The regimental myna
By Ruskin Bond

IN my grandfather’s time, British soldiers stationed in India were very fond of keeping pets, and there were very few barrack-rooms where some were not to be found. Dogs and cats were the most common, but birds were also great favourites, and in one instance a bird was not only the pet of a barrack-room but of a whole regiment. His owner was my grandfather, Private Bond, a soldier of the line, who had come out to India with the king’s Own Scottish Rifles.

Dickens, as the bird was called (after my grandfather favourite author), was a myna bird, common enough in India. He had come into Grandfather’s possession when quite young and soon became a favourite with all the men in the barracks at Meerut, where the regiment was stationed. Meerut was hot and dusty; the curries were hot and spicy’ the General in command was hot- tempered and crusty. Keeping a pet was almost the sole recreation for the men in barracks.

Dickens (or Dicky for short ) never learned to pick up food for himself, but always took his meals from the mouth of his master, and other men used to feed him in the same way. When he was hungry, he asked for food by sitting on Grandfather’s shoulders, flapping his wings rapidly, and opening his beak.

Dicky was never caged, and as soon as he was able to fly he attended all parades, watched the rations being issued, and was present on every occasion which brought the soldiers out of their barracks. When out in the country he would follow the regiment or party, flying from shoulder to shoulder, or from tree to tree, always keeping a sharp look-out for his enemies, the hawks. Sometimes he would choose a mounted officer as a companion; but after the manoeuvres were over, he would return to the shoulder of Private Bond.

One day, when there was to be a General’s inspection, the Colonel gave orders that Dicky was to be confined, so that he should not appear on parade.

"Lock him away somewhere, Bond," snapped the Colonel. "We can’t have him flapping all over the parade-ground."

Dickens was put into a storeroom, with the windows closed and thedoor locked. But while the General’s inspection was going on, the mess orderly, who wanted something from the storeroom and knew where to find the key, opened the door. Out flew Dickens. He made straight for the parade ground, greatly excited at being late, and chattering loudly.

Then either thinking the General had something to do with his detention, or that an explanation was due to him, he alighted on the General’s pith helmet, between the plumes. Here he talked faster than ever, much to the surprise of the General, who was obliged to take his helmet off before he could dislodge the bird. "What the Dickens!" exclaimed the General, going purple in the face with wrath; for Dicky had discharged his breakfast between the plumes of the helmet.

The bird meanwhile had flown to the Colonel’s shoulder to make further complaints, to the great delight of the men.

"Fall out, Bond! screamed the Colonel. "Take this bird away — for good! I don’t want to see it again."

A crestfallen Private Bond returned to barracks with Dicky, and pondered on what to do next. To part with Dicky, or even to cage him, would have been a real wrench for his master. As the bird was also highly popular in the battalion. Private Bond asked his Captain to bring him before the Colonel that he might ask forgiveness for Dicky’s behaviour. The Colonel gave them a patient hearing, consulted his officers, and put everyone in good humour by deciding that the bird could be taken on as a serving member of the regiment.

Dickens’ popularity was not surprising, for he showed great intelligence. He knew the men of his own regiment from those of others, and would only associate with the Scottish Rifles. Even in the drill season, when there were as many as twenty regiments in camp, Dicky never made a mistake.

His method of getting from one part of the camp to another was to fly very low from tent to tent, peeping out each time, and looking carefully for hawks before leaving his shelter.

One day, to Dicky’s great distrees, he missed his master, who had been admitted to hospital with malarial fever. The hospital was about a mile from the barracks. The bird couldnot rest, and on the third day discovered where his man lay. And from that time, as long as Private Bond was on the sick list, Dicky spent his time in the hospital leaving the barracks when reveille sounded, and returning at retreat. An upturned helmet was place on a shelf for him, and he spent the night in it. Dickens never visited the hospital even once after his master had left it.

In 1888, the regiment got orders to proceed to Calcutta, en route for Burma, to take part in the Chin Lushai expedition. All pets were to be left behind, Dickens included. But Dicky had his own views on the subject.

The regiment travelled in stages, marching along the Grand Trunk Road, moving at night and going into rest camps for the day — "another bloomin’ camping ground, exactly like the last," as Kipling so aptly put it in his poem Route Marchin’. On the third day, Dickens arrived in camp, after a journey of about two hundred miles. He looked very dull and dejected, and had probably tasted no food, as he had always been fed from the mouth.

By route-marching and then by train the railway was just beginning to spread across India the battalion finally reached Calcutta. Contrary to orders, Dickens embarked for Burma along with the soldiers.

On board ship he amused himself by flying from one porthole to another, and on one occasion he soiled the ship’s captain’s spotless white tunic. Sometimes he would take flight further out to sea. But he gave this up after getting caught in a gale one day, regaining the ship with great difficulty

Dickens accompanied his regiment all through the expedition. Many of his soldier friends lost their lives. But Private Bond and his pet survived the fighting and returned safely to Calcutta. Grandfather, now a corporal, was given six months, home leave with the rest of the regiment.

During the first part of the voyage to England, Dicky was very cheerful; but when the ship left the Suez Canal and the weather grew cold, he was seen no more on the yard arms or on the bridge with the captain. He lost interest in going on deck with his master, but stayed with the parrots on the waste deck. After Gibraltar had been passed he went below, and never came on deck again.

Laid out in a Huntley and Palmer’s biscuit tin, Dicky was buried at sea. Not, perhaps, with full military honours, but certainly with Grandfather’s bagpipes playing The Last Post.