<p>It was a freezing Christmas morning in 1967. The sexton was busy cleaning up our local church near Munnar in preparation for the 8 am mass. As he bustled around broom swishing, he noticed two fledglings flopping around helplessly on the ground. They had fallen out of a sparrow’s nest from a ledge above.</p>.<p>Back then sparrows were a nuisance in the church. Constantly squeaking, they flitted around during services, disturbing the congregation and the priest, sometimes even strafing them with their droppings.</p>.<p>The impudent birds also bespattered the statues and other holy articles with impunity.</p>.<p>Indeed Father Peter, the amiable parish priest, had tried hard to drive the pests away — short of keeping the church doors shut all the time. Yet, the sparrows found the interior of the church an ideal nesting place, safe from predators and the elements, and had a free run of the premises.</p>.<p>Now with the Xmas mass coming up soon, the dutiful sexton felt something must be done to keep out the intrusive pests — they had often soiled his own spotless white shirts. Why not string up the fledglings to scare away the other sparrows? It was an old farmers’ ploy to keep birds away from their crops.</p>.<p>Even as the sexton mulled over this, doubt troubled him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Father Peter who seemed to have read his thoughts.</p>.<p>“Get a ladder and put those fledglings back in their nest,” he said softly but firmly. The sexton was bewildered but did as he was told.</p>.<p>I was not aware of this when I attended the Christmas mass that morning. As a precaution, I carried two big hankies to mop myself with in case the sparrows targeted me — as they had in the past.</p>.<p>However, I found them mysteriously subdued during the mass — far less exuberant than they usually were. Had the solemnity of the occasion somehow dawned on them, I wondered.</p>.<p>Stopping by to wish Father Peter after the mass, I remarked about the surprising restraint shown by the sparrows. He then narrated what had happened before the mass, how he had sensed the sexton’s plan and nipped it in the bud. Obviously, the return of the fledglings, unharmed, had mellowed the sparrows.</p>.<p>Then it struck me. The spirit of peace, goodwill and tolerance that Christmas symbolises had prevailed — on both sides.</p>
<p>It was a freezing Christmas morning in 1967. The sexton was busy cleaning up our local church near Munnar in preparation for the 8 am mass. As he bustled around broom swishing, he noticed two fledglings flopping around helplessly on the ground. They had fallen out of a sparrow’s nest from a ledge above.</p>.<p>Back then sparrows were a nuisance in the church. Constantly squeaking, they flitted around during services, disturbing the congregation and the priest, sometimes even strafing them with their droppings.</p>.<p>The impudent birds also bespattered the statues and other holy articles with impunity.</p>.<p>Indeed Father Peter, the amiable parish priest, had tried hard to drive the pests away — short of keeping the church doors shut all the time. Yet, the sparrows found the interior of the church an ideal nesting place, safe from predators and the elements, and had a free run of the premises.</p>.<p>Now with the Xmas mass coming up soon, the dutiful sexton felt something must be done to keep out the intrusive pests — they had often soiled his own spotless white shirts. Why not string up the fledglings to scare away the other sparrows? It was an old farmers’ ploy to keep birds away from their crops.</p>.<p>Even as the sexton mulled over this, doubt troubled him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Father Peter who seemed to have read his thoughts.</p>.<p>“Get a ladder and put those fledglings back in their nest,” he said softly but firmly. The sexton was bewildered but did as he was told.</p>.<p>I was not aware of this when I attended the Christmas mass that morning. As a precaution, I carried two big hankies to mop myself with in case the sparrows targeted me — as they had in the past.</p>.<p>However, I found them mysteriously subdued during the mass — far less exuberant than they usually were. Had the solemnity of the occasion somehow dawned on them, I wondered.</p>.<p>Stopping by to wish Father Peter after the mass, I remarked about the surprising restraint shown by the sparrows. He then narrated what had happened before the mass, how he had sensed the sexton’s plan and nipped it in the bud. Obviously, the return of the fledglings, unharmed, had mellowed the sparrows.</p>.<p>Then it struck me. The spirit of peace, goodwill and tolerance that Christmas symbolises had prevailed — on both sides.</p>