The Hindu Business Line : Of many an empty nest

THE late afternoon at Bondla Wildlife Sanctuary, some 50 km from Panaji, lay still. The forest stood exhausted. Paul, Arnold and oneself trekked up and down the forest path in search of hornbills, especially the Malabar Pied and the Great Pied hornbills. One sighted a movement on the top of a leafless tree and a chocolate-brown Malabar Giant Squirrel went neatly hurdling from treetop to treetop. Then the monsoon drums beat from a cloudy sky; a few raindrops landed; and a forest wind flew over us, depositing the heady aroma of rain-touched soil. It lasted all of a few moments. Alone, without even our shadows, we took it in, as it was indeed a rare benediction.

On a second afternoon, we were at Karambolim, which falls on the Konkan railway route. We got out of the car to make our way across the railway lines when we heard strange calls from the bushes nearby. "Hey, there is some bird here," remarked Arnold and went in search, only to find a black puppy stuck in the branches of a bush while a brown fellow squealed from a ditch.

A second black puppy was going round in circles. Arnold is into rescuing snakes and other animals and quickly got on to the job of giving them water, which we were carrying. He carefully put them in the back of our vehicle before starting back in search of birds.

There is a decent waterbody slightly away from the Karambolim station, with an embanked road breaking it from farmlands with farmers tending rice crop. One did identify purple moorhens and lesser whistling teals and there were many others.

"In December, this place is full of migratory birds. I have seen flamingos here," said Paul. We spent more than an hour scanning the scene, when a flock of dark-coloured birds landed in a depression in the rice fields and got mixed with egrets. Some 10 to 12 of them took to the air, circled the area only to come back to the old spot. After referring to the bible for every bird watcher, The Book of Indian Birds, by Salim Ali, one finally fixed them as the glossy ibis, which are smaller than the black ibis, seen in plenty at Gir in Gujarat.

By this time Arnold was getting quite restless thinking of the three puppies, as he felt the brown fellow may not live long. The three puppies were asleep as we made our run to Bondla. Paul got into the act and the two picked up an empty cardboard box and a sachet of milk from a shop.

Pulling out a pocketknife, Paul cut a plastic water bottle to make a cup of the lower end. They got the driver to stop under a tree and Paul mixed water and milk in the cup, with Arnold feeding the three puppies by turns. After a good feed the three went to sleep in the cardboard box and did not disturb us the entire day.

Late in the evening we halted at Arnold's home and his grandmother of ample size was amused staring into the box containing three sleeping puppies. "Now there is nothing to worry. I will bring them up at home," said a relieved Arnold. He stays with his grandmother, with most of his relatives in Mumbai, Kuwait and America.

His Nana sports a smile as huge as herself with a black cat, Pori, generally resting on her bosom. Nana is today alone in her home with Arnold acting as the guardian. Most of the time he is out on rescue work or forest treks, leaving Nana alone. "I was always a bit worried. Now we have a woman to care for Nana in my absence," Arnold said.

She served us cold drinks and biscuits and started talking in Konkani with Paul while one stuck to nodding one's head, not knowing the language. She had spent a long time in Mumbai, with her husband working in Taj.

Nana loves to keep her home neat with a tiny altar holding the Lord at one corner; her garden is better and one spotted a bright green, yellow and red plant which none could identify. Her grandson, Arnold, is in second-year B. Com. but spends most of the time with Rajendra Kerkar of the Vivekanand Environment Awareness Brigade.

"I am not good at studies and that's worrying me," Arnold told me and one had no reply being worse than poor at school and college. "There are many Nanas in Goa today as young Goans try to quit the country forever," said Paul as he showed me some graceful, old homes with lost old souls.

When the lost, old souls pass away, their ancient homes die away. "You can't blame the young. They have their lives," said Nana. One asked Arnold whether he was thinking of migrating. "No. I don't think so. I do not like Mumbai where my father stay," Arnold said. Nana will be hurt when Arnold leaves Goa.

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