, in the Western Ghats region. They refused to provide any further information. Pay up, they said, and they would deliver the squirrel to me.

  Mitalee

  I’ll pay. I’ll do anything to get Snowdrop back.

  Maitreya

  The price is Rs 5 lakhs. No discount, they said. He’s the only white-headed squirrel in the world.

  Mitalee

  Robbers! Dakoos! Cheats! I can’t pay that much. My dad would go broke.

  Maitreya’s fingers hammered away on the iPad.

  Maitreya

  Exactly. So we can’t buy him back. Here are the facts: Chintu and Arjun have captured Snowdrop. They are holding him somewhere. He isn’t at Chintu’s house, neither is he at Arjun’s. I’ve been to both their homes, so I know. They are keeping him somewhere here in Neelpaani. I’m sure about this. Also, these past few days I’ve been hearing Chintu and Arjun talk of things they plan to buy. Gadgets, like the latest mobiles, iPads, Xboxes, skateboards, even imported cycles. First I thought they were just bragging to impress me, but now, after seeing the website and Snowdrop’s price tag, their big talk is making sense. !!!!! Hang on . . . my mom’s coming! Stay online—we’ll continue after she leaves.

  Maitreya had heard footsteps. Moving fast, he locked his iPad and tucked it under his pillow. He collapsed in bed just as the door opened. The footsteps padded to his bedside. Maitreya kept his eyes shut. He sensed a shadow lean over him. He smelled his mother’s perfume as her lips brushed his cheek. Then the footsteps receded and the door was shut gently.

  Maitreya waited a few minutes before switching on his iPad.

  Maitreya

  That was close! Just managed by pretending to be asleep when Mom came in.

  Mitalee

  It is late. My mom should be coming up any minute too. She’ll be hopping mad if she catches me . . . I’ll be grounded for sure.

  Maitreya

  Okay. We’ll meet and make a plan tomorrow.

  Mitalee

  Yes. And thanks, Maitreya. I was wrong about you.

  Maitreya

  I made mistakes.

  Mitalee

  Choosing the wrong friends for starters.

  Maitreya

  That I did.

  Mitalee

  And injuring a squirrel.

  Maitreya

  Don’t remind me. That was the most shameful deed of my life. Still haunts me.

  Mitalee

  It should. It was a terrible thing you did.

  Maitreya

  Sorry. I won’t ever shoot at an animal again. That’s a promise. A promise from the deepest place in my heart.

  Mitalee

  That’s very sweet of you, Maitreya. Don’t worry, I forgive you. I take back all the horrible things I said about you.

  Maitreya

  Thanks.

  Mitalee

  I should have listened to Alisha. She said you were a nice guy.

  Maitreya

  Mitalee

  We’re friends now.

  Maitreya

  Friends.

  The Paradise Flycatcher

  A necessary talent for selection as a scout bird is the ability to fly fast. Senora quickly discovered that her minivet companions were energetic and speedy flyers. The iora had to beat her wings furiously to keep up with them. The birds streaked across the skies, winging over fields, mountains, valleys, rivers and human staans.* The Southern Forests were far and the sky had started to darken, when a magnificent forest, hilly and packed with trees, unfurled beneath them. Folding their wings, they dropped to the canopy, touching down on a tall tree with thick, twisted branches.

  Night was falling. It was far too late to search for the paradise flycatcher. Also, the birds were hungry and tired. Fortunately, they were in a forest. There were trees everywhere, many laden with fruits and berries and nuts. Senora and the minivets pecked a quick meal and settled in for the night.

  Loud birdsong roused them at dawn. Birds were raucously welcoming the new day, crooning and singing and calling to one another. The noisiest was a black bird with a long fanlike tail, perched high on a nearby tree.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Bright-Jet, looking up. ‘That drongo bird sure has a loud voice.’

  Senora looked up too. ‘That’s not a drongo,’ she said.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Bright-Jet. ‘That is a drongo.’

  ‘But he’s much bigger than our Bongo. His tail too. Look, it’s longer and different.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Scarlet. ‘Bright-Jet is right. That bird is a drongo. But he’s not the kind our dear Bongo is. This one’s a racket-tailed drongo. Wait here, both of you. I’ll ask for directions to the local wires.’

