TRAINING THE PASSAGE SAKER TO COMMON CRANE
You must know that it is the pride and glory of a falconer that his
_bālābān_ should take common crane with dash and resolution, _i.e._,
that she should stoop quickly and bind soon, not letting the crane
get away any distance; then your mounted friends can watch the sport
closely, and applaud the exploits of both falcon and falconer.
There are, in hawking, only two forms of the sport that can be shared
by a crowd; firstly, crane-hawking with the _bālābān_, and secondly,
heron-hawking with the _bālābān_: hundreds of sportsmen can together
witness and enjoy these two flights. In all other flights, whether
with long-winged or short-winged hawks,[609] the smaller the party the
better.
Though training a _bālābān_ to common heron is more tedious and
troublesome than training it to any other quarry,[610] still the
trouble is repaid.
Now if you want to indulge in the sport properly, you must have with
you five or six active mounted men, two or three trained and keen
_bālābāns_, two or three keen _shāhīns_ and two _chark͟hs_ trained to
eagle; for hawk makes hawk: if you want a “make-hawk” it is there, and
if you want a live train it is there, or if you want a dead crane it
is there. If you have not all this equipment yourself, you must join
forces with some sporting friend or friends, otherwise it will not be
possible for you to train your hawk to eagles.
Before entering your passage saker to common crane, you must train her
and fly her at common heron as already described. On most days, too,
when other hawks take crane, you must give her one, in her feet,[611]
to make her keen and plucky.
From the beginning of Autumn to the beginning of Spring, the immature
passage saker[612] is what the Arabs call “ignorant,”[613] _i.e._,
it is “mad”: it will take a train[614] of anything that is given it,
except an eagle;—for in its wild state it has experienced the tyranny
of the eagle and has learnt its might.
Well, from the beginning of Autumn till ten days before the _Naw-rūz_
Festival, you must fly your “ignoramus” at common heron. You must then
get a live uninjured crane with unshortened wings,[615] and tying meat
on its back make it run and flap its wings, and then fly your hawk at
it. If she seizes the crane by the head, it is a sign that she has a
big heart and is well-plucked, but if she binds to the meat she is
only middling. In either case, fly her thus, once in the morning, and
once in the evening.
The next day show her the crane and let it fly a little,[616] and
then fly your hawk at it: do this twice as on the previous day.
On the third day, if the crane will fly, well and good; but if not, it
must be cast off a mound or from some high place—the meat as before
being bound on its back—so that the hawk may bind to it in the air,
and both birds come to the ground together. If you find that she binds
to the crane’s head and pays no attention to the meat, you should,
if possible, cut the crane’s throat, and feed up your “ignoramus”—it
being of course understood that you have plenty of bagged cranes
or the means of obtaining them. If, however, you have but this one
“train,” you must stealthily introduce under the crane’s wing a
blue-rock or any pigeon coloured like the crane, and feed the hawk on
it; or else introduce a chicken under the wing, and putting its head
into the hawk’s foot, so cut the throat that the hawk may not hear the
chicken’s cries.
On the following day fly the hawk at the crane from a longer distance.
Now when you see that your hawk thoroughly recognizes a crane, and
will resolutely fly at any train first shown to it and then released
from the hand, you must proceed as follows:—
Get a crane, and as before tie meat on to its back. Cut its sharp
front claw—a claw as sharp and deadly as a hawk’s—and insert a string
through the nostrils; then bind the two mandibles together, so that
the crane may in no way frighten or injure the hawk, neither with
its feet nor with its beak. Now seel the eyes and drive it off ten
or twenty yards, and fly your hawk at it while it is on the move.
Continue this practice, increasing the distance, but lessening the
meat till no meat remains, and until your hawk, rising from your fist
without hesitation, will make straight for the crane, and after one or
two stoops bind to its head.
On the morrow, if you have a fresh crane that will fly, you should
unhood the hawk and fly her at that, after it is put on the wing; but,
if the crane will not fly, you must get an assistant to carry it to
a distance and there release it. He must then either lie flat on the
ground, or conceal himself behind some cover, so that he may be near
to render speedy assistance to the hawk by seizing the crane’s legs as
soon as the hawk binds to its head.
For a few days, too, you should release two cranes and three cranes
in company, so that your hawk may single out one.
