The Illusory Game Birds of Usmanpur Swamps

Ziauddin Choudhury

Hunting for game birds such as ducks, wild fowls, and egrets was a passion of my
maternal ancestors. We heard tales of the legendary hunting expeditions of our maternal
great grand father from our Nani (grand mother) and aunts. He would actually go out for
several days on such expeditions and return with sacks of game birds that would be
cooked in a variety of ways. After his demise, his hobby passed on to his son-in law, our
Nana who was an equally passionate hunter.

I never saw our great grand father; he had passed away much before my birth. But I had
seen my Nana. Like his father-in law Nana was also in the habit of spending days away
from home pursuing ducks and wild fowls in the forests and swamps in the
neighborhood. He had two shot guns—a single barrel Winchester, and a double barrel
Remington. Nana took great care of the guns, and he had a full time attendant for
maintaining the guns. The attendant, Muslim, was a youngish guy who also acted as
Nana’s companion to hunting. Himself a good shooter, Muslim would carry the guns and
the bag of cartridges on his shoulder, and of course carry back the sack full of game birds
that were hunted down.

One of the big attractions of our annual winter visit to Usmanpur in my childhood was to
feast on the game birds that Nana would bring home. Muslim would unload the bags on
the courtyard, and we would behold with thrill the array of herons, red jungle fowl, teals,
and an occasional goose. Nani, the expert chef, would make delicious roasts and other
preparations from the game birds, and we would heartily enjoy these for the next few
days.

I had always wanted to go with Nana on a hunting expedition. Nana would assure me
that he would do so when I was older; I was only five or six then. Unfortunately that day
would never arrive, since Nana gave up hunting rather abruptly. I would learn about it
from my Nani several years later, after Nana’s death. The story below is what she had
heard from Nana.

Nana’s game hunting season usually lasted all of winter since in this period the swamps
and the just harvested paddy fields would be the feeding grounds of migratory ducks,
wild fowls and herons. Normally Nana would camp out at night in places frequented by
his preys, and hunt them at dawn as they descended. The life changing event for Nana
happened in one such campout a year after our last visit to Usmanpur.

That winter season Muslim brought news of a large gathering of fowls and egrets in a
swamp some five or six miles away from Usmanpur. The swamp was not far from an
ancient mosque, which also had a burial ground in the adjoining field. The burial ground
had graves dating from hundreds of years, and was actually not functional any more since
the space was used up many years ago. A large swamp separated the mosque and the
graveyard from the rest of the village. Muslim said he had seen several flocks of
migratory birds and white herons feeding in the swamp at dawn the previous day. That
evening Nana and Muslim left for their outing in that remote village.

Nana and Muslim set their hideout in a bush near the swamp adjoining the mosque and
the graveyard. From that vantage point they would observe the movement of the game
birds, and it would give them enough time to sneak out and shoot. On principle, Nana
did not shoot at night, and in any case the birds did not start assembling in a good number
before dawn. Nana and Muslim lay covered in the blankets that Muslim always carried
with him as part and parcel of the hunting expeditions.

Nana had dozed off to sleep as Muslim kept watch. He woke up suddenly at a nudge
from Muslim, who pointed out at the field adjoining the swamp. The night sky was just
giving way to the first grey lights of dawn. A bewildered Nana saw that the field was
covered end to end by thousands of heron like birds. The white plumes of the birds had
brightened the field to the point of making him blind. As Nana was taking some time to
recover from this awesome spectacle, Muslim took out the single barrel gun excitedly and
aimed at the flock. Before Nana could stop him, an impetuous Muslim fired the gun.
Almost instantaneously, the flock of a thousand heron vanished. When Nana turned
toward Muslim to rebuke him, he found him lying by his side shaking convulsively, and
foaming at the mouth with eyes that appeared to be coming out of their sockets.

Nana looked at the swamp and the field beyond only to find it totally bereft of bird of any
kind. Not even a common egret stirred in the swamp. He shook Muslim several times to
make him come around; but he kept groaning and shaking. Nana realized that something
terrible had happened, and they had better get out of the place as quickly as possible. All
he knew that the game birds that they had seen were not birds after all. They were
something else.

Fortunately for Nana and Muslim, some people from the village were gathering before
the mosque for the Fajr prayer. They knew Nana and about his hunting hobby. When
they saw Nana, they approached him. Nana explained to them that Muslim had just
fallen sick, and he needed to be taken home. With their help Nana reached home, and
collapsed.

It did not take long for Nana to divine the mystery of the swamp and the illusory game
birds. His enquiries revealed that people in the village were familiar with a gathering of
the white feathered creatures. Folklore had it that these were djinns who gathered in that
ancient graveyard once every month, every fourth Friday at dawn for prayers. People of
the village never went near them as some who had done so had met with the same fate as
Muslim. People from other areas had mistaken them as a flock of herons (as Muslim
did).

Nana gave up hunting from that fateful morning. He felt grateful to God that he did not
fire upon those spirits. He also did not want any repetition of this awesome incident.
Muslim recovered from his shock after a week. He turned into a devout person after that.