  Scarlet winged to the top of the tree and perched beside the racket-tailed drongo. Like Bongo, this drongo was black all over. But the bird was larger. He had a prominent crest on his head and his tail was ornamented with big leaf-shaped feathers.

  After a lengthy chat, Scarlet returned and hovered before his friends. ‘Let’s go, birdies,’ he said, flashing his bright red feathers. ‘Time to work our wings again. The forest wires aren’t far, according to the drongo. He says the wires are the best place to inquire. Also, the local scout birds are nice and helpful.’

  The birds took to their wings. They broke through the tree cover and flew high in the sunlit sky. Senora marvelled at the forest below as she tai
led the minivets. Trees covered the entire area, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  The wires weren’t easy to find. Senora was certain she would never have found them on her own. But the minivets were experienced scout birds. Even with no landmarks to guide them, they sped above the forest and dived into the canopy exactly where the wires were located.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Senora when she broke through the tree cover and spotted the wires. ‘How did you know they were here?’

  ‘No big deal,’ said Scarlet. ‘Human things are easy to find. You just need to keep your eyes open.’

  ‘My eyes were open,’ said Senora. ‘Just like yours were. But I didn’t see the wires. All I saw was forest!’

  ‘Ah . . . yes. Well, there’s more to it. You have to know humans and their ways too. You see, the forest is natural everywhere. Everything in Greatbill’s world is natural, but what humans do is never so. In a forest, whatever they do stands out—easily visible like the gaudy colours of my wings. You can tell straight away.’

  Senora frowned. ‘So . . . what was it that you saw?’

  ‘We saw exactly what you saw, Senora,’ said Scarlet. ‘No different. Only thing is that we could make sense of what we saw. We noticed that the trees here are all planted in a line—a straight line.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Senora, staring at the tangle of green about her.

  ‘You can see that for yourself now. Bright-Jet and I observed the row of trees from above. They were so perfectly straight—like a column of baby ducks marching behind their mother. Now, if you fly over forests often, like Bright-Jet and I do, then you would know that there are no straight lines in a forest. Trees grow randomly in a forest. Not in any kind of formation and never ever in a line. So when you see trees all in a perfect row, you know it isn’t natural. It isn’t something created by the forest. It is humans who have done it. That’s how we guessed the wires were here. You learn these things on duty as a scout bird.’

  The forest wires here were identical to the ones back home, at the gardens. Their setting was different, of course—these were located in a thickly forested area while the garden ones were set amidst fields. But their framework was the same: a row of poles with wires stretched between them.

  At this early hour, there were only two birds on the wires—one a leafbird, and the other an oriole.

  Senora quickly explained their quest to the birds.

  ‘Do you know the name of the paradise flycatcher?’ asked the leafbird when Senora was done.

  ‘No,’ said Senora.

  The leafbird stared. Then he turned to his friend next to him, the oriole. ‘You hear that, Pole? They’ve flown all this distance to search for a bird, they say—a bird whose name they don’t even know! Sounds like a hopeless quest to me. Imagine searching for a cuckoo’s egg in a nest filled with other eggs. You can’t do that if you don’t even know what the cuckoo’s egg looks like! Same problem here. How do you find a bird when you don’t know their name? You want to do your homework before you start, don’t you?’

  Pole the oriole shook his beak. ‘Crazy,’ he said. ‘These forests are home to hundreds of paradise flycatchers. Without a name, you’re going to go loony, like howler monkeys! If your plan is to stop every flycatcher you come across and ask if he had visited your lake, it will take you forever and more.’

  The minivets and the iora gazed at each other. They hadn’t given any thought to how they would track down the flycatcher. The enormity of their task now dawned on them.

  The pretty leafbird, whose name was Emerald, took pity on the crestfallen birds. ‘Look, we are scouts, Pole and I. We’ll help. I’ve heard about this white-headed squirrel of yours at the wires. Birds that pass by talk about him. The only squirrel on Terra-staan* who speaks our language. We wouldn’t want a special squirrel like him to disappear. We’ll do our best.’

  So the birds searched the forests. The hours passed quickly. Senora came across so many paradise flycatchers that she started to wonder if the birds were as common in the Southern Forests as crows were in a human staan. Although several among whom she interviewed had stopped by Neelpaani during their travels, none had visited the gardens.

  It was evening by the time the iora returned to the wires. The scout birds were there already, having arrived earlier. Their experience had been the same as hers. Paradise flycatchers were everywhere in the forest but none they had met had visited the gardens.

