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Avian affairs
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Most bird species lead interesting `married' lives ... at least during the nesting season, says RANJIT LAL.
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The jungle babbier ... it believes in traditional values.
IT is still the middle of the year, and gentlemen (and rogue) birds are rehearsing their warbles, or emerging in spiffing new suits, with which they hope to woo the fair sex and give rivals a serious inferiority complex. Young peacocks, whose train is only half grown, strut self-importantly around a bevy of shawl-clad females, who ignore them totally. Cock house sparrows shrill and swagger around the girls, often getting into all-out brawls with each other over some dumb beauty or vacant last-year's nest. Some years ago, I witnessed a glorious soap opera in my balcony, the eternal triangle being the usual cause of it all. A female fell for a handsome rake who had already been spoken for; both the girls cuddled up to him, one on either side, hurling accusations over his head. Handsome rake, who had probably promised the side-dish all kinds of things, flew off in alarm, followed by his shrilling wife, and the poor forsaken side-dish vented her rage on handsome-rake's nest, pulling out all the straw and stuffing from it and making a dreadful mess in the balcony. Then alas, side-dish's husband got wind of what was happening, and soon both the males were down on the balcony floor, claws meshed inextricably, trying to peck each other's eyes out and settle honour. Even the girls got beaten up — though whether by each other, or their husbands, I cannot say.
This sort of thing, I believe is not the usual state of affairs as far as birds are concerned. Ninety per cent of bird species are monogamous — at least for the season. Happily, in most cases, the gentlemen are not chauvinist pigs either, and both parents share the duties of feeding the chicks when they hatch. Some species pair for life, the most celebrated example being the tall stately sarus crane, which graces the green fields of North India. The pair dance and trumpet exuberantly every time they meet, reiterating their love ("bonding, bonding bonding, one two three bonding!"), and are devoted parents to the single (occasionally two) chick they raise. According to popular legend, if one of the pair dies, the survivor will pine and grieve to death. In most other species, the survivor of such a tragedy puts the loss behind it, and finds another mate and gets on with its life.
There are of course, several species that lead more interesting "married" lives. The gentleman baya for example is an ambitious bigamist to say the least. A bachelor group will arrive at a promising nesting site (adorned with lots of acacia or palm trees, and usually near water), and the males will quickly begin constructing their beautiful vase-like nests out of grass. Soon, a hen-party (or baya equivalent of the fishing fleet) will arrive, and the females will begin examining the architecture. The males will loudly and excitedly advertise the qualities of their accommodation ("central airconditioning, snake-proofing, excellent view, cross ventilation, golden taps... !") inviting the girls to come and look closer. If a female likes what she sees, she will accept by perching on the "chinstrap" of the nest, much to the joy of the male. He will quickly settle her into her new home, to which she will put a few finishing touches, and then start building another nest. This one, of course, for another wife! A baya of enterprise, energy and skill may be the proud builder of four nests in a colony, each happily occupied with a female on eggs. Yes, the job entails a lot of travelling dear ....
RANJIT LAL
The koel ... irresponsible romantic.
Fortunately, there are other species that redress this terrible male chauvinist bias. The female painted snipe for example (as also the jacanas) is the one that wears the pants in her family. Clad in a striking bronze green and brown, and with huge dark eyes, she will fight other females for a husband, who is a comparatively plain looking fellow. Having collared one, she settles him down on their nest (on the ground) and her eggs, and takes off in search of a second husband. It is up to him to bring up the brood while she goes philandering around the countryside. It is thought that this tradition developed because birds like the painted snipe laid their eggs in open country, where the rate of egg loss through predation was high. To compensate, she had to lay as many eggs as possible, and what better way to achieve this than by making the men look after them. It is still a puzzle why other birds haven't caught on to this trick though.
Many of us, would perhaps envy the marital lives of the cuckoos and koels. Imagine! You can have a raucous, swashbuckling romance (that drives many other species to nervous hysteria), and when trouble looms large ("there's something I have to tell you, darling... !") it can be neatly jettisoned in the home of some other species who will dutifully rear the resulting brood. Koels have perfected the technique to such a degree that they get the better of the smartest and most savvy of species — the crows. The male koel, foppishly clad in silky black, flutters enticingly close to a crow's nest, causing anxiety and outrage among the crows. A chase ensues, and while the crows blunder after the sleep-winged intruder, the female, camouflage-clad in stippled bark brown and white, slips in and gets rid of her burden. She gives the all clear, and the pair take off gleefully, while the poor crows return home, unaware that they have taken on additional responsibilities. The subterfuge is retained even after the eggs hatch: little girl koels in their fledgling days, look like their father and brothers — black or dark brown all over — rather than their dappled mother, which would have given the game away. And they caw hoarsely too.
Jungle babblers however are far more traditional, believing in the good old extended family system. They go about in groups of six or seven (and are known as "seven sisters" in English, transmuted to sat bhai in Hindi), and a couple bringing up a brood, will remain with the group, whose members pitch in with help in feeding and looking after the fledglings. The female fledglings tend to remain with the family, while the males (when old enough) go seeking new pastures.
The painted snipe ... a blow for women's lib.
And finally, to free love! The burrowing owls of the new world (related to our own spotted owlet) live in colonies of squirrel burrows underground, in such liberal climes as California. Often the burrows are packed close together and affairs here can resemble that of a hippie commune.
On the face of it, the owls live in proper little nuclear families, with papa owl, mama owl and resulting ulloo ke patthe. But sustained stakeouts (voyeurism in the name of research) have revealed that a lot of hanky panky goes on all the time. Papa owl from one burrow is not at all averse to trundling off to the burrow next door for a bit of canoodling with the golden-eyed nymphet waiting for him there. And mama owl may like nothing better than to snuggle up with the beefcake in the burrow on the other side, and from time to time, deposit an illegitimate egg or two there.
Also, fledgling owlets that had not yet learnt to fly often just trundled off into a neighbouring burrow, and stayed on there, being subsequently raised by the pair whose home it was!
So much so, that it was found (in one particular colony) that more than one-third of the owls were raising broods that were not entirely their own! Needless to add, this particular colony of burrowing owls was located in California, but hopefully they will give our own spotted owlets (or other birds) ideas regardless of what the morality police might think!
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