The Crow Chronicles, page 26
The elegant couple were waved down well before they reached the Stinky Tops complex. A crownie listened to them politely and assured them that their felicitation (as well as tubers) would be relayed to Kaw, as would their kind offer to render assistance to the new government. At the moment Kaw was too busy to receive well-wishers, but if they would leave their card he would assure them of a private audience sometime in the near future. Shrimati Devirani had been quite flattered and delighted.
‘What well-mannered, decent crows!’ she said to her husband as they flew back to their marsh. ‘And what a pleasant change from those crow-pheasant thugs that Billa and Budhboo used to employ!’
But, as usual, her devoted spouse was not listening. His attention had been diverted by three lovely spoonbills flying past, their wings made translucent by the sun. Regardless of what happened, Shri Sadhu would remain a true-blue birdwatcher.
Another bird that had made a beeline for Stinky Tops was Shri Ayaram Bayaram, the rich and powerful proprietor of Bayaram Builders and Weavers Pvt. Limited. A bird of considerable property, he had built and owned most of the weaver bird colonies in the park, and undertook nest-building assignments for those species who were incompetent and rich enough to require his services.
He had maintained excellent public relations with the previous regime, and had landed lucrative contracts for rebuilding Stinky Tops and redecorating the palace. Now he was worried that his cosy associations with the past government might work against him in the acquisition of new contracts. Especially as it was very probable that members of the new government would want the offices at Stinky Tops to be redone to their taste. (This was a privilege of every incoming government: Pinky Stink had imported twigs of rare Burma teak for the purpose.)
He too was stopped some distance away from Stinky Tops and, despite his bluster and bluff, turned back. They assured him as well of a private audience at a future date, a fact he was quick to alter to an appointment with Kaw to discuss future building projects in the park, and thereby turn to social and business advantage.
Few birds seemed to realize or care that their fundamental rights had been snatched away—that, in fact, they were no longer the free-flying and free-singing birds of the Keoladeo National Park. Nor did they seem to care that this takeover of power had been completely illegal. Most of those who had realized it, and who might have caused trouble—the so-called intelligentsia—had already been neutralized and were, as Shona had put it, ‘cooling their vents’ in the Ghana Ghouls Ghonsla. One notable exception, however, had been Ghughuji, whom Kaw had irreverently dismissed as a ‘harmless old windbag whom no one can understand’.
At any rate, the birds took the news of the coup with very little fuss. There were no protests, no demonstrations, no wings-down strikes and no violence. As Ghughuji put it to Phuljari later that morning, it was a display of their ‘collective political unconsciousness’.
Whatever it was, it suited the perpetrators of the coup perfectly.
As the crow flies, the distance from Phuljari’s residence near the Forest Lodge to Ghughuji’s mansion just beyond the Saponmori would take the kingfisher no more than two and a half minutes’ flying time. This morning, however, it took Phuljari a little longer, for he had chosen to detour and take a peek at Stinky Tops and its environs. He didn’t get very far; at Checkpoint Crownie he was waved to a landing.
‘Your papers, sir?’ the crownie who had waved him down asked politely.
‘Papers? You mean this?’ Phuljari indicated the rolled up copy of Did-He-Do-It? he had brought along just in case Ghughuji had not received his copy. He wondered if it was going to be confiscated.
‘No, sir, identification papers!’
‘Identification papers?’ Phuljari looked blank.
‘Yes, sir. From this morning all birds resident or migrants are supposed to carry identification papers with them at all times. This is required under the law, sir. You will please get yourself a proper identification card made out for you by the new government. The forms are available at the Crownies’ Thicket. If you will read your newspaper carefully, the details are there on page four. Now, sir, your destination?’
‘I’m going to see a friend.’
‘Name and address, please?’
‘What is this!’ Once again Phuljari felt a rising anger.
‘Sorry, sir, we’re just following orders.’
‘What orders? This is ridiculous!’ Though Phuljari hadn’t quite forgotten the treatment he had recently received at the hands of the crownies, he couldn’t help sparking. Amazingly, this crownie—obviously a protege of Craven Raven—remained exquisitely polite.
