Trust in the wilds

In fact, a large buck, sprawled on a parapet flanking the road, neither bestirred itself nor batted an eyelid when I walked right up to it! It just lounged there, quite unconcerned, posing for the cameras with an air of boredom. Could there be more eloquent proof that these rare ungulates, on the brink of extinction, feel safe in the company of humans?

Over the years, in Munnar there have been several instances of herbivores seeking shelter in human settlements when pursued by predators. Once a barking deer fawn, hardly a month old, stole into our garden to escape being savaged by a mongrel and had to be bottlefed for several days before it was strong enough to fend for itself in the wild.

In fact, thanks to the unrelenting protection given to them, there are `resident’ barking deer, giant Malabar squirrels, Nilgiri langurs and jungle fowl in the small strips of jungle adjoining several planters’ bungalows in and around Munnar. Here dawn and dusk are often heralded raucously jungle roosters crowing their heads off with the squirrels and langurs adding to the cacophony with their high-pitched calls.

However, it is the Malabar whistling thrush that provides Munnar’s wake-up call every morning. This dark blue songster’s warbling is uncannily similar to the whistling of a human and must be heard to be believed. Aptly nicknamed the “whistling schoolboy”, it is shy and timid, nesting in inaccessible ledges and dense undergrowth away from human habitation.

I was therefore delighted to discover that one had built its nest in a niche up in the portico of Munnar’s High Range Club. One night I spotted it up there, watching the suited and booted club members socialising below. The next morning a lodger remarked to the secretary, “Your watchman tunefully whistled us awake this morning!” When told that the “watchman” was none other than the Malabar whistling thrush he was incredulous.

From my first-floor room at the office, I sometimes espy a large rat snake sunning itself on the lawn below. Passersby usually give it a wide berth, viewing it with a mixture of awe and fear. The other day, however, cries of “Sn-ake! Snake!” rent the air. The reptile had entered the greenhouse, probably in pursuit of a rat, and was about to be killed by the gardeners. I intervened and persuaded them to let it go unharmed. Emboldened, it now appears in the garden quite often. But, knowing people’s hostility to snakes, I fear for its safety.

However what mystifies me in particular is the implicit trust displayed by a wild speckled dove. When I shave in the morning, it usually perches outside the window, hardly three feet away, and peers at me with much curiosity, tilting its head quizzically from time to time as the razor rasps over my face. What attracts it is not clear, but daily the bird seems to focus on what I am doing to the exclusion of everything else including its own safety which it seems to take for granted with me around. So much so that the other day it did not notice a cat stealthily stalking it. The feline was about to pounce when I did something I had never done before: I shooed the bird away. Better to lose a friend temporarily, I reasoned, rather than forever. Sadly, it is yet to return.