An ode to a Koel

One fine morning, our neighbour brought home a tiny black bird. She explained: "I found this yesterday in our garden, wings drooped, legs folded, and eyes blinking. I took it in my hands and sprinkled a few drops of water over it, and it began moving its wings and legs but couldn't fly. An hour later, it was walking slowly on its feet but still couldn't fly. I tried to make it fly, but in vain. I do not know what kind of bird it is." My wife, knowledgeable about birds, gently touched its body and said, "Oh! It's a Koel, the kind that coos in the mornings from its invisible tree-perches." The woman, surprised, asked, "But this bird is not cooing. Is it really a Koel?"

"No doubt, it's a Koel. It's just too young to coo. It will take some time," said my wife. The woman took the bird back to her house, caring for and feeding it.

When my wife shared the Koel story, my childhood memories flooded back. Growing up in an Andhra Pradesh village surrounded by numerous trees, every morning brought flocks of birds of diverse species, sizes, and varied hues. Perching on tree branches, they would set up an incessant chorus. Despite elders trying to shoo them away, disturbed by their ceaseless warbling, the birds persisted in hovering over the treetops. But for us, as children, beholding all those birds and listening to their ceaseless chorus brought boundless happiness. Among them, the Koel fascinated us most.

The cooing of the Koel was magical music to our ears. The moment we heard the cooing of the Koel, we'd run around, clapping in ecstasy. Gazing at the tree branches and widening our eyes, we tried to catch sight of "the winged musician." Hidden amidst the foliage of the tree, the bird was invisible to us. But the melodies of its cooing kept streaming and reverberating throughout the entire area. Enthralled and elated by its sonorous cooing, we on the ground beneath the tree too would become Koels, imitating its cooing. Every time we cooed, the bird from its invisible perch responded, maybe thinking that another Koel was cooing.
We indulged in this pastime of imitating Koel's cooing and derived immense happiness. When the Koel ultimately realised that the cooing coming from the ground was not from another Koel, it flew away from the tree, leaving behind rustling leaves. We were back in our houses, our hearts floating in a pool of happiness. Whenever I recall this childhood memory of mine, I am reminded of the poetic lines of John Keats from his celebrated poem Ode to a Nightingale: Being too happy in thine happiness / That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees...