PART II
CHAPTER I
Afterwe returned to town the air was filled with the rumours of a coming war somewhere in Europe. Now that winter was at hand, I decided to give Gay-Neck such training as would be necessary in case he was asked to be a carrier for the British war department. Since he was used to the climate of the northeastern Himalayas, he would be an invaluable messenger for the army in any European country. Even now, with the aid of wireless telegraph and radio, no army can dispense with the help of carrier pigeons. All that will become clear to you as the present story unfolds itself.
In training carriers for war work, I followed a plan of my own which Ghond approved. By the way, the old fellow came all the way to town with us. He stayed in our house two or three days, then decided to leave, saying: "The city is unbearable. I never loved any city, but this one frightens me with its electric tramway and how-aghari (wind chariot)—the automobile. If I do not shake the dust of this town off my feet very soon, I shall be nothing better than a coward. A tiger in the jungle does not frighten me, but I cannot say the same of an automobile. One crossing of a modern city street imperils more lives in a minute than a day in the most dangerous forests. Farewell! I go where the woods wear stillness for a dress, the air is free of odours and dust, and the sky, a hollowed turquoise, is not cross-cut and pierced with poles and telegraph wires. Instead of factory whistles I shall hear the song of birds; and in the place of thieves and gunmen I shall have innocent tigers and panthers face to face. Farewell!"
But before he left, he helped me to buy about forty more carriers, and some tumblers. You may ask me the reason of my preference for these two kinds. I do not know that I have any exclusive love for tumblers and carriers, but it is true that fantails, pouters and other pigeons are more ornamental than useful. In our house we had some of these varieties but they proved so difficult to keep in company with the carriers and travelers that I finally bestowed all my appreciation on pure flyers.
In India we have a queer custom that I do not like. If you sell a carrier no matter at what fabulous price, and it flies away from its new owner and comes back to you, it becomes your property again and no matter what the value, you never refund the price. Knowing that to be the accepted custom among pigeon fanciers, I had to train my newly acquired pets before anything else to love me. Since I had paid for them, I did not wish them to return to their former owners. I did my very best to make them cherish their new home loyally. But life is practical. I had to begin with the most necessary steps. The first few weeks I had to tie up their wings in order to keep them completely within the bounds of our roof. The art of tying a pigeon's feathers so that he is prevented from flying is delicate. You take a thread, and pass one end of it over one feather and under the next, very near its root, all the way until the entire wing is encompassed. Then you pass the other end of the thread by the same process under the first, over the second, and so on to the end of the wing, where the two ends of the thread are tied. It is very much like darning. It is an utterly painless form of captivity, for though it prevents a pigeon from flying, yet he is not kept from opening or flapping his wings. He can stretch them and can massage them with his beak. After this I used to put my new pigeons at different corners of the roof so that they might sit still, and with their eyes take in the colour and quality of their new surroundings. At least fifteen days should be allowed for this process.
Here I must record a cunning thing that Gay-Neck did when his wings were tied in the above manner. I sold him early in November just to see if he would return to me when his wings were freed from their chain of threads.
Well, two days after purchasing Gay-Neck, his new owner came to me and said: "Gay-Neck has run away."
"How?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I cannot find him in my house."
"Did you tie his wings? Could he fly?" I asked.
"His wings were tied." He answered.
That struck terror to my soul. I said: "Oh, you brother of a camel and cousin of an ass, instead of running hither, you should have sought for him in your own neighbourhood. Do you not see that he tried to fly, but since his wings were tied, he fell off your roof? And by now he has been killed and devoured by some cat. Oh, this is a slaughter of a pigeon. You have robbed mankind of its diadem of carriers! You have murdered the glory of pigeonhood!" Thus I reproached him.
My words frightened the man so thoroughly that he begged me to come with him and hunt for Gay-Neck. My first thought was to rescue the poor fellow from cats. We spent a whole afternoon, but in vain. I examined more sordid alleyways in twelve hours, expecting to find him at bay before some mangy cat, than I have done in all the rest of my life. Alas, he was not to be found. That night I came home late, for which I got a good scolding, and went to bed a broken-hearted boy.
My mother, who understood my state of mind, did not wish me to enter the world of sleep with hurt and excited feelings. She spoke: "Your pigeon is safe. Go to sleep in a calm mood."
