by Deepak Dalal
Arriving at the gate, they dropped their cycles and crouched.
Mitalee was beside herself with excitement. ‘Snowdrop is here. I know he’s here. Come on! Let’s go rescue him.’
Maitreya nodded. ‘He should be in there. We’ll sneak inside. Alisha, you wait here. Mitalee and I will check the shed out.’
‘Come on!’ hissed Mitalee impatiently. ‘They aren’t paying attention.’
Mitalee and Maitreya rose. They tiptoed through the open gate. They had barely entered the compound when a roar erupted.
‘GOT HIM!’ hooted Mr Pawar. ‘We’ve got the paradise flycatcher!’
Kabul looked on in despair from the van. Snow-prise’s luck had run out. The net had fallen around him.
‘Raju!’ bawled Mr Pawar. ‘Go, run to the car. Bring a cage from there. Get a large one—we want to be careful with this bird. Oh, mere baap! Oh, what a beauty he is.’
Raju turned and ran to the car. He didn’t see Mitalee and Maitreya at first, but when he was halfway there, he spotted them. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Out! Get out! This is private property.’
‘Run,’ said Maitreya. ‘I’ll tackle the man. You go and search for Snowdrop.’
‘But . . .’ began Mitalee. The man was big. Maitreya was no match for him.
Maitreya gave her no choice. Before she knew it, he was running towards the man. Mitalee’s heart went out to Maitreya. Chintu and Arjun were coming too. It was three against one, yet Maitreya was sprinting forward undaunted.
A bird appeared as Mitalee ran. It was the bulbul. She dipped to her arm and jabbed her with her beak. Then she flew towards the van. Mitalee had an uncanny understanding of birds. She knew instantly that the bulbul was guiding her to the vehicle. Changing direction, she raced towards it.
Maitreya could see that the man charging him was huge, the size of a bear. There was no question of engaging him in a hand-to-hand tussle. Yet, even though the man was twice his size, Maitreya believed he could tackle him. Maitreya was thin and wiry and quick on his feet. The hefty man was most certainly not. Maitreya decided upon a strategy. When the man was near, almost upon him, the boy swerved, leaping sideways. He stuck a foot out as the man lumbered past, tripping him. Raju yelped as he fell to the ground.
Meanwhile, guided by Kabul, Mitalee had reached the van. She gazed through the open door and a cry ripped from deep inside her.
‘SNOWDROP!’ she squealed. ‘Snowdrop, my darling, beautiful Snowdrop!’
There in the cage was her most favourite creature in the whole wide world. In one swift movement, Mitalee grabbed the cage and dashed out of the van.
Out in the yard, Raju was mouthing choice curses and scrambling to his feet. Maitreya, also on the ground, was rising too. Chintu and Arjun had changed direction. Having spied Mitalee with the cage, they were rushing towards her. Behind them, Mr Pawar had abandoned the net and the trapped bird. He was running too. The girl was stealing the squirrel! She had to be stopped.
Inside the cage, Shikar was squeaking with joy. Mitalee placed the cage on the ground. Kneeling, she searched for the latch.
‘STOP HER!’ howled Chintu.
But it was too late. Mitalee’s fingers had found the latch. She flicked it back and opened the cage. Shikar leapt out of the door, his white head flashing in the sunlight.
From above, Kabul, Blackpie and Senora squawked jubilantly.
‘RUN, SNOWDROP! RUN!’ yelled Mitalee.
Squealing ecstatically, Shikar streaked across the yard. The birds followed, flying above him.
Mitalee ran to her cycle. Alisha lifted it, holding it for her friend.
Mr Pawar started bawling. ‘Raju, catch those boys! Those idiot boys! The squirrel is GONE. Get my money back from them!’
Maitreya danced, waving his arms in the air, as Snowdrop raced away. Laughing, he watched as Raju grabbed Chintu and Arjun, one burly arm wrapping about each of them. He saw Mr Pawar run forward, cursing colourfully. Sweeping his gaze across the yard, Maitreya noticed that no one was paying attention to him.
When Mr Pawar had crossed him, the boy turned and sped away from the van. Running hard, he soon came to the net that trapped the paradise flycatcher. Lifting the mesh clear off the ground, he released the bird. Maitreya’s mouth fell open when he saw Snow-prise take to the air. Never had he come across such a magnificent bird before. His colour was the purest white and his tail feather was long and splendid. Looking up, Maitreya saw two equally beautiful birds greet the white bird—one a dazzling shade of red and the other the colour of the sun. Together, the birds winged high, rising above the trees, and then they flew away.