  Senora perched dejectedly on a wire, her wings drooping. Things weren’t going well. Her mission could turn out to be a failure. Depressed, she only half-listened to the other birds as they chatted.

  Bright-Jet had enjoyed her time in the forest. She chattered about the animals she had seen that day: bears, elephants, deer, wild boar, mighty gaurs, monkeys. ‘This Southern Forest of yours is wonderful,’ she told the leafbird and the oriole.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Emerald the leafbird. ‘Humans don’t bother us much. That’s why our forest is so nice.’

  ‘So many hornbills,’ said Scarlet. ‘I haven’t seen such a flocking of hornbills ever. Our lake area has a few, but—’

  ‘Hornbills!’ squawked Senora. ‘The paradise flycatcher is a friend of the hornbills! I remember now—that’s what Mysun told us.’

  Pole the oriole frowned. ‘Friend of the hornbills, huh? You sure, birdie iora? Hornbills don’t mix with other birds, least of all flycatchers. You have to be careful with hornbills. They can attack—and then snack on your remains.’

  Senora ignored the comment about the alarming behaviour of the birds. She sprang from her wire and hovered before the other birds. ‘Where do the hornbills gather? Do you know?’

  ‘There are trees nearby where they flock—’

  ‘Take us there,’ begged Senora. ‘One last effort for the day. Please?’

  Pole shrugged his wings. ‘Sure. No big deal. The trees aren’t far—just a few mountains away. Come along.’

  Pole was right, the hornbill roost was just a few wing-flaps from the wires. It was late evening when they came to a giant tree so crowded with hornbills that it was hard to see the branches they perched upon. The birds were large, they had a funny crest on their heads and their beaks were ridiculously long and curved.

  ‘Let me handle this,’ said Emerald. ‘Keep your distance. Hornbills are mostly peaceful, but you can never tell.’

  The birds hung back as Emerald flew to the hornbill tree and landed on the tip of a branch. The hornbills took no notice. Only the bird nearest to him turned her neck inquiringly.

  ‘Um,’ began Emerald, ‘we are looking for a paradise flycatcher.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ said the hornbill in a booming voice. ‘Just fly about. They are everywhere. You’ll surely find one.’

  ‘It’s not any paradise flycatcher we are searching for. We want the one that’s just returned from Neelpaani, the blue lake north of here.’

  The hornbill cocked her head. ‘Hey, you’re in luck, Mr Leafbird. We have a paradise flycatcher here who got back a couple of days ago. Neelpaani, you said? Our little feller returned from there.’

  Senora streaked forward and hovered before the hornbill. ‘Did this flycatcher say anything about an area called the gardens?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the hornbill. ‘Now that you speak of it, yes, the place was something to do with gardens. He even talked of a squirrel that speaks our language. Can you believe it? A squirrel that you can talk to? But that’s history. He said that the squirrel got caught by humans—’

  ‘Where? Where?’ cried Senora. ‘WHERE IS THIS FLYCATCHER?’

  The iora screeched so loudly that she caused a flutter amongst the gathered hornbills. An angry murmur rippled through the birds. Many had been napping and were upset at having been disturbed.

  ‘My!’ said the hornbill. ‘For a small bird, you have a loud voice, don’t you? I should be swatting you for speaking so rudely and bothering my mates. But I’ll let that pass because the paradise flycatcher you speak of is a friend of ours. Look
up—look at the top of the tree. What do you see there, little bird?’

  Senora’s tiny heart leapt. A great wave of joy surged through her sunshine feathers. Up, on top of the tree was the most beautiful bird she had ever seen. His head was dark, but the rest of his slender frame was a sparkling white—so bright and pure that it could be mistaken for the snow that capped the Impossible Mountains.* Her mission was accomplished. Shikar would be saved. They had found the missing paradise flycatcher.

  Bicycle Chase

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’ hailed Maitreya. ‘Hi there.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Alisha, braking her bicycle to a halt. ‘Good morning.’

  It was the weekend. There was no school today, and the children were out on their bicycles. Maitreya had entered the dusty bazaar area of Neelpaani Town and spotting Alisha, had pedalled fast to catch up with her. It was a warm summer morning and, although it was still early in the day, the sun was baking the streets of Neelpaani.