The Paradise Flycatcher
DEEPAK DALAL
The Paradise Flycatcher
Illustrations by Krishna Bala Shenoi
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
Snowdrop?
The Leaf Garden
Mysun Remembers
Sahyadri School
The Wires
Friends
The Paradise Flycatcher
Bicycle Chase
Shikar
The Rescue
Home
Footnotes
The Wires
The Paradise Flycatcher
Shikar
Home
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PUFFIN BOOKS
THE PARADISE FLYCATCHER
Deepak Dalal gave up a career in chemical engineering to write stories for children. He lives in Pune with his wife, two daughters, and several dogs and cats. He enjoys wildlife, nature and the outdoors. All his stories have a strong conservation theme. His earlier books in the VikramAditya adventure series are set in India’s wilderness destinations. This is his third book in the Feather Tales series.
Krishna Bala Shenoi spends his days making things (mostly illustrations), procrastinating and exploring film. His artwork, spanning a variety of styles, has accompanied children’s literature in books produced by esteemed publishinghouses. He lives in Bangalore, where he plans to continue contributing tochildren’s storytelling, imbuing his work with gentleness and a sense of wonder.
Also in Puffin by Deepak Dalal
Talon the Falcon
A Flamingo in My Garden
Snowdrop?
Mitalee had never felt this way before. There was a horrible tightness in her chest, as if a wall of bricks was pressing down on her. Her breathing had turned heavy and her heart was pounding. It was as if she had just completed a hundred-metre dash.
But Mitalee hadn’t been running. That was the odd thing. She had been walking—unhurriedly at that, halting every now and then, staring up at the trees, parting bushes and rummaging through piles of leaves. It wasn’t the kind of activity that would set anyone’s pulse racing, yet her heart was hammering like a railway engine in her chest.
It was a perfect morning at the Rose Garden. The air was fresh and cool and the sun was shining from a clear blue sky. It was the kind of day that should have inspired a spring in Mitalee’s step and a song on her lips. But that wasn’t the case. Her thoughts were as far removed from song and dance as could possibly be. Tears were welling up in her eyes instead, blurring her vision. She felt empty, drained, as if something deep inside her was missing.
It was true. There was no doubt about it now. Snowdrop, the white-headed squirrel—the creature she adored, the one she loved most in the whole wide world—was missing.
It had all started the previous evening. Prickles of anxiety had stabbed her like sharp needles when she noticed Snowdrop’s absence from the fountain. Every day, as the sun dipped in the sky, Snowdrop and the birds of the garden collected at the fountain to slake their thirst and exchange banter. This was a custom at the Rose Garden, a cherished tradition, and for as long as Mitalee could remember, Snowdrop had never missed an evening with his bird friends at the fountain.
The squirrel’s absence had troubled Mitalee. Although she had stood rooted by her window, staring at the fountain, the furry head she had hoped to spot amongst the feathered ones of the birds hadn’t turned up. The light had faded and the birds had flown to their roosts in the trees. Hunting for Snowdrop in the dark wasn’t possible, so Mitalee had woken early, rising with the sun. She had searched the garden, examining each pile of leaves, each bed of flowers, each bush, each tree—but there was no trace of the squirrel.
Wow-Wow, Mitalee’s dog, had accompanied her, padding at her feet as she roamed the garden. Strangely, Wow-Wow had started to whimper as her search had gone on. This had puzzled Mitalee. Could her dog have noticed the absence of the squirrel too? If he had, then his mournful response was peculiar, as the animals were sworn enemies. Snowdrop’s favourite pastime was playing tricks on the slow-witted dog, whose dim brain was no match for the squirrel’s cleverness. Mitalee wondered why the dog was whining instead of thumping his tail in celebration.
Surprisingly, Mitalee had found no sign of the birds either. This again was odd, as the day was just the kind that birds loved—with a blue, blue sky and a bright, warm sun. They should have been making merry with chatter and song. But this was not the case. A troubling silence bore down on the garden like a dark cloud.
