species that lays in July or August. This bird, which looks like a
miniature greyish-brown duck without a tail, must be familiar to
Anglo-Indians, since at least one pair are to be seen on almost every
pond or tank in Northern India. Although permanent residents in this
country, little grebes leave, in the "rains," those tanks that do not
afford plenty of cover, and betake themselves to a _jhil_ where
vegetation is luxuriant. The nest, like that of other species that
build floating cradles, is a tangle of weeds and rushes. When the
incubating bird leaves the nest she invariably covers the white eggs
with wet weeds, and, as Hume remarks, it is almost impossible to catch
the old bird on the nest or to take her so much by surprise as not to
allow her time to cover up the eggs. As a matter of fact, these birds
spend very little time upon the nest in the day-time. The sun's rays
are powerful enough not only to supply the heat necessary for
incubation but to bake the eggs. This _contretemps_, however, is
avoided by placing wet weeds on the eggs and by the general moisture
of the nest. No better idea of the heat of India during the monsoon
can be furnished than that afforded by the case of some cattle-egrets'
eggs taken by a friend of the writer's in August, 1913. He found a
clutch of four eggs; not having leisure at the time to blow them, he
placed them in a bowl on the drawing-room mantelshelf. On the evening
of the following day he heard some squeaks, but, thinking that these
sounds emanated from a musk-rat or one of the other numerous rent-free
tenants of every Indian bungalow, paid little heed to them. When,
however, the same sounds were heard some hours later and appeared to
emanate from the mantelpiece, he went to the bowl, and, lo and behold,
two young egrets had emerged! These were at once fed. They lived for
three days and appeared to be in good health, when they suddenly gave
up the ghost.
SEPTEMBER
And sweet it is by lonely meres
To sit, with heart and soul awake,
Where water-lilies lie afloat,
Each anchored like a fairy boat
Amid some fabled elfin lake:
To see the birds flit to and fro
Along the dark-green reedy edge.
MARY HOWITT.
September is a much-abused month. Many people assert that it is the
most unpleasant and unhealthy season of the year.
Malarial and muggy though it is, September scarcely merits all the
evil epithets that are applied to it. The truth is that, after the
torrid days of the hot weather and the humid heat of the rainy season,
the European is thoroughly weary of his tropical surroundings, his
vitality is at a low ebb, he is languid and irritable, thus he
complains bitterly of the climate of September, notwithstanding the
fact that it is a distinct improvement on that of the two preceding
months.
In the early part of the month the weather differs little from that of
July and August. The days are somewhat shorter and the sun's rays
somewhat less powerful, in consequence the average temperature is
slightly lower. Normally the rains cease in the second half of the
month. Then the sky resumes the fleckless blueness which characterises
it during the greater part of the year. The blue of the sky is more
pure and more intense in September than at other times, except during
breaks in the monsoon, because the rain has washed from the atmosphere
the myriads of specks of dust that are usually suspended in it.
The cessation of the rains is followed by a period of steamy heat. As
the moisture of the air gradually diminishes the temperature rises.
But each September day is shorter than the one before it, and, hour by
hour, the rays of the sun part with some of their power. Towards the
end of the month the nights are cooler than they have been for some
time. At sunset the village smoke begins to hang low in a diaphanous
cloud--a sure sign of the approaching cold weather. The night dews are
heavy. In the morning the blades of grass and the webs of the spiders
are bespangled with pearly dewdrops. Cool zephyrs greet the rising
sun. At dawn there is, in the last days of the month, a touch of cold
in the air.
The Indian countryside displays a greenness which is almost
spring-like; not quite spring-like, because the fierce greens induced
by the monsoon rains are not of the same hues as those of the young
leaves of spring. The foliage is almost entirely free from dust. This
fact adds to the vernal appearance of the landscape. The _jhils_ and
tanks are filled with water, and, being overgrown with luxuriant
vegetation, enhance the beauty of the scene. But, almost immediately
after the cessation of the rains, the country begins to assume its
usual look. Day by day the grass loses a little of its greenness. The
earth dries up gradually, and its surface once more becomes dusty. The
dust is carried to the foliage, on which it settles, subduing the
natural greenery of the leaves. No sooner do the rains cease than the
rivers begin to fall. By November most of them will be sandy wastes in
which the insignificant stream is almost lost to view.
