The sprawling swamp adjoining the old red-brick bungalow at Vadodara, where I lived with family as the Deputy Commissioner of Police for two years in the 1990s, had swarms of mosquitoes. But on the brighter side, it also sustained a rich bird life. So ibises, herons and egrets roamed freely in the tree-lined compound.
One morning, while taking a stroll in the garden, my wife and I spotted a dead white-breasted kingfisher under a tree. We felt sorry for it but could not help marvelling how, even in death, it looked beautiful with its shining blue, brown and white feathers and the long, pointed red beak.
“Couldn’t we preserve it somehow,” my wife asked solicitously. I agreed on the spur but later realised that there were two problems. While white-breasted kingfisher occurs commonly in India, I was not sure if it was legal to keep a stuffed bird in one’s house. Forest officials were of no help in settling the legal question but suggested a way out. They advised me to inform them, in writing, just in case. I did that and the first hurdle was crossed.
The more difficult part was of finding a taxidermist, a species practically extinct by then, to do the work artistically. Someone in my staff suggested that I make enquiries at the century-old Baroda Museum. I did that and the curator was helpful. He told me that there was no taxidermist on his staff but gave me the name of a person who he engaged from time to time to restore or repair the stuffed wildlife of the museum.
I contacted him. He was a man in his forties, a descendant from a family of taxidermists who had, for generations, worked for the erstwhile princes of Baroda. As there was no work available to continue the family tradition, he had switched trade and now ran a curio shop. When he saw the dead kingfisher or whatever was left of it, he happily agreed to work on it.
A week later, he brought a glass showcase inside which was a beautiful kingfisher perched on a false tree twig. A pyramid-shaped wooden top with a bulb fitted inside, covered the case. When it was lit up, the bird looked full of life with its false beady eyes. You can imagine the delight of my young daughters when they saw it.
The showpiece occupied a pride of place in the drawing room and drew attention of anyone who saw it. One day, a journalist friend happened to visit my house. When he saw the kingfisher, he was so marvelled that he featured it in the weekend edition of his local newspaper giving the taxidermist and his creation a day of fame. I learnt that after the article appeared, some other persons had also approached the taxidermist for similar work. We too needed his services again, a few months later, when the carcass of another bird, a grey heron this time, was discovered in the compound. And he did a fine job on that too.
The two priceless relics remained with us for many years and charmed whoever saw them. Sometimes late into the night, when I sat alone in the drawing room contemplating a complex question of life, I felt the two bird relics sharing my worries and talking to me from the other side.
They survived many transfers, like us. However, one summer, when we returned from a vacation, we found that both relics had been reduced to smithereens. The rats had destroyed the shadow of life which we had preserved for so long.
