THE BATHING OF THE BIRDS 



i 



is on the side of the Mount Road, 

 Madras, near Munro's statue, a miniature 

 pond formed by the overflow from a water- 

 pipe. To this pool all the larger birds of 

 the neighbourhood repair for bathing purposes. Every 

 one passing the place, a little before sunset, will almost 

 certainly see one or two crows, some mynas, and possibly 

 a kite, enjoying an al fresco bath. It is a pleasure to 

 watch the birds at their ablutions, for, while splashing 

 about in the water, they are obviously as happy as the 

 proverbial king. 



Time was when scarcely a day passed on which I did 

 not witness, from beginning to end, the toilette of one 

 or other of the feathered creatures. That was in the 

 Himalayas. In those mountainous regions water is a 

 precious commodity during the greater part of the year. 

 Deep was the sorrow of my mali that my little garden 

 did not boast of a reservoir. Necessity, as usual, proved 

 the mother of invention : the mali discovered an old 

 galvanized iron bath, which he converted into a tank 

 and placed in the middle of the lawn. 



When I perceived the outcome of the gardener's 

 ingenuity, my first impulse was to say hard words and 



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