The mimosas flower in September. Their yellow spherical blossoms are
rendered pale by contrast with the deep gold hue of the blooms of the
_san_ (hemp) which now form a conspicuous feature of the landscape in
many districts. The cork trees (_Millingtonia hortensis_) become
bespangled with hanging clusters of white, long-tubed, star-like
flowers that give out fragrant perfume at night.
The first-fruits of the autumn harvest are being gathered in. Acre
upon acre of the early-sown rice falls before the sickle. The
threshing-floors once again become the scene of animation. The fallow
fields are being prepared for the spring crops and the sowing of the
grain is beginning.
Throughout the month insect life is as rich and varied as it was in
July and August.
The brain-fever bird and the koel call so seldom in September that
their cries, when heard, cause surprise. The voice of the pied
crested-cuckoo no longer falls upon the ear, nor does the song of the
magpie-robin. The green barbets lift up their voices fairly
frequently, but it is only on rare occasions that their cousins--the
coppersmiths--hammer on their anvils. The pied mynas are far less
vociferous than they were in July and August.
By the end of September the bird chorus has assumed its winter form,
except that the grey-headed flycatchers have not joined it in numbers.
Apart from the sharp notes of the warblers, the cooing of the doves,
the hooting of the crow-pheasants, the wailing of the kites, the
cawing of the crows, the screaming of the green parrots, the
chattering of the mynas and the seven sisters, the trumpeting of the
sarus cranes and the clamouring of the lapwings, almost the only bird
voices commonly heard are those of the fantail flycatcher, the
amadavat, the wagtail, the oriole, the roller and the sunbird.
The cock sunbirds are singing brilliantly although they are still
wearing their workaday garments, which are quaker brown save for one
purple streak along the median line of the breast and abdomen.
Many birds are beginning to moult. They are casting off worn feathers
and assuming the new ones that will keep them warm during the cool
winter months. With most birds the new feathers grow as fast as the
old ones fall out. In a few, however, the process of renewal does not
keep pace with that of shedding; the result is that the moulting bird
presents a mangy appearance. The mynas afford conspicuous examples of
this; when moulting their necks often become almost nude, so that the
birds bear some resemblance to miniature vultures.
Great changes in the avifauna take place in September.
The yellow-throated sparrows, the koels, the sunbirds, the bee-eaters,
the red turtle-doves and the majority of the king-crows leave the
Punjab. From the United Provinces there is a large exodus of
brain-fever birds, koels, pied crested-cuckoos, paradise flycatchers
and Indian orioles. These last are replaced by black-headed orioles in
the United Provinces, but not in the Punjab.
On the other hand, the great autumnal immigration takes place
throughout the month. Before September is half over the migratory
wagtails begin to appear. Like most birds they travel by night when
migrating. They arrive in silence, but on the morning of their coming
the observer cannot fail to notice their cheerful little notes, which,
like the hanging of the village smoke, are to be numbered among the
signs of the approach of winter. The three species that visit India in
the largest numbers are the white (_Motacilla alba_), the masked (_M.
personata_) and the grey wagtail (_M. melanope_). In Bengal the first
two are largely replaced by the white-faced wagtail (_M. leucopsis_).
The names "white" and "grey" are not very happy ones. The white
species is a grey bird with a white face and some black on the head
and breast; the masked wagtail is very difficult to distinguish from
the white species, differing in having less white and more black on
the head and face, the white constituting the "mask"; the grey wagtail
has the upper plumage greenish-grey and the lower parts
sulphur-yellow. The three species arrive almost simultaneously, but
the experience of the writer is that the grey bird usually comes a day
or two before his cousins.
On one of the last ten days of September the first batch of Indian
redstarts (_Ruticilla frontalis_) reaches India. Within twenty days of
the coming of these welcome little birds it is possible to dispense
with punkas.
Like the redstarts the rose-finches and minivets begin to pour into
India towards the end of September. The snipe arrive daily throughout
the month.
