Country notebook:m.krishnan

[Dipankar Mazumdar]

Dear Manoj,
No need to go to such extents, just register on http://www.thestatesman.net and search for " country notebook " you will get all the episodes being re- published currently.

Dear Saktipada ji,
Thankyou for reigniting the flame.

I recently purchased a collection of M. krishnan's writings " Nature's Spokesman" and was delighted to find " Bommakka " there. Although i missed Pulak Biswas's watercolour illustrations, none the less it made for a delightful read out for my young sons.

Cheers
Dipankar

[Dipankar Mazumdar]

Dear All,
I know I am intruding into Saktipada jis exclusive domain, none the less, This week's country notebook made an interesting reading. I am sharing for our members.
Cheers
Dipankar

Voices of intolerance
m krishnan

I AM a good neighbour. In this overcrowded city, hemmed in on all sides with the houses of other men, I am impercipient. Especially do I take no note of the uproars that break out around me from time to time — I presume these are signs of life’s onward march here, just as the grating sounds from around the corner are tokens of the progress of trams and I am incurious. But on Friday morning I was awoken by such a varied and sustained din that overcoming my civic sense I rushed to the backyard and looked over the wall.
The hubbub came from a Cassia in the compound of my neighbour to the east. A number of crows and Rose-ringed Parakeets had assembled about the tree and in its top branches, circling round, settling and circling again, screeching, screaming, cawing and demonstrating at something that sat lumped, indistinct and immobile in the heart of the tree. The something was almost completely hidden by foliage and flowers — it looked large, whatever it was, and apparently it knew there was little calm outside the screen of leaves. I took a quick census of the demonstrators since the object of their attentions was invisible. The crows (mainly grey necks) kept flying in and out and were too numerous to be counted but there were about two dozen of them and there were 17 parakeets.
A surprising number, for although parakeets visit the neighbourhood they do not roost here and I had not thought the locality held so many of them. For a few minutes I had to rest content with watching the demonstration for the cause of it all gave no clue of its identity — I guessed it was a large owl that had strayed into the neighbourhood, incautiously.
Then unable to suffer the prying eyes and the many-keyed curses of the birds, it broke cover, climbing down surprisingly to earth, a young three-fourth grown Bonnet Monkey with half its tail missing, that raced across my neighbour’s compound and streaked up the wall and from it up the tall coconut tree in the corner of my backyard. Promptly the frenzied crows and parakeets shifted en masse to the coconut, and with a plainer view of their quarry demonstrated against it even more agitatedly.
There are no monkeys hereabouts — this one must have been a runaway from some gypsy’s troupe. From the coconut to the great wood-apple tree in my compound, from there through a row of coconuts to a mango and finally to the concrete parapets of my western neighbours, the fugitive took its wretched liberty, never descending to earth again, seeking the cover of foliage from the tormentors — and the birds followed every move in its progress in a vociferous mob. Only when that harassed monkey took to the housetops, abandoning green sanctuary and disappeared westwards to where there were no trees, did they stop heckling him.
Then all at once the chivying ceased, as suddenly as it had begun some half an hour earlier.
At first all this may seem trifling and hardly worth the record but I feel the incident is not without interest to the naturalist. For one thing, this was the first time I had seen parakeets demonstrating at a monkey, or any other creature, for that matter. Dewar, I think, mentions an instance of Rose-ringed Parakeets panicking at their roost when a hawk took one of them but this was something quite different.
Though there were many more crows there, the varied voices of the parakeets almost drowned their cawing and the crows seemed half-hearted in their heckling by comparison. They just flew in from neighbouring perches to the monkey’s tree, and then out again, but each parakeet, before settling, circled the tree on stiff-held wings with every long graded tail-feather outspread, heaping shrill curses on the unhappy macaque’s head; they sat in rows craning over to peer through the leaves at their quarry till their heads seemed disproportionately big on the taut, thin necks, veiling vituperation, almost toppling off their perches in their excitement.
I cannot imagine why these birds were so affected by the monkey — in the countryside where they lead an arboreal existence together, I have never seen them demonstrating at macaques. Anything out of place excites the birds of a locality and certainly that monkey was utterly strange in that setting but this does not seem to explain the obvious anger of the parakeets. The crows were merely a subsidiary force drawn to the scene of action by the parakeets — they were, as I said, almost casual in their protests.
Another remarkable fact was the complete indifference of other creatures present. I noticed that the numerous squirrel of my compound and a party of White-headed Babblers there just then utterly ignored the monkey and its tormentors. Palm-Squirrels and White-headed Babblers are notoriously more given to demonstrating against enemies and intruders than parakeets, but they showed no interest whatever.
Even more remarkable was the apathy of the human population. A gardener’s child threw a small stone vaguely in the direction of the monkey as it leaped from one coconut tree to another overhead but this was a purely formal gesture prompted by some dim atavistic obligation to throw things at fugitive creatures. After performing this rite, the child took no further notice of the monkey, well within his puerile range. No one else seemed even aware of the commotion in tree and air. One of my neighbours was shaving at a window seat and got up — I hoped he would step on to his terrace to see what it was all about — but it was only to get a towel before resuming his toilet.

