The Great Indian Bustard

It was time for a deep clean as if right before a festival. The sky was clearing its disorganized lint, the clouds poured to flush all the dirt as the wind supervised, the trees took a nice bath and were ready to wear new leaves, the sun adjusted its temperature, to moderate enough to dry the damp soils, tiny plants developed numerous tiny buds to open into scented flowers, birds rehearsed their songs and dances, animals peeped out to check if the preparations had any defects and everyone was optimistic to welcome the new guest.

The brooding Great Indian Bustard (GIB) proudly lifted its head to look at the modest welcome arrangements, took a deep breath, and whispered, “it’s time that you come”, and hopefully waited. In a couple of hours the egg hatched, a tiny crack opened to reveal a small brown winged bird with a black crown-like stripe on its head, it slowly opened its eyes to see its mother frozen with delight and overwhelmed with joy at the sight of her baby.

This baby was a precious one, not just to its mom, but also the nature that anticipated its presence and also to the environmentalists that awaited an increase in its count. Nature had already planned the baby’s welcome with a clear sky, sweet flower-scented air, cozy sun, greenery with colorful flowers, gently falling leaves, and singing birds while humans partied the birth with lamps and lights, glittery clothes, sweets, and prayers as a part of various festivals.

The honored GIB considered herself the queen of the grasslands and assumed the beauty of autumn was only to welcome her child. She had a royal gait on her tall muscular feet with a long neck raised in pride to a height of three feet. She had migrated from Africa to the grasslands of India for autumn that is favorable for its tiny, little one. There are only one hundred and fifty GIBs across the world listing it among the critically endangered species in the red data books. Nevertheless, kingship doesn’t come with number but with attitude and the GIB has all that it takes. She along with her very few companions migrated to India as though an inspection of grasslands. She knows she has reached India when she finds the river Indus to quench her thirst. She knows she has reached India by its vibrant colors and lamps that she considers are for her welcome. She knows she has reached India when she finds love not just amongst humans but also for their fellow animals and plants. She knows she has reached India as her heart recognizes her empire. High in the sky, the GIB opens her wings six feet wide to carry her eighteen kilos weight. Her shadow shades her dry, deserted empire. She comes as though she has brought the clouds along for the rains upon her grasslands.

Apparently, the grasslands are desert-like with no many trees. It is not as dense as the forests are, but it still has its diversity of species both plants and animals and it has its beauty….and GIB was its proud queen. To meet the rising demands, these grasslands are being converted into agricultural lands and for commercial constructions in the name of development. Globalization and uniformity, do make things more accessible, but there is beauty in diversity. Variation makes us versatile with its distinct benefits and challenges while appearing susceptible to vulnerability. Poor man, unaware of all this, dug his own grave. There have been many wars between the manipulative human and the enlightened GIB for this land. The man called it a battle for advancement, while GIB considered it a defense for sustainability. Man viciously hunted over GIBs for his contentment, not knowing that his defeat was waiting for him in the disguise of victory. Foolish man did not know, that the victory of a king was not in conquering but the prosperity of his subjects.

The wise GIB knew of the destruction man was mapping for himself and that’s why defeat never hit her attitude. Now when the man has learned he cannot be the ruler with his selfish strategies, he started conserving the GIBs, but GIB's heart lies in the grasslands and it can sustain only when the grasslands are sustained. Man does not want to openly accept his defeat and conserve grasslands thus all his efforts to conserve GIBs are at a vain.

Reverent GIB aware of all the guidelines that govern the existence of the planet in the universe is least bothered about who won the battle and who is the crowned king. All it wants is harmony among all the living beings. It humbly holds the baby and exhibits it as the new heir of the grasslands and a gentle breeze blows bowing the grasses in reverence before the queen and the kind-to-be, after-all the universe knows who the king was. The little one cowardly snuggles into the breast of her mother unaware of the importance it holds and the wisdom it has inherited in its genes.

Within no time the GIB teaches its little one everything about the empire and its regulations. The little great Indian bustard becomes independent in no time. But it still has no clues of the other kingdom miles apart, that awaited its presence. The little GIB inherited all its majestic characters, the giant body, the royal gait, the hefty wings, and the strength it needs along with the wisdom of the universe. It got acquainted with all its fellow living beings and cordially lived with everyone. Now that the little GIB is wise enough to explore the world, mama GIB brings to his knowledge that there is another part of their kingdom, waiting for them in the other hemisphere of the globe. They flock together and set for their flight towards Africa and all the fellow creatures give them a see off with the beauty of spring. The GIB flock carries the beautiful autumn along to the African grasslands and promises the Indian grasslands another visit in the next six months and wave them a good-bye.