The blossom-headed parakeet

Ashrafi Antia narrates a fantasy tale about the origins of the feathered creature

Have you ever seen a Blossom-headed parakeet? It looks just like a regular green parakeet except for the fact that its face is red in colour, as if it were wearing a red mask or had its face smeared red during the festival of Holi. This is the story of how blossom-headed parakeets came to be that way.

Ever since he was young, Pappu the parakeet wanted to be different and stand out from the rest of the flock. He didn’t like being a monotonous green and merging with the tree-tops although his mum tried to explain to him that this was advantageous as camouflaging with the greenery afforded them protection.

Pappu admired the peacock’s gorgeous blue-green tail and the paradise flycatcher’s long white streamer-like tail. Why even the dull doves had lovely fan-like tails. “Why don’t parakeets have something distinctive to set us apart from the rest of the birds?” he grumbled.

He picked up a peacock’s feather one day and stuck it into his tail, strutting along his perch with the long feather trailing behind him like a royal train. The other parakeets laughed and teased him saying, “There goes Prince Pappu — thinks he’s someone special!”

Another day, Pappu found a bell-shaped red flower and placed it on his head like a crown or a cap. “Look at our feathered fashion designer,” sniggered the other parrots. The flower soon wilted and dried up making Pappu appear more like a clown than a prince.

Distressed at being the laughing stock of the flock, Pappu flew away. It was drizzling and his flower cap kept slipping over his eyes. He couldn’t really see where he was going. He flew headlong into a young girl going to the temple with her ‘pooja thali’ in her hand, startling her. The contents of her ‘thali’ flew into the air — red and yellow powders spilled from their overturned containers falling to the ground. Luckily Pappu’s flower cap fell off as well and he was able to navigate properly thereafter.

When Pappu returned to his tree hole that evening, the other parakeets asked, “Who are you?” “Why it’s me Pappu. Don’t you recognise me?” he replied. “Now what have you done to yourself Pappu? Is this some new fashion statement of yours — dyeing your head red?”

Pappu was confused. “I’ve done nothing,” he cried. “Go and take a look at yourself in the river,” the other birds advised. Pappu flew to the river and gazed at his reflection. A red-faced parakeet stared back at him. He wondered how he’d become a red-head. Could it have been the pollen from the red flower? Then he recalled the red ‘kumkum’ powder flying out of the girl’s ‘thali’ into the air. Perhaps it had got stuck to his wet feathers.

He tried washing off the colour in the river but it wouldn’t come off. His head was dyed a permanent red. Pappu felt a bit weird at first. He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. He had wished so hard to be different from the other parakeets and now he was.

One day a woodcutter spotted him. “What an unusual bird. Perhaps I’ll get good money if I catch it and sell it,” he thought. He spread some breadcrumbs from his pocket onto the ground and hid behind a bush. Pappu unknowingly fell into the woodcutter’s trap. While he was pecking at the breadcrumbs, the woodcutter threw a bag over him and tied a knot at the open end, ensuring Pappu could not escape. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, the woodcutter went on his way, whistling happily at the thought of what this rare bird would fetch.

Pappu was petrified. It was as dark as night in the claustrophobic confines of the cloth bag, but for a small chink of light coming from a tiny air hole in a corner of the bag. He rued the day he wanted to be different from the rest of his kin. If only he had been content with the colour of his own feathers, he would not be in this predicament today.

That ray of light was his only hope. Using his sharp beak Pappu worked hard at making the hole in the bag bigger till it was large enough for him to wriggle through and fly away. Ah! The sweet taste of freedom!

Clever Pappu was not a bird-brain —
He would never fall for that trick again.
So, if you ever spot a Blossom-headed parakeet in the sky,
You can be sure that it is one of Pappu’s descendants flying by.

(The author is a children’s writer.)