Jungle Folk: Indian Natural History Sketches

Part 1

JUNGLE FOLK

INDIAN NATURAL HISTORY SKETCHES BY DOUGLAS DEWAR

LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXII

WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH

PREFACE

It is not of the bigger jungle folk that I write—of lions, tigers, leopards, bears, bison, or even deer and antelopes; for of these it is vouchsafed to no man—not even to the shikari, who spends years in the jungle—to obtain more than an occasional fleeting glimpse.

The subjects of my theme are the lesser fry—vivacious mynas, noisy babblers, vociferous cuckoos, silent herons, beautiful pittas, graceful wagtails, elegant terns, melodious rock-chats, cheeky squirrels.

A cheery crowd are these. The man who passes his days in India without knowing them misses much of the pleasure of life.

D. DEWAR.

CONTENTS

PAGE I. Of Indian Birds in General 3 II. Respectable Cuckoos 9 III. The Brown Rock-Chat 16 IV. The Scavenger-in-Waiting 21 V. Indian Wagtails 28 VI. The Teesa 32 VII. Falconry in India 37 VIII. Hawks in Miniature 45 IX. The Roosting of the Bee-Eaters 51 X. Owls 56 XI. A Bundle of Iniquity 62 XII. The Interpretation of the Actions of Animals 68 XIII. At the Sign of the Farash 72 XIV. The Coot 78 XV. The Beautiful Porphyrio 84 XVI. The Cobra 89 XVII. The Mungoose 94 XVIII. The Swan 99 XIX. Kites of the Sea 104 XX. River Terns 110 XXI. Green Bulbuls 116 XXII. Cormorants 121 XXIII. A Melodious Drongo 126 XXIV. The Indian Pitta 132 XXV. The Indian White-eye 137 XXVI. Goosey, Goosey Gander 143 XXVII. Geese in India 149 XXVIII. A Swadeshi Bird 154 XXIX. The Indian Redstart 160 XXX. The Night Heron 165 XXXI. The Cement of Bird Masons 171 XXXII. Indian Fly-Catchers 178 XXXIII. Insect Hunters 184 XXXIV. The Rosy Starling 192 XXXV. The Pied Starling 197 XXXVI. A Bird of the Open Plain 202 XXXVII. Birds in the Cotton Tree 208 XXXVIII. Ugly Ducklings 214 XXXIX. Babbler Brotherhoods 220 XL. The Mad Babbler 227 XLI. The Yellow-eyed Babbler 233 XLII. The Indian Sand-Martin 237 XLIII. The Education of Young Birds 243 XLIV. Birds at Sunset 253 Glossary 261 Index 265

JUNGLE FOLK

I OF INDIAN BIRDS IN GENERAL

Literary critics seem to be agreed that we who write about Indian birds form a definite school. “Phil Robinson,” they say, “furnished, thirty years ago, a charming model which all who have followed him in writing seem compelled to copy more or less closely.” Mr. W. H. Hudson remarks: “We grow used to look for funny books about animals from India, just as we look for sentimental natural history books from America.”

In a sense this criticism is well founded. Popular books on Indian ornithology resemble one another in that a ripple of humour runs through each. But the critics err when they attempt to explain this similarity by asserting that Anglo-Indian writers model themselves, consciously or unconsciously, on Phil Robinson, or that they imitate one another. The mistake made by the critics is excusable. When each successive writer discourses in the same peculiar style the obvious inference is that the later ones are guilty of more or less unconscious plagiarism. The majority of literary critics in England have not enjoyed the advantage of meeting our Indian birds in the flesh. To those who do possess this advantage it is clear that the Indian birds themselves are responsible for our writings being “funny.” We naturalists merely describe what we see. The avifauna of every country has a character of its own. Mr. John Burroughs has remarked that American birds as a whole are more gentle, more insipid than the feathered folk in the British Isles. Still greater is the contrast between English and Indian birds. The latter are to the former as wine is to water.

India is peculiarly rich in birds of character. It is the happy hunting-ground of that unique fowl, Corvus splendens—the splendid crow—splendid in sagacity, resource, adaptiveness, boldness, cunning, and depravity; a Machiavelli, a Shakespeare among birds, a super-bird. The king crow (Dicrurus ater) is another superlative. He is the Black Prince of the bird kingdom. He is the embodiment of pluck. The thing in feathers of which he is afraid has yet to be evolved. Like the mediæval knight, he goes about seeking those upon whom he can perform some small feat of arms.

