The Whistling Schoolboy
Dawn at a hill station. Monsoon dawn.
It had been raining all through the night. Just now there is a lull in the rhythmic pitter-patter rain sounds that had gently and persistently broken through the semi-conscious shadows of my sleep hours…
Monsoon mornings at a hill station can be quite lazy and extended..
Morning sounds. Rush-hush breezes. Nature languorously waking up to another day.
Quite suddenly I heard it.
Like an unhesitant clear toned suggestion flowing its way into my struggling consciousness.
The Malabar thrush…affectionately known as the whistling schoolboy.
A hush… more pitter-patter rain sounds. And then I heard it again. Four clear whistled notes. Then six…. then four…. five more….
Changing patterns melodiously greeting the new mist filled morning.
I readied myself quickly and stepped out. I had to get a glimpse of this spirit minstrel. I had heard him on other trips to the hills. But I had never seen him before. I had tried, yes, I had tried.
Gone in pursuit, listening… following… hoping to get a glimpse through the morning haze.
This time I was determined not to give up as I had given up earlier.
In my heart I had made friends with him. In my mind he had made friends with me. The whistling was all for me. Beckoning.. calling me to a tryst with other wonders.
This time we were going to meet. I swore that to myself.
So I tip-toed my way through the mist. I walked noiselessly past the bushes searching through the nearby trees.
I knew he was shy. So I was cautiously going to get as close to him as possible without letting him know.
I would get to see him and I would be happy.
I moved stealthily towards the left. That was where the whistling seemed to come from. A pause in the clear toned notes . I moved closer…
A sudden flutter of wings fading into the distances away from me.
Gone….I had not seen a thing…
Then once again, further away to the right the patterned clear whistling sounds. I was not going to give up so easily. This was a game and I was willing to play it. So once again I tiptoed my way in stealthy pursuit. Closer and closer. A dry twig snaps under my feet.
And once again a sudden flutter of wings and distances.
I still had not seen him. I still did not know what he looked like.
It happened again and yet again. The inviting clear-toned whistling…The search.. the cautious hush pursuit…The hurrying flutter of wings and then silence…
Much of the morning had passed by and I was breathless and exhausted. All for nothing… or so it seemed.
I paused to rest on a flat rock underneath a tree. I breathed in quietly and breathed out again. Wondering about an elusive bird…wondering about a wasted morning.
And then quite suddenly there was a gentle change in the rhythm of the breezes around me. I sensed his presence once again by my side..
My eyes were closed and I did not want to hurry them open.
Time was not of importance when I was with him. He knew the questions. The answers would come as and when he deemed fit.
But they were not his answers. He would draw them out of me with surgical gentleness and precision.
But first he would prepare me..
“You seem very frustrated,” he said.
My eyes remained closed. He was moving gently in through the subconscious folds of my wearied spirits..