"Why, Mother?"
She answered: "If you are calm, your tranquil thoughts can help you. If you are peaceful, your serenity will make him serene. And if he is serene, his mind will work well. And you know, my beloved, how keen Gay-Neck's mind is. If he sets to work with tranquillity he will overcome all obstacles and reach home and safety. Now let us make a prayer to Infinite Compassion, and calm ourselves." So we sat surrounded by the silence of night for half an hour, saying: "I am serene. All that exists is serene. Peace, peace, peace be unto all! Om Shanti, shanti, shanti!"
As I was going to sleep my mother said: "You will now dream no bad dreams. Now that God's peace and compassion are kindled in you, you will have a night of fruitful rest. Peace!"
That it proved to be fruitful, there is no doubt. For about eleven in the morning, Gay-Neck flew up across the sky. He rode high. How he freed his wings I shall have to tell you in his own language. Let us again use the grammar of fancy and the dictionary of imagination.
"O, master of many tongues," began Gay-Neck on our own roof, "I could abide not more than a day in that man's house! He gave me insect-infected grain to eat, and made me drink water that was not fresh. After all, I am a soul; why should I be treated as a stone or shard? Moreover, he tied my wings with evil-smelling fishing tackle. Would I stay with such an one? Never! So hardly had he put me on the white roof of his house and gone downstairs, than I flapped my wings and flew. Alas! my wings were heavy, and it hurt me to fly. So I fell on the awning of a shop in the lane nearby. There I sat waiting and watching for help. I saw some swifts go by; I called to them but they were not my friends. I saw a wild pigeon; I called, but he too made no response. Just then I beheld a dark cat coming towards me. Here was death on four feet. As it drew nearer and nearer, its topaz eyes burnt with red. It crouched and made ready to spring. I, too, sprang—clear over his head on to the cornice about five feet above the awning, where a swift had made his home. Though it was most difficult, I clung to that spot until the black one vanished. Now I leaped again. Four or five feet above me was the roof. There I perched. But my wing hurt. In order to ease my pain I massaged the roots of my feathers. One by one my beak pressed and rubbed them, and then something slipped. One small feather I had succeeded in pressing out of the grip of the fishing tackle which stank exceedingly. I kept on rubbing and pressing the next feather, and behold it too was free. Oh, what a glorious feeling! Soon the entire wing was free. Just then the black cat reappeared on the roof, but now I was able to fly about ten feet and I reached the cornice of a high building, where I found a convenient perch. Thence I watched the deadly cat. He crouched and sprang upon the fishing tackle just shed from my wing. That told me a new story: it was the stench of the fishing tackle that had attracted him, and not me. Forthwith I began to bite and press the cord that bound my other wing. By the time I had freed half the feathers night came on, and when I had thrown my last evil-smelling chain away from my wing, I was forced to await the dawn to fly home, for owls fly in the early twilight, and hawks come later, and I wished to have a safe path through the air. Now I am at home—I am hungry and thirsty."
The first thing I did with my new pigeons was to give them food and fresh water. I never let them drink the water they bathed in. Since Gay-Neck's wing smelled of fish, I gave him separate quarters from the other pigeons. It took three days longer and three good baths before Gay-Neck was fit for decent society. In passing, let me remark that my father made me return the money to the man who had bought Gay-Neck with such deplorable results. To tell you the truth, I did not wish to then. But now I feel I did right in obeying my parent. After a fortnight and before unbinding the wings of my newly acquired pigeons, I bribed them to love me. Every morning I would put some millet seed and peanuts in ghee (clarified butter). After they had been soaked in butter all day, I gave a dozen each to every one of my pets. They were so fond of those delicacies that in two days' time they had formed the habit of coming to me before five in the afternoon, begging for buttered seeds. In three more days I freed their wings, in a subtle way, undoing them about fifteen minutes before five. They all flew off the moment they felt their liberty. But lo, after the first exhilaration of finding their freedom had passed, they flew down to the roof again for their meal of buttered peanuts and millet seeds! It is a pity that we have to win our pigeons' confidence by feeding their stomachs, but alas! I have noticed that there are many men and women who resemble pigeons in this respect!