I saw my first barn owl sitting on a mango tree. He was being tormented by a crow which was pecking at him. The owl looked like it had hurt his left wing. He was bigger than the crow, but seemed helpless, unable to cope and rather surprised by the crow's assault. He dropped from the tree and hid underneath the bushes at the side of the house.
We shouted and gesticulated and the crow flew off. I went around the house to peek at the owl. He was standing on the ground ten feet from me, with one wing held at a painful angle. We examined each other for a minute. He was a real beauty, ivory white for the most part, with flecks of grey and brown. He had a strange sort of face, like a disc, with slits for eyes and beak. He looked wise and gentle and sad, and a little apprehensive, but not afraid of me.
In a little while, the danger having passed, we saw him again on the mango tree. It is a young mango tree, about six years old, and strong and slim and full of the promise of mangoes, but now the barn owl sat in its lowest fork, quiet as a mouse. It was remarkably still, not the hive of restlessness most birds are.
"Quick," said aunt, "somebody get me a cloth bag. I will draw it over him quickly and capture him." "Capture him and do what?" asked her grandson scornfully. "I don't know," aunt faltered "maybe take him to a place he will be safe" she said, sounding not very convinced about her plan. Aunt's maid said seeing an owl brings bad luck. She made a great show of looking everywhere but at the owl. Then there came visitors, a husband and a wife. Before anything else, they were led to the mango tree, so they could admire the owl. We all went with them. We all stood around the tree looking at the owl, except for aunt's maid who turned her head and looked at the side of the house.
"Nice" said the man and his wife finally. Pleased with this endorsement of our owl, everybody trooped inside. I stayed back and finished my sketch.
In a while, hearing a racket, I stepped out again. Two red-whiskered bulbuls were screaming at the owl, who was bearing all this noise with serene dignity, with a slightly bowed head as though he was embarrassed by this unbecoming behaviour by his fellow-birds.
The barn owl is a saint among birds. We must try to emulate the barn owl, instead of the kukkabarra, who is Australian and probably a sledger of the worst kind.
