MATING OF GAY-NECK
Gay-Neck's wounds healed very slowly. Until about the middle of
February he could not be made to fly more than ten yards above the
roof. The duration of his flight too was very short. No matter how
frequently I chased him off the roof, I could not keep him in the air
more than a quarter of an hour. At first I thought that it was his
lungs that were out of order. When, after investigation, they proved
sound, I ascribed his disinclination to fly to his heart that might
have been injured by his latest mishap. That assumption also proved
erroneous after a second investigation.
So, utterly exasperated by Gay-Neck's behaviour, I wrote a long letter
to Ghond describing everything that had happened. It turned out that he
had gone on a hunting trip with some Englishmen. Receiving no help from
that quarter, I decided to examine my pigeon most closely. Day after
day I put him on our house-top and watched, but no clue was vouchsafed
me as to the nature of his trouble. So I gave up all hope of seeing
Gay-Neck fly again.
About the end of February I received a cryptic note from Ghond from
the deeps of the jungle. It read: "Your pigeon is frightened. Cure
him of his fear. Make him fly." But he did not say how. Nor could I
devise anything that would make Gay-Neck wing his way into the higher
spaces. It was no use chasing him off the roof, for if I chased him
off one corner, he flew across to another and perched there. And what
was most disconcerting was that if the shadow of a cloud or a flock
of birds flying in the sky fell on him on our roof, he would tremble
with terror. Doubtless every shadow that fell filled his mind with the
feeling that it was a Baz or a falcon swooping down on him. That gave
me an idea of how badly shaken Gay-Neck was. How to cure him of his
disease of fear proved most baffling. Had we been in the Himalayas I
would have taken him to the holy man who once healed him of a similar
ailment, but here in the city there was no Lama. I was forced to wait.
March had ushered in Spring and Gay-Neck, who had gone through an
unusual moulting, looked like the very heart of a deep and large
aquamarine. He was beautiful beyond description. One day, I know not
how, I found him talking to Jahore's widow. She looked very bright
with the advent of Spring. In the sunlight her black opal complexion
glowed like a tropical night shot with stars. Of course I knew that
marriage between her and Gay-Neck, though not the best thing for their
offspring, might win him from his fear and her from the morose temper
which had grown upon her ever since Jahore died.
In order to encourage their friendship, I took the two together in a
cage to my friend Radja who lived on the edge of the jungle about two
hundred miles away. The name of his village was Ghatsila. It stood on
the bank of a river across which lay high hills densely forested and
full of all kinds of animals. Radja, being the priest of the village,
which office his ancestors had held for ten centuries, and his parents,
were housed in a large building of concrete. The village temple,
also of concrete, was adjacent to the house. In the courtyard of the
temple surrounded by high walls Radja every night performed the duty
of reading the Scriptures and explaining them to the peasantry that
assembled there. While he would read aloud inside, outside would come
from far off the yell of a tiger or the trumpeting of wild elephants
across the narrow river. It was a beautiful and sinister place. Nothing
dangerous happened in the village of Ghatsila, but you did not have to
go very far to encounter any beast of prey that you cared to seek.
The train that brought me there reached Ghatsila at night. Radja
and two servants of his house greeted me at the station. One of the
servants took my bundle on his shoulder and the other carried the
cage with the two pigeons. Each of us had to carry a hurricane-proof
lantern, an extra one having been brought for me. In single file, one
servant leading and another in the rear, we walked for an hour. My
suspicions were aroused and I asked, "Why do we go round-about?"
Radja said: "In the spring wild animals pass through here going north.
We can't take short cuts through the woods."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "I have done it many times before. When do we
reach home?"
"In half an hour----"
Then, as if the very ground had opened at our feet and belched out a
volcano with a terrific noise, arose the cry "Hoa--ho--ho--ho--hoa!"
The pigeons fluttered their wings in panic in their cage. I gripped
Radja's shoulder with my disengaged hand, but instead of sharing my
feelings he laughed out loud. And like master like servant--the two
servants laughed too.
After their mirth had subsided Radja explained: "You have done this
many times, have you? Then why did the cry of monkeys frightened by
lanterns scare you?"
"Monkeys?" I questioned.
"Yes, lots of them," my friend reminded me, "go north this time of the
year. We frightened a whole flock in the trees overhead. That's all.
In the future don't take every monkey yell for the roar of a tiger."
Fortunately we reached home shortly without any other incident to upset
my complacency.
The next morning Radja went to his duties at his ancestral temple while
I sought the roof and uncaged my birds. At first they were bewildered,
but seeing me near them with my hands full of buttered seeds, they
settled down to breakfast without any ado. Pretty nearly all of that
day we spent on the roof. I dared not leave them by themselves very
long lest the strangeness of their surroundings upset them.
In the course of the week that followed the two birds made themselves
at home in Ghatsila, and moreover became extremely intimate with each
other. There was no doubt now that I had acted wisely in isolating them
from the rest of the flock. About the eighth day of our stay, Radja and
I were surprised to see Gay-Neck fly in pursuit of his mate. She flew
on, but at a low altitude. He followed. Seeing him catch up to her, she
rose and turned back. He too did the same and followed after. Again she
rose. But this time he balked and began to circle the air beneath her.
However, I felt that he was regaining his confidence. At last Gay-Neck,
the paragon of pigeons, was healing himself of his fear and of his
horror of the heavens; he was once more at home in the sky.
The next morning the birds flew higher and played with each other.
Gay-Neck again refused to go all the way and he began to come down
hastily instead of circling in the air below her. That puzzled me, but
Radja, who was a keen person, explained. "A cloud, large as a fan, has
come over the sun. Its shadow fell so suddenly that Gay-Neck thought it
was his enemy. Wait until the cloud passes and then----"
Radja was right. In a few more seconds the sun came out and its light
dripped from Gay-Neck's wings once more. At once he stopped coming
downwards and began to make circles in the air. His mate too, who had
been coming down to keep him company, waited for him a hundred feet or
so above. Now Gay-Neck rose, beating his wings like an eagle freed from
his cage. The sunlight made pools of colour about him as he swerved and
swung up and up. Soon instead of following, he led his mate. Thus they
ascended the sky--he healed of fear completely, and she ravished by
his agility and power.
The next morning both of them made an early start. They flew far and
very long. For a while they were lost beyond the mountains as if they
slid over their peaks and down the other side. They were gone at least
an hour.
At last they returned about eleven o'clock bearing each in his beak a
large straw. They were going to build a nest for the laying of eggs. I
thought I would take them home, but Radja insisted that we should stay
at least a week longer.
During that week every day we spent some hours in the more dangerous
jungle across the river, taking the two pigeons with us in order to
release them in the dense forest hardly five miles from Radja's house.
Gay-Neck forgot everything save testing his sense of direction and
making higher flights. In other words, love for his mate and the change
of place and climate healed him of fear, that most fell disease.
Here let it be inscribed in no equivocal language that almost all our
troubles come from fear, worry, and hate. If any man catches one of the
three, the other two are added unto it. No beast of prey can kill his
victim without frightening him first. In fact no animal perishes until
its destroyer strikes terror into its heart. To put it succinctly, an
animal's fear kills it before its enemy gives it the final blow.