The air was cut with birdcalls.
From an old banyan tree, two Spotted owls screeched. Their calls—like shards of broken glass—gave the air a sort of texture that I knew I would never forget. The banyan tree was wide, monumental, its roots becoming pillars that would stand for decades more. Behind it was a forest rest house—over a hundred years old. I wondered if both the tree and the building were the same age.
Up ahead, there was a dry tree. I waited. I knew things happened on live trees, but I also knew things happen near dead ones. The tree had a large shaft of branches, now bleached by the sun. It seemed like it had one day decided to pass on, gently and with contentment. And yet to call it ‘dead’ would be reductive. A little bird whirled into the branches, too quick to identify. Bracket mushroom—white as eyes—sprang from the moist portions of the tree. And then a clanging, resounding call, and a pied hornbill whooshed into the branches. Hornbills are usually sighted in pairs. This was black and white, with a yellow beak, daubed with black. If there was one, surely they’d be another. Just as the thought crossed my mind, the second hornbill arrived. Both sat framed against the dry tree.
The fact that the tree had no figs or no leaves did not bother the birds.
Dry trees, and dead trees, are important parts of an ecosystem. Birds that scan the area—conducting surveillance for prey—often like perching on dry or dead trees. Dead trees will host a raptor or bird of prey or owl. And a dead tree may also have a nest in its bole—providing housing even when written off by us. Horticulturalists will often cut dead trees and remove dead leaves, viewing them as waste. Nature is more inclusive, finding uses, and life, amongst detritus.
If dead trees do not pose a risk—if they are in places where their (eventual) falling will not damage property, they should be left as they are. Hornbills and owls will use dead trees to nest. It follows then that if we want a world with hornbills and owls, we should let trees grow to their preferred size, and then we should let them stand after they die.
I returned from the forest to the city. The air was soft and syrupy. Near my workplace, Jungle babblers—those talkative, gregarious birds—were calling out with indignation. The focus of their ire was a Barn owl, sitting calmly, albeit sleepily, in the fork of a mango tree. A Red-whiskered bulbul and Tailorbird joined the mobbing party. Smaller birds, despite their diminutive size, will often charge at birds of prey. Their calls give away the location of a kite, an owl or a buzzard. On that morning, the only refuge the owl had was the security of the tree.
I wondered if the tree would be allowed to stand if it died; I wonder where the owl would shelter if we decided one day that we were better off without browned trees.
As I write this, the owl is gone. Hopefully it has flown to another refuge. Hopefully we can think of an owl, and its housing needs, when we plan our horticulture. Hopefully, we do not feel we know it all; that clues for valuing the world we live in can come creatures beyond us..
Views expressed are personal
