A bird’s sharp whistle Wafts over ... Tranquility ! - Self THIS sound -- of a bird’s sharp whistle - remains forever embedded in everybody’s memory. The whistle of a bird in the distance pierces the stillness of the morning or the afternoon. ... Then everything is quiet again. Tranquil ! The very recall of any such moment is truly endearing -- and enduring in deep corners of memory bank. It is always so live, so much in the present -- and so, so much eternal. The whistle wafts over the intangible breeze and trails into a slowly-dying whisper. Then everything is tranquil -- and fragrant -- and vibrant in the paradoxical stillness.

 

Yes, the whistle brings along some fragrance one cannot name - and also vibrance of a rare kind. The tran quility thereafter -- for whatever stretch of time -- has a soundless music of its own -- as if the notes of that music are only for the Divine to absorb. Whether you are in a dense forest or near a placid lake or at the foot of a hill rolling into waters of several ponds around or on a sprawling heath all wrapped in inexplicable stillness, the sharp whistle of a bird in the distance wakes you out of your happy lull.

 

And as you perk up and take a deep breath and an inaudible chuckle escapes your lips, you realise that all along until then, you were basking in tranquility that had a spiritual presence. Universally, humans have enjoyed this wonderful romance of the bird’s whistle and tranquility. Each time a bird’s whistle rises in the still air and wafts around, the humans have never missed having sensed the spark of the moment. And they do not mind a little stirring of the stillness. For, that little ripple on the tranquil canvas of Nature is so friendly, so inviting -- and always welcome.

 

Of course, Nature has often shaped human mood. A bird’s sharp -- and almost musical -- whistle in a tranquil morning or afternoon is also one of those moments that lift human mood (possibly evoking the poet even in the most prosaic mind). One recalls Egdon Heath in Thomas Hardy’s wonderful novel ‘The Return of the Native’. It is a brooding, imaginary space that reminds the reader of the indifference Nature and Fate often evoke in human thought. What strikes the reader is Egdon Heath’s mysteriousness that assumes a special character in the story. As one gets perked up by a bird’s sharp whistle in a tranquil noon, one’s mind darts back to Egdon Heath -- most paradoxically - and recalls the strangeness of shapes and sounds of the occult landscape in Hardy’s ideation.

 

On occasions, one gets tempted to respond to the bird’s sharp whistle. And some birds whistle back. So goes the game - back and forth -- especially the bird in the distance -- never visible -- is a cuckoo. Of course, in a few short moments, one realises the cruelty that game entails, so to say, disturbing the moment’s tranquility. No matter all that, the bird’s sharp whistle that dies in a few seconds has an eternal presence --as a signature of tranquility.