THE BIRD SPEAKS

My son’s expression clouded with grief as he stated, “Amma, but the bird didn’t respond to my question.”

“Bird!” I asked, seeming astonished.
“Yes, Amma, the birds mentioned in your puranic writings. However, they’re not quite ready to talk to me.”

At that moment, I realized that my storytelling had made a lasting impression on my son. “How fantastic,” I muttered, praising my performance. He was correct; animals and birds did speak in my writings. The vulture Jatayu spoke to Rama. The vanara Hanuman sang to Sita. The bull Nandi gave Eshwara a lot of advice. They all said a lot, but my son’s recent worry about birds not answering him additionally prompted me to think. Needless to say, these are not merely stories from the imagination; ‘a vast reservoir of human creativity.’ These are essentially required to know the existence of something beyond one’s comprehension. Nevertheless, the Puranas are also intended for the elderly; in fact, I propose that knowledge of them becomes important after a certain age.

Setting aside the blending of literature and fantasy, the most plausible background explanation for the animals is that they were humans in a previous life. It would have taken a curse or a wicked deed for them to become one.

Since there was only truth spoken throughout the Satya yuga, deception carried severe and perhaps fatal consequences. However, these were men of tremendous dignity, for they took their suffering and complained about it very little, if at all. Because of their education and experience from previous lives, they were able to impart spiritual insight and solid advice even when they were born as birds or animals. A bird would act like one, but it would also recite passages from the Vedas and magnificently display the traits of an educated Brahmin. It’s important to realize that these great accounts are fascinating carriers for significant concepts. With yugas changing, and the mindsets too changing, nobody cares to understand the essence of it.
It was Krishna who had commanded Arjuna to burn the Khandavaprastha forests. The Pandavas had to redesign the dead and degraded ground, unfit for vegetation, to make a place for themselves. The birds and animals who had made it their home in the past slithered and raced hither with the fire starting. But a family of Saranga birds became lodged on the trunk of the tree. The mother bird battled to keep her babies safe while the father had moved on to find a new partner. Looking at the distant fire, she started crying. Her fate was already known to her. But what had the poor babies done? She pondered. She sobbed in anguish, feeling the weight of her children on her shoulders and the pain of not having her soul mate.

“Mother, don’t be sad,” the child said. “We accept this as our destiny and will burn to death in the fire. But for you, that isn’t the case. You must continue to live to prevent our extinction. You need to locate a worthy partner so that our family can continue. We are not scared to face the challenges that lie ahead of us.

The mother bird sobbed as she stated, “I can’t go away like your father and leave my children behind. Instead, I have to keep you safe. I can stand at the opening of the tree trunk hole and watch over you if you consent to stay there.”
With pitying cries, the children announced that they would not submit to being brutally hunted by the burrowing rats. They refused to believe her when she said that an eagle had eaten the rats.

They had chosen to send their mother to safety after accepting their fates.

But as time passed, the fire had subsided and the babies were safe, but the commotion continued unabated. She gave them a firm hug while shedding happy tears. They had each other’s comfort once more and felt safe.

The father bird was worried about how his family might be affected by the fire in the meantime. He had unresolved thoughts and fears that prevented him from concentrating on his new companion. The cries of his babies upset him enough already. He felt compelled to go back and see how his family was doing. He told the female companion how worried he was and begged to see his children again just to make sure they were alright. But her uncertainty’s price filled her thoughts, and she would not give in.

“Why are you now worrying so much about them? To be with me, you’ve left them all behind. I don’t want you to return if you leave me. I am aware that you are no longer interested in being with me. You’re looking for reasons to stop being around me. But I won’t stop you because I’ll presume, you’re one of those worthless men who cheat on women.”

What changed the mind of the father all of a sudden?

Once more, it has a backstory. Mandapala was a sage who underwent extreme penance to elevate himself to the status of a Jnani. Sadly, the gods denied him release following his earthly sojourn, claiming that he had not given birth to a son who might have performed the last ceremonies. Therefore, a man without children had no place there.

In his subsequent birth, he was born as the saranga bird and gave birth to children. Equipped with his animalistic instinct, he took off with another bird. However, he returned because of the rishi’s brilliance that remained within him. He was deeply hurt, even though his former mate did not extend a warm greeting to him, but he had to accept the consequences. With a pall of concern, he asked her, “How are you and the children doing?” She said coldly, “I don’t understand your homecoming,” and disregarded his appeal. “Is she ignoring you? I think I can’t keep you here, so feel free to go.”

“A woman will cease to care for her spouse after she becomes a mother,” he said laughing incredulously. “That is the nature of the world.”