The missing birds had prompted Mitalee to wonder if all the other garden creatures were absent too. But the thought had lasted barely a moment, because all about her was life and movement: damselflies hovered, flashing silken wings; butterflies flitted; grasshoppers bounced; bees buzzed; ants marched; caterpillars feasted; spiders spun their sticky webs; and lizards basked, enjoying the morning sun. The garden was its bright, happy self—except for the birds and her beloved Snowdrop.
After the long and fruitless search, Mitalee slumped on the grass beside the silent fountain. Wow-Wow curled at her feet, his snout buried between his paws, a steady whine escaping him. She stared dully at her mother’s favourite bed of rose bushes. She no longer noticed the bees as they flitted busily, transferring pollen from flower to flower. She didn’t notice the sun as it climbed higher, nor did she notice its warmth when it shone brightly on her. It was only when the unfamiliar quiet of the garden was broken by the twittering of birds that Mitalee finally started. Wow-Wow looked up too. The sounds were unmistakable. The birds had returned but, curiously, their chatter issued from the neighbouring Leaf Garden.
The Leaf Garden
Mitalee hurried towards the chirping. She spotted the birds as she neared the wall that her Rose Garden shared with the Leaf Garden. There were many of them, a dozen . . . maybe more, she couldn’t tell. For some reason they had flocked all over the bungalow in the Leaf Garden. This was unusual because birds are wary of humans. Typically, they collect in gardens or trees, not around houses, where humans live. Yet this lot had selected the sprawling bungalow of the Leaf Garden. They were clustered all over it, perched on its roof, its veranda and its windows.
Mitalee loved birds. After Snowdrop—her first love—it was birds she was drawn to next. She could identify each and every bird in her garden and it was no surprise that she knew most of those that had gathered on the perches of the neighbouring bungalow too.
Up on the roof was the bulbul—the bird that was like a mother to Snowdrop. The fork-tailed bird with black feathers, flitting between the veranda and the roof, was the drongo. Beside him fluttered the yellow iora. The magpie-robin sat beside the bulbul and below, on the veranda ledge, were perched the bee-eater, the doves, the tailorbird and the tiny sunbird. There were two sparrows too—birds that Mitalee hadn’t seen before.
As she watched, the sparrows hopped through the open doors of the bungalow. Although entering human homes was normal for sparrows—they are bold birds—Mitalee did not think this wise. The people who lived there weren’t friendly and cared little for birds.
The gloom inside swallowed the sparrows. She was squinting, trying to spot them, when she was distracted by movement on the veranda. Two squirrels had hopped on to the ledge. Mitalee recognized them instantly. They were Snowdrop’s playmates, his best friends.
As Mitalee stared at the collection of creatures swarming the bungalow, the purpose of their gathering flashed to her. It wasn’t a happy realization. It was an understanding that turned her cold all over, for now it was obvious that the worst had happened. The assembly of birds and squirrels indicated just one thing. Snowdrop the squirrel was indeed missing. All the creatures here were Snowdrop’s friends. The only po
ssible reason they could have collected at the Leaf Garden’s bungalow was to search for him.
One of the sparrows emerged from the house. Winging skyward, it alighted on the roof, beside the bulbul and the robin. Birds can’t talk. That’s what people say. But Mitalee was convinced they could, and from the manner the beaks of the birds twitched, it was clear to her that they were speaking to one another. The birds chattered softly. After a while, the sparrow flew to the open door. Moments later, the rest of the birds took to the air and, with Mitalee watching, every one of them winged into the bungalow. On the ground, the squirrels followed, scampering across the veranda into the shadowed interiors of the house.
Mitalee blinked. This couldn’t be happening. Birds and squirrels do not enter human homes. It was unreal—as fanciful as her sprouting wings and flying like a bird. But as she looked on, their bold move—surprising as it was—started to make sense. She understood why the birds and the squirrels were risking their feathers and their fur. It was for their friend Snowdrop. They were searching for him. If someone had abducted the squirrel, the most likely culprit was Chintu, the boy who lived in the bungalow. Chintu hated Snowdrop. The extent of his dislike compared with Mitalee’s affection for the squirrel. Just as much as Mitalee loved Snowdrop, Chintu detested him.
