THE PEREGRINATOR

I take one last look back at "our scrape" as I realize our clutch of three eggs are lost yet once again. I vividly remember the two of the thin shelled fragile red tinged buff coloured eggs crushing against the breast of my mate as she tried to incubate them. We have had the pleasure of raising fledglings previously but these times are hard. The third egg had given me hope in the beginning later was overcome by fear. Twenty eight, Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one, thirty two, thirty three - I was counting the days since we had almost reached the last of our incubation. It was futile. What did I do wrong? I helped scouting out our scrape on an unbelievably tall cliff. I helped out with incubating the egg during the day. My mate never left "our scrape" - our so called nest. I made the hunt for the entire incubation period and made sure my mate never went hungry. We cannot create a new clutch - definitely not this season and at least not this year. I must resign to fate and will have to make an attempt the next year only. But I make a solemn promise - I will always bear this in mind and return to "our scrape" the coming year.

But I cannot stay here any longer lest I run the risk of being frosted. Yes indeed when I can feel the boreal wind and know that Siberia is soon-to-be snow ridden, I have to leave my home, my mate, my cliff and undertake a long journey just like I did last year and the year before that.

I soar into the serene blue sky and the idea of flying weirdly calms me down making me one with my inner freedom. Some of my feathers on my wing and tail have molted giving me a mosaic pattern from the partial molting but I don't care how I look as long as I can fly like the wind. I have to conserve all my energy for this flight for I know that is exactly what is going to get me through to my destination. I refrain from flapping my feathers so that I can make good time in the central Siberian plateau and I am successful to having landed in the Mongolian ranges in just about two weeks.

I revel in the beauty of the glacial snow capped Altai ranges majestic under the orange hue of the setting sun. Studded with transparent lakes alongside which reflect a finer sublime image of these ranges, I crouch downward to quench my thirst and also feed on three tiny stones to rangle myself. The biting cold reminds me that this time too I will have to make the decision between the magnificent yet freezing Altai and the pitiful yet warmer Khangai of the Mongolian ranges. I spin around and take the Khangai route, proud of my decision as I feel ten degrees warmer. This makes me turn my head to the side and shove my back to the sun, an activity which I like to commonly term as "sunning".

Four hundred miles of sand, sand and sand. How exasperating!!! You guessed it right - this is the Taklamakan desert. I did enjoy the mountain ranges though it was unbearably chilling rather than this frigid barren desert. Overzealous I start off at a fairly mighty pace covering two hundred miles then I am overcome by hunger, thirst and just plain fatigue. I stop for a while at a steep sand dune then abandon my trip altogether flying for a hundred miles in the backward direction. Then I take shelter in an agricultural oasis building up my bodily stores of water.

Finally I pick up courage to resume my voyage and fly another hundred and fifty miles before I give up. I cannot make it. This time its not just hunger, thirst and fatigue but my feathers fail me - I am vanquished. I go in the reverse direction a fifty miles, nearly fall headlong into a wetland. I see my prey perched from my tree and miss it altogether. Pathetic!

This is when I remember doing a figure of eight dance in the air to impress my mate - that was my greatest kill, a red breasted goose and my mate turns upside down to receive it from my talons onto hers softly humming "waiiik" - our signature food wail. I knew then that she was my mate for life.

With this newfound inspiration from my past I soar high into the air and stoop down in lightning speed this time clutching my prey with all the strength I could muster. I carry my prize to a tree branch, tear off the head working my way down to the breast and appease my appetite. This time I understand that I am in it for the long haul - I must continue and I am not a quitter.

Eventually I reach the "Roof of the World" - The Himalayas and the Tibetan plateau to reach the Indian subcontinent. I usually like to cover my final stretch in one go with no stopovers till I reach my second home and I am fortunate enough this time. Five thousand meters above sea level true to its name I have the most breathtaking view signifying peace and aesthetic beauty at the same time.

The familiar smell of salty air and grasslands assures me that I have reached my home - The Rann Of Kutch, Gujarat-India. I brim with victory my pale crown shone with my pale cheek patch, narrow moustache, my white unmarked breasts, yellow talons and beak against my worn and weathered feathers. I recommence molting with panache.

P.S; 1) This is a tribute to the peregrine falcon species-Falco peregrinus calidus, which is a frequent migrator from Siberia to India.

2) The falcon species were threatened by use of DDT for mosquitoes causing eggshells to thin down and break.

3) Peregrine falcons mate for life.

4) If birds had feelings this is how it would be!