Chapter IV: Part 4

The first streak of dawn is the signal for the striking up of the jungle and the spotted owlets. Hard upon them follow the koels and the brain-fever birds. These call only for a short time, remaining silent during the greater part of the day. Other birds that lift up their voices at early dawn are the crow-pheasant, the black partridge and the peacock. These also call towards dusk. As soon as the sun has risen the green barbets, coppersmiths, white-breasted kingfishers and king-crows utter their familiar notes; even these birds are heard but rarely in the middle of the day, nor have their voices the vigour that characterised them in the hot weather. Occasionally the brown rock-chat emits a few notes, but he does so in a half-hearted manner. In the early days of August the magpie-robins sing at times; their song, however, is no longer the brilliant performance it was. By the end of the month it has completely died away.

The Indian cuckoo no more raises its voice in the plains, but the pied crested-cuckoo continues to call lustily and the pied starlings make a joyful noise. The oriole's liquid _pee-ho_ is gradually replaced by the loud _tew_, which is its usual cry at times when it is not nesting.

The water-birds, being busy at their nests, are of course noisy, but, with the exception of the loud trumpeting of the sarus cranes, their vocal efforts are heard only at the _jhil_.

The did-he-do-its, the rollers, the bee-eaters, two or three species of warblers and the perennial singers complete the avian chorus.

Numbers of rosy starlings are returning from Asia Minor, where they have reared up their broods. The inrush of these birds begins in July and continues till October. They are the forerunners of the autumn immigrants. Towards the end of the month the garganey or blue-winged teal (_Querquedula circia_), which are the earliest of the migratory ducks to visit India, appear on the tanks. Along with them comes the advance-guard of the snipe. The pintail snipe (_Gallinago stenura_) are invariably the first to appear, but they visit only the eastern parts of Northern India. Large numbers of them sojourn in Bengal and Assam. Stragglers appear in the eastern portion of the United Provinces; in the western districts and in the Punjab this snipe is a _rara avis_. By the third week in August good bags of pintail snipe are sometimes obtained in Bengal. The fantail or full-snipe (_G. coelestis_) is at least one week later in arriving. This species has been shot as early as the 24th August, but there is no general immigration of even the advance-guard until quite the end of the month.

The jack-snipe (_G. gallinula_) seems never to appear before September.

Most of the monsoon broods of the Indian cliff-swallow emerge from the eggs in August. The "rains" breeding season of the amadavats or red munias is now over, and the bird-catcher issues forth to snare them.

His stock-in-trade consists of some seed and two or three amadavats in one of the pyramid-shaped wicker cages that can be purchased for a few annas in any bazaar. To the base of one of the sides of the cage a flap is attached by a hinge. The flap, which is of the same shape and size as the side of the cage, is composed of a frame over which a small-meshed string net is stretched. A long string is fastened to the apex of the flap and passed through a loop at the top of the cage. Selecting an open space near some tall grass in which amadavats are feeding, the bird-catcher sets down the cage and loosens the string so that the flap rests on the earth. Some seed is sprinkled on the flap. Then the trapper squats behind a bush, holding the end of the string in his hand. The cheerful little _lals_ inside the cage soon begin to twitter and sing, and their calls attract the wild amadavats in the vicinity. These come to the cage, alight on the flap, and begin to eat the seed. The bird-catcher gives the string a sharp pull and thus traps his victims between the flap and the side of the cage. He then disentangles them, places them in the cage, and again sets the trap.

Almost all the birds that rear up their young in the spring have finished nesting duties for the year by August. Here and there a pair of belated rollers may be seen feeding their young. Before the beginning of the month nearly all the young crows and koels have emerged from the egg, and the great majority of them have left the nest. Young house-crows are distinguished from adults by the indistinctness of the grey on the neck. They continually open their great red mouths to clamour for food.

The wire-tailed swallows, swifts, pied crested-cuckoos, crow-pheasants, butcher-birds, cuckoo-shrikes, fantail flycatchers, babblers, white-necked storks, wren-warblers, weaver-birds, common and pied mynas, peafowl, and almost all the resident water-birds, waders and swimmers, except the terns and the plovers, are likely to have eggs or young. The nesting season of the swifts and butcher-birds is nearly over. In the case of the others it is at its height. The wire-tailed swallows and minivets are busy with their second broods. The nests of most of these birds have already been described.

The Indian peafowl (_Pavo cristatus_) usually lay their large white eggs on the ground in long grass or thick undergrowth. Sometimes they nestle on the grass-grown roofs of deserted buildings or in other elevated situations. Egrets, night-herons, cormorants, darters, paddy-birds, openbills, and spoonbills build stick nests in trees. These birds often breed in large colonies. In most cases the site chosen is a clump of trees in a village which is situated on the border of a tank. Sometimes all these species nest in company. Hume described a village in Mainpuri where scores of the above-mentioned birds, together with some whistling teal and comb-ducks, nested simultaneously. After a site has been selected by a colony the birds return year after year to the place for nesting purposes. The majority of the eggs are laid in July, the young appearing towards the end of that month or early in the present one.