This was first published on 22 April 1951 in The Sunday Statesman

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

Bhai Dipankar,
Late Shri Krishnan is "Nature's Spokesman" and simply a "Religion" to any lover of wild life.We are all listeners to his eternal voices.It is so nice of you that you have advanced the posting by two or three days and spread his message much earlier.
Thank you so much.
Kind regards,
SaktiWild

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"I CAME here early in April to keep my annual date with the southern summer.For a week all went well,slowly the budding heat burgeoned.Then suddenly massed clouds rolled up overhead and the rain came down in torrents.A passing shower,I said to myself,while it rained three inches and it passed.the sun burned fiercely in a clear sky the next day and the heat was all more apparent for the interlude.But since morning it has rained again today,the sky is overcast,the air cool,and it looks as though I must wait for my assignation.

Seating on my leaky verandah,I have been watching birds in rain.I happen to have Dewar's 'Birds of the Indian Plains' with me just now-he has a chapter on "Birds in the Rain" in the book,and perhaps he wrote it not far from here.I would like to observe something original about reaction of the birds around me to the shower,but such things do not go by preferences and I have to confirm Dewar largely.He said that birds enjoy the rains acutely,and in India it is rarely that they are forced to take shelter from it.

"They know naught of rheumatism or ague" they sit in the rain or splash about the puddles, delighted with the opportunity for a shower-bath,and afterwards there is a great shaking out of feathers and preening of wings and they are smart and fresh and glad. Dewar also comments on how the first monsoons bring feasts of termites and other insects for birds and nestlings, and softens terra firma for the probing bill of the Hoopoe.All this is true.An odd group of three Common Mynahs has been parading the gravel path outside for the past hour,wading into every puddle and splashing about, as if trying to drown themselves in the knee-high water,and still they are not drenched- their well-oiled plumage seems waterproof.

I can hear the neighing call of a White-breasting Kingfisher and know where it is-on the top of a Casaurina pole in the backyard. Far out, in a field beyond the road, a flock of Cattle Egrets alights on the dazzling wings, surprisingly white in this grey atmosphere, and quarter the wet grass.There are Crows on exposed perches all around, determined not to miss a drop of rain.The only birds I can see that donot seem too keen on a shower-bath is a party of White-headed Babblers sheltering under a mango tree.

Watching these birds, it is obvious that Dewar wrote about the reaction to the rain from accurate observation, but I cannot help feeling that he assigned a wrong motive for their behaviour.It is no craze for originality that makes me say this-it is that I can see no patent signs of joy in these rain-bathing birds.The lives of birds are ruled by instincts mainly and their responses and emotional expressions follow set patterns.