‘We apologize for any inconvenience, sir. But you know of the recent developments. We have to take every precaution to ensure the safety of every honest and innocent bird in this park.’
Phuljari cooled off. ‘I’m going to see Shri Ghughuji, who lives in the Purana Kadam Mansion beyond the Saponmori,’ he said, still somewhat ungraciously.
‘Then you’re a little off course. One of my birds will put you on the right course. Now, sir, purpose of visit?’
‘Purpose of visit? Er . . . I have a philosophy tutorial and yoga class.’ It was the only appropriate thing he could think of at the moment.
‘Philosophy and yoga, eh?’ repeated the crownie, making a note. ‘Very well, you may proceed. This crownie will put you on the right route.’
And, thus guided, Phuljari reached the tree where Ghughuji meditated in well under the usual two minutes.
As Phuljari had anticipated, the venerable owl was deep in meditation. So great was the kingfisher’s regard for the learned owl that he folded his wings demurely and closed his eyes, hoping to establish contact telepathically.
Unknown to Phuljari, the great golden owl was a deeply disturbed bird that morning and was finding it difficult to achieve the peace of mind so necessary to digest the night’s hunting. He was, in fact, nursing a heavily bruised ego. He, Ghughuji, great-horned owl, eagle-owl, Bubo bubo, the intellectual heavyweight of the park, had had no inkling of the terrible events that had occurred until it was too late. Worse, until now, not a single bird, from the press or otherwise, had sought his opinion of the grave events.
The unkindest cut, however, had been the fact that he, the most respected opinion-maker and policy-shaper in the park, had been ignored by the perpetrators of the coup. They had not even bothered to take him into protective custody, which would have been the least courtesy they could have extended. Instead, they had found that gin-soaked chatterbox Phutki more of a threat than him! To be ignored was bad enough, but to be thought of as a harmless old twit was indigestible.
Ghughuji’s ear tufts rose indignantly, as did his blood pressure. He regurgitated the neatly packaged remains of a rat caught the previous night—it had been tough and stringy and lacking in flavour. Then he wondered if he ought to fly to Stinky Tops and court arrest—perhaps hoot a slogan or two against the new regime. He opened one huge orange-gold eye and saw Phuljari waiting patiently on a branch, newspaper under his wing. He shut his eye and intoned solemnly.
‘Phuljari, the white-breasted kingfisher, is it not? That is what my inner eye tells me.’
Phuljari cackled in relief. He was beginning to wonder if Ghughuji was going to remain in a trance all morning.
‘Yes, Ghughuji, it is me,’ he said respectfully.
‘Why are you looking so troubled this morning? What is bothering you?’ asked the venerable old owl.
The kingfisher opened his eyes and tapped the newspaper.
‘Shri Ghughuji, you’ve seen the newspapers?’
‘Yes! And I think that this kind of corvid imperialist fascism ought not to be tolerated by the democratic, freedom-loving avifaunal forces of the Keoladeo National Park. And you can quote me on that.’
‘Eh?’ said Phuljari blankly, quite taken aback. Then he continued hurriedly, ‘Um, sir, actually I wanted to ask your advice regarding Achaanak and Titiri. As you know, they’re both in deep trouble and I feel we ought to help them if we can.’
Ghughuji nodded. ‘The fundamentalist forces of ethnic fascism will not rest until they have brutally annihilated every threat to their illegal regime . . . Can you imagine, not a single bird has interviewed me about this matter as yet!’
‘Er . . . yes, I know, that is terrible, sir, but how can we assist Achaanak and Titiri? Kaw’s goonbirds have already told me to inform them if Achaanak or Titiri gets in touch with me.’
‘Let me think . . .’ The owl lapsed into reverie. ‘It looks as though we will have to evolve a relevant and practical strategy taking into account the binding external constraints that we will have to operate within,’ he said. And poor Phuljari was beginning to wonder whether coming to Ghughuji had been such a bright idea after all.
‘So what should we do?’ he asked bluntly, and began preening himself frantically to quell his rising impatience.
