If I were a bird I would give the Indian crow a very wide berth, and,
whenever I did come into unavoidable contact with him, I should behave
towards him with the most marked civility. A clannishness prevails among
crows which makes them nasty enemies to tackle. If you insult one of the
“treble-dated” birds you find that the whole of the _corvi_ of the
neighbourhood resent that insult as if it had been addressed to each and
every one individually, and if you get back nothing more than your insult
_plus_ very liberal interest, you are indeed lucky. In the same way,
crows will revenge an injury tenfold. The eye-for-an-eye doctrine does
not satisfy them; for an eye they want at least a pair of eyes, to say
nothing of a complete set of teeth. I recently witnessed an example of
what crows are capable of doing by way of revenge.
A couple of kites built high up in a lofty tree the clumsy platform of
sticks which we dignify by the name “nest.” This was furnished, soon
after its completion, by a clutch of three straw-coloured eggs,
handsomely blotched with red.
The ugliest birds seem to lay the most beautiful eggs; this is perhaps
the compensation which Dame Nature gives them for their own lack of
comeliness.
The kite is a very close sitter. Like the crow, she knoweth the
wickedness of her own heart, and as she judges others by herself, deems
it necessary to continually mount guard over her eggs. Patience
eventually meets with its reward. Three weeks of steady sitting result in
the appearance of the young kites.
This long and patient sitting on the part of parent birds is, when one
comes to think of it, a most remarkable phenomenon. No sooner do the eggs
appear in the nest than the most active little bird seems to lose all its
activity and become quite sedentary in its habits. Take, for example, the
sprightly white-browed fantail flycatcher (_Rhipidura albifrontata_), a
bird which ordinarily seems to have St. Vitus’s dance in every organ and
appendage. This species will, when it has eggs, sit as closely or more
closely than a barndoor hen, and will sometimes allow you to stroke it. I
often wonder what are the feelings of such a bird when incubating. One is
tempted to think that it must find the process intensely boring. But this
cannot be so, or it would refuse to sit. The fowls of the air are not
hampered by the Ten Commandments; they are free to do that to which the
spirit moveth them, without let or hindrance, without fear of arrest or
prosecution for breach of the law. Hence birds must positively enjoy
sitting on their eggs. At the brooding season avine nature undergoes a
complete change. Ordinarily a bird delights to expend its ebullient
energy in vigorous motion, just as a strong man delights to run a race;
but at the nesting season its inclinations change; then its greatest joy
is to sit upon its nest. Even as human beings are suddenly seized with
the Bridge craze and are then perfectly content to sit for hours at the
card table, so at certain seasons are birds overcome by the incubating
mania. If my view of the matter be correct, and I think it must be, a
sitting bird is no more an object for our pity than is a Bridge maniac.
But this is a digression.
Let us hie back to our kite and her family of young ones in their lofty
nursery. For a time all went well with them. But one day the sun of
prosperity which had hitherto shone upon them became darkened by great
black clouds of adversity. I happened to pass the nest at this time and
saw about twenty excited crows squatting on branches near the nest and
cawing angrily. The mother kite was flying round and round in circles,
and was evidently sorely troubled in spirit. She had done something to
offend the crows. Ere long she returned to her nest, whereupon the crows
took to their wings, cawing more vociferously than ever. As soon as the
kite had settled on the nest they again alighted on branches of the tree,
and, each from a respectful distance, gave what the natives of Upper
India call _gali galoj_. She tolerated for a time their vulgar abuse,
then left the nest. This was the signal for all the crows to take to
their wings. Some of them tried to attack her in the air. For a few
minutes I watched them chasing her. After a little the attack began to
flag, I, therefore, came to the conclusion that the _corvi_ were
recovering their mental equilibrium, and that the whole affair would
quickly fizzle out, as such incidents usually do. Accordingly, I went on
my way. Returning an hour later, I was surprised to find the crows still
engaged in the attack. Moreover, the kite was not visible and the crows
had grown bolder, for whereas previously they had abused the kite from a
safe distance, some of them were now quite close to the nest. Being
pressed for time, I was not able to stay and await developments. In the
afternoon when I again passed the nest I saw no kite, but the tree was
alive with crows, and part of the nest appeared to have been pulled down.
The nestlings had probably been destroyed. Of this I was not able to make
certain, for I was on my way to fulfil a social engagement. I was, I
admit, sorely tempted to “cut” this, and nothing but the want of a good
excuse prevented my doing so. “Dear Mrs. Burra Mem, I much regret that I
was prevented from coming to your tennis party this afternoon by a
domestic bereavement—of a kite,” seemed rather unconvincing, so I went to
the lawn-tennis party.
[Illustration: THE INDIAN KITE. (MILVUS GOVINDA)]
When I saw the nest the following morning it was a total wreck. There
were still one or two crows hanging around, and while I was inspecting
the ground beneath the scene of the tragedy they amused themselves by
dropping sticks on my head. The crow is an ill-conditioned bird. I found,
lying about on the ground, the _débris_ of the nest, a number of kite’s
feathers, including six or seven of the large tail ones, and two crow’s
wings. These last furnished the clue to the behaviour of the crows. The
kite must have attacked and killed a sickly crow, in order to provide
breakfast for her young. This was, of course, an outrage on corvine
society—an outrage which demanded speedy vengeance. Hence the gathering
of the clans which I had witnessed the previous day. At first the crows
were half afraid of the kite, and were content to call her names; but as
they warmed up to their work they gained courage, and so eventually
killed the kite, destroyed her nest, and devoured her young. Thus did
they avenge the murder.