There is a Crow sitting on a dead limb of a Neem not 20 yards from me, and I have been observing it closely for the past half-hour.It has been sitting there dully, unmoving except to fluff its plumage or caw in a sad undertone from time to time-the illustration is from a leisurely sketch of its obliging model. Now if the crow is enjoying the shower,I must say it takes its pleasure sadly; Poe's raven could hardly have made a less sprightly picture had it been out there,on that branch.

Nor can I note any tokens of jubilation in the other birds out in the rain. Dewar says that the normally sedate mynahs shed their reserve when it rains and go mudlarking in the abandoned enjoyment.I am alive to the tonic properties of slush and downpour-it does one's soul good to get drenched and splashed with mud for all ponderous unlovely notions of self-importance and dignity are shed at once, and this sudden jettisoning and the feeling of lightness that follows moves one to frisk about and find life joyful.But I think the Mynahs I see are undignified only because they are bathing, bathing vigorously in two-inch water-few beasts or birds (bar all cats) look their best at their toilet.

Birds are wonderfully equipped for extremes of climate and weather.And they enjoy dust-baths.But that is not saying that they may feel no discomfort from clogging dust and secretions in their plumage.It is not only that their addiction to rain is an unreasoned response, an instinctive utilisation of an opportunity to wash away dust and water-soluble accumulations from their feathers and skins? That would explain their "non-enthusiastic" but sustained insistence on exposing themselves to the first rains after every spell of dry weather."-M.Krishnan

(This was first published on 6 May 1951 in The Sunday Statesman)

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

Administrator is requested to kindly correct the date as 15-April-2012(instead of March) as the article appeared in the Sunday Statesman yesterday.
Kind regards,SaktiWild

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"The heat gains strength from day to day, inexorably.Soon it will reach its sure climax : already the mornings open, not brightly any more,but with a sultry frown, and by 10 o'clock most spririts flag and most voices are stilled.However there are spirits no heat can wilt and voices gaining fluency now.The Koel, which was stuttering in April, is in full, fervid song, and alone among the mammals Palm Squirrels cheep shrilly and maddeningly through the fierce day.

Not they are immune to heat.Often I see a Squirrel resting in leaf shade in noon, inert and flat on its belly along a bough, legs dangling down either side, strangely like some bloodsucker in its limpness of limb and attitude.Presently it rises, and climbs the branch to the roof my verandah and halts on a rafter under the flat,radiant tile.Then all at once, a series of long,startling cheeps rend the stillness,each accompanied by an upward flick of the bottlebrush tail.From somewhere under the tile of the neighbour comes an unswering volley of cheeps,and the duet is on,each chirrup cleaving its way through the quivering air with the physical violence of an arrow,and penetrating to the brain.I get up,and chuck the first thing handy at the grey form on the rafter, and it scampers away,jabbering shrilly-a minute later it is calling again from the roof of the garage.

Why do these creatutres assail the enervated midday silence with energetic voices,when even the crows are quiet? At no time are Palm Squirrels are shy or silent: They chatter intermittently through the day and even at night, startled into wakefulness,they jabber.However, at other times their voices, even in shrill alarm, lack the irritating power and rhythmic insistence of their calling in May.I think their long,loud spells of calling in summer have a sexual significance,but cannot assign a more specific cause.

For though I have often heard the summer duet of squirrels, I realise my observation is too meagre for certain inference or attribution.

Speaking of the Three-striped Palm Squirrel(the creature I write about), an authority says,"The breeding habits of these,the commonest wild animals of India,are imperfectly known."I know, from several years of living with these creatures, that these squirrels breed many times in the year and not always in summer.Only a week ago a baby squirrel, perhaps a few days old,wandered into my house,and I remember seeing baby squirrels, and watching adults carrying coconut fibre to the nest, at other times of the year.But I believe it is only in summer,mid-summer, these squirrels are given to long bouts of calling.

