8o A BIRD CALENDAR 



from which the sun shines with pitiless power, 

 in the teeth of winds that scorch the face and 

 fill the eyes with dust. 



It is in this month of May that the European 

 condemned to existence in the plains echoes 

 the cry of the psalmist : " Oh that I had wings 

 like a dove ! for then would I fly away, and be 

 at rest " in the Himalayas. There would I 

 lie beneath the deodars and, soothed by the 

 rustle of their wind-caressed branches, drink 

 in the pure cool air and listen to the cheerful 

 double note of the cuckoo. The country-side 

 in the plains presents a sorry spectacle. The 

 gardens that had some beauty in the cold 

 weather now display the abomination of desola- 

 tion a waste of shrivelled flowers, killed by 

 the relentless sun. The spring crops have all 

 been cut and the whole earth is dusty brown 

 save for a few patches of young sugar-cane and 

 the dust-covered verdure of the mango topes. 

 It is true that the gold-mohur trees and the 

 Indian laburnums are in full flower and the 

 air is heavily laden with the strong scent of 

 the nim blossoms, but the heat is so intense that 

 the European is able to enjoy these gifts of 

 nature only at dawn. Nor has the ripening 

 jack-fruit any attractions for him. He is 