When we turn to consider the more outward characteristics of birds, the peacock, the monal pheasant, the “blue jay,” the oriole, the white-breasted kingfisher, the sunbird, the little green bee-eater, and a host of others rise up before us. Of these some, showily resplendent, compel attention and admiration; others of quieter hues possess a beauty which cannot be appreciated unless they be held in the hand and each feather minutely examined. At the other extreme stands the superlative of hideousness, the ugliest bird in the world—Neophron ginginianus, the scavenger vulture. The bill, the naked face, and the legs of this creature are a sickly yellow. Its plumage is dirty white, with the exception of the ends of the wing feathers, which are shabby black. Its shape is displeasing to the eye, and its gait is an ungainly waddle. Yet even this fowl looks almost beautiful as it sails on outstretched pinions, high in the heaven. Between the extremely beautiful and the extremely ugly birds we meet with another class of superlatives—the extremely grotesque. This class is well represented in India. The great hornbill—Dichoceros bicornis—and the adjutant—Leptoptilus dubius—are birds which would take prizes in any exhibition of oddities. The former is nearly four and a half feet in length. The body is only fourteen inches long, being an insignificant part of the bird, a mere connecting link between the massive beak and the great, loosely inserted tail. The beak is nearly a foot in length, and is rendered more conspicuous than it would otherwise be by a structure known as the casque. This is a horny excrescence, nearly as large as the bill, which causes the bird to look as though it were wearing a hat which it had placed for a joke on its beak rather than on its head. The eye is red, and the upper lid is fringed with eyelashes, which add still further to the oddity of the bird’s appearance. The creature has an antediluvian air, and one feels when contemplating it that its proper companions are the monsters that lived in prehistoric times. The actions of the hornbill are in keeping with its appearance. It is the clown of the forest.

Even more grotesque is the adjutant. This is a stork with an enormous bill, a tiny head, and long neck, both innocent of feathers. From the front of the neck hangs a considerable pouch, which the bird can inflate at will. Round the base of the neck is a ruff of white feathers that causes the bird to look as though it had donned a lady’s feather boa. It is the habit of the adjutant to stand with its head buried in its shoulders, so that, when looked at from behind, it resembles a hunch-backed, shrivelled-up old man, wearing a grey swallow-tailed coat. It looks still more ludicrous when it varies the monotony of life by kneeling down; its long shanks are then stretched out before it, giving the idea that they have been mistakenly inserted hind part foremost! Its movements partake of the nature of a cake-walk. “For grotesque devilry of dancing,” writes Lockwood Kipling, “the Indian adjutant beats creation. Don Quixote or Malvolio were not half so solemn or mincing, and yet there is an abandonment and lightness of step, a wild lift in each solemn prance, which are almost demoniacal. If it were possible for the most angular, tall, and demure of elderly maiden ladies to take a great deal too much champagne, and then to give a lesson in ballet dancing, with occasional pauses of acute sobriety, perhaps some faint idea might be conveyed of the peculiar quality of the adjutant’s movements.” If the hornbill be the clown of the forest, the adjutant is the buffoon of the open plain.

Consider for a little avine craftsmanship, and you will find no lack of superlatives among our Indian birds. The weaver-bird (Ploceus baya), the wren-warbler (Prinia inornata) are past masters of the art of weaving. The tailor-bird (Orthotomus sutorius), as its name implies, has brought the sartorial art to a pitch of perfection which is not likely to be excelled by any creature who has no needle other than its beak.

If there be any characteristic in which Indian birds are not pre-eminent it is perhaps the art of singing. A notion is abroad that Indian birds cannot sing. They are able to scream, croak, and make all manner of weird noises, but to sing they know not how. This idea perhaps derives its origin from Charles Kingsley, who wrote: “True melody, it must be remembered, is unknown, at least at present, in the tropics and peculiar to the races of those temperate climes into which the song-birds come in spring.” This is, of course, absurd. Song-birds are numerous in India. They do not make the same impression upon us as do our English birds because their song has not those associations which render dear to us the melody of birds in the homeland. Further, there is nothing in India which corresponds to the English spring, when the passion of the earth is at its highest, because there is in that country no sad and dismal winter-time, when life is sluggish and feeble. The excessive joy, the rapture, the ecstasy with which we greet the spring in the British Isles is, to a certain extent, a reaction. There suddenly rushes in upon the songless winter a mighty chorus, a tumult of birds to which we can scarcely fail to attach a fictitious value. India possesses some song-birds which can hold their own in any company. If the shama, the magpie-robin, the fan-tailed fly-catcher, the white-eye, the purple sunbird, the orange-headed ground thrush, and the bhimraj visited England in the summer, they would soon supplant in popular favour some of our British song-birds.

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