Saving the sunbird

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.