Country notebook:m.krishnan

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"SUMMER has taken us by surprise in these parts. Usually this advent is both gradual and sudden; it creeps up through February and March with occasional halts during showers, and then in April, leaps in with a formal little pounce. This year, however, the pounce was early and savage. In the last week of March we were congratulating ourselves on a slow summer, in spite of dry weather, when one day the temperature shot up by almost 10 degrees, overwhelming us with a grasping lassitude. The optimistic, their senses enervated and lax, talked of a heat wave- but with the coming of April and little abatement in the heat, it is clear that this is no passing wave, but summer in all its glory.

And, quite possibly, it is also spring, the loveliest and least defined of seasons in our hill-dotted plains. We know when it is the rainy season- it is when the monsoons arrive, and their tardiness or prematurity only changes its timing. There is a brief winter in December; even autumn, if one goes by a certain mellow serenity in the air, is a definite season in many places, about October. But when is it spring?

The vernal season:

Mere botanical knowledge cannot answer this question, and knowledge of the flowering peaks of garden plants is even less helpful since we are not concerned with a horticultural season. Spring has symptoms celebrated in the classics, and it is futile considering it apart from its classical background. The setting of a gentle fragrant southern breeze, a restive amatory urge and blossoming of certain trees and the voice of koel are the accredited tokens of the vernal season. The gentle southern breeze is a reality more refreshing than poetic fancy can ever be, as those who have been out on a sweltering day in April will know, but it is local in its balmy range.

Other trees like 'Asoka', and even shrubs like 'jesmine', are listed in description of spring but undoubtedly the 'mango' is most symptomatic of them. And this year, in places far apart, I found the wild mango in lavish bloom in the middle of February, when the numerous koels of those tracts were resting their voices for a while! Nor are the Hindu festivals more specific in fixing the season- right from Holi (end of February), to the Tamil New Year Day (in the second week of April) each of them has some vernal connotation.

Peak in flowering:

Perhaps this gives us the clue. Spring is an extensive season, marked by a florescent urge in nature. The herbaceous vegetation is in bloom for many months, but probably December-January marks a peak in their flowering. By March most herbs are drying up, and from February to June a number of forest trees burst into flower with dramatic extravagance. The voice of the koel, also representative of the season, varies with locality as much as the flora, but I have never heard the cock in full voice before mid-April. Spring proper seems to begin before summer, and to coexist with its earlier months.

Not all trees that flower in summer are conspicuous, and some, like the 'neem', commence to bloom in February and go on till April. The chaste, white blossoms of the neem are used in vernal festivals, but it is red flowering of certain forest trees that seems most expressive of sultry, provocative spring. Some of these red-flowered trees are traditionally associated with the season, and quite three of them are known, vaguely and descriptively, as "flame of the forest".

Recently I was in a block of jungle which has its own character, no doubt, but which is so wholly uninfluenced by climatic extremes or any attempt at forestry that one can take its naturalness for granted. The jungle was dry and brown, most of the trees leafless, but there was vivid declarations of spring here and there. All the three trees are called or miscalled "flame of the forest" are found here- and hotter flames as well. Forest fires, unchecked except by the conformation of hills, water courses and prevailing winds, take toll of the under-shrub every year. There was an extensive fire on the night of my arrival here, a magnificent and saddening sight.

The 'Asoka (Saraca indica)' is the most delicate of all red proclamations of spring, and is intimately associated with the season traditionally, but the tree is not to be found in the jungle. From early in February the 'Indian Coral tree (Erythrina indica)' was in blossom- an ugly tree, to my eyes, too florid and thick-branched, but the pure scarlet of its flowers is probably unmatched for brilliance. The Coral's bloody crown is enhanced by lack of leaf- but then, most trees flowering in the heat are leafless. The true "flame of the forest", 'Butea frondosa' is unforgettable when seen in the jungle. It was later in bloom than the 'Erythrina', but by mid-March it was in full flower and, of course, without leaf. The rounded crown of orange-red flowers, with dark calyces, looks Chinese vermilion against the sun-brown hillsides, seen from afar- somehow, in an avenue, the tree never has scope for its vivid charm. The 'Gul Mohur (Poinciana regia or delonix regia)' was still in leaf when I left. In May it will be in extravagant bloom, its flat flaming crown spread on outflung branches, blazing fiercely in the forest. This, too, required a wild setting for its flame- I have always thought it a pity that people should plant it along the roadside. Incidentally, the 'Poinciana' has no association with spring in poetry or tradition- but the flamboyant 'Butea' has.

