The Little SparrowA Story by Safinashort true story on the short life of a little sparrowThe first time I
saw the sparrow, it was on a sultry day in May while I was chatting with my
youngest sister on the net on Skype . I heard a loud thud in the balcony.
Looking through the glass doors, I saw a small sparrow collide against the
glass door separating my bedroom from the balcony. It then fell on the ground.
My sister sent me 4 to 5 messages before it registered on me that I was
concentrating on the sparrow, and it was only when she asked what was
distracting me so much that I realized I had been totally absorbed in the
events occurring in my balcony than on my sister’s comments. I told her to
excuse me for a few minutes while I investigated what was happening outside the
room, before I resumed my conversation with her. Looking at the
sparrow, I saw that it was a tiny creature and it had sustained an injury "
some feathers were standing out at an awkward angle, and it was hopping from
one potted plant to another. Taking pity on its plight, I filled a small bowl
with water, and a plate with some bread crumbs and placed it in a strategic
place, hoping that the little one would understand that this was nourishment
being provided for its sustenance. However, not only did the sparrow ignore the
bounty, but the food soon attracted pigeons, and flies, and much later ants too,
and I had to finally pick it up with a feeling of hopelessness and despair, and
leave Nature to run its course. Frustrated with my failure to tempt the
sparrow, I turned to the computer, and resumed the threads of the conversation
I had been having, though time and again, I kept getting distracted, and in
between typing my messages and chatting, I kept stealing looks at the sparrow. Over the next
few days, in fact for a week or more, at whichever time of the day, I went to
the balcony to water my plants, I would see the sparrow run for shelter to hide
behind some leaves, hoping that it was invisible to me. It would stand still
till I returned back to the room, when it would resume its hopping, either on
the ground or by taking small leaps on the branches and stems. By that time I
had discovered that the sparrow was just a wee baby and its mother had also
arrived to take care of it.. This was because I heard more chirping everyday.
This was the sound of its mother arriving with food for its baby which it would
tenderly feed in its mouth, and then fly away, to return again and again. As I
looked at this tender picture, I was transported back in time to my teenage
years. We used to have lunch in the kitchen, and I would always take care to
scatter a few grains of cooked rice [if not available, uncooked] to feed the
sparrows who would fly in chirping excitedly whenever we assembled for lunch
during weekends or the holiday months, before partaking of the food myself. On those week-days that I was in school, my
mother used to feed the sparrows. Lost in my reverie about the past, I felt a
strong bond with the present " in both places, there had been sparrows, and
there had been my family; and the bonding was as strong as ever. The only
difference was that the sparrows of my childhood were eager to share in my
simple fare; and this baby sparrow was too timid, and too small to grab its
share " it still waited for its mother to feed it. In the weekly
magazine that came with the local paper, I had come across an article about a
sparrow being rescued on the highway, and being turned over to the SPCA. I was
in a dilemma from day one " should I call the local SPCA and report the
sparrow, and separate it from its mother? Was it fair on my part to interfere
with Nature, and with a living species? What was the exact procedure that I
should follow? Meanwhile, since the
sparrow was hopping around, I deduced that if was able to hop around, it should
be better, and therefore it was best to leave it to its Fate. My dithering
stopped on the day I woke up to the sound of silence. No more sound of baby
chirps to distract me. I thought that the sparrow had regained its strength as
it had been hopping further down the balcony day by day, and finally gained the
will-power and the strength to fly off. I wished it happiness wherever it was. Little did I
know what had happened till I had my servant clean the balcony a couple of
weeks later. He came to me with a woebegone face, carrying the body of a tiny
little sparrow in the trash holder. Oblivious to its fate, I had not realized
that the little one had fallen from its precarious perch on one of the pots and
fallen down. How long did the mother search for it ? How long did it suffer
before its death? These questions consumed me with grief and regret at my
passivity…. Life goes on,
the wheel of time keeps spinning and the sparrow is now a memory…I hope that
relieved of its misery, it is now in the garden of Eden happily warbling its merry
songs in the presence of its Maker. The Sparrow’s Story I have heard it
said that there is lots of kindness in this world. People are sometimes more
kind to their pets than their own family members. If this is true, then I must
admit that I have been unlucky to face only ignorance, indifference and sorrow.