‘For the time being we must, and can only, wait and watch,’ replied Ghughuji disappointingly. ‘It is up to Achaanak and Titiri to make the first move.’
‘But, Ghughuji, I’m afraid that if Achaanak contacts me he will be arrested immediately. I’m sure I am under surveillance. How can I warn Achaanak of the danger?’
The big owl nodded slowly. ‘There is a way,’ he said gravely.
And then the redoubtable old owl proved that he was not quite the ‘harmless old windbag’ that Kaw had dismissed him as.
‘Tell me, does Achaanak have any shikra friends or relatives?’
Phuljari nodded. ‘Yes, there are six or seven shikras Achaanak was quite friendly with.’
‘Good. Are these really good friends or merely fair feather ones? Can they be relied upon?’
Phuljari exulted. At last he was getting somewhere!
‘I suppose you could say they are good friends. They used to hunt together. And you know that shikras have a rather fierce tradition of loyalty towards members of their own species.’
‘Fine! Then this is the strategy you will adopt. You will visit these shikras and apprise them of the situation. Impress upon them the gravity of the matter—the danger that Achaanak is in, and the greater danger to the great traditions of this park.’
‘That won’t be very difficult. And I’m sure the shikras will be sympathetic. Achaanak was a popular bird.’
‘Now these six or seven shikras must agree to accompany you wherever you go until Achaanak makes contact with you. This is very important. What is more, their numbers must constantly vary: that is to say, shikras must be flying in and out of the nucleus group surrounding you all the time. But there must never be less than four of them around you at any one time. Do you understand?’
Frankly, Phuljari did not.
And then Ghughuji floored him with the simple brilliance of his scheme.
‘You silly bird—when Achaanak establishes contact with you, the crow thugs watching you won’t be any the wiser. They’ll dismiss him as just another shikra who has joined the group. They won’t recognize him with the others flitting around, and if there is trouble one of the others must be prepared to give himself up so that Achaanak can escape.’
Phuljari shook his head in admiration. ‘It’s a brilliant plan, Ghughuji. Absolutely brilliant. But won’t the crow thugs get suspicious of all the shikras suddenly flapping around me? What explanation do I give them if they question me about it?’
Ghughuji permitted himself a half-smile.
‘You tell them the truth! That those shikras are friends of Achaanak’s who are very distressed by what has happened and anxious to search for the fugitive. The shikras flying back and forth are simply searching likely hideouts so that you can assist the security forces in their inquiries.’
Phuljari cackled delightedly. It was truly a wonderful, crowproof plan.
‘I’ll go right away and round up those shikras,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much for your advice, sir!’
And he was gone. Ghughuji closed his eyes against the bright mid-morning glare. Suddenly, he felt much better. Kala Kaloota had made a mistake in ignoring the one and only Ghughuji. And now he would be forced to pit his miserable Mussolinic mind against the formidable brainpower of the giant eagle-owl.
So be it.
At Stinky Tops, Kaw was discussing a matter of protocol with Craven Raven. Should he fly personally to the palace and inform Maharaj Baadshah of the developments, or should the monarch be asked to fly to Stinky Tops and be briefed about them here? So far, only messages had been sent to the palace, informing the Sovereign of the events and of the fact that the Kala Talwar Squadron had been dismantled.
Though Kaw privately thought that Maharaj Baadshah ought to call on him, as he, Kala Kaloota, was unquestionably the most powerful bird in the park, he realized that insisting upon this could be taken amiss: the honour of royalty was an absurdly sensitive issue amongst all living creatures no matter of what species. It could lead to trouble. ‘He’s apparently a little upset over what happened to the Kala Talwars last night,’ Craven Raven warned, ‘and if you insist that he come here—well, that may be adding insult to injury!’
‘Those Kala Talwars got what they deserved,’ Kaw said shortly. ‘They had no business to be playing professional assassins when their job is to provide ceremonial protection.’
‘You may have to offer him some kind of explanation . . .’
Kaw nodded. ‘I’ll just have to tell him that the Talwars had been improperly trained by Billa which is why they er . . . fell down on the job, so to speak. And offer to have them retrained at our commando school. Plus I will offer him unconditional hunting rights within the park—that should keep him happy.’