The nest of the sarus crane (_Grus antigone_) is nearly always an islet some four feet in diameter, which either floats in shallow water or rises from the ground and projects about a foot above the level of the water. The nest is composed of dried rushes. It may be placed in a _jhil_, a paddy field, or a borrow pit by the railway line. A favourite place is the midst of paddy cultivation in some low-lying field where the water is too deep to admit of the growing of rice. Two very large white eggs, rarely three, are laid. This species makes no attempt to conceal its nest. In the course of a railway journey in August numbers of incubating saruses may be seen by any person who takes the trouble to look for them.

"Raoul" makes the extraordinary statement that incubating sarus cranes do not sit when incubating, but hatch the eggs by standing over them, one leg on each side of the nest! Needless to say there is no truth whatever in this statement. The legs of the sitting sarus crane are folded under it, as are those of incubating flamingos and other long-legged birds.

Throughout the month of August two of the most interesting birds in India are busy with their nests. They are the pheasant-tailed and the bronze-winged jacana. These birds live, move and have their being on the surface of lotus-covered tanks. Owing to the great length of their toes jacanas are able to run about with ease over the surface of the floating leaves of water-lilies and other aquatic plants, or over tangled masses of rushes and water-weeds.

In the monsoon many tanks are so completely covered with vegetation that almost the only water visible to a person standing on the bank consists of the numerous drops that have been thrown on to the flat surfaces of the leaves, where they glisten in the sun like pearls.

Two species of jacana occur in India: the bronze-winged (_Motopus indicus_) and the pheasant-tailed jacana or the water-pheasant (_Hydrophasianus chirurgus_). They are to be found on most tanks in the well-watered parts of the United Provinces. They occur in small flocks and are often put up by sportsmen when shooting duck. They emit weird mewing cries. The bronze-winged jacana is a black bird with bronze wings. It is about the size of a pigeon, but has much longer legs. The pheasant-tailed species is a black-and-white bird. In winter the tail is short, but in May both sexes grow long pheasant-like caudal feathers which give the bird its popular name. The bronze-winged jacana does not grow these long tail feathers.

The nests of jacanas are truly wonderful structures. They are just floating pads of rushes and leaves of aquatic plants. Sometimes practically the whole of the pad is under water, so that the eggs appear to be resting on the surface of the tank. The nest of the bronze-winged species is usually larger and more massive than that of the water-pheasant. The latter's nest is sometimes so small as hardly to be able to contain the eggs--a little, shallow, circular cup of rushes and water-weeds or floating lotus leaves or tufts of water-grass. The eggs of the two species show but little similarity. Both, however, are very beautiful and remarkable. The eggs of the bronze-winged jacana have a rich brownish-bronze background, on which black lines are scribbled in inextricable confusion, so that the egg looks as though Arabic texts had been scrawled over it. This species might well be called "the Arabic writing-master." The eggs of the water-pheasant are in shape like pegtops without the peg. They are of a dark rich green-bronze colour, and devoid of any markings.

The nest of the handsome, but noisy, purple coot (_Porphyrio poliocephalus_) is a platform of rushes and reeds which is sometimes placed on the ground in a rice field, but is more often floating, and is then tethered to a tree or some other object. From six to ten eggs are laid. These are very beautiful objects. The ground colour is delicate pink. This is spotted and blotched with crimson; beneath these spots there are clouds of pale purple which have the appearance of lying beneath the surface of the shell.

The white-breasted water-hen (_Gallinula phoenicura_) is a bird that must be familiar to all. One pair, at least, is to be found in every village which boasts of a tank and a bamboo clump, no matter how small these be. The water-hen is a black bird about the size of the average bazaar fowl, with a white face, throat and breast. It carries its short tail almost erect, and under this is a patch of brick-red feathers. During most seasons of the year it is a silent bird, but from mid-May until the end of the monsoon it is exceedingly noisy, and, were it in the habit of haunting our gardens and compounds, its cries would attract as much attention as do those of the koel and the brain-fever bird. As, however, water-hens are confined to tiny hamlets situated far away from cities, many people are not acquainted with their calls, which "Eha" describes as "roars, hiccups and cackles." The nest is built in a bamboo clump or other dense thicket. The eggs are stone-coloured, with spots of brown, red and purple. The young birds, when first hatched, are covered with black down, and look like little black ducklings. They can run, swim and dive as soon as they leave the egg. Little parties of them are to be seen at the edge of most village tanks in August.

The resident ducks are all busy with their nests. The majority of them lay their eggs in July, so that in August they are occupied with their young.

The cotton-teal (_Nettopus coromandelianus_) usually lays its eggs in a hole in a mango or other tree. The hollow is sometimes lined with feathers and twigs. It is not very high up as a rule, from six to twelve feet above the ground being the usual level. The tree selected for the nesting site is not necessarily close to water. Thirteen or fourteen eggs seem to be the usual clutch, but as many as twenty-two have been taken from one nest. Young teal, when they emerge from the egg, can swim and walk, but they are unable to fly. No European seems to have actually observed the process whereby they get from the nest to the ground or the water. It is generally believed that the parent birds carry them. Mr. Stuart Baker writes that a very intelligent native once told him that, early one morning, before it was light, he was fishing in a tank, when he saw a bird flutter heavily into the water from a tree in front of him and some twenty paces distant. The bird returned to the tree, and again, with much beating of the wings, fluttered down to the surface of the tank; this performance was repeated again and again at intervals of some minutes. At first the native could only make out that the cause of the commotion was a bird of some kind, but after a few minutes, he, remaining crouched among the reeds and bushes, saw distinctly that it was a cotton-teal, and that each time it flopped into the water and rose again it left a gosling behind it. The young ones were carried somehow in the feet, but the parent bird seemed to find the carriage of its offspring no easy matter; it flew with difficulty, and fell into the water with considerable force.

