第二部 第三章　彩虹鸽求偶

PART TWO Chapter Three Mating of Gay-Neck

Gay-Neck's wounds healed very slowly. Until about the middle of February he could not be made to fly more than ten yards above the roof. The duration of his flight, too, was very short. No matter how frequently I chased him off the roof, I could not keep him in the air more than a quarter of an hour. At first I thought that it was his lungs that were out of order. When, after investigation, they proved sound, I ascribed his disinclination to fly to his heart, which might have been injured by his latest mishap. That assumption also proved erroneous after a second investigation.

So, utterly exasperated by Gay-Neck's behaviour, I wrote a long letter to Ghond describing everything that had happened. It turned out that he had gone on a hunting-trip with some Englishmen. Receiving no help from that quarter, I decided to examine my pigeon most closely. Day after day I put him on our house-top, and watched, but no clue was vouchsafed me as to the nature of his trouble. So I gave up all hope of seeing Gay-Neck fly again.

About the end of February I received a cryptic note from Ghond from the deeps of the jungle. It read: "Your pigeon is frightened. Cure him of his fear. Make him fly." But he did not say how. Nor could I devise anything that would make Gay-Neck wing his way into the higher spaces. It was no use chasing him off the roof, for if I chased him off one corner, he flew across to another and perched there. And what was most disconcerting was that if the shadow of a cloud or a flock of birds flying in the sky fell on him on our roof, he would tremble with terror. Doubtless every shadow that fell filled his mind with the feeling that it was a Baz or a falcon swooping down on him. That gave me an idea of how badly shaken Gay-Neck was. How to cure him of his disease of fear proved most baffling. Had we been in the Himalayas, I would have taken him to the holy man who once healed him of a similar ailment, but here in the city there was no lama. I was forced to wait.

March had ushered in spring, and Gay-Neck, who had gone through an unusual moulting, looked like the very heart of a deep and large aquamarine. He was beautiful beyond description. One day, I know not how, I found him talking to Jahore's widow. She looked very bright with the advent of spring. In the sunlight her black-opal complexion glowed like a tropical night shot with stars. Of course I knew that marriage between her and Gay-Neck, though not the best thing for their offspring, might win him from his fear and her from the morose temper that had grown upon her ever since Jahore died.

In order to encourage their friendship, I took the two together in a cage to my friend Radja, who lived on the edge of the jungle about two hundred miles away. The name of his village was Ghatsila. It stood on the bank of a river across which lay high hills densely forested and full of all kinds of animals. Radja, being the priest of the village, which office his ancestors had held for ten centuries, and his parents were housed in a large building of concrete. The village temple, also of concrete, was adjacent to the house. In the courtyard of the temple, surrounded by high walls, Radja every night performed the duty of reading the Scriptures and explaining them to the peasantry that assembled there. While he would read aloud inside, outside would come from far off the yell of a tiger or the trumpeting of wild elephants across the narrow river. It was a beautiful and sinister place. Nothing dangerous happened in the village of Ghatsila, but you did not have to go very far to encounter any beast of prey that you cared to seek.

The train that brought me there reached Ghatsila at night. Radja and two servants of his house greeted me at the station. One of the servants took my bundle on his shoulder, and the other carried the cage with the two pigeons. Each of us had to carry a hurricane-proof lantern, an extra one having been brought for me. In single file, one servant leading and another in the rear, we walked for an hour. My suspicions were aroused, and I asked, "Why do we go round about?"

Radja said: "In the spring wild animals pass through here going north. We can't take short cuts through the woods."

Nonsense! I exclaimed. "I have done it many times before. When do we reach home?"

In half an hour—

Then, as if the very ground had opened at our feet and belched out a volcano with a terrific noise, arose the cry "Hoa—ho—ho— ho—hoa!"

The pigeons fluttered their wings in panic in their cage. I gripped Radja's shoulder with my disengaged hand, but instead of sharing my feelings he laughed out loud. And—like master like servant—the two servants laughed too.

After their mirth had subsided, Radja explained: "You have done this many times, have you? Then why did the cry of monkeys frightened by lanterns scare you?"

Monkeys? I questioned.

Yes, lots of them, my friend reminded me, "go north this time of the year. We frightened a whole flock in the trees overhead. That's all. In the future don't take every monkey yell for the roar of a tiger."

Fortunately, we reached home shortly, without any other incident to upset my complacency.

The next morning Radja went to his duties at his ancestral temple, while I sought the roof and uncaged my birds. At first they were bewildered, but seeing me near them with my hands full of buttered seeds, they settled down to breakfast without any ado. Pretty nearly all of that day we spent on the roof. I dared not leave them by themselves very long lest the strangeness of their surroundings upset them.

In the course of the week that followed, the two birds made themselves at home in Ghatsila, and moreover became extremely intimate with each other. There was no doubt now that I had acted wisely in isolating them from the rest of the flock. About the eighth day of our stay, Radja and I were surprised to see Gay-Neck fly in pursuit of his mate. She flew on, but at a low altitude. He followed. Seeing him catch up to her, she rose and turned back. He too did the same, and followed after. Again she rose. But this time he balked, and began to circle the air beneath her. However, I felt that he was regaining his confidence. At last Gay- Neck, the paragon of pigeons, was healing himself of his fear and of his horror of the heavens; he was once more at home in the sky.

The next morning the birds flew higher and played with each other. Gay-Neck again refused to go all the way, and began to come down hastily instead of circling in the air below her. That puzzled me, but Radja, who was a keen person, explained. "A cloud, large as a fan, has come over the sun. Its shadow fell so suddenly that Gay- Neck thought it was his enemy. Wait until the cloud passes, and then—"

Radja was right. In a few more seconds the sun came out and its light dripped from Gay-Neck's wings once more. At once he stopped coming downwards and began to make circles in the air. His mate too, who had been coming down to keep him company, waited for him a hundred feet or so above. Now Gay-Neck rose, beating his wings like an eagle freed from his cage. The sunlight made pools of colour about him as he swerved and swung up and up. Soon, instead of following, he led his mate. Thus they ascended the sky—he healed of fear completely, and she ravished by his agility and power.

The next morning both of them made an early start. They flew far and very long. For a while they were lost beyond the mountains, as if they had slid over their peaks and down the other side. They were gone at least an hour.

At last they returned about eleven o'clock, each bearing in his beak a large straw. They were going to build a nest for the laying of eggs. I thought I would take them home, but Radja insisted that we should stay at least a week longer.

Every day during that week we spent some hours in the more dangerous jungle across the river, taking the two pigeons with us in order to release them in the dense forest hardly five miles from Radja's house. Gay-Neck forgot everything save testing his sense of direction and making higher flights. In other words, love for his mate and the change of place and climate healed him of fear, that most fell disease.

Here let it be inscribed in no equivocal language that almost all our troubles come from fear, worry and hate. If any man catches one of the three, the other two are added unto it. No beast of prey can kill his victim without frightening him first. In fact, no animal perishes until its destroyer strikes terror into its heart. To put it succinctly, an animal's fear kills it before its enemy gives it the final blow.