The Nest: (English)
Short Story; Afsana; Kahani
The Nest
Due
to the sudden eruption of militancy in the valley, I shifted my office to Jammu since
it was not possible for the office to function there, and being the headquarter
of the entire circle all other offices were getting affected. The orders to
this effect had been received from Delhi. However, the problem was where to
accommodate the office. Ultimately it was decided to accommodate everybody in a
departmental building located on the railway station where some spare
accommodation was available though not sufficient enough so as to comfortably
accommodate as many as eighty officials.
The most notable thing was the cooperation received from the Staff. I, on my part,
gave them a pep talk and convinced them that at such a juncture we were
expected to adapt to the circumstances and work with utmost dedication and
sacrifice. They can not expect the same facilities as they were used to before
migration. With future uncertain and faces crestfallen they readily agreed.
We
lost no time to reorganize our office. Everyone accepted smaller tables and
even occupied the corridors in absence of sufficient space. I too chose a small
room for myself facing the railway track. I personally supervised the interior
decoration of the room. Opposite the entrance
door on the far end, a writing table and a revolving chair were placed while a
sofa set shifted from the valley along with office record was adjusted against
the wall to the left of the table. Two more chairs were kept on the other side
of the table for the guests. A large-sized photograph of Mahatma Gandhi, the
father of the nation, was hung on the wall opposite the window facing the
railway platform. The window was overlooking a large tract of fallow land
beyond the railway track with bristly cacti everywhere, stray cattle bracing the
scorching sun and searching for food,
dogs scavenging the garbage and human excreta. Early in the morning, one could see a number of urchins defecating
here and there.
This
was a scenery which we were not accustomed to in the valley. Across the Pir
Panchal mountains there was greenery everywhere, the windows overlooked
beautiful gardens with majestic chinars, upright poplars, and fragrant magnolia
trees. Roses, tulips, dahlias, pansies, sweet williams, lilies, wallflowers,
antirrhinums and petunias greeted you as you entered the office in spring
while chrysanthemums, zinnias and marigolds adorned the office garden during
the autumn. On the contrary, there was no cool breeze to greet you in the
mornings, no cold freshwater piped directly from Chashma Shahi, the eternal
royal spring, to the office taps, and no cool shades under the majestic Chinars
to rest underneath. It was a different world altogether.
A
few glass panes of the windows had been broken and nobody had time enough to
attend to them as there were many more urgent jobs to attend to. Hot and dusty winds blew through them and
sometimes produced a burning sensation on my cheeks.
A few glass-panes of the window had been broken and nobody attended to them because there
were other important things to do. Often hot and dusty winds would blow through
them and produce a burning sensation on my cheeks.
One day while I
was sitting in my chair I spotted a sparrow darting down from the blue expanse
outside with a dry twig in its beak. It sat on the window-sill for a while and
then flitted across the room to deposit the twig behind the Gandhiji's
photograph. Following the little creature came another sparrow with yet another
piece of straw in its mouth and followed suit. I guessed that it was he and she sparrow. God alone knows when they had decided to live together and make a
nest for themselves behind this photograph of Gandhiji. A nest where they would
spend an entire season together, mate during the forthcoming rainy season, lay
eggs, hatch them to see young ones popping out their tiny beaks and feed them
till they could take to their wings by themselves. They flew time and again in
search of the building material for their nest besides food for themselves. On
their return, they deposited these tiny pieces of straw and soft grass, downs,
wool and cotton behind the photograph unmindful of my presence. At times I
watched these harmless weavers closely and intensely and appreciated their
skill and patience.
It looked like
the sparrows had migrated from some far off place may be in search of a more
secure environment or where plenty of food would be available.
The sparrows
too seemed to have migrated from some far off uncongenial place and were eager
to cohabit since the monsoon was fast approaching. While watching them I felt
that building a nest was as instinctive as eating, breathing, or drinking for
the whole animal world.
Day in and day
out I saw these two sparrows building their nest straw by straw. They collected
dry twigs, pieces of bark and straw, cotton wool, fallen dry leaves, and
feathers from places far and near and brought them into the room with a sense
of elation and anticipation. Many a time they sat on the window-ledge and
looked towards the nest with eagerness and urgency. In the process, more often
than not, they forgot their own food. The very idea of a comfortable nest with
their offspring protruding their tiny beaks evaporated whatever tiredness they
had felt and this made them redouble their efforts. As a result, it dawned upon
me that it was not only the human beings who dreamt of a sweet home but birds
too enjoyed the idea of a nice home of their own.