With the first full moon of September come the grey quail (_Coturnix
communis_). These, like the rain-quail, afford good sport with the gun
if attracted by call birds set down overnight. When the stream of
immigrating quail has ceased to flow, these birds spread themselves
over the well-cropped country. It then becomes difficult to obtain a
good bag of quail until the time of the spring harvest, when they
collect in the crops that are still standing.
Thousands of blue-winged teal invade India in September, but most of
the other species of non-resident duck do not arrive until October or
even November.
Not the least important of the September arrivals are the migratory
birds of prey. None of the owls seem to migrate. Nor do the vultures,
but a large proportion of the diurnal raptores leaves the plains of
India in the spring.
To every migratory species of raptorial bird, that captures living
quarry, there is a non-migratory counterpart or near relative. It
would almost seem as if each species were broken up into two clans--a
migratory and a stationary one. Thus, of each of the following pairs
of birds the first-named is migratory and the other non-migratory: the
steppe-eagle and the tawny eagle, the large Indian and the common
kite, the long-legged and the white-eyed buzzard, the sparrow-hawk and
the shikra, the peregrine and the lugger falcon, the common and the
red-headed merlin, the kestrel and the black-winged kite.
It is tempting to formulate the theory that the raptores are migratory
or the reverse according or not as they prey on birds of passage, and
that the former migrate merely in order to follow their quarry.
Certain facts seem to bear out this theory. The peregrine falcon,
which feeds largely on ducks, is migratory, while the lugger falcon--a
bird not particularly addicted to waterfowl--remains in India
throughout the year.
The necessity of following their favourite quarry may account for the
migratory habits of some birds of prey, but it does not apply to all.
Thus, the osprey, which feeds almost exclusively on fish, is merely a
winter visitor to India. Again, there is the kestrel. This preys on
non-migratory rats and mice, nevertheless it leaves the plains in the
hot weather and goes to the Himalayas to breed. All the species of
birds of prey cited above as migratory begin to arrive in the plains
of India in September. The merlins come only into the Punjab, but most
of the other raptores spread over the whole of India.
The various species of harrier make their appearance in September.
These are birds that cannot fail to attract attention. They usually
fly slowly a few feet above the surface of the earth so that they can
drop suddenly on their quarry. They squat on the ground when resting,
but their wings are long and their bodies light, so that they do not
need much rest. Those who shoot duck have occasion often to say hard
things of the marsh-harrier and the peregrine falcon, because these
birds are apt to come as unbidden guests to the shoot and carry off
wounded duck and teal before the _shikari_ has time to retrieve them.
Of the migratory birds of prey the kestrel is perhaps the first to
arrive; the osprey and the peregrine falcon are among the last.
Very few observations of the comings and the goings of the various
raptorial birds have been recorded; in the present state of our
knowledge it is not possible to compile an accurate table showing the
usual order in which the various species appear. This is a subject to
which those persons who dwell permanently in one place might with
advantage direct their attention.
As regards nesting operations September is not a month of activity.
On the 15th the close season for game birds ends in the Government
forests; and by that date the great majority of them have reared up
their broods. Grey partridge's eggs, it is true, have been taken in
September; but as we have seen, grey partridges, like doves and kites,
can scarcely be said to have a breeding season; they lay eggs whenever
it seemeth good to them.
A few belated peafowl may still be found with eggs, but these are
exceptions. Most of the hens are strutting about proudly, accompanied
by their chicks, while the cocks are shedding their trains. Other
species of which the eggs may be found in the present month are the
white-throated munia, the common and the large grey babblers, and, of
course, the various species of dove.
Before the last day of August all the young mynas have emerged from
the egg, and throughout the first half of September numbers of them
are to be seen following their parents and clamouring for food. Most
of the koels have departed, but some individuals belonging to the
rising generation remind us that they are still with us by emitting
sounds which are very fair imitations of the "sqwaking" of young
crows.
Baby koels are as importunate as professional beggars and solicit food
of every crow that passes by, to the great disgust of all but their
foster-parents.
The majority of the seven sisters have done with nursery duties for a
season. Some flocks, however, are still accompanied by impedimenta in
the shape of young babblers or pied crested-cuckoos. The impedimenta
make far more noise than the adult birds. They are always hungry, or
at any rate always demanding food in squeaky tones. With each squeak
the wings are flapped violently, as if to emphasise the demand. Every
member of a flock appears to help to feed the young birds irrespective
of whose nests these have been reared in.