Moreover, I know that both does and bucks indulge in this calling, and that it is not always squirrels of different sexes that call to each other.Perhaps these duets have only a social significance,after all.It is well known that animals that live more or less together like to keep touch by the free and frequent use of their voices,and it may be that feeling suddenly alone and uneasy in the hush of noon the squirrels start their insistent chirruping to reassure themselves and to provoke the voices of their fellows.-M.Krishnan

(This was first published on 20 May 1951 in The Sunday Statesman)

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

" I KNOW an aged tamarind at the foot of a hill, far beyond the line of cultivation. No other tree grows nearby,not even sizable shrubs-the sour leaf fall of tamarind inhibits vegetation in the neighbourhoods.Only stones and a few dwarf,woody,hard-bitten plants cover the ground beneath the tree; and here on a sunny afternoon, I have seen more bloodsuckers together than I have anywhere else-basking flat on every stone immediately outside the circle of shade,or crawling about within it.Even in wet weather,sheltering under the great dome of tree, I have been more acutely aware of the company of "garden lizards" than in any garden, though not in such unpleasant profusion as when it was sunny.

I have always wondered why bloodsuckers should foregather here in such strength, for the place is not especially rich in insect life or in anything else that is obviously attractive to these lizards.It is hard to get to know bloodsuckers, or understand their whims and prejudices, without being a bloodsucker oneself.They are different from other common creatures, so given to fits of passion and rage,distrust and imbecile behaviour.But then this is hardly surprising.They belong, properly speaking, to an age when we were not there, when great lizards roamed strange forests, flowerless and with green grooved trunks, and waded through primeval swamps.Dragons in myths and bloodsuckers in fact, are the survivals from the primitive part.

I used to think in my ignorance, that these creatures had survived in such numbers, when so many of their betters had perished, because they were not good eating-that like the Keatsian nightangle, they were immortal because "no hungry generations" trod them down! But I know now that predatory animals are less fastidious than I had thought.

Hawks kill and eat these lizards when they can, other birds take them occasionally, and mongooses and small carnivora reduce their numbers.Sometimes, it is true,the killer does not eat its victim, but the bloodsucker's looks provoke slaughter, however unpalatable its flesh.There is no survival value in not being eaten, if that does not mean immunity from attack.

In fact, the only protection the bloodsucker has, apart from its retiring disposition and formidable looks, is in its sorroundings, in the tangled, thorny bushes and fences that it loves, and into which it retires so promptly from its enemies.I do not know anyone on this before, but it is usually the male bloosucker that leaves this protective cover or strays far from it.Then, on the more exposed ground, the male tries escape first, but when no tree or bush is close by, it puts on an intimidatory display, it raises and lowers its flaming orange body endlessly on its livid legs and throws out its bloody jowls and dewlaps.

This display might well scare an impressionable foe, but the blackguardly Jungle Crow that attacks it has no susceptibilities.The bird hops behind his victim and with a quick, sideway tug at the tail, turns it over.The bloodsucker picks itself up, turns round and rushes open-mouthed at the tormentor, which side-steps the rush and repeats the attack on the long,obvious,unbreaking tail that is lizard's undoing.It is murder by slow degrees.Gradually the unfortunate creature is reduced to numb immobility,and the crow's assults grow bolder, till seizing the battered victim by the throat it flies away-to be mobbed by other crows.

Often,however,some thick-leaved tree at hand saves the bloodsucker.It is expert at putting a massive trunk between the onlooker and itself-it was only by reminding myself that I belonged to a higher stage in evolution and could not allow my race to be disgraced by inferior patience and cunning that I could get the sketch of a bloodsucker on a neem tree for the illustration (incidentally,it was a brilliant, pure chrome yellow, with a black half-collar and a little red at its throat ).Bloodsuckers climb spirally, a habit that baffles enemies (birds,especially) when they are on trees.

However,the males venture into the open quite often, resplendent in their frills and spikes and colour,and pay dearly for their daring.The ochreous females are bashful and sensitive to scrutiny as any pardanishin- they keep close to cover and they know ,somehow, when they are being watched.The age of pointed morals is as surely spent as the reptilian age (thank heaven), but it is fact that it is the modesty of the females that keeps the race of bloodsuckers still alive."-M.Krishnan


(This was first published on 17 June 1951 in The Sunday Statesman)