When the munias built a nest
SUJATA C.
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Papa Munia worked hard to build his nest. And then suddenly, the gardener returned…
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The gardener had gone to his village to look after his mother. The garden was overgrown, but the birds didn’t mind, especially the scaly breasted munias. They were up at the crack of dawn as it was the time to nest, you see. There was plenty of work to be done. Yesterday, Papa Munia had identified a good place in the pomegranate tree. It was cool and shady, besides the tree had flowered and there was fruit too. Food at your doorstep, he thought. It will be like worki
ng from home, he told Mama Munia happily.
The bamboo grove was further down the garden and growing luxuriantly. The flat long bamboo leaves were ideal to make the base of the nest and Papa Munia lost no time in leaf gathering. For the next hour there was a lot of activity. Papa Munia worked non-stop.
Disaster strikes
Next he would have to collect the grass. The grass too had grown long specially in the corner of the lawn. Long grass was very good to weave the nest.
The sun was almost overhead. He would rest till the sun began to set and then work for a while in the evening — if the children kept away from the lawn, that is. Day two: Papa Munia was still hard at work. He broke long pieces of grass to make the domed roof of the nest. He would leave a small opening on the side. At the end of the third day the nest was ready. The munia couple were happy and flew all around it and inspected it carefully. Satisfied with their work, they congratulated themselves.
Day four: Clack! Clack! Clack! It was the gardener. He was back and catching up with the backlog — trimming, pruning, cutting, hacking. These were anxious moments for the munias. They began to call out. It was a shrill nasal call — keee! keee! keee! They flew this way and that, watching over the pomegranate tree. Chop! Chop! Chop! Went the gardener’s shears over the pomegranate tree and the branch with the munia’s nest fell to the ground with a soft thud.
The munias gasped in horror, and began calling out, not knowing what else to do. Three days of hard work had come to naught. Mama Munia fainted and Papa Munia felt sick. This was a cruel blow. They were silent the rest of the day. It would have been easy to abandon all effort and give way to anger. But the munias knew better than that.
The next morning Papa Munia awoke with new determination. Never say die, he said. We can build another nest. And once again he began his search. This time he settled for the newly trimmed bougainvillea bower. Perfect, he said and Mama Munia smiled. The struggle for life began once again.
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