Throughout September bayas are to be seen at their nests, but, before
the month draws to its close, nearly all the broods have come out into
the great world. The nests will remain until next monsoon, or even
longer, as monuments of sound workmanship.
In September numbers of curious brown birds, heavily barred with
black, make their appearance. These are crow-pheasants that have
emerged from nests hidden away in dense thickets. In a few weeks these
birds will lose their barred feathers and assume the black plumage and
red wings of the adult. By the end of August most of the night-herons
and those of the various species of egrets that have not been killed
by the plume-hunters are able to congratulate themselves on having
successfully reared up their broods. In September they lose their
nuptial plumes.
OCTOBER
Ye strangers, banished from your native glades,
Where tyrant frost with famine leag'd proclaims
"Who lingers dies"; with many a risk ye win
The privilege to breathe our softer air
And glean our sylvan berries.
GISBORNE'S _Walks in a Forest_.
October in India differs from the English month in almost every
respect. The one point of resemblance is that both are periods of
falling temperature.
In England autumn is the season for the departure of the migratory
birds; in India it is the time of their arrival.
The chief feature of the English October--the falling of the
leaves--is altogether wanting in the Indian autumn.
Spring is the season in which the pulse of life beats most vigorously
both in Europe and in Asia; it is therefore at that time of year that
the trees renew their garments.
In England leaves are short-lived. After an existence of about six
months they "curl up, become brown, and flutter from their sprays." In
India they enjoy longer lives, and retain their greenness for the
greater part of a year. A few Indian trees, as, for example, the
shesham, lose their foliage in autumn; the silk-cotton and the coral
trees part with their leaves gradually during the early months of the
winter, but these are the exceptions; nearly all the trees retain
their old leaves until the new ones appear in spring, so that, in this
country, March, April and May are the months in which the dead leaves
lie thick upon the ground.
In many ways the autumn season in Northern India resembles the English
spring. The Indian October may be likened to April in England. Both
are months of hope, heralds of the most pleasant period of the year.
In both the countryside is fresh and green. In both millions of avian
visitors arrive.
Like the English April, October in Northern India is welcome chiefly
for that to which it leads. But it has merits of its own. Is not each
of its days cooler than the preceding one? Does it not produce the
joyous morn on which human beings awake to find that the hot weather
is a thing of the past?
Throughout October the sun's rays are hot, but, for an hour or two
after dawn, especially in the latter half of the month, the climate
leaves little to be desired. An outing in the early morning is a thing
of joy, if it be taken while yet the air retains the freshness
imparted to it by the night, and before the grass has yielded up the
sparkling jewels acquired during the hours of darkness. It is good to
ride forth on an October morn with the object of renewing acquaintance
with nimble wagtails, sprightly redstarts, stately demoiselle cranes
and other newly-returned migrants. In addition to meeting many winter
visitors, the rider may, if he be fortunate, come upon a colony of
sand-martins that has begun nesting operations.
The husbandman enjoys very little leisure at this season of the year.
From dawn till sunset he ploughs, or sows, or reaps, or threshes, or
winnows.
The early-sown rice yields the first-fruits of the _kharif_ harvest.
By the end of the month it has disappeared before the sickle and many
of the fields occupied by it have been sown with gram. The hemp
(_san_) is the next crop to mature. In some parts of Northern India
its vivid yellow flowers are the most conspicuous feature of the
autumn landscape. They are as brilliantly coloured as broom. The _san_
plant is not allowed to display its gilded blooms for long, it is cut
down in the prime of life and cast into a village pond, there to soak.
The harvesting of the various millets, the picking of the cotton, and
the sowing of the wheat, barley, gram and poppy begin before the close
of the month. The sugar-cane, the _arhar_ and the late-sown rice are
not yet ready for the sickle. Those crops will be cut in November and
December.