August is the month in which some fortunate observer will one year be able to confirm or refute this story.

The comb-duck or _nukta_ (_Sarcidiornis melanotus_), which looks more like a freak of some domesticated breed than one of nature's own creatures, makes, in July or August, a nest of grass and sticks in a hole in a tree or in the fork of a stout branch. Sometimes disused nests of other species are utilised. About a dozen eggs is the usual number of the clutch, but Anderson once found a nest containing no fewer than forty eggs.

The lesser whistling-teal (_Dendrocygna javanica_) usually builds its nest in a hollow in a tree. Sometimes it makes use of the deserted nursery of another species, and there are many cases on record of the nest being on the ground, a _bund_, or a piece of high ground in a _jhil_. Eight or ten eggs are laid.

The little grebe or dabchick (_Podiceps albipennis_) is another species that lays in July or August. This bird, which looks like a miniature greyish-brown duck without a tail, must be familiar to Anglo-Indians, since at least one pair are to be seen on almost every pond or tank in Northern India. Although permanent residents in this country, little grebes leave, in the "rains," those tanks that do not afford plenty of cover, and betake themselves to a _jhil_ where vegetation is luxuriant. The nest, like that of other species that build floating cradles, is a tangle of weeds and rushes. When the incubating bird leaves the nest she invariably covers the white eggs with wet weeds, and, as Hume remarks, it is almost impossible to catch the old bird on the nest or to take her so much by surprise as not to allow her time to cover up the eggs. As a matter of fact, these birds spend very little time upon the nest in the day-time. The sun's rays are powerful enough not only to supply the heat necessary for incubation but to bake the eggs. This _contretemps_, however, is avoided by placing wet weeds on the eggs and by the general moisture of the nest. No better idea of the heat of India during the monsoon can be furnished than that afforded by the case of some cattle-egrets' eggs taken by a friend of the writer's in August, 1913. He found a clutch of four eggs; not having leisure at the time to blow them, he placed them in a bowl on the drawing-room mantelshelf. On the evening of the following day he heard some squeaks, but, thinking that these sounds emanated from a musk-rat or one of the other numerous rent-free tenants of every Indian bungalow, paid little heed to them. When, however, the same sounds were heard some hours later and appeared to emanate from the mantelpiece, he went to the bowl, and, lo and behold, two young egrets had emerged! These were at once fed. They lived for three days and appeared to be in good health, when they suddenly gave up the ghost.

SEPTEMBER

And sweet it is by lonely meres
To sit, with heart and soul awake,
Where water-lilies lie afloat,
Each anchored like a fairy boat
Amid some fabled elfin lake:
To see the birds flit to and fro
Along the dark-green reedy edge.
MARY HOWITT.

September is a much-abused month. Many people assert that it is the most unpleasant and unhealthy season of the year.

Malarial and muggy though it is, September scarcely merits all the evil epithets that are applied to it. The truth is that, after the torrid days of the hot weather and the humid heat of the rainy season, the European is thoroughly weary of his tropical surroundings, his vitality is at a low ebb, he is languid and irritable, thus he complains bitterly of the climate of September, notwithstanding the fact that it is a distinct improvement on that of the two preceding months.

In the early part of the month the weather differs little from that of July and August. The days are somewhat shorter and the sun's rays somewhat less powerful, in consequence the average temperature is slightly lower. Normally the rains cease in the second half of the month. Then the sky resumes the fleckless blueness which characterises it during the greater part of the year. The blue of the sky is more pure and more intense in September than at other times, except during breaks in the monsoon, because the rain has washed from the atmosphere the myriads of specks of dust that are usually suspended in it.

The cessation of the rains is followed by a period of steamy heat. As the moisture of the air gradually diminishes the temperature rises. But each September day is shorter than the one before it, and, hour by hour, the rays of the sun part with some of their power. Towards the end of the month the nights are cooler than they have been for some time. At sunset the village smoke begins to hang low in a diaphanous cloud--a sure sign of the approaching cold weather. The night dews are heavy. In the morning the blades of grass and the webs of the spiders are bespangled with pearly dewdrops. Cool zephyrs greet the rising sun. At dawn there is, in the last days of the month, a touch of cold in the air.

The Indian countryside displays a greenness which is almost spring-like; not quite spring-like, because the fierce greens induced by the monsoon rains are not of the same hues as those of the young leaves of spring. The foliage is almost entirely free from dust. This fact adds to the vernal appearance of the landscape. The _jhils_ and tanks are filled with water, and, being overgrown with luxuriant vegetation, enhance the beauty of the scene. But, almost immediately after the cessation of the rains, the country begins to assume its usual look. Day by day the grass loses a little of its greenness. The earth dries up gradually, and its surface once more becomes dusty. The dust is carried to the foliage, on which it settles, subduing the natural greenery of the leaves. No sooner do the rains cease than the rivers begin to fall. By November most of them will be sandy wastes in which the insignificant stream is almost lost to view.

