The story so far:Each species was represented in Bali. Queen Cassowary spoke of the urgent need to save the Balinese mynah.
“We have one night only. Each one of you will tell a tale. And we will listen. The wind will carry our stories into the world. It will fall as rain and drop off the leaves and replenish the rivers, so that they will sing once more. They will whisper the language of the birds to the ears of all who have fallen asleep.
Every time we tell a story that is not true, or a story that will cause harm amongst those who have gathered here, one feather will drop from the crest of the Balinese mynah.”
“How many feathers does she have on her crest?” asked a vulture, who had no feathers at all on its grizzled neck.
“No one can tell you that. But if the stories bring hope, another feather will spring up in her crest. We might all be saved like the Balinese mynah. That’s why I have called you here. This is a chance for us to start again,” said Queen Cassowary.
Once the birds began, there was no stopping them. They tweeted and twanged, hooted and rocked. When the nightingale sang, tiny quills appeared on the head of the Balinese mynah.
One by one as others picked up the song, the feathers on her head sprang up and out to become a drooping fan.
Coming alive
Mrs. Corvid lifted a wing and felt the lady birds coming alive in her hat of spider web. They rose as one and flew away into the swaying palm trees.
When she turned to look at Queen Cassowary’s head-dress of hummingbirds, she noticed that the entire colony of brilliant gem-like birds had flown away. They disappeared into the dark blue evening sky and became tiny pinpoints of lights.
“Friends, birds, country-mynahs,” began the African Grey, “We have saved the Balinese mynah, thanks to your efforts. With one small feather we can save the world as long as we listen to each other’s stories, as we have done here tonight.
One diamond tear fell from the Queen’s face. When she lifted a large claw to wipe it off her powdered face, they noticed that it was like the root of an ancient tree. It was a clawed foot that had been forged in the fires of the earth.
“She is the Simurgh after all”, said Mrs. Corvid.
As you may expect the “ Parlez-vous of Birds ” never stopped. They sang and told stories until the white crested Balinese mynah shone like the moon itself on a dark night. Finally, she was strong enough to open her cage and let herself out flying on her black tipped wings.
Listen to the koels in your garden. They will tell you what happened later that night.
The end