If, in the district where you are, there are still cranes to be found,
_i.e._, if they have not yet migrated out of the country, go out into
the open country and take with you a make-hawk too, and somehow or
other with the latter take a crane. Then, as soon as possible, let
this freshly caught crane fly, and when it has flown about a hundred
yards, unhood and cast off your young hawk. She is sure to take the
crane. Cut the crane’s throat, and feed up the hawk, giving her the
heart; give her, too, some of the small neck feathers as a “casting.”
Next take your hawk out into the country, and if you happen to find a
solitary crane put your trust in God and fly her at it. If, however,
you find a flock of ten or twenty, on no account fly her; do not even
_think_ of doing so. If you fail to find a solitary crane, you must
with your made hawks take a crane, and at once give it to your young
hawk as a flying “train”—as you did yesterday.
On the next day, again go out hawking, and if you find a solitary
crane, fly her at it. Have by you a “make-hawk,” but if your
falconer’s knowledge tells you that your young hawk is master of the
situation, do nothing: if, however, you see that the young hawk is
not flying with resolution, then without loss of time cast off the
“make-hawk” to her assistance. When the crane is taken, feed up the
young hawk on it.
If during this Spring she takes one or two cranes, return thanks to
God, and fly her at nothing else; set her down in the “mew”[617] to
moult[618] and act as will be explained later. Leave her in the “mew”
till all your hawks are moulted. When she comes out of the moult, you
must treat her again exactly as you did when she was “ignorant.”[619]
As soon as you have re-made her to the lure, go and fly her at a
common heron. If she takes it, nothing can be better: feed her up.
If she has no inclination for it, or if she does not work well, give
her a good active heron as a “train,” releasing it at a distance. If
to-day she takes the “train,” to-morrow she will take a wild heron.
After she has taken one or two common herons, you must turn your
attention to cranes.
Take a crane with your old “make-hawk,” show it to her and let it
fly, and then feed her up on it. Next, give her two more “trains” of
common crane released secretly: these should have meat tied on their
backs. As soon as she takes the “train” feed her up.
Now go out and find a half-tame[620] crane; stalk it, and get as
close as possible to it; then, placing your reliance on God, fly
your young hawk at it. The nearer you get to the crane the better.
As soon as your young hawk has got a short distance, cast off an old
“make-hawk” to her assistance. The first hawk will make a stoop or
two; the “make-hawk” will then arrive, and will keep the crane engaged
and overpowered till your mounted assistant, arriving in all haste,
secures it and prevents it doing an injury to the hawk. Feed up your
young hawk on the crane. She is now well on the road to being quite
made.
Should this tame crane take wing when you get close to it, on no
account be tempted to fly your hawk at it, for the crane may get away
a long distance before your hawk binds to it; and a second crane then
joining in the fray to assist its fellow, both birds may so buffet and
injure your hawk that she will be useless for further sport, or else
so frighten her that she will ignore the lure and be lost. In either
case the labour of two years will be lost.
Hawks,[621] whether long-winged or short-winged, are of two kinds;
those that the falconer must assist, and those that assist the
falconer. A hawk that is mettled, high-spirited, and valiant, if
given but one “train,” is made: such a hawk gives assistance _to_ the
falconer. Another requires ten “trains” and bagged birds; such a hawk
demands assistance _from_ the falconer.
Well, for five or six days you must fly your hawk secretly[622] as
described above.
Now listen attentively to what I am going to say. When you are
stalking this solitary half-tame crane—or it may be two cranes—should
they become alert and seem ready to take wing, hood your hawk and
move off to a little distance that they may settle down and again
busy themselves with grazing. Should they take wing and settle again,
follow them up, or else find others, one, or two, or three—not more.
As soon as they settle down to their walking about and picking up
grain, unhood your hawk even though the distance be somewhat more,
and when your hawk sights the crane, place your trust in God and cast
her off. You must judge the distance, and when your hawk is twenty or
thirty yards from the crane, you and all your mounted men[623] must
suddenly burst into a gallop, _i.e._, you must so time matters that
just as the crane is forced to take wing the hawk reaches it. At the
first stoop all three cranes are sure to fall and sit on the ground.
You and your falconers will then reach them and they will again rise.
Your hawk, however, will be in the air and will command all three. If
you see that your hawk is slack, then without hesitation cast off an
old “make-hawk” to her assistance.