The mimosas flower in September. Their yellow spherical blossoms are rendered pale by contrast with the deep gold hue of the blooms of the _san_ (hemp) which now form a conspicuous feature of the landscape in many districts. The cork trees (_Millingtonia hortensis_) become bespangled with hanging clusters of white, long-tubed, star-like flowers that give out fragrant perfume at night.

The first-fruits of the autumn harvest are being gathered in. Acre upon acre of the early-sown rice falls before the sickle. The threshing-floors once again become the scene of animation. The fallow fields are being prepared for the spring crops and the sowing of the grain is beginning.

Throughout the month insect life is as rich and varied as it was in July and August.

The brain-fever bird and the koel call so seldom in September that their cries, when heard, cause surprise. The voice of the pied crested-cuckoo no longer falls upon the ear, nor does the song of the magpie-robin. The green barbets lift up their voices fairly frequently, but it is only on rare occasions that their cousins--the coppersmiths--hammer on their anvils. The pied mynas are far less vociferous than they were in July and August.

By the end of September the bird chorus has assumed its winter form, except that the grey-headed flycatchers have not joined it in numbers.

Apart from the sharp notes of the warblers, the cooing of the doves, the hooting of the crow-pheasants, the wailing of the kites, the cawing of the crows, the screaming of the green parrots, the chattering of the mynas and the seven sisters, the trumpeting of the sarus cranes and the clamouring of the lapwings, almost the only bird voices commonly heard are those of the fantail flycatcher, the amadavat, the wagtail, the oriole, the roller and the sunbird.

The cock sunbirds are singing brilliantly although they are still wearing their workaday garments, which are quaker brown save for one purple streak along the median line of the breast and abdomen.

Many birds are beginning to moult. They are casting off worn feathers and assuming the new ones that will keep them warm during the cool winter months. With most birds the new feathers grow as fast as the old ones fall out. In a few, however, the process of renewal does not keep pace with that of shedding; the result is that the moulting bird presents a mangy appearance. The mynas afford conspicuous examples of this; when moulting their necks often become almost nude, so that the birds bear some resemblance to miniature vultures.

Great changes in the avifauna take place in September.

The yellow-throated sparrows, the koels, the sunbirds, the bee-eaters, the red turtle-doves and the majority of the king-crows leave the Punjab. From the United Provinces there is a large exodus of brain-fever birds, koels, pied crested-cuckoos, paradise flycatchers and Indian orioles. These last are replaced by black-headed orioles in the United Provinces, but not in the Punjab.

On the other hand, the great autumnal immigration takes place throughout the month. Before September is half over the migratory wagtails begin to appear. Like most birds they travel by night when migrating. They arrive in silence, but on the morning of their coming the observer cannot fail to notice their cheerful little notes, which, like the hanging of the village smoke, are to be numbered among the signs of the approach of winter. The three species that visit India in the largest numbers are the white (_Motacilla alba_), the masked (_M. personata_) and the grey wagtail (_M. melanope_). In Bengal the first two are largely replaced by the white-faced wagtail (_M. leucopsis_). The names "white" and "grey" are not very happy ones. The white species is a grey bird with a white face and some black on the head and breast; the masked wagtail is very difficult to distinguish from the white species, differing in having less white and more black on the head and face, the white constituting the "mask"; the grey wagtail has the upper plumage greenish-grey and the lower parts sulphur-yellow. The three species arrive almost simultaneously, but the experience of the writer is that the grey bird usually comes a day or two before his cousins.

On one of the last ten days of September the first batch of Indian redstarts (_Ruticilla frontalis_) reaches India. Within twenty days of the coming of these welcome little birds it is possible to dispense with punkas.

Like the redstarts the rose-finches and minivets begin to pour into India towards the end of September. The snipe arrive daily throughout the month.

With the first full moon of September come the grey quail (_Coturnix communis_). These, like the rain-quail, afford good sport with the gun if attracted by call birds set down overnight. When the stream of immigrating quail has ceased to flow, these birds spread themselves over the well-cropped country. It then becomes difficult to obtain a good bag of quail until the time of the spring harvest, when they collect in the crops that are still standing.

Thousands of blue-winged teal invade India in September, but most of the other species of non-resident duck do not arrive until October or even November.

Not the least important of the September arrivals are the migratory birds of prey. None of the owls seem to migrate. Nor do the vultures, but a large proportion of the diurnal raptores leaves the plains of India in the spring.

To every migratory species of raptorial bird, that captures living quarry, there is a non-migratory counterpart or near relative. It would almost seem as if each species were broken up into two clans--a migratory and a stationary one. Thus, of each of the following pairs of birds the first-named is migratory and the other non-migratory: the steppe-eagle and the tawny eagle, the large Indian and the common kite, the long-legged and the white-eyed buzzard, the sparrow-hawk and the shikra, the peregrine and the lugger falcon, the common and the red-headed merlin, the kestrel and the black-winged kite.

