Bird, Oh Bird! -- Chapter II

The young bird looked around in the eyes of those looking him in the eye and hesitated. The thin line between heroism and stupidity now looked clearer. Sometimes it was better not to try one's limits after one has reached the point of no return. God's will versus man's will. God has given certain freedom in making alterations in one's destiny, even though it was impossible to make drastic changes. The young fledgeling was not sure if he was attempting to transcend his destiny, which might result in his eventual demise.

Now he had built up enough courage. "I am staying," he declared.

The birds were silent and looked shaken a liittle. Certainly, some of them now couldn't help thinking that if one were so resolute against all odds, there might be an amount of rightfulness in one's claims.

The old bird noticed this air of uncertainty, steped forward and spoke in a strong, high tone: "I read too much on the eschatalogical events destined to happen and one of them was said to be the desecration of the old traditions and heterodoxy. We will not be belligerent, though. We will wish our youngster the best of good luck and set off now -- right now."

A buzzing sound rose among the birds. In an instant, they fell into the esctasy of the prospects of the green grass and fresh fruits.

"Right now. Right now."

"We are late already."

"We shouln't let this inexperienced boy take any more of our precious time."

"Right now! You heard what old saga has just decreed."

They left and the young bird looked for some time at the cloud of dust they left behind, which was like the mirage of their physcial existence. Then he looked up at the evanescing darkness in the blue sky.

"Now that's enough pondering," he said to himself. "I'll not be enmeshed by my own fears."

He straighted himself and preened. Then he flew towards the woods where he hoped to brace the approaching winter in a cave or a tree hole.

I should find as much food as I could, he thought.

Now he was alone and feeling alone was a new thing to him. He was used to following the orders. Now he needed to decide for himself and bear the results of it for himself.

When the winter beset in a fury with thunderstorms, heavy rains and blizzards, he was hardly ready for a long season of no food and warmth. He knew it was the last thing to do but still he got alarmed and one cold morning he found out that half of his provisions had been perished by the cold as he was unable to cover them well enough. Now he was more alarmed. If the cold had not killed him yet, he was sure that famine would soon.

In this state of excitement and fear, he flew about aimlessly with the cold breeze slapping his face violently. When he saw a flue deep in the forest, he realized he had gone too far from where his shelter was. But he could not resist going further and further because the smoke shooting up through the flue was doing a charming, inviting and irresisitibly seducing belly dance in the dead gray sky, reminding him of the honey and milk and beuatiful ladies of oriental palaces.

He flew closer to the source of the smoke and saw one of the most beautiful palaces he had ever seen: Built of white marble, the palace had arabesque windows and several doomed roofs pointing gently out the sky and what was above it.

The young and desperate bird shot ahead and perched on the sill of one of the numerious windows and looked inside. There he was! The prince that he had read only in fairy tales was sitting in an ornamented chair, gazing mistily at him.

When the prince got up and approached the window, his tiny heart began pounding violently. He was now beholding him more intently. The young bird was about to faint out of excitement and joy. Then the prince turned back and walked out of the room and the bird felt a sudden collapse of a sky high spirit. Soon, though, he found out that his sorrow was baseless. There he had come, this time carrying a golden cage in his hand. The bird did not felt scared. He was longing for throwing himself into the cage, the warmth and security.

In the wooden shack, the hunter looked at the bird on the window sill and, "Poor, thing," he thought. "He is too desperate to be scared of me. And I am too hungry to let a tiny bird go." Then he put a little seed in a paper box and opened the window to let the bird in.


For the Chapter I of this story, click:
http://www.online-literature.com/for...08&postcount=1