Maitreya ran back to where Mitalee and Alisha were waiting. Mitalee was laughing, tears running down her face. Alisha was jumping up and down, waving her arms. He exchanged high fives and hugs with the girls.
In the yard, Mr Pawar and Raju had pinned Chintu and Arjun against the van. Raju’s enormous hands were ripping Chintu’s pockets off.
Chintu shouted, ‘That’s OUR money. How dare you take it? You gave it to us!’
‘Take whatever they have,’ roared Mr Pawar. ‘Tear their pockets. Shred them. See that they are empty. I want every last rupee. They wasted our time and our fuel!’
Mitalee, Alisha and Maitreya shook with mirth. Chintu’s cries rang in their ears as they turned their cycles.
‘THIEVES . . . that’s my dad’s money! He gave me that 2000-rupee note!’
‘Take it, Raju. That will pay for our wasted fuel.’
‘GIVE IT BACK!’ There was a touch of desperation in Chintu’s voice. ‘Dad has a terrible temper . . . Y-you d-don’t know him. He’ll be hopping mad! Please, Mr Pawar. My dad won’t spare me.’
‘That should serve you right,’ cried Mr Pawar. ‘Hope he thrashes you! You deserve it. Wasted my time. Useless boy! Now the other boy, Raju. Rip his pockets off too.’
The three friends laughed as they cycled away.
Not far ahead scampered a squirrel with a white head, joyously streaking home to his beloved Rose Garden. Above him, providing an aerial escort, flew six happy birds.
Home
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Maitreya, blinking. ‘Am I seeing things, or what?’
The children had pedalled back to the Rose Garden. Drained by their exertions, Alisha and Maitreya were sprawled on the lawn, but Mitalee—fuelled, it seemed, by a boundless source of energy—was on her feet, dancing a jig. Maitreya was gazing at the gulmohar tree that grew behind the fountain. Since it was summer, the tree was decked with red flowers. But it wasn’t the blaze of red that had prompted his utterance.
‘Just look,’ he continued, his eyes aglow with wonderment. ‘I have never seen so many birds in my life.’
It was true. The gulmohar tree was packed with birds, so many that it seemed as though there were more birds than flowers on the tree. And in their midst, scampering everywhere—much like an overjoyed baby—was a squirrel with a white head.
Alisha laughed. She was looking at Mitalee, who was prancing on the grass, her head turned to the gulmohar tree. Mitalee’s eyes were shining and the smile on her face was as wide as Lake Neelpaani. Today the birds were not delighting Mitalee. This morning, she had eyes only for the white-headed squirrel.
Maitreya plucked a blade of grass. ‘That is the most un-squirrel-like behaviour I’ve ever seen,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked Alisha. ‘That Snowdrop is mixing with birds?’
‘Well, yes, that too. That is strange in itself—Snowdrop’s friendship with birds. But what’s even stranger is what he’s up to. Just look at him! See how he’s rubbing noses with the birds.’
‘It’s beaks, Maitreya. The birds are rubbing their beaks, and not on Snowdrop’s nose. That’s his forehead they are rubbing their beaks on.’
There was a lot of beak-rubbing happening. Each and every bird was stroking Snowdrop’s forehead with their beak.
‘That black-and-white bird,’ said Maitreya, ‘the one that’s not leaving Snowdrop’s side—that�
�s the same bird that led us to the yard, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’ Alisha nodded. ‘It’s called a magpie-robin.’
‘And that yellow bird—that’s the other one, isn’t it?’
‘Yup. That one also led us to the yard. It’s an iora. The black bird with the V-shaped tail is a drongo . . . the brown birds beside him are doves. And the green one, the one with the longish tail, is a green bee-eater!’
‘What about that other one? The one I rescued. He has a really long tail. So beautiful. What’s he called?’
Alisha whistled. ‘Some bird, isn’t he? But, um . . . I’m not sure.’ She rolled on the grass, turning to Mitalee. ‘What’s that bird, Mitalee? That drop-dead beauty with the long tail. What’s he called?’