It is tempting to formulate the theory that the raptores are migratory or the reverse according or not as they prey on birds of passage, and that the former migrate merely in order to follow their quarry. Certain facts seem to bear out this theory. The peregrine falcon, which feeds largely on ducks, is migratory, while the lugger falcon--a bird not particularly addicted to waterfowl--remains in India throughout the year.

The necessity of following their favourite quarry may account for the migratory habits of some birds of prey, but it does not apply to all. Thus, the osprey, which feeds almost exclusively on fish, is merely a winter visitor to India. Again, there is the kestrel. This preys on non-migratory rats and mice, nevertheless it leaves the plains in the hot weather and goes to the Himalayas to breed. All the species of birds of prey cited above as migratory begin to arrive in the plains of India in September. The merlins come only into the Punjab, but most of the other raptores spread over the whole of India.

The various species of harrier make their appearance in September. These are birds that cannot fail to attract attention. They usually fly slowly a few feet above the surface of the earth so that they can drop suddenly on their quarry. They squat on the ground when resting, but their wings are long and their bodies light, so that they do not need much rest. Those who shoot duck have occasion often to say hard things of the marsh-harrier and the peregrine falcon, because these birds are apt to come as unbidden guests to the shoot and carry off wounded duck and teal before the _shikari_ has time to retrieve them.

Of the migratory birds of prey the kestrel is perhaps the first to arrive; the osprey and the peregrine falcon are among the last.

Very few observations of the comings and the goings of the various raptorial birds have been recorded; in the present state of our knowledge it is not possible to compile an accurate table showing the usual order in which the various species appear. This is a subject to which those persons who dwell permanently in one place might with advantage direct their attention.

As regards nesting operations September is not a month of activity.

On the 15th the close season for game birds ends in the Government forests; and by that date the great majority of them have reared up their broods. Grey partridge's eggs, it is true, have been taken in September; but as we have seen, grey partridges, like doves and kites, can scarcely be said to have a breeding season; they lay eggs whenever it seemeth good to them.

A few belated peafowl may still be found with eggs, but these are exceptions. Most of the hens are strutting about proudly, accompanied by their chicks, while the cocks are shedding their trains. Other species of which the eggs may be found in the present month are the white-throated munia, the common and the large grey babblers, and, of course, the various species of dove.

Before the last day of August all the young mynas have emerged from the egg, and throughout the first half of September numbers of them are to be seen following their parents and clamouring for food. Most of the koels have departed, but some individuals belonging to the rising generation remind us that they are still with us by emitting sounds which are very fair imitations of the "sqwaking" of young crows.

Baby koels are as importunate as professional beggars and solicit food of every crow that passes by, to the great disgust of all but their foster-parents.

The majority of the seven sisters have done with nursery duties for a season. Some flocks, however, are still accompanied by impedimenta in the shape of young babblers or pied crested-cuckoos. The impedimenta make far more noise than the adult birds. They are always hungry, or at any rate always demanding food in squeaky tones. With each squeak the wings are flapped violently, as if to emphasise the demand. Every member of a flock appears to help to feed the young birds irrespective of whose nests these have been reared in.

Throughout September bayas are to be seen at their nests, but, before the month draws to its close, nearly all the broods have come out into the great world. The nests will remain until next monsoon, or even longer, as monuments of sound workmanship.

In September numbers of curious brown birds, heavily barred with black, make their appearance. These are crow-pheasants that have emerged from nests hidden away in dense thickets. In a few weeks these birds will lose their barred feathers and assume the black plumage and red wings of the adult. By the end of August most of the night-herons and those of the various species of egrets that have not been killed by the plume-hunters are able to congratulate themselves on having successfully reared up their broods. In September they lose their nuptial plumes.

OCTOBER

Ye strangers, banished from your native glades,
Where tyrant frost with famine leag'd proclaims
"Who lingers dies"; with many a risk ye win
The privilege to breathe our softer air
And glean our sylvan berries.
GISBORNE'S _Walks in a Forest_.

October in India differs from the English month in almost every respect. The one point of resemblance is that both are periods of falling temperature.

In England autumn is the season for the departure of the migratory birds; in India it is the time of their arrival.

The chief feature of the English October--the falling of the leaves--is altogether wanting in the Indian autumn.

Spring is the season in which the pulse of life beats most vigorously both in Europe and in Asia; it is therefore at that time of year that the trees renew their garments.

In England leaves are short-lived. After an existence of about six months they "curl up, become brown, and flutter from their sprays." In India they enjoy longer lives, and retain their greenness for the greater part of a year. A few Indian trees, as, for example, the shesham, lose their foliage in autumn; the silk-cotton and the coral trees part with their leaves gradually during the early months of the winter, but these are the exceptions; nearly all the trees retain their old leaves until the new ones appear in spring, so that, in this country, March, April and May are the months in which the dead leaves lie thick upon the ground.

In many ways the autumn season in Northern India resembles the English spring. The Indian October may be likened to April in England. Both are months of hope, heralds of the most pleasant period of the year. In both the countryside is fresh and green. In both millions of avian visitors arrive.

Like the English April, October in Northern India is welcome chiefly for that to which it leads. But it has merits of its own. Is not each of its days cooler than the preceding one? Does it not produce the joyous morn on which human beings awake to find that the hot weather is a thing of the past?

