The Birds

The tires make a ‘splishhh’ sound as a motorbike makes its way in slow motion. The newly laid road has had it’s first wash of the season. The rider atop the bike imbibes the rain washed atmosphere, and looks skyward in appreciation. The layer of dust on the trees has miraculously turned into its original green colour, full of life and vigour. The slightest crack of dawn is visible, and one or two of the birds is turning their arena into a musical.

The sleep deprived nature of the rider is evident. His bent back and drooping shoulders suggest not all is well with his world. Little did he know of what was to come? The motorbike chugs along the empty road, but for the few birds that increase in number, with every passing moment.

None of the compilers of folklore have been able to explain the sequence of events that resulted after this moment. The chequered history of the mighty conquerors Delhi is known for, has been put to shame by this peculiar invasion. When the rider wakes up, he sees a pigeon on top of his book shelf, and another one on the carpet near the balcony; eyeing him with suspicion. The sight of the pigeons reminds him that there would not be much time. He jots down whatever he could vividly recall.

A couple of sparrows were the first in sight, right in the middle of the road. The bike swerves to avoid them both, with the birds showing no sign of making way for the man made beast. There are more birds in the horizon, welcoming the new day. It felt like the beginning of an era, where humankind only get to play second fiddle. This is war, of a different kind. A couple of eagles can be seen flying lower than usual, monitoring the ground for any untoward activity.

A group of mynas appear animated, their calls pierce the calmness in the air. Just then, a couple of birds swoop down on the rider and almost plucks his head out. The motorbike almost loses control, but manages to find its balance in quick time. What were those birds now? There is a huge gate visible, a hundred yards out. There are other kinds of birds pecking on tidbits on the road. There are more birds, unique species, flying in from different directions now.

The power struggle is not between humans any more, heck, the humans are not even in the picture!

A group of pigeons, a few crows, the mynas and the sparrows, the parrots and a few colourful looking foreigner birds, they are all there. The peacocks have seated themselves on top of a throne like bark. A few of the soldier birds are flying across the road, harrying the last of the human race through the gate. There are vultures too, waiting to finish the job for its compatriots. The last few yards seemed like an eternity for the rider, it was the end of time itself.






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