Whate’er the aim I have in view,
Whate’er the deed I try to do,
Success, I’m certain, will be mine
With Thee to help me, Lord Divine!
Whether the young hawk takes the crane herself, or whether after a few
stoops the make-hawk arrives and first binds to the crane, matters not
in the least.
On no account must you this season, _i.e._, up to Spring, fly your
hawk at a large flock of crane, for the combination of cranes is like
that of no other living thing, and your hawk is only in her second
year.
In the opinion of the author, a young falcon in the first year is
better than an “intermewed” one of one moult,[624] for the young
hawk[625] is “ignorant” and “mad”; it will obey any order that is
given her and will fly any “train” that is shown to her. After one
moult, however, she has learnt a few falconer’s stratagems and is not
easily deluded: if she has not yet learnt _all_ there is to know, she
will have done so by the time she is past her second moult.[626]
Now if you fly your valuable passage hawk (of one moult) at a large
flock of crane, say a flock consisting of thirty or forty, more or
less, she, being plucky and keen on this quarry, will single out and
“bind” to one. If you and your mounted companions are up in time, all
is well; but if not, the flock will so buffet and bang the hawk that
she may be completely cowed. If by nature high-spirited, she will
become cunning;[627] if not naturally plucky she will be spoilt beyond
re-making. If such an accident does happen, and your hawk suffers, the
remedy is to fly her, ten or fifteen times, with a good make-hawk,
and then, somehow or other, to manage to take with her alone in the
Spring two or three more cranes. However, there is a great risk in
flying a passage saker in the Spring[628] whether she be a young hawk
or whether an “intermewed”[629] one of one moult; therefore be content
with taking only two or three cranes. If one day your passage falcon
works hard in the heat[630] and fails to kill, you will hardly succeed
in recovering her: she will depart. For this reason you must not be
impatient but be satisfied with only two or three cranes. When your
hawk has so killed, feed her up well, place your trust in God, and
set her down to moult. After the second moult she is your obedient
bond-slave, and she has learnt, too, all there is to know of her
business.
When you take her out of this second moult, you must, by some means
or other, manage to take with her, first a common heron. Next you
must, with an old hawk, take a common crane, and on the spot give it
as a “train,” flying the hawk at it in such a way that she thinks it
is a wild one. Now, in this third season, your hawk is thoroughly and
completely trained.
To guard against accidents,[631] you should every year keep a good
young passage-saker and train her to the flight of the common heron,
so that should any accident happen to one of your crane-hawks, you
will have by you a youngster all ready for being entered to crane.
If you omit to take this precaution, you will some year lose a whole
season’s sport. Your “mews” should contain hawks trained to various
quarry, whether your hawks are sakers or _shāhīns_.
As soon as your passage saker singles out and binds to one crane, out
of a flock of say thirty or forty, all its companions will attack her
and release their comrade. If the hawk knows her business, she will at
once release the crane, and waiting on above the flock will not lose
sight of the particular crane to which she bound[632] until you arrive
on the spot and again put up the cranes. She will then again stoop at
her selected quarry, when again all the cranes will attack her and
release the captured bird. You must all gallop as hard as you can;
neither pit, nor well, nor stream must hinder you. You must not draw
rein till you are right in the midst of the fray, when every sportsman
should unhood and cast off his saker or peregrine at the quarry that
is nearest to him. I myself have often, out of a flock of five, taken
four; often, too, have we knocked over birds with sticks and clubs. As
for shooting them, that is quite easy.
There is no bird to equal the common crane in valour and a fine sense
of honour; when your _bālābān_ takes one, if there are a hundred
others in the air, they will one and all drop from the sky like a
stooping _shāhīn_, attack your hawk, and perhaps kill her: till they
release their captured comrade they will not again take the air. This
is how it is that five, or six, or seven, cranes out of a “herd” can
be secured or killed. Ah! had a sovereign but five thousand cavalry
possessed of the valour and resolution of the common crane, he could
conquer the world. Well, as I said, you and your men must gallop hard,
not funking wells, and streams, and holes.