Throughout October the sun's rays are hot, but, for an hour or two after dawn, especially in the latter half of the month, the climate leaves little to be desired. An outing in the early morning is a thing of joy, if it be taken while yet the air retains the freshness imparted to it by the night, and before the grass has yielded up the sparkling jewels acquired during the hours of darkness. It is good to ride forth on an October morn with the object of renewing acquaintance with nimble wagtails, sprightly redstarts, stately demoiselle cranes and other newly-returned migrants. In addition to meeting many winter visitors, the rider may, if he be fortunate, come upon a colony of sand-martins that has begun nesting operations.

The husbandman enjoys very little leisure at this season of the year. From dawn till sunset he ploughs, or sows, or reaps, or threshes, or winnows.

The early-sown rice yields the first-fruits of the _kharif_ harvest. By the end of the month it has disappeared before the sickle and many of the fields occupied by it have been sown with gram. The hemp (_san_) is the next crop to mature. In some parts of Northern India its vivid yellow flowers are the most conspicuous feature of the autumn landscape. They are as brilliantly coloured as broom. The _san_ plant is not allowed to display its gilded blooms for long, it is cut down in the prime of life and cast into a village pond, there to soak. The harvesting of the various millets, the picking of the cotton, and the sowing of the wheat, barley, gram and poppy begin before the close of the month. The sugar-cane, the _arhar_ and the late-sown rice are not yet ready for the sickle. Those crops will be cut in November and December.

As in September so in October the birds are less vociferous than they were in the spring and the hot weather. During the earlier part of the month the notes of the koel and the brain-fever bird are heard on rare occasions; before October has given place to November, these noisy birds cease to trouble. The pied starlings have become comparatively subdued, their joyful melody is no longer a notable feature of the avian chorus. In the first half of the month the green barbets utter their familiar cries at frequent intervals; as the weather grows colder they call less often, but at no season of the year do they cease altogether to raise their voices. The _tonk_, _tonk_, _tonk_ of the coppersmith is rarely heard in October; during the greater part of the cold weather this barbet is a silent creature, reminding us of its presence now and then by calling out _wow_ softly, as if half ashamed at the sound of its voice. The oriole now utters its winter note _tew_, and that sound is heard only occasionally.

It is unnecessary to state that the perennials--the crows, kites, doves, bee-eaters, tree-pies, tailor-birds, cuckoo-shrikes, green parrots, jungle and spotted owlets--are noisy throughout the month.

The king-crows no longer utter the soft notes which they seem to keep for the rainy season; but, before settling down to the sober delights of the winter, some individuals become almost as lively and vociferous as they were in the nesting season. Likewise some pairs of "blue jays" behave, in September and October, as though they were about to recommence courtship; they perform strange evolutions in the air and emit harsh cries, but these lead to nothing; after a few days of noisy behaviour the birds resume their more normal habits.

The hoopoes have been silent for some time, but in October a few of them take up their refrain--_uk-uk-uk-uk_, and utter it with almost as much vigour as they did in March.

It would thus seem that the change of season, the approach of winter, has a stimulating influence on king-crows, rollers and hoopoes, causing the energy latent within them suddenly to become active and to manifest itself in the form of song or dance.

In October the pied chat and the wood-shrike frequently make sweet melody. Throughout the month the cock sunbirds sing as lustily and almost as brilliantly as canaries; many of them are beginning to reassume the iridescent purple plumage which they doffed some time ago. From every mango tope emanates the cheerful lay of the fantail flycatcher and the lively "Think of me ... Never to be" of the grey-headed flycatcher. Amadavats sing sweet little songs without words as they flit about among the tall grasses.

In the early morning and at eventide, the crow-pheasants give vent to their owl-like hoot, preceded by a curious guttural _kok-kok-kok_. The young ones, that left the nest some weeks ago, are rapidly losing their barred plumage and are assuming the appearance of the adult. By the middle of November very few immature crow-pheasants are seen.

Migration and moulting are the chief events in the feathered world at the present season. The flood of autumn immigration, which arose as a tiny stream in August, and increased in volume nightly throughout September, becomes, in October, a mighty river on the bosom of which millions of birds are borne.

Day by day the avian population of the _jhils_ increases. At the beginning of the month the garganey teal are almost the only migratory ducks to be seen on them. By the first of November brahminy duck, gadwall, common teal, widgeon, shovellers and the various species of pochard abound. With the duck come demoiselle cranes, curlews, storks, and sandpipers of various species. The geese and the pintail ducks, however, do not return to India until November. These are the last of the regular winter visitors to come and the first to go.

The various kinds of birds of prey which began to appear in September continue to arrive throughout the present month.

Grey-headed and red-breasted flycatchers, minivets, bush-chats, rose-finches and swallows pour into the plains from the Himalayas, while from beyond those mountains come redstarts, wagtails, starlings, buntings, blue-throats, quail and snipe. Along with the other migrants come numbers of rooks and jackdaws. These do not venture far into India; they confine themselves to the North-West Frontier Province and the Punjab, where they remain during the greater part of the winter. The exodus, from the above-mentioned Provinces, of the bee-eaters, sunbirds, yellow-throated sparrows, orioles, red turtle-doves and paradise flycatchers is complete by the end of October. The above are by no means the only birds that undergo local migration. The great majority of species probably move about in a methodical manner in the course of the year; a great deal of local migration is overlooked, because the birds that move away from a locality are replaced by others of their kind that come from other places.

