Nest assured, feathered guests in the house
Nesting is one of the most intriguing facets of a bird’s life and is, perhaps, as diversified as the creatures themselves. From a scrape in the ground lined with straw (quail) to a hole drilled into a tree (woodpecker) to an intricately-woven hanging mass of grass (weaverbird), bird nests come in all shapes and sizes. Evolution has taught birds to locate their nests at places suited to their habits and to design them to safeguard their broods.
Bird habitats are spread over forests and woods, deserts and scrubs, orchards and croplands, lakes, rivers, seas and seashores. However, a few avians, the so-called commoners like pigeons, sparrows and mynas, having lived in close association with humans over the ages, have developed such an affinity to and dependence on us that they are perfectly at home in our homes!
Whereas the feral pigeons you see around your homes may not actually be the ‘wild’ Rock Pigeon listed in a bird guidebook, the House Sparrow and the Common Myna, which may have found a place to nest in the gap beneath the roof-ridge or in the wall-crevice of your house, are of the true wild variety, I assure.
Another bird species which has made the human house its home is the swallow. The Barn Swallow, named so because of its habit of making nests in the barns, is the most abundant and widely distributed swallow species in the world. Thought to have evolved from once nesting in the caves, to presently nesting almost exclusively in man-made structures, the Barn Swallow breeds only in the Himalayas and Northeast India. We, in Kashmir, regard the Barn Swallow, Katij in Kashmiri, as the harbinger of summer, and, not so long ago, every other household in the countryside would boast of an active swallow nest in the season.
Come spring, our elders would open the windows of their houses, then chiefly made of wood and unbaked bricks, so the birds could make sorties with the mud pellets collected from a nearby puddle and stick them to a rafter or a cross beam in the attic, or even to the ceiling in the living room, to shape a cup-like nest for the season. Although the meshed window frames have lately deprived the swallow an entry into most of Kashmiri houses, the name Katij, still in parlance for the dormers that adorn our slanted roofs, underlines their utility as swallow abodes in the past.
Modern architecture may have kept the swallow out of our houses, but it has not discouraged other bird species from exploring them for a space for themselves. Last summer, on a sunny April morning, I was alerted by a noisy bird activity outside my house, which is situated in a busy suburb. I found a Blue Whistling Thrush squabbling with a dove and violently chasing it away. I noticed some twigs on the ground just outside the main door and looking up found some grass strings hanging from the windowsill on the first floor. Now, I could see what the commotion was all about. A pair of Eurasian Collared-Dove, a summer visitor to my place, was attempting to make a nest over the windowsill which the thrush, a resident species, was resisting. More such squabbles saw the doves eventually give up. As I noted in the coming days, the Blue Whistling Thrush didn’t build a nest of its own at the place, but instead utilised it as a roost. I felt sorry for the dove couple but was sure they would have found an alternative site to raise their family.
This summer, I was awakened by some mumbling bird calls. I was surprised to find a Collared-Dove resting over a bundle of twigs atop the chandelier hanging from the roof of my balcony. The floor was littered with twigs and straw that the bird had accidentally dropped while arranging them on the chandelier to build its nest. There had apparently been no defiance from the thrush this time round. I watched the dove pair give final touches to the nest. One of them, most likely the male, brought the nest material and the other arranged it on the chandelier. Within three days, the nest was ready for the female to lay eggs and settle to hatch them. In about two weeks, I could hear the first ‘food-begging’ calls of the hatchlings and over subsequent days watched the parents bring morsels to feed them. On a sunny afternoon, a week later, the two fledglings finally flew out, leaving the empty nest dangling on the chandelier.
There was no way to find out whether this was the same dove pair which had been chased away from my house by the thrush last year. However, the hospitable Kashmiri in me was finally satisfied to have hosted a guest this year. I have cleaned my balcony floor, but left the twigs on the chandelier untouched, hoping to welcome the feathered guests again, next summer.
— The writer is Wildlife Warden, Department of Wildlife Protection, J&K