I opened my eyes
one glorious morning to see Mother sparrow looking with concern at me. As soon
as she saw me awake, she chirped her happiness, and flew away to get me some
worms. Under her loving care, I flourished, and the day soon came when she
decided, literally, that it was time to spread my wings, and fly high…………… Thump, crack,
OUCH. Waves of pain rolled through me, and I had trouble deciding where I was
and what had happened….. Oh no!!!!!!!!!!!!! What I had thought to be an entry
into a cool living room, turned out to be a spotlessly clean glass door that
had completely foxed me. I dashed against the glass and took a nasty fall. CRACK. !!!! Oh, oh, oh, what was that now????
I tried to fly back to the safety of my mother’s comforting arms, but
alas……………………my right wing had bent and horror of horrors.. I could no longer
fly. Sobbing [chirping] with
consternation, I hopped left and right, trying to search for my mother. Where
was she? Why had she deserted me in my hour of need?? My eyes were too full of
tears ; my head spinning too much; and my ears roaring with so much pain that I
just did not hear the plaintive cries of my mother’s wailing grief. Finally, when my first sobs subsided I felt a
soft touch on my lips " it was my mother offering me the juiciest worm she had
been able to get to tempt me to forget my tears. I seized it with greed, for by
now, I was feeling weak with hunger, and almost reeling on my tiny toes. After
feeding me, she patted me and soothed me, and then flew away to get me my next
meal. So it continued
for the next few days. Early morning, my mother would be at hand to give me my
breakfast with the first rays of sun throwing its bright beams across the
world. Soon, she would bring my second
meal, then the third, and so on through the day, till it was dusk, and time for
my beauty sleep. However, my
heart was not in my food " it was in the far away horizon beckoning me with
whispers of the wind about the beautiful sights that awaited me out there in
the big, big, world. The songs that I would hear when I was taking lazy dives
in the wind. The smells that I would experience when I ventured out further,
and further… the smile of happiness on my parents faces when they realized I could
hold my own in this big, big world, and could fend for myself; the tasty juicy
big fat worms that I would dig out and eat by myself…. These and other such thoughts would pass
through me, and I would feel waves of longing over leading an excited, happy
life like my siblings, drinking in the sights and sounds that they took with
such serene indifference whilst I longed for them with such sad intensity , and
my spirits would droop, and so would my head and body….. The food would not go down easily " I would choke
thinking about what could have been, what sights I might have been seeing, what
pranks I and my siblings might have been playing, and I would long for a
black-out from my present misery. Till one fine
day, I made the ultimate decision and decided that this sort of a frustrated,
dejected life was just not worth living….I would rather give up my life, than keep pining forever. When
my mother came in search for me, I did not crawl out from behind the safety of
the flower pot I was hiding …..I let her trills of anticipated happiness at
coming to meet me slowly turn to desperate squeaks at being unable to locate
me, and then wails of sorrow at visualizing the worst case scenario- that I had
been pounced upon, and been eaten up by a predator. However, she did not give
up hope so easily " everyday, for the next few days, she would make surprise
visits to the balcony, and give questioning cheeps to me requesting me to
answer her, though by now, I was too weak to respond, and could barely hear
her, as if it was a sound from another world altogether. My head was literally
in the clouds, wool gathering, and visualizing the sights and sounds that I
would get to see in my next life, my next incarnation….. Till my last day
on this vicious, unfriendly earth arrived…..I got up feeling a funny mixture of
sorrow and hope. Sorrow that I would be leaving my mother, my only source of
tenderness in this cruel world; and happiness that I would let my soul soon
soar to the sky, beyond the limits of the universe and the mind. And so I
breathed my last, and departed from this world with my mother’s cries ringing
still in my ears " Where are you,
baby; where have you
gone I searched the
earth But not the sky I am so sorry You never learnt
to fly And now that you
are lost to me I can hear some
voices sing to thee……………. Where’s your
Mamma gone Where’s your Mamma
gone Where’s your
Papa gone Where’s your
Papa gone Far, far, away Last night I
dream that my mamma was gone Oowee, chirpy, chirpy,