During a spell of exceptionally cold weather a great many Himalayan birds are driven by the snow into the plains of India, where they remain for a few days or weeks. Some of these migrants are noticed in the calendar for December.

In October the annual moult of the birds is completed, so that, clothed in their warm new feathers, they are ready for winter some time before it comes. In the case of the redstart, the bush-chat, most of the wagtails, and some other species, the moult completely changes the colouring of the bird. The reason of this is that the edges of the new feathers are not of the same colour as the inner parts. Only the margins show, because the feathers of a bird overlap like slates on a roof, or the scales of a fish. After a time the edges of the new feathers become worn away, and then the differently-hued deeper parts begin to show, so that the bird gradually resumes the appearance it had before the moult. When the redstarts reach India in September most of the cocks are grey birds, because of the grey margins to their feathers; by the middle of April, when they begin to depart, many of them are black, the grey margins of the feathers having completely disappeared; other individuals are still grey because the margins of the feathers are broader or have not worn so much.

October is the month in which the falconer sallies forth to secure the hawks which will be employed in "the sport of kings" during the cold weather. There are several methods of catching birds of prey, as indeed there are of capturing almost every bird and beast. The amount of poaching that goes on in this country is appalling, and, unless determined efforts are made to check it, there is every prospect of the splendid fauna of India being ruined. The sportsman is bound by all manner of restrictions, but the poacher is allowed to work his wicked will on the birds and beasts of the country, almost without let or hindrance.

The apparatus usually employed for the capture of the peregrine, the shahin and other falcons is a well-limed piece of cane, about the length of the expanse of a falcon's wings. To the middle of this a dove, of which the eyelids have been sewn up, is tied. When a wild falcon appears on the scene the bird-catcher throws into the air the cane with the luckless dove attached to it. The dove flies about aimlessly, being unable to see, and is promptly pounced upon by the falcon, whose wings strike the limed cane and become stuck to it; then falcon and dove fall together to the ground, where they are secured by the bird-catcher.

Another method largely resorted to is to tether a myna, or other small bird, to a peg driven into the ground, and to stretch before this a net, about three feet broad and six long, kept upright by means of two sticks inserted in the ground. Sooner or later a bird of prey will catch sight of the tethered bird, stoop to it, and become entangled in the net.

A third device is to catch a buzzard and tie together some of the flight feathers of the wing, so that it can fly only with difficulty and cannot go far before it falls exhausted to the ground. To the feet of the bird of which the powers of flight have been thus curtailed a bundle of feathers is tied. Among the feathers several horsehair nooses are set. When a bird of prey, of the kind on which the falconer has designs, is seen the buzzard is thrown into the air. It flaps along heavily, and is immediately observed by the falcon, which thinks that the buzzard is carrying some heavy quarry in its talons. Now, the buzzard is a weakling among the raptores and all the other birds of prey despise it. Accordingly, the falcon, unmindful of the proverb which says that honesty is the best policy, swoops down on the buzzard with intent to commit larceny, and becomes entangled in the nooses. Then both buzzard and falcon fall to the ground, struggling violently. All that the bird-catcher has to do now is to walk up and secure his prize.

October marks the beginning of a lull in the nesting activities of birds, a lull that lasts until February. As we have seen, the nesting season of the birds that breed in the rains ends in September, nevertheless a few belated crow-pheasants, sarus cranes and weaver-birds are often to be found in October still busy with nestlings, or even with eggs; the latter usually prove to be addled, and this explains the late sitting of the parent. October, however, is the month in which the nesting season of the black-necked storks (_Xenorhynchus asiaticus_) begins, if the monsoon has been a normal one and the rains have continued until after the middle of September. This bird begins to nest shortly after the monsoon rains have ceased. Hard-set eggs have been taken in the beginning of September and as late as 27th December. Most eggs are laid during the month of October. The nest is a large saucer-shaped platform of twigs and sticks. Hume once found one "fully six feet long and three broad." The nest is usually lined with grass or some soft material and is built high up in a tree. The normal number of eggs is four, these are of a dirty white hue.

NOVEMBER

It is the very carnival of nature,
The loveliest season that the year can show!

* * * * *

The gently sighing breezes, as they blow,
Have more than vernal softness....
BERNARD BARTON.

The climate of Northern India is one of extremes. Six months ago European residents were seeking in vain suitable epithets of disapprobation to apply to the weather; to-day they are trying to discover appropriate words to describe the charm of November. It is indeed strange that no poet has yet sung the praises of the perfect climate of the present month.

The cold weather of Northern India is not like any of the English seasons. Expressed in terms of the British climate it is a dry summer, warmest at the beginning and the end, in which the birds have forgotten to nest.

The delights of the Indian winter are enhanced for the Englishman by the knowledge that, while he lives beneath a cloudless sky and enjoys genial sunshine, his fellow-men in England dwell under leaden clouds and endure days of fog, and mist, and rain, and sleet, and snow. In England the fields are bare and the trees devoid of leaves; in India the countryside wears a summer aspect.

