Shyama Diaries -1
After the accident, Shyama’s health continued to deteriorate. The lively little bird who had once filled my home with cheerful chirping was growing weaker by the day. Worried about its condition, I rushed to Gurgaon Bird Hospital once again. The doctor examined it and prescribed medicines and supplements. He advised me to feed Shyama frequently and ensure that it received nutritious food.
I returned home with renewed hope. Perhaps, with proper care and nourishment, my little friend would recover. I became even more attentive, feeding it frequently and offering it dead insects as advised. I watched it closely, hoping to notice some improvement, some little sign that it was getting better. But Shyama did not seem to recover.
The following morning, I fed it as usual, but something felt different. My little bird did not seem well at all. A strange uneasiness settled over me, and I found myself wanting to stay beside it rather than attend to my office work.
I gently caressed its tiny body, trying to soothe it with my touch. Usually, Shyama loved to play with me, cling to my hands, and explore my hair. But that day, it wanted none of those things. It did not want to play or cling to me. It seemed restless, almost as though it wanted to move away. I kept stroking it tenderly, hoping that my touch would bring it some comfort.
Then, suddenly, Shyama shuddered and turned upside down, its little legs pointing towards the sky. I froze. For a moment, I could not understand what had happened. I gently tried to turn it back, but there was no movement. I waited, hoping to see its tiny chest rise and fall, hoping to hear even one faint chirp.
But there was nothing.
Shyama had stopped breathing.
My little companion was gone.
I cannot describe the emptiness I felt in that moment. Only a few days earlier, Shyama had been a bundle of energy, flying around the room, hiding beneath the book cabinet, and singing when it thought nobody was watching. Now, the same little bird lay motionless in my hands. The silence in the room was unbearable.
I wrapped Shyama in brown paper and, with a heavy heart, placed it in the dustbin from which I had first rescued it. The thought that its journey had begun there and ended there was deeply painful. I had brought it home with the hope of saving its life, but despite my efforts and affection, I could not keep it alive.
Shyama had come into my life for only a few days. I had fed it, protected it, taken it to the doctor, and tried to make my home a safe place for it. Yet I knew that, however much I loved it, I could never replace its mother. I could offer care and tenderness, but I could not give it everything it needed to grow and thrive.
As I sat grieving for my little companion, I remembered a comment on Facebook that I had read when I first rescued Shyama. A stranger had written that no matter what I did, the little bird would eventually die because it could not survive without its mother.
At the time, I had felt deeply disappointed by those words. Why should anyone give up on a little life before even trying to save it? I had chosen to listen to the friend who encouraged me and guided me on how to feed the bird. His words had given me hope, and I had held on to that hope through every difficult feeding session and every anxious moment.
But now, Shyama was gone.
The stranger’s prediction had come true, and I could not help wondering whether I had been wrong to hope. Had my efforts been futile? Could I have done something differently? These questions troubled me, but I also knew that I had tried my best with the knowledge and resources available to me. I had not abandoned a helpless creature simply because someone had predicted its death.
“It is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.”
I cried bitterly, as though I had lost a member of my own family. Perhaps someone else might have seen Shyama as just a little bird, a tiny creature that had briefly crossed my path. But to me, Shyama had become my companion, my responsibility, and a little life I had desperately wanted to protect.
I had not expected to become so attached to a bird I had found beside a dustbin. Nor had I imagined that its brief presence would leave such a deep ache in my heart.
Pic : Shyama wants to be alone.
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