Chintu was a mean-tempered boy, and he possessed a catapult. For him, anything that lived in the trees was a target. He was dangerous; he could harm and hurt. The birds and squirrels were displaying exceptional loyalty and courage by entering his house.
Mitalee waited. She prayed that neither Chintu nor his equally nasty father was home. There was not a sound except for the rustling of leaves as a wind teased them. All she could see was darkness through the open door.
After several minutes, the stillness was shattered by a roar, quickly followed by yells, squeals and the squawking of birds.
‘Oh no!’ whispered Mitalee. The birds had been discovered! Chintu was home!
The first to exit the bungalow was the bee-eater, rocketing through the open door. The rest of the birds weren’t far behind, shooting out of the bungalow. Behind them rushed three howling, whooping boys, all with catapults in their hands.
Blood rushed to Mitalee’s head. ‘Stop it!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t shoot at the birds. Leave them alone!’
But the boys paid no heed, sprinting into the garden and firing at the birds.
‘Shoot the bulbul!’ cried Chintu, the biggest of the three. ‘Get that bird—it’s the leader. There it is, in the mango tree!’
The birds had scattered, many flying to neighbouring gardens. The bulbul, who was indeed their leader, had halted at the mango tree to look back and check on her friends. But on Chintu’s command, all three catapults were turned on her. As stones thudded about her perch, she was forced to take to the air again. Instead of leaving the area, the bulbul winged skyward, high above the garden, till finally she hovered out of reach of the catapults.
The bulbul was worried. She had seen all the birds escape, but the squirrels were still inside the bungalow. They had panicked when the boys had surprised them and, instead of making for the door like the birds had done, fled deeper into the house.
Meanwhile, far below, on the ground, Mitalee’s anger spilled over. Vaulting the boundary wall, she strode into the Leaf Garden, her dog at her heels. She confronted Chintu, waving a fist at him. ‘Stop it, you bully! Stop it this instant, or I’ll smack you!’
Chintu was a big, jowly boy. There was so much flesh on his face that it sagged in the form of a double chin. He lowered his catapult, smirking. ‘You! You’re going to hit me?’ He put a hand on his chest. ‘Save me, guys—she’s going to hit me!’ Then he burst out laughing.
Arjun, the boy standing beside Chintu, made a face. ‘Better get some first aid, Chintu,’ he sniggered. ‘Her hand will hurt so bad that we’ll need to bandage it!’
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed the boys.
Chintu pointed at Wow-Wow as he guffawed. ‘Want to laugh some more, guys?’ he said. ‘Watch this.’
Bending, he made a vicious growling sound. Then, screwing up his face, he barked ferociously at the dog, who jumped backward, his ears flapping wildly. Whimpering, Wow-Wow dashed back to the wall and, leaping it, disappeared into the Rose Garden.
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed the boys again.
Mitalee stood before Chintu defiantly, her chest heaving. Her eyes were bright like lamps.
Chintu winced. ‘Hey! Don’t you stare at me like that.’
Arjun suddenly cried, ‘Look! Squirrels . . . there! They were hiding in the house all this time . . . Shoot them!’
From high above, the bulbul squawked in dismay. The squirrels couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to emerge. The boys were standing right there, between the squirrels and the trees.
The squirrels dashed forward. The boys raised their catapults. Mitalee reacted fast—she flung herself on Chintu just as he released his stone, upsetting his aim. But the other boys fired unhindered. Luckily for the squirrels, their missiles thudded into the ground, erupting harmless clouds of dust.
‘Drat!’ hissed Arjun. ‘What a time to run out of stones!’
But Maitreya, the third boy, had several in his pocket. Whipping one out, he took aim and fired.
‘YAY!’ yelled the boys.
Maitreya’s aim was true. The smaller of the two squirrels uttered a terrible, heart-wrenching squeak. Mitalee’s hands flew to her mouth.
Chintu’s double chin bounced yo-yo-like as he and Arjun danced in glee. But Maitreya, the boy whose missile had struck the squirrel, didn’t participate in the celebrations. His catapult fell to the ground, and then, like Mitalee, he too pressed his hands to his mouth.