‘You might invite him to the rally this evening. His appearance would be good for our image, give us legitimacy. Perhaps he could say a word or two.’
Kaw smiled and raised an admonishing wing. ‘Easy, Craven Raven, easy. You know what Mark Antony did when Brutus invited him to speak at Caesar’s funeral! I’m not about to make the same mistake. Baadshah shall be present, but only be permitted to smile genially. He’s best at that. By the way, please remind me to congratulate the birds for keeping the peace. They have indeed displayed considerable political maturity in these hours of crisis!’
Jumiz Bagh Palace was constructed across the canopy of a small oasis of forest that was surrounded by grassland, located in a secluded part of the park, east of Stinky Tops. The magnificent structure consisted of several enormous eagles’ nests, built by past rulers, that had, over the years, combined to form a single formidable unit.
Here, Maharaj Baadshah, his queen, and princeling son, Chote Baadshah, resided, looked after by a loyal retinue of over one hundred kites, buzzards and hawks.
In the days before independence (from hunting by man), the eagles of the Royal Avian House of Ghana had enjoyed absolute power. They had ruled over the area with an iron talon, but, by and large, had governed fairly and well. The late Maharaj Jumiz Shah, father of Maharaj Baadshah, had fought magnificently during the struggle for independence and had sabotaged many a grand hunt. After independence had been achieved and the park declared a bird sanctuary, Jumiz Shah had voluntarily relinquished most of his powers. The Keoladeo National Park ought to be a modern democracy, he declaimed, not a medieval monarchy. The birds of the park must choose their leaders and be masters of their destiny. The Royal House would, however, continue to oversee developments to ensure that the well-being of the park and its inhabitants remained a paramount concern with the incumbent government. Unfortunately, Maharaj Jumiz Shah had been assassinated by a poacher soon after independence. And during his lifetime he had had only one major weakness: his son, the crown prince Baadshah.
Jumiz Shah had doted on his son and displayed his overwhelming love for the fledgling by spoiling him thoroughly.
The young crown prince could do no wrong and anyone suggesting otherwise stood in peril of his life. If the prince preferred spending all his time hunting and doing aerobatics it was because he was young and full of youthful exuberance. To fetter or discipline him in any way would be to kill his spirit. As a result of his father’s over-indulgence, Baadshah grew up into a bird only interested in hunting and stunt flying. Matters of state bored him. Fortunately, he had a genial disposition and so very rarely gave or meant offence.
The young monarch was therefore easy meat for Billa and Budhboo, who began their wily machinations the day he ascended the throne. Swiftly and systematically they stripped Baadshah of all the powers he still had (for example, that of dismissing the government if it were found to be corrupt). The monarch remained blissfully unaware, too busy hunting partridge along the banks of the Jamuna with his young hellion friends. Gradually, the monarch’s role in the affairs of state had been reduced to purely a public relations one: his presence at all major functions was obligatory, but that was all. Billa and Budhboo had been careful to ensure that Maharaj Baadshah continued to enjoy all the trappings and ceremony due to his position, but kept him out of all important matters of state.
This had, in fact, and regrettably, suited the eagle eminently. He was happy to be treated like a king, without having to bother about complicated policy issues and messy administrative matters. And, like his father before him, he proceeded to spoil thoroughly his own son and heir, Rajkumar Chote Baadshah.
Everything and nothing changed during that fateful night of the coup.
Maharaj Baadshah was just about to retire when his faithful aide Pariah, the black kite, brought disturbing news.
A Ghana Ghoul had just arrived at the palace in the last stages of exhaustion with a blood-curdling tale.
There had been a terrible battle at Python Point earlier that night, between the forces of the park led by Billa and ten thousand terrorist ravens led by the fearsome white crow. The ravens had gone berserk and had decimated the government forces. Both Billa and Budhboo had probably been killed and it was said that Stinky Tops had been razed to the ground. Worse, the crows had humiliated and terribly tortured a crack squadron of Kala Talwars. There were strong indications that the palace itself would be attacked shortly.