The sowings of the spring cereals are complete by the fifteenth of November; those of the tobacco, poppy and potato continue throughout the month. By the beginning of December most of the fields are covered by an emerald carpet.

The picking of the cotton begins in the latter part of October, with the result that November is a month of hard toil for the ponies that have to carry the heavy loads of cotton from the fields into the larger towns. By the middle of the month all the _san_ has been cut and the water-nuts have been gathered in. Then the pressing of the sugar-cane begins in earnest. The little presses that for eight months have been idle are once again brought into use, and, from mid-November until the end of January, the patient village oxen work them, tramping in circles almost without interruption throughout the short hours of daylight.

The custard-apples are ripening; the cork trees are white with pendent jasmine-like flowers, and the loquat trees--the happy hunting ground of flocks of blithe little white-eyes--put forth their inconspicuous but strongly scented blossoms. Gay chrysanthemums are the most conspicuous feature of the garden. The shesham and the silk-cotton trees are fast losing their leaves, but all the other trees are covered with foliage.

The birds revel, like man, in the perfect conditions afforded by the Indian winter; indeed, the fowls of the air are affected by climate to a greater extent than man is.

Those that winter in England suffer considerable hardship and privation, while those that spend the cold weather in India enjoy life to the uttermost.

Consider the birds, how they fare on a winter's day in England when there is a foot of snow lying on the ground and the keen east wind whistles through the branches of the trees. In the lee of brick walls, hayricks and thick hedges groups of disconsolate birds stand, seeking some shelter from the piercing wind. The hawthorn berries have all been eaten. Insect food there is none; it is only in the summer time that the comfortable hum of insects is heard in England. Thus the ordinary food supply of the fowls of the air is greatly restricted, and scores of field-fares and other birds die of starvation. The snow-covered lawn in front of every house, of which the inmates are in the habit of feeding the birds, is the resort of many feathered things. Along with the robins and sparrows--habitual recipients of the alms of man--are blackbirds, thrushes, tits, starlings, chaffinches, rooks, jackdaws and others, which in fair weather avoid, or scorn to notice, man. These have become tamed by the cold, and, they stand on the snow, cold, forlorn and half-starved--a miserable company of supplicants for food. Throughout the short cold winter days scarcely a bird note is heard; the fowls of the air are in no mood for song.

Contrast the behaviour of the birds on a winter's day in India. In every garden scores of them lead a joyful existence. Little flocks of minivets display their painted wings as they flit hither and thither, hunting insects on the leaves of trees. Amid the foliage warblers, wood-shrikes, bulbuls, tree-pies, orioles and white-eyes busily seek for food. Pied and golden-backed woodpeckers, companies of nuthatches, and, here and there, a wryneck move about on the trunks and branches, looking into every cranny for insects. King-crows, bee-eaters, fantail and grey-headed flycatchers seek their quarry on the wing, making frequent sallies into the open from their leafy bowers. Butcher-birds, rollers and white-breasted kingfishers secure their victims on the ground, dropping on to them silently from their watchtowers. Magpie-robins, Indian robins, redstarts and tailor-birds likewise capture their prey on the ground, but, instead of waiting patiently for it to come to them, they hop about fussily in quest of it. Bright sunbirds flit from bloom to bloom, now hovering in the air on rapidly-vibrating wings, now dipping their slender curved bills into the calyces.

On the lawn wagtails run nimbly in search of tiny insects, hoopoes probe the earth for grubs, mynas strut about, in company with king-crows and starlings, seeking for grasshoppers.

Overhead, swifts and swallows dash joyously to and fro, feasting on the minute flying things that are found in the air even on the coolest days. Above them, kites wheel and utter plaintive cries. Higher still, vultures soar in grim silence. Flocks of emerald paroquets fly past--as swift as arrows shot from bows--seeking grain or fruit.

In the shady parts of the garden crow-pheasants look for snakes and other crawling things, seven sisters rummage among the fallen leaves for insects, and rose-finches pick from off the ground the tiny seeds on which they feed.

The fields and open plains swarm with larks, pipits, finch-larks, lapwings, plovers, quail, buntings, mynas, crows, harriers, buzzards, kestrels, and a score of other birds.

But it is at the _jhils_ that bird life seems most abundant. On some tanks as many as sixty different kinds of winged things may be counted. There are the birds that swim in the deep water--the ducks, teal, dabchicks, cormorants and snake-birds; the birds that run about on the floating leaves of water-lilies and other aquatic plants--the jacanas, water-pheasants and wagtails; the birds that wade in the shallow water and feed on frogs or creatures that lurk hidden in the mud--the herons, paddy-birds, storks, cranes, pelicans, whimbrels, curlews, ibises and spoonbills; the birds that live among sedges and reeds--the snipe, reed-warblers, purple coots and water-rails. Then there are the birds that fly overhead--the great kite-like ospreys that frequently check their flight to drop into the water with a big splash, in order to secure a fish; the kingfishers that dive so neatly as barely to disturb the smooth surface of the lake when they enter and leave it; the graceful terns that pick their food off the face of the _jhil_; the swifts and swallows that feed on the insects which always hover over still water.

Go where we will, be it to the sun-steeped garden, the shady mango grove, the dusty road, the grassy plain, the fallow field, or among the growing crops, there do we find bird life in abundance and food in plenty to support it.