The squirrels continued towards the trees. The injured one was dragging its leg and its companion was keeping it company. At their hobbling pace, they were easy targets. Mitalee rushed forward, placing herself between the squirrels and the boys, shielding them from the catapults.
‘GET THEM!’ roared Chintu. Grabbing one of Maitreya’s stones, he loaded his catapult. Arjun had already snatched one from the ground. He was ready, his slingshot pulled back. But as he was about to launch his projectile, a whirring sound descended from above, and he yelled when something sharp and hard pierced his skin.
It was the bulbul! Spotting the danger, the bird had dived and attacked the boy. Before Chintu could react, the bird pounced on him too, sinking her beak in his thick neck. The bulbul then shot back into the air.
Mitalee silently applauded the bird. The bulbul was brave and even now she was hovering above the boys, presenting herself as a target. Chintu and Arjun were slinging stones skyward, but the intelligent bird stayed just out of reach.
Chintu was furious. ‘Get that bird!’ he howled. ‘Bit me, huh? How dare it! I’m going to show it . . . I’ll blast it out of the sky!’
Mitalee allowed herself a smile. The bulbul’s plan had worked perfectly—the squirrels had disappeared into the thick foliage of the trees. The boys had been outwitted. Above, in the sky, the bulbul floated higher and winged her way out of the gardens.
‘So much for your shooting skills,’ scoffed Mitalee. ‘You boys can’t hit a door even if it’s in front of you.’
Chintu glared at her. ‘Shut your mouth, bird girl. We got that squirrel, didn’t we?’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Mitalee. ‘Neither did your friend Arjun. Even a blind man could do a better job than you two!’ She spun around, turning to Maitreya. The boy flinched as her eyes grew wide and turned a smouldering red. ‘And you! You’re the one who shot the squirrel. Harmed a perfectly innocent animal. For what? Just fun? Did you hear the squirrel? Heard it howl? Did that scream make you happy? Did the pain you inflicted warm your cruel heart? Did it?’
The boy quivered. The intensity of Mitalee’s gaze scorched him like the desert sun.
Mitalee ranted on. ‘You had me fooled. The new boy in school. You were courteous and good at your studies—I thought you were a decent sort
. But look at the company you have chosen! Now I know. You—’
Chintu interrupted, sneering, ‘You, bird girl, are the wrong company. Maitreya knows who his friends are. And they aren’t birdbrained like you!’
‘Yeah,’ growled Arjun, ‘who’d want a bird girl like you as a friend, huh? Only the sort that eats seeds, ha ha!’
Mitalee breathed heavily. ‘You two deserve him as your friend. He’s just right for you. Fits your type. A coward—he shoots at defenceless animals, draws pleasure from hurting innocent creatures. You couldn’t have found a better match!’
Mitalee wasn’t watching Maitreya, but the boy winced at each of her barbed insults.
Mitalee wasn’t finished. She faced Chintu, hands on her hips. ‘Enough of this wretch of a friend of yours. I have more important matters to discuss with you. The white-headed squirrel is missing. He’s been gone since yesterday. Where is he?’
Chintu made an elaborate gesture of searching his pockets. ‘Nope,’ he said, turning them inside out, ‘no squirrel here.’
Chintu and Arjun clutched their sides, laughing. Maitreya did not take part in the merriment.
Mitalee glared at Chintu, her eyes turning larger and rounder, like marbles.
Chintu flinched. ‘Hey! Stop it! I told you not to stare at me like that.’
Mitalee did not blink. ‘You know where the squirrel is. Hand him over.’
Chintu held up an arm, as if shielding himself from Mitalee’s gaze. ‘Your eyes!’ he snapped. ‘You a witch or something? You go find the squirrel. Why would I kidnap it?’
Mitalee’s eyes turned larger still. ‘Because you’ve tried before. That’s how I know it’s you. Hand him over!’
‘Huh! Think you’re always right, don’t you? Watch, I’ll prove you wrong. Stop staring and I’ll prove to you that I don’t have the squirrel.’