The Language of Birds.

"Do not let it out until it gets adjusted," Sahil said.

"But i do not want to cage it," i said.

"You do not have to," he said with a sly smile, "just pluck out the flight feathers on its wings and it will have no option but to stay."

He looked at me expecting an agreement from me. I smiled back.

Sahil was a well known pigeon fancier in our village. Stories about him catching new birds everyday and his experience to tame them were known to all. I told him how much i was worried about my pigeon not eating anything. He explained everything that i should do to make it eat something.

"Where do you keep it?" He asked.

"My cousin made me a pigeon loft," i said.

"You know," he said before stopping to light a cigarette, "you should learn how to tame your bird or it will leave you as soon as it gets a chance."

Then he started telling his stories. I had heard a number of stories about him. My friends talked a lot about the pigeon fanciers in our locality. These stories spread faster than anything. Only two days after my cousin gave me this pigeon, everyone in my village knew about it. He took his phone out of his pocket and showed me pictures of some of his pigeons. He told stories about everyone of them. How he catched them and what he did to them.

I got back home and went up to the attic where i kept the loft made up of old plywood painted in white. I opened the door and took the pigeon out in my hands, feeling the warmth of its soft body. It made a few attempts to escape, so i had to hold it even tighter.

Its whole body was as white as snow except the tail feathers, and a tuft of relatively long feathers on its nape, which were black. The feathers on its flank hid the claw entirely like socks.

"It is a fantail pigeon," my cousin said before giving it to me, "it can spread its tail into a fan shape."

I stretched its wings and looked at the shiny feathers that i had to pluck out. It fixed its wide eyes at me as if they had sensed my intentions. I could not decide if i should deprive the pigeon of its flight just to make sure it stays. It is what people always do to other people when they get over posessive - take away their wings in the name love - so that they stay, doubting their ability to fly again.

Finally i dropped this idea. I decided to give it reasons to stay, not to take its choices away. I knew how much i was going to miss it if it flew away. But i would not deprive someone of its flight because of my own insecurities. If i need to cage a birds just because it can fly, then i should get a dog instead.

If it flies away, i would not tell my friends about my inability to pluck out a its feathers, i decided finally. They will never understand. I put the pigeon back, spread a handful of grains on the floor and did whatever Sahil had instructed me to do. Soon, it started pecking at the grains.

As days passed, i got more attached to it. I would spend most of the time looking at while it pecked on the grains and making that sweet sound. I had never imagined these things would give me so much pleasure.

***

It snowed heavily that night. The snowflakes piled up on each other without making a sound, but the white light of dawn reflected from the snow illuminated the room. And then finally, the piled up snow from the roof of my house stroke the ground with a thud, waking me up from sleep.

I went up and opened the loft. It stood in a corner with head buried in its shoulders. As soon as i opened the door, it raised its head and stretched its body. Now it looked more energetic.

I turned around to get some grains. While taking grains out of the container, i heard the fluttering of its wings. I turned back only to see it flying on to the landing board. This sent a chill down my spine my spine and my face turned red.

"Please, do not go away," i said in a low tone, wishing i knew how to speak the language of birds.

Even before it flew away, i started missing it. I had never thought i would feel like this for a bird. I could now imagine how dull my life would be without it. My friends had lost their birds but they never felt like this. They would get new birds and forget the previous one as though it never existed. I could even imagine them laughing at me. They never hesitated to pluck out the flight feathers of their birds.

I released the grains from my hand without making any movement as if it would make a difference. But then how long could i wait. I had to move. A slight movement of my hand and the pigeon was in the air, striking its feathers against the invisible air to get as far as i could see.

I stood there as long as it took for my hope to mature into despair.

Two days later, while leaving my house, i saw a bird perching on the landing board with its body silhouetted against the evening sky. I went up, opened the door of loft and watched it enter. It then turned around and looked at me with its black tail spread in the shape of a fan and wings half stretched in pride.

 "Putrtrrtrtrtrtrr," it said.

"It is ok," i said with a smile.

The language of love is universal. In order to perceive a bird's love for us, we do not need to learn the language of birds.