I will mention only one other tree that I saw here. Late in February we were going up a hill-road laboriously. A recent fire has scorched the earth, there were heavy, black rocks on either side, and the sparse jungle was brown and seemed withered beyond redemption. Round a bend in the road we came suddenly upon a group of 'Yellow Silk Cotton' trees- three crooked little trees, with burnt, gnarled trunks and tortured branches, the very tips of which alone were purple and turgid with life, and bore great, opulent yellow flowers of the purest aureolin, with hearts of red-gold stamens. I cannot describe the contrast of gracious, unstinted beauty of those flowers against that ground of charred and twisted desolation- we stopped wordlessly in our tracks to stare, unmindful of all else. To one blessed with greater faith than I, the experience could have been a revelation; surprised by such loveliness, a poet could have found a lasting joy in the sight, in a recollective, Wordsworthian manner.

But after the first glad stare, what came to me was no sense of rapture or thankfulness, but only a sharp memory from a painful past, when I had been at the foot of the systematic botany class. I turned to my comrades in triumph; "Cochlospermum gossypium," I announced to them, with finality. However, they did not hear me, or if they did, they were wholly insensible to the bathos of my remark- they just stood there, staring. There are times when the impercipience of others is merciful."

- M.Krishnan

This was first published on 12 April 1953 in The Sunday Statesman

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"IN a story that I read recently,the climax is reached when the narrator, in his boyhood, has to cross a haunted pathway in the dark. The suspense mounts as he nears the place. Then, unable to face it, he turn away from the horror and walks backwards, his senses taut with apprehension. "My ears were pricked up, ready to listen to the slightest rustle. A leaf dropping, the NIGHT HERON darting into the still night with its shrill call 'tweet, tweet, tweet' would have seen me dropped on the ground."

Having done most things the hard way all my life, I fear I will have no easy death, but even I would get a pretty considerable jar were I hear a night heron rise into the obscure silence with a shrill "tweet, tweet, tweet!" But were its cry far more eerie, a sudden, raucous, floating "w-a-a-k!" from above, I wouldn't turn a hair, for that is the bird's call.

In many Indian languages, the night heron's name is onomatopoeic- in Tamil, for example,, it is called "Vakka". Perhaps it is most identifiable of the lesser herons and egrets, a dumpy heron with a black crown, nape and back. There is a silky crest of long black feathers drooping over the humped shoulders, but neither this nor the colour of the back is visible as one views the roosting bird from below or eye level, though the black crown is prominent. In fact, it is after sunset when the sky turns a neutral tint, that one usually sees night herons, and in that light it is a wholly dusky bird with even the characteristic white of the under parts a lighter shade of grey.

However, it is not by observing details of plumage that one knows this bird- the heavy, dark contours of head and beak, the blunt hollowed wings rowing a steady path through the dusk, and the hoarse, airborne "w-a-a-k!" are unmistakable.

Being nocturnal and crepuscular, night herons spend the day in heavy repose in their chosen roosts. But when they breed, they are day herons as well, for the ceaseless yickering of the young drives the parents to seek food for their insatiable brood throughout the night and day. Breeding is a wearing pastime with most birds- with night herons, it is positively exhausting of all concerned, including neighbours.

Usually the breeding sites and roosting trees are well away from human habitation, and often near water, but the birds do not hesitate to locate their nesting colony in a built-up area if other conditions suit them. In June 1946, a colony of some 150 night herons nested in mango trees in the backyard of a house in the heart of congested Madras- there was a tidal creek not far away and a sluggish canal right at the back, ample inducement to the hard-worked birds to pitch on the spot.

The sustained clamour of the young and continuous arrivals and departures of the adults rendered sleep almost inpossible for the occupants of neighbouring houses. After futile private attempts to move the birds, the residents lodged a complaint at the local police station. Our unsung police force, which are capable of dark feats of public duty, rose nobly to the occasion. A constable with a shotgun visited the scene of the offence and fired a few rounds into the loud and thick trees, bringing down a number of birds, and the rest of the colony took wing in a hurry, never to return to the homestead.

In contrast to this feverish whole-time activity of the breeding night heron, I must add that occasionally the bird sleeps soundly through the night, in spite of its name- when the hunting has been good in the evening and early hours of darkness. One of the most vivid recollections of my youth is the capture of a slumbering night heron on the parapet wall of my house, around midnight.