As in September so in October the birds are less vociferous than they
were in the spring and the hot weather. During the earlier part of the
month the notes of the koel and the brain-fever bird are heard on rare
occasions; before October has given place to November, these noisy
birds cease to trouble. The pied starlings have become comparatively
subdued, their joyful melody is no longer a notable feature of the
avian chorus. In the first half of the month the green barbets utter
their familiar cries at frequent intervals; as the weather grows
colder they call less often, but at no season of the year do they
cease altogether to raise their voices. The _tonk_, _tonk_, _tonk_ of
the coppersmith is rarely heard in October; during the greater part of
the cold weather this barbet is a silent creature, reminding us of its
presence now and then by calling out _wow_ softly, as if half ashamed
at the sound of its voice. The oriole now utters its winter note
_tew_, and that sound is heard only occasionally.
It is unnecessary to state that the perennials--the crows, kites,
doves, bee-eaters, tree-pies, tailor-birds, cuckoo-shrikes, green
parrots, jungle and spotted owlets--are noisy throughout the month.
The king-crows no longer utter the soft notes which they seem to keep
for the rainy season; but, before settling down to the sober delights
of the winter, some individuals become almost as lively and vociferous
as they were in the nesting season. Likewise some pairs of "blue jays"
behave, in September and October, as though they were about to
recommence courtship; they perform strange evolutions in the air and
emit harsh cries, but these lead to nothing; after a few days of noisy
behaviour the birds resume their more normal habits.
The hoopoes have been silent for some time, but in October a few of
them take up their refrain--_uk-uk-uk-uk_, and utter it with almost as
much vigour as they did in March.
It would thus seem that the change of season, the approach of winter,
has a stimulating influence on king-crows, rollers and hoopoes,
causing the energy latent within them suddenly to become active and to
manifest itself in the form of song or dance.
In October the pied chat and the wood-shrike frequently make sweet
melody. Throughout the month the cock sunbirds sing as lustily and
almost as brilliantly as canaries; many of them are beginning to
reassume the iridescent purple plumage which they doffed some time
ago. From every mango tope emanates the cheerful lay of the fantail
flycatcher and the lively "Think of me ... Never to be" of the
grey-headed flycatcher. Amadavats sing sweet little songs without
words as they flit about among the tall grasses.
In the early morning and at eventide, the crow-pheasants give vent to
their owl-like hoot, preceded by a curious guttural _kok-kok-kok_. The
young ones, that left the nest some weeks ago, are rapidly losing
their barred plumage and are assuming the appearance of the adult. By
the middle of November very few immature crow-pheasants are seen.
Migration and moulting are the chief events in the feathered world at
the present season. The flood of autumn immigration, which arose as a
tiny stream in August, and increased in volume nightly throughout
September, becomes, in October, a mighty river on the bosom of which
millions of birds are borne.
Day by day the avian population of the _jhils_ increases. At the
beginning of the month the garganey teal are almost the only migratory
ducks to be seen on them. By the first of November brahminy duck,
gadwall, common teal, widgeon, shovellers and the various species of
pochard abound. With the duck come demoiselle cranes, curlews, storks,
and sandpipers of various species. The geese and the pintail ducks,
however, do not return to India until November. These are the last of
the regular winter visitors to come and the first to go.
The various kinds of birds of prey which began to appear in September
continue to arrive throughout the present month.
Grey-headed and red-breasted flycatchers, minivets, bush-chats,
rose-finches and swallows pour into the plains from the Himalayas,
while from beyond those mountains come redstarts, wagtails, starlings,
buntings, blue-throats, quail and snipe. Along with the other migrants
come numbers of rooks and jackdaws. These do not venture far into
India; they confine themselves to the North-West Frontier Province and
the Punjab, where they remain during the greater part of the winter.
The exodus, from the above-mentioned Provinces, of the bee-eaters,
sunbirds, yellow-throated sparrows, orioles, red turtle-doves and
paradise flycatchers is complete by the end of October. The above are
by no means the only birds that undergo local migration. The great
majority of species probably move about in a methodical manner in the
course of the year; a great deal of local migration is overlooked,
because the birds that move away from a locality are replaced by
others of their kind that come from other places.
During a spell of exceptionally cold weather a great many Himalayan
birds are driven by the snow into the plains of India, where they
remain for a few days or weeks. Some of these migrants are noticed in
the calendar for December.