The two weavers
kept weaving their nest meticulously with all finesse, intertwining the warp
and the weft made of dry grass blades and straw. They used cotton wool and animal hair for cushioning the nest and to give it a soft touch.
Simultaneously, they started to live in the nest though their efforts to
embellish it still continued. I had become accustomed to their presence and
with the passage of time had lost interest in these harmless creatures.
Nature rewarded
them soon thereafter with bounteous monsoons. The atmosphere was filled with
the songs of Koel and the croaking of frogs. There was romance everywhere.
Young maidens riding on the swings welcomed the showers. Not to be left behind,
the he-sparrow started petting and necking the she-sparrow with his small tiny
beak, often expanded his wings as wide as possible to impress the sweetheart of his majestic presence and after assuring himself that the female partner was
ready to receive him rode on her back while twitching his tail. For both of
them, there could be no better moment of ecstasy than this one.
After some time
I had to proceed on leave for about a week and could not keep a track of these
two tiny lovers who had taken refuge in my room for making love. My room
remained closed during the week. The two lovers had their heyday in my absence.
No watchful human eyes pursued them any longer. There was no human interference
whatsoever and apparently that they had a real good time. They had possibly
thought that I had abandoned the room forever. They sat wherever they liked, on
the blade of the fan, on the writing-table, or on the chairs. Twigs, straw and
feathers had been strewn everywhere and the room had been littered with
offensive smelling faces of these birds.
After having
spent the week on leave I was eager to join my office, and therefore, reached
my office early in the morning. Nobody had yet come to the office except the
chowkidar and the sweeper. I asked the chowkidar to open my room. As I entered
the room I was horrified to see its condition. There were pieces of straw,
feathers and twigs strewn everywhere. Worse still, the two birds had defecated
at many places and their excreta stuck to the upholstery of the sofa and the
chairs beside the glass top of the table. I watched helplessly and did not
know how to react. Slowly the anger welled up inside me and I was beside
myself with rage. I immediately called the sweeper and ordered him to clean the
room. As if that was not enough, I asked him to remove the nest from behind the
photograph. Shortly thereafter the sweeper reported to me that the nest had a
few eggs inside it and it would not be proper to throw them away. He was too
religious to think of destroying a nest having eggs in it. I could notice from
his face that he was reluctant to carry out my orders and therefore did not
press for the same as it could hurt his religious sentiments. So I took it upon
myself to remove the nest from behind the photograph and throw it out of the
window. The tiny eggs broke open as soon as they fell on the ground and the
fluid in them oozed and spread over the surface. The chowkidar and the sweeper
kept looking helplessly. So did the Mahatma from behind the glass frame.
I left the room
for the sweeper to clean it and mop the furniture and as soon as he reported
completion, I returned and took my seat in the chair, and started disposing of
the office files.
Almost after an
hour the she-sparrow came flying from the heavens above with a grain of wheat
in her mouth which she wanted to share with her mate in the exclusivity of her
nest. She sat on the window-sill for a while with her eyes radiant with hope
and promise. She flew straight towards the photograph but to her dismay could
not find her nest there. She kept hovering around the place in utter disbelief
and distress not knowing what had befallen her sweet home. All her dreams had
been belied and plans shattered. In deep anguish and frustration, she flitted
across the room unmindful of the rotating fan above. She had simply gone mad.
In one of the rapid moves her body struck the fast-moving blades of the fan and
within moments her wing was torn into pieces, the feathers scattered on the
floor and she herself fell dead on the floor.
Then came the
he-sparrow with mirth and joy writ large on his face and sat on the
window-sill. As he peeped into the room all his happiness evaporated like ether
and he became sullen at the sight of his companion. He too flew towards the
photograph to find for himself what was in store for him. Shocked and
bewildered he darted down to his partner and hovered over her dead body for a
long time with the expectation that she may hear his call and wake up. But that
was not to be. His mate was silent as a stone. He was now convinced that she
would not hear his call nor would the destroyed nest be rebuilt. Dejected, he
flew back and sat on the window-sill where he kept brooding for some time. He
had lost his mate, his home and his offspring to my wanton desire. His life had
become desolate and held no promise for the future. Quietly, he gathered his
courage and flew away into the vast blue expanse towards the milky horizon
never to return and I watched him in horrified silence.