cheep Hey, last night
I dream that my papa was gone Oowee, chirpy, chirpy,
cheep Where’s your mamma gone Where’s your papa gone? The Sparrow’s Mother’s
Story The birth of a
child is not just the fulfillment of a desire to carry forward one’s name , it
is also a wonderful feeling to know that you are blessed enough to join in the
creation of a living, breathing, entity that you can love, cherish and bestow
all your affection on; and a squeak of
joy when your child recognizes you is such music to the ears, which only a
parent, especially a mother can really identify with. My first born
came into the world one bright and sunny
morning, when it broke out from the egg shell that was covering it, and which I
had been protecting with such trepidation from the rooks and crows on the
branches of the neighboring trees, and gave a tentative, inquisitive, hesitant
chirp to herald her arrival in this world. My look of concern turned into an
outpouring of merry happiness, I chirped with delight till my partner got weary
of my non-stop chirping, and gave a gentle nudge requesting me to stop
attracting the attention of my inquisitive neighbors. I flew to the nearby
public gardens to get a juicy worm for
my little one. It gobbled up the same greedily enough, and I flew back to get
another, then another. And so the days
passed, and the day soon arrived when I decided that it was time for my child to spread its wings, and fly high, and
discover the wonders of the beautiful world it had been born in …………… I had decided
that for its first flight, its destination should be a nearby place; and so it
was that the balcony of the building that was closest in line with the branch
of the tree we were perched on should beckoned me forward, as the best place to
land, since there were a few potted plants in that balcony on which my young
one could hop and skip about…. Little did I
know about the impending tragedy that was in store for me till it struck… my
little one was so dazed by the new sights and sounds it encountered, and so
fascinated by the beauties around, that it failed to register where it was
headed till it dashed against the door
of the balcony I was heading for, and spinning out of control, fell to the
ground with a loud thump. I was in tears;
I wailed my grief and kept crying out to my child asking it to reply whether it
was ok, and trying my best to see what injury it had sustained… when I finally realized
that it had sprained its wings after that nasty bump, I was relieved that it
was alive, and depressed that it had hurt itself so terribly on its very first
solo flight…. After I saw that it had quietened down a little, and was no
longer gulping its sobs in sorrow and fright, I went to get it some food, which
it gulped down hungrily… Life became a
round of flights from the tree to the balcony, and the balcony to the tree…my
little one was gradually regaining its inquisitiveness and hopping around from
one plant to another soon enough. Gradually,
however, I realized that the impact of the strike had not just been physical;
the injury that my child had incurred had a psychological aspect to it too…..slowly,
I could feel that my child was feeling frustrated and left out at not being
able to take in all the sights and sounds and new sensations that its new life
would have offered it if it had been a healthy, normal, child; and I could feel
it withdrawing into itself, and becoming an introvert though it was always
extremely glad to see me when I carried across its daily nourishment to feed
it…. Till the dreaded
day that my child disappeared from sight, I lived in the constant hope that my
prodding would have an effect on my baby, and it would recover both in body and
in spirit. One day, when I got it a
small grain of rice that I had found nearby, it did not respond to my chirping,
and come gladly to greet and meet me. My
chirping brought out the owner of the house in the balcony: she looked out to
see what the frantic chirping was about, but my child refused to reply to my
pleas to respond……….. I kept circling around the balcony the whole day, without
any success. Next day, dawn found me hovering around the balcony, and the whole
day was spent in a fruitless search for my little love, who may have
disappeared out of sight, but was never out of my mind even for a second. I kept on my search for a number of days,
till drooping with sorrow and frustration, I finally realized that my little
one had been snatched away from me forever, and ever… Goodbye, the
apple of my eye, good bye Where are you,
baby; where have you
gone I searched the
earth But not the sky I am so sorry You never learnt
to fly Beloved child,
goodbye, goodbye…………………………………… © 2021 Safina |
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