The blessed chakor and its protective spell

Till the time the family lived in Quetta, Balochistan, my mother did not recall having been without their favourite bird ever, a chakor. Having just resurrected their lives post the cataclysmic 1935 earthquake, this family of five loved their pet red-legged partridge and their buffalo resolutely.

The two children, my mother and her younger brother, would rush to the chakor upon their return from school and watch it peck at its food, willing it to call out loud. But the chakor would stay stubbornly silent till nightfall. The children would excitedly peer out then to see if the moon was visible; a moonlit night meant the chakor would cry out soon. Everyone knew, the chakor loved the moon!

And true enough; the children listened enraptured as the chakor would begin to call out, its neck turned upwards towards the skies entreatingly. The cries which would begin as a raspy churr, churr soon formed a chant which sounded like Satgur…Satgur… to the beguiled ears of the children, who would doze off, lulled to sleep reassuringly by this protective refrain. Satgur was how Bebeji, their grandmother, referred to Guru Nanak.

As her father would tell them, the chakor was a blessed bird. It kept their house and its inhabitants safe and healthy. It was the perfect antidote to the evil eye. Why, the entire neighbourhood would request to borrow the bird in turn for a couple of days each, to ward off the evil eye from their households. But their loyal chakor, it would stop eating the minute it was transported outside their home and the borrowers would be forced to return it within a few hours, fearing the worst! The children would chuckle proudly each time this happened. They would gather around the cage and fuss over the bird letting it know of their approval.

One winter night, the chakor barely survived when left out in the cold. The children looked daggers at their family servant, Naini, for days. They would sit down for dinner only after Naini would come and report the bird was inside safely.

Overnight, rioting began and the children learnt of the takseem (division). They had to now leave for a new home and a new life, a life which would not allow for either their chakor or their buffalo. As the family hurriedly packed, with an army jeep waiting outside their gate to take them safely to the railway station, the children looked teary-eyed at their chakor. It looked back as stoically as ever.

As the jeep left their gate, both wiped their eyes to see better in the dark and anxiously peered inside, at the cage they had left open. The chakor sat there as usual, its face turned upwards. For long after, they heard a raspy refrain in their heads, crying out to the heavens for protection. For long after, they mourned the loss of its protective spell.

THE CHILDREN WOULD EXCITEDLY PEER OUT THEN TO SEE IF THE MOON WAS VISIBLE; A MOONLIT NIGHT MEANT THE CHAKOR WOULD CRY OUT SOON