THE INDIAN WORLD OF NATURE
The Southern Cross. Crocodiles. Fire-flies. Locusts; their
ravages. Indian birds; they cannot sing; their plumage. The
"brain-fever" bird. Swallows. Peewits. Vultures. Crows.
Kites. Tameness of the birds.
In spite of the expression, "a traveller's tale," being equivalent to
saying that a story is probably untrue, your confidence in the general
veracity of the traveller is strengthened when you find that certain
things are even more beautiful or strange than books of travel led you
to expect. For instance, the Southern Cross is a glorious
constellation and an undoubted cross, and entirely satisfying, so that
you are not disturbed by the opinions of the few who say that it is
disappointing. Whether you see it for the first time from the deck of
the steamer in the Red Sea, or for the hundredth time high up in the
air over the heathen City of Poona, as if it claimed victory over it,
the sight is always equally inspiring.
The view of crocodiles lying on the mud-bank of a river in Bengal
inspired confidence in the accuracy of early teachings, because they
were so like the hideous monster in the picture hung on the nursery
wall. A crocodile can see and breathe while the whole of its body is
immersed in the water, because its eyes and nostrils are on a plane on
the surface of the head. A person incautiously bathing, or dipping
water out of the river, may be suddenly seized by a crocodile who,
though on the watch, is buried in the muddy water and invisible. Every
year a certain number of human lives are lost in this way. Cattle and
other animals coming to the river-side to drink are dragged into the
water and devoured. The Poona river, swollen to a torrent in the
rains, and for the rest of the year reduced to a small stream,
meandering along a stony and rocky bed, is not suited to the habits of
a crocodile, and there are none.
The brilliance of fire-flies is quite beyond the description usually
found in books. They flash hither and thither like tiny electric
lamps, and they are so numerous in certain places at certain times
that they might be supposed to be some organised scheme of fairy
illumination on a large scale. Boys sometimes capture two or three and
put them into a bit of muslin and carry them about as lamps, and the
light they give is quite appreciable. The insect itself is a
dull-looking little creature, apart from its luminosity.
Another astonishing experience in which the reality at least equals
the descriptions, is a visitation of locusts. When you hear for the
first time the peculiar rustling sound made by the beating of the
countless wings of the vast army which sweeps past in an unbroken
stream for hours, you realise what an invasion of locusts really
means. Military terms, such as "army," "invasion," are strictly
applicable, because locusts come with a rush and determination, and a
military precision, and an evident unanimity of purpose, which
suggests the movements of soldiers under orders. This idea is
accentuated when the head and body of the locust is of a bright red
colour.
The rapid destruction which they cause has also been described with
fidelity. They have jaws of great power, and when they take possession
of a tree it is stripped in ten minutes or so. When locusts settle
down on a group of trees, the colour of each tree is instantaneously
changed from green to red, because there is practically a locust to
every leaf. When they travel on again, the tree they leave behind them
is bare as an English tree in mid-winter. Little can be done to arrest
their progress. An ordinary garden may be protected to some extent by
beating the trees with poles, and so driving off the locusts as fast
as they alight. But to protect any large area in this way is
impossible.
The natives try to frighten them by making a deafening din, beating
tom-toms and tin cans, but it is doubtful whether the locusts pay any
heed to these demonstrations. A few people amongst the lower castes
eat locusts, but they are not sought after by Indians in general.
Monkeys, dogs, and some birds eat them, but their numbers are so vast
that none of their enemies produce any appreciable diminution.
In the Indian world of nature the sweet melody of the birds of England
is absent. No Indian bird knows how to sing. Some make a brave
attempt, but they break down after the third note. The so-called
Indian nightingale only deserves its name because its performance is a
shade less disappointing than that of the rest. Nor do the birds
compensate for their lack of musical power by the splendour of their
plumage. It is generally supposed that plants and animals in the
tropics must necessarily be brilliant in colour. But many English
birds equal Indian ones even in this respect. For instance, the green
wood-pecker with his red crest is scarcely less gorgeous than the
green parrot, and the kingfisher only comes behind its Indian relative
in size. The plumage of the golden oriole is certainly sumptuous, and
brilliant sunshine has, of course, the effect of showing off colour to
the best advantage.
Though Indian birds cannot sing, they shout, and scream, and whistle.
What is known amongst English residents as the "brain-fever" bird, is
common in some districts. He makes a series of sounds, thought by some
to resemble this word, over and over again with increasing rapidity
and shrillness, until he breaks down and begins afresh. To people
actually suffering from the ordinary fever so common in India he is
sometimes a serious annoyance, because it is almost impossible not to
follow him mentally in his incessant repetition of "brain fever." To a
few fortunate people his peculiar note does not suggest these words.
Even the Indian sparrow drowns conversation with his shrill chirp,
taking advantage of the ever-open doors and windows to invade the
bungalow, and making determined efforts to make his nest in the most
inconvenient places.
The swallows which build in the verandah are like old friends, and are
always welcome. The curious cry which they make as they wheel in and
out of the verandah in the last few minutes before they plunge into
bed under the eaves, sounds almost melodious by contrast with the
strange noises made by other birds. There is also a species of peewit
who utters a rather pretty call, which might be supposed to be the
Marathi version of what the English peewit says.
Vultures are as uncanny-looking as they are painted, and to see them
waiting on the trees near the erections where Parsees put out their
dead to be devoured, is not a pleasant sight. They also sit and watch
near the Hindu burning-grounds, which suggests the uncomfortable idea
that pickings are to be had there also. The rapidity with which they
collect from all parts and swoop down upon the dead carcase of an
animal is astonishing to witness. Their value as scavengers is great,
and in a very short time nothing is left of the carcase but bare
bones.
Crows are also useful as scavengers. Nevertheless, they are a great
nuisance, especially in Bombay. Their loud cawing is often most
distracting; but they are also bold thieves, and do not hesitate to
enter houses when they see their opportunity and to carry off any
portable article which comes first to hand, even when it is of no
possible use to them. Some of the birds of prey are beautiful objects,
on account of their size, and the boldness of their flight. Kites
wheel about in the air in large numbers around Poona. Since people
carry almost everything upon their heads, a kite not unfrequently
makes a sudden swoop and snatches a prize out of the basket.
Few people are allowed a gun license, so that birds are less afraid of
mankind than they are in England, and favourable opportunities
constantly occur of observing them near at hand. A great variety may
be met with in an ordinary country walk in the cultivated parts of
India where food is plentiful. Although they cannot sing, many of them
have quaint and charming personal characteristics.