You must know that there is no sport more difficult than that of the
saker and crane, but there is also none better; none, except that
of the lion with a buffalo, and the cheetah with a gazelle.[633] I
have hunted many a lion and seen trouble therefrom, for the sport is
inauspicious; for the lion is the King of Beasts, and His Highness the
Commander of the Faithful[634] (on whom be peace) is styled the Lion
of God. Hence the sport of the lion is baleful, and he that follows
it will certainly see no good; still it’s a fine sport; I have tried
it—but my advice to you is on no account to do so, else you will
regret it, for no benefit accrues therefrom.
FOOTNOTES:
[606] _Bi-murdan murdan kār-ī mī-kunad._
[607] There is no reason why she should be useless. I have had an
intermewed saker of twelve or more moults that was still a first-class
hubara hawk, and intermewed peregrines of ten moults that seldom
failed to kill either heron or hubara.
[608] _Bālābān-i fark͟h_: _fark͟h_, pl. _afrāk͟h_, A., often means a
nestling, but also, as here, (a hawk) in the immature plumage.
[609] _Lit._ “black-eyed or yellow-eyed”; _siyāh-chashm_ and
_zard-chashm_.
[610] In India the common kite is considered the most difficult quarry
of all for the saker: only the saker is flown at it. The kite is very
rare in Persia, except near Bushire.
[611] _Bāsh-qanāt dādan_: _bāsh_, T., “head,” and _qanat_, T., “wing.”
This consists in holding a live bagged bird in the hand and getting
the hawk to “bind” to it from the distance of a foot or so, or getting
the hooded hawk to bind to it and then unhooding her: the hawk is of
course rewarded either by a pigeon’s wing stealthily inserted under
the train’s wing, or the train is killed and the hawk allowed to eat a
little.
[612] _Bālābān-i buzyūr._
[613] _Majhūl._
[614] _Dakl u būlī._ In a note the author says _dakl_ means
_dast-par_, but as he elsewhere, page 123, note 523, uses _dakl_ for
“train” of a deer, this rendering appears inaccurate.
[615] The crane should not be dishevelled. In any case hawks quickly
recognize a “train.” I had a young peregrine that, on taking its first
wild heron, was badly injured by another hawk, and in consequence
refused even to look at a wild heron. It would, however, always take
bagged heron released in the jungle before the hood was removed. It
also took a bagged common crane.
[616] Probably one or two flight-feathers would have to be tied
together to impede its flight. The common crane has a sharp and
powerful claw that it can use with effect after the hawk binds. This
should be blunted. A hawk of the translator’s once had its wing ripped
up by a common crane.
[617] _T̤ūlak-k͟hāna._
[618] _Bi-t̤ūlak bastan._
[619] _Vide_ page 141.
[620] _Amīn_, “tame, quiet,” probably means one that by feeding in
crops near a village has come to disregard the presence of men. From
what he says later, the author apparently intends the crane to be
taken on the ground while feeding. The hawk will recognize that it was
not a bagged one.
[621] _T̤uyūr-i shikārī._
[622] _Salaf_, a word explained by the author in a marginal note to
mean _bi-duzda_, “secretly.” Apparently by this term the author means
that a solitary half-tame crane must be stalked when feeding and the
hawk allowed to bind to it on the ground.
[623] The whole party would probably be mounted: a dismounted falconer
would be the exception.
[624] _Buzyūr-ī bihtar az fark͟h-i t̤ūlak ast._
[625] _Fark͟h._
[626] The author’s meaning is not at all clear. He appears to
contradict himself. There is probably a copyist’s error somewhere.
[627] _Duzd_, _lit._ “thief.”
[628] Sakers leave India in February, _i.e._, much earlier than
Peregrines, and the migrating instinct seems to be more powerful. When
the Spring stirs in their blood and the migration restlessness is on
them, they will sometimes when unhooded look up skywards, and call.
One sign of their becoming _mast_ is bobbing before rousing. Possibly,
too, sakers nest earlier than other falcons.
[629] “Intermewed,” _i.e._, moulted in captivity.
[630] That is the heat of Spring.
[631] _Baray-i yadagī u iḥtiyāt̤._
[632] A good saker flown at kite in cantonments will single out and
stick to one bird, even when the air is black with kites. Indian
falconers generally select a young female kite at which to unhood the
hawk. Whether, if the hawk were unhooded at an old bird, she would not
be tempted to abandon it for the feebler flight of a young one, is a
question.