Battered and bruised, still the bird has flown

An injured pigeon draws from its reserves of strength and flies way rather than be caged and treated for wounds

In symbolic shows of the value of freedom, VIPs release caged pigeons with fanfare on important occasions. In a similar vein, a bruised winged visitor to my home preferred the freedom of the blue skies to the care I was trying to offer.

The balcony of one of the bedrooms in my first-floor flat in Chennai faces a main road. The grille spanning it has spacious openings, giving ample room for birds to fly in and freak out.

On a soporific summer afternoon, I dozed off in this bedroom reading a book. A sudden rattling sound, as if the outdoor AC unit fixed in the balcony had fallen off its frame, woke me up. I opened the door to the balcony and noticed that something had gone seriously wrong.

Mud traces were smeared on the walls and drops of blood were on the floor. Something sinister must have happened. I looked up and saw a pigeon, shrinking its body and hiding above the AC unit, full of fear in its eyes and motionless as I looked at it. The bird could have been hurt, but then, who could have inflicted the cruelty?

It didn’t take more than a minute for me to get the answer, as someone yelled from the road, “Sir, do you see a pigeon there.”

Here’s the hunter

He was a nomad, bare-chested and holding a catapult. I could guess that he had picked up a mud-covered stone and slung it from his weapon at the pigeon sitting on the exterior of our building. After taking a hit, the bird managed to fly into my balcony, giving the slip to its hunter.

“No pigeon here,” I said firmly. “It must’ve fallen down. I hit it and I’m sure it couldn’t have flown anywhere else. Just crane your neck and see outside in your compound,” he replied, not seeming to relent.

Pretending to look out, I said, “No bird has fallen here.”

Out of nowhere, another 30 nomads gathered on the road. They all conversed among themselves and decided to comb the street for the elusive bird.

At this juncture, a policeman who patrol our area came on his two-wheeler, questioned them and asked them to leave immediately. Heeding his warning, they disappeared as quickly as they came.

Rescue act

Now, how do I rescue the scared bird? Will it survive or fall dead? I frantically dialled helplines which could send rescuers and pick it up, but they were busy at that moment.

One of them counselled, “Just collect it in your hands, place it in some proper container and bring it to our place. We’ll take care. If you need, you can even come and collect the nest box which we have.”

Not to waste time, I set out to catch the bird.

I climbed onto a stool with a basket in hand and gently approached the bird. I do not know from where it got that strength. It fluttered its wings heavily, scaring me for a moment and flew out of the balcony seemingly without any discomfort and disappeared far… far… into the sky.

I do not know if the injury it received was minor or major.

But I ardently hoped and prayed that the wound would heal and the bird could survive for long, fit and fine.

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