Mitalee did not respond at first. It was only when Alisha called her name a second time and then a third that she tore her eyes away from her beloved Snowdrop.
Mitalee looked to where Alisha pointed and blinked. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. She hadn’t been paying attention to the birds. ‘The paradise flycatcher! Look! The same bird we saw in the yard.’
Alisha stared at Mitalee. ‘Did you just notice? I mean, here’s this astoundingly beautiful bird in your garden. Perched right before your eyes. He’s been sitting here ever since we returned, and you didn’t notice him?’
Maitreya laughed. ‘Blame it on Snowdrop. Call it Snowdrop fever! Your friend’s going to be weird for a while, Alisha. It’s to be expected. But that gorgeous bird . . . Tell us, Mitalee. What flycatcher did you say he was?’
‘Paradise,’ said Mitalee. She skipped across the lawn to her friends, the Neelpaani-wide smile still plastered on her face, and squatted happily between them. ‘That’s a paradise flycatcher. Simply stunning. And look—there are the others. The two minivets from the yard. Right there, beside the flycatcher. See the red and yellow birds? They are minivets, scarlet minivets. The red one is the male and the yellow, the female.’
Mitalee was in high spirits. This was the happiest day of her life. But the extreme emotions of the day had taken their toll on her. Although she wanted nothing more than to skip and spin and dance the whole day, she was tired now. She sat with her friends instead, content in their company. She passed the time with them, pointing out each and every bird in the trees, identifying them particularly for Maitreya, who was keen to learn.
Above, in the gulmohar tree, Shikar was the happiest squirrel alive. He was home! Back in his beloved Rose Garden. And his friends were here. All his wonderful bird friends—and Mitalee, the human girl, too. So many beaks had been rubbed against his head that it had turned sore. Not that he cared. He was back home and that was all that mattered.
There was a great chirping and squawking and chattering from the tree. Entranced, the children sat and watched from the grass below. The sun climbed higher. The garden turned warm as the summer heat started to assert itself. It wasn’t long before the birds sought shelter, seeking the more shaded sections of the garden. The children too retreated to the cooler confines of the human den. Several of the birds dispersed and the chatter amongst the branches subsided.
‘Hey,’ said Shikar, suddenly remembering, ‘where’s Mysun? I haven’t seen him since I returned.’
‘Amongst the flowers,’ said Senora. ‘Where else would he be? As if you don’t know.’
‘That’s right,’ chirped Blackpie. ‘It’s summertime and the flowers are blooming. Hang on, I’ll find him for you.’ The magpie-robin launched himself from the tree, flapping his wings.
Kabul turned to Shikar. ‘No making fun of him,’ warned the bulbul. ‘You do know that he helped save you.’
‘Yes,’ twittered the iora. ‘It was Mysun who told us about Snow-prise. If it weren’t for him, you would still be in that horrible cage.’
There was a call from the rose bushes near the garden wall. It was Blackpie. ‘He’s here,’ squawked the black-and-white bird.
‘Be nice,’ said Kabul as Shikar hopped to a branch above.
‘My best behaviour,’ said Shikar. ‘No teasing. Promise.’
He scrambled quickly through the branches, eager to meet the sunbird.
A cheery singing greeted the squirrel as he neared the garden wall.
Summer, summer, summer,
Oh, summertime.
Ooh la la, the sun, it shines.
Summer, summer, summer,
Summertime.
Time to sing the sunbird summer song.
Sling your beak this way, sling it that way,
Sling it up, sling it down,
Sling it wherever you want.
All you see is flowers,
Flowers everywhere.
Hollyhocks, pansies, petunias,
Zinnias, roses, hibiscus.
The sky, the sun, the flowers, all in bloom.
Oh, yeah, it’s the sunbird season,
It’s summertime.
Summer, summer, summer,
Summertime, flower-time.
Summer, summer, summer,
Time to sing the sunbird summer song.
Gulmohar, silk and forest flame,
Fire in the trees—
‘HEY, MYSUN!’ Shikar chattered loudly.
Mysun’s song ended abruptly. The sunbird backed away from the red rose he had been caressing with his beak. His feathers sparkled as he hovered angrily.
‘Shikar!’ he screeched, spying the squirrel. ‘That was rude. Don’t squirrels have any manners? You interrupted my song—and my feeding too.’
‘Mysun! Mysun—my dear friend. I’m back. I’m here. I’m home!’
