The
sunbird flitted around haphazardly; up and up until it hit the
ceiling, round and about perching on lights and the blades of the
fan. And as it flew, it cried, a shrill song, of which each note was
long-drawn out. Outside the window, listening helplessly to the cries
of their companion, 15 birds were gathered, of which there was only
one male. Some buzzed around the tree branches restlessly, others
perched on the bars of the window grill or on the window itself. Some
birds would call out to their companion, perhaps trying to get her to
come towards them. Others watched silently, maybe wondering if their
friend would ever make it.
I
walked into the middle of this crisis in the late afternoon. I didn’t
know how long this drama had gone on for. But like her companions, I
was worried, because each time the bird perched on a surface, her
feathers and claws collected the centuries old dust and cob-webs, and
she flew with visibly more effort. Despite my worry, my fascination
with the whole scene was evident. It was enamoring to see the little
bird’s social circle gathered around in support. Watching the
exchange between the free birds and the one fighting towards freedom
was incredible. I have never seen the likes of it.
When
I informed my mother of the on-going drama, she said that the same
thing had happened yesterday, when a sun-bird flew into the kitchen.
Was it the same idiot?, she wondered aloud. She assured me that the
little bird would find its way out at some point, just like the one
did yesterday. Not entirely convinced I went back into the room and
found to my alarm that the bird’s social circle, which seemed to me
solid as rock, was disintegrating at a rapid pace. Every few minutes,
a few birds would flutter off, making the voices of encouragement
fainter. Consequently, the conversation between the two parties
lulled. But what if those birds outside were spectators? Watching on
as the maw of the house threatened to snuff out the existence of one
of their own. Maybe they left because they were bored, or perhaps
they gave up on her ever making it out.
It
was at this point that I received the threat of having my afternoon
nap revoked. So sending up a silent yell of encouragement, I left,
locking the door behind me.
It
was in the evening that I remembered the sun-bird and her plight. I
was a bit apprehensive going into the room. Unfortunately, the bird
hadn’t made it out. By this time she was so covered in muck that
her wings labored under the weight. Though she was tired, she wasn’t
giving up, an admirable quality. In a fearful hurry, I roused up my
mother and sister and soon we were all in the room, equipped with a
broomstick, a duster and a hula hoop. We attempted to steer the bird
out the window but we only succeeded in agitating an already stressed
out bird. 10 minutes later, she crashed into the wall and fell into
the gap between the cupboard and wall. Sweating and scared, we slowly
shifted the structure and peered into the gap. There she was,
fluttering weakly but apparently unharmed and somehow still willing
herself to get on with the escape.
She
made a flying leap out of the gap, and simultaneously I cupped my
hands and scooped. She was so weighted down with dirt that she could
no longer fly, and that made her capture immensely easier. Gently, my
mother and I removed all the dirt – the cobwebs, miniature dust
bunnies- from her lovely feathers, her tiny feet and jet black claws,
and from her elegantly curved beak. The tiny creature sat still in
my hands, now and then regarding us with a glittering eye. Meanwhile,
my sister went to get the cameras.
We
managed to get a few photographs in the time it took to clean the
bird up. And then I went to the window and set her free. That is a
moment I will remember forever. The way she fluttered off quick as
anything, dipping and weaving through the branches of the tree,
beautiful and free.