‘I’ve got eyes, you know. I can see you’re here.’ Mysun glowered at Shikar. ‘It’s you who doesn’t have eyes. Can’t you see I’m feeding? Now, will you let me be?’ With that, the sunbird turned away and sank his beak in another rose.
Blackpie swept forward. ‘Mysun, Shikar is back! You saved him.’
‘Eh?’ The sunbird turned to Blackpie. ‘Me? I saved somebody? Did I?’
Blackpie stared at Mysun. Then an idea struck him. Turning, he squawked loudly, ‘Snow-prise! Snow-prise, come here, please.’
‘Sure,’ twittered a bird from the gulmohar tree. ‘Coming.’
Blackpie dropped to the garden wall. Shikar leapt on to it too. Snow-prise joined them, touching down between the squirrel and the robin.
Mysun gazed at Snow-prise. His long, curved beak opened and clicked shut several times. Paradise flycatchers are handsome birds. Other birds often stop and admire them. But it wasn’t Snow-prise’s looks that were drawing Mysun’s attention.
‘The flycatcher!’ squawked the sunbird, his berry-sized brain working furiously. ‘I remember you. The hibiscus! You were here when the hibiscus bush was blooming. And Shikar, you were with—’ Mysun halted midsentence. He gazed at Shikar, his eyes expanding till they were the size of chikoo seeds. ‘SHIKAR!’ screeched the sunbird. ‘Oh, Greatbill be thanked. Shikar is back. My dear squirrel friend is back!’
Mysun shot forward to where the squirrel sat and, hovering beside him, rubbed his beak on Shikar’s aching head.
‘Oh!’ crooned Snow-prise. ‘Another sweet reunion. This garden is something else. Where does all this love here spring from?’
Kabul, Senora and the minivets winged over too, adding to the happy collection of creatures on the wall.
Shikar and Mysun huddled close. The squirrel stroked the sunbird’s feathered cheek with his nose. ‘Thanks, Mysun. Kabul told me the whole story. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be back here. You saved me. I won’t ever forget it.’
The sunbird’s chest swelled with pride. ‘I’m intelligent,’ he said. ‘I always knew I was.’
Kabul nodded. ‘You are intelligent, Mysun. You are brave too.’
Mysun’s chest expanded even more, till it looked like it might burst. But as he opened his beak to speak, there was a loud squeak from a tree in the Leaf Garden.
Shikar reacted instantly. He leapt from the wall into the Leaf Garden. S
peeding across the grass, he dashed up the trunk of a jamun tree. There were two squirrels high up on a branch. Shikar scampered to where they waited and flung himself in their midst.
‘Aw,’ said Senora.
‘His squirrel friends, Supari and Paan,’ said Kabul.
‘Isn’t he happy to be back with them?’
The three squirrels were clinging to one another tightly, like a ball. A loud, happy chattering rang from them.
‘Another reunion,’ sighed Snow-prise.
‘See, I told you, Shikar is sweet on Supari,’ said Blackpie.
‘Now, now,’ said Kabul, ‘let’s not start—’
But the bulbul did not complete her sentence. She had noticed movement near the human den of the Leaf Garden. Chintu, the horrible boy, had entered the gate.
‘Blackpie,’ hissed the bulbul. ‘Look!’
The magpie-robin turned.
The birds saw Chintu step on to the grassy lawn and halt. He had heard the chattering, because his head was turned and he was looking up.
Chintu was in a dishevelled state. His shirt was crumpled and streaked with mud, and the pockets of his pants seemed to have come loose. They were dangling, like tufts of soiled grass, on his hips.
High up in the jamun tree, Shikar’s white head was clearly visible. Kabul saw Chintu stiffen. The boy stared for a long time before lowering his eyes. His gaze then swept over the Leaf Garden, before coming to rest on a wooden table at its centre.
Chintu seemed to flinch as he looked at the table. Its surface was covered with small wine glasses, placed out in the sun to dry. Chintu swallowed, knowing he was in trouble. It had been his job to wash the glasses. His mother had instructed him to do so. But he had postponed the chore, planning to do it after his meeting with Mr Pawar. What Chintu hadn’t counted on was being made to trek back from the yard, as Mr Pawar had forced him to do. After a long, exhausting walk, he had finally returned. But it was too late. The glasses were already washed. He was in trouble.