It stood on one leg, its head lost in its huddled shoulders and fluffed plumage. It was so fast asleep that when I switched on my powerful terrace lamp, right above it, the sudden glare failed to get through to its drowsing senses. Only when I took it in my hands did it awaken with a loud croak of protest. I held it as one holds a pigeon, with its flanks and feet pinioned between my fingers so that it could not use them, but it got away by an undignified and smelly manoeuvre, being abruptly and fishily sick.

Best to let sleeping night herons sleep."
- M.Krishnan

This was first published on 28 June 1953 in The Sunday Statesman
*Sketch of a flock of three birds in flight not reproduced.

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"To one familiar with the India's fauna the choice of Sarnath lion capital as the national emblem must seem somewhat remote. Even to one familiar with Indian art and the Mauryan period this must seem far-fetched. Only those who know the political history of the country during the last decade can find justification for the choice.


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The lion is by no means an unfamiliar animal in Indian stone, and the lions of the south may be safely taken as typical of the Indian conception of the animal. That they are far removed in time or place from Sarnath and the Mauriyan period does not detract from their value as types- their is sufficient fundamental affinity between South Indian and the undoubtedly indigenous Mauriyan figures.

Strangely enough, none of the critics mentioned seems to have compared Asoka's lions with other lions of our art. Such a comparison reveals striking differences at once. The Sarnath lions are slimmer in build and have noticeably thin necks in a front view, their heads are smaller and the tongue-of-flame patterning of their manes of typically Indian lions and Yalis are rendered in formal, circular curls, or else in parallel wavy lines. The large eyes with natural similitude, the unfurrowed forehead and nose, the pronounced down-face and the squarely angled lips are all foreign.

The feet are even more revealing than the heads- in their taut modelling of muscle and tandon, and specific, detailed depiction of each toe and nail, they are very Greek. The innermost toe, raised well off the pad and attached laterally, somewhat in the manner of a dog's dew-claw, is a feature of the feet of the greater cats- this detail is displayed in the feet of the Sarnath lions, though the half-sheathed nails are semi-heroic and not natural. Show me a single undoubted Indian lion whose toes are anything like equally realistic and I accept the defeat.

*************

Lion is a magnificient animal. Its looks and proportions are so superb that art can do little to improve upon nature in adopting it as the symbol of kingly might and majesty.Many countries have exploited the leonine figure effectively in designing their symbols of State- but not the carvers responsible for the highly polished, svelte lions of Sarnath, they just had no appreciation at all of the beast."- M.Krishnan

This was first published on 19 July 1953 in the Sunday Statesman

Note: NOT REPRODUCED HERE ARE:
1) A few paragraphs
2) Sketch of Sarnath Capital Lions (tracing from a plate)
3) Sketch of Typical Lion from a South Indian Lion corner piece

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

In my childhood I have often seen domesticated Dog chasing Jackal in the evening our the remote village in East Midnapore.
After going through Shri Sabyasachi's interesting and pertinent observations, I tried and could locate a piece of information from M.Krishnan's writings.
The genus 'Cuon' (the genus of Wild Dog) is distinguished from 'Canis' (the genus of the Wolf, the Jackal, and and all domesticated Dogs) mainly by there being one molar less on each side in the lower jaw, the bitch having about 14 teats instead of 10.
Col. R. W. Burton (Journal BNHS 41 (4): 691-715) in his note summing up information available up to 1940 says - 'the Jackals have been known to interbreed with Dhole, and also the domesticated Dogs and cites the instance of a wild dog bitch with her two pups, sired by a Jackal in Mysore zoo in November, 1930.
Krishnan felt that apparently the extreme likelihood of the progeny of such far-fetched matings ( between Dhole and domesticated Dog having different genus) being infertile was not considered by Burton.

In substance, on one point both Krishnan and Burton have not disagreed that - 'Jackal is known to inbreed with domesticated Dog' - the genus of both being the same as observed by Shri Sabyasachi.

Kind regards,
SaktiWild

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

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COUNTRY NOTEBOOK: M. Krishnan : The ' DOUBLE-JUMP' technique : The Sunday Statesman 07 Dec 2014
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THE 'DOUBLE-JUMP' TECHNIQUE

"THERE were three Jackals in the cage and at my near approach to the bars they became excited as caged jackals often do. Some zoo animals are supremely indifferent to close human scrutiny, some (many of the Cats, for example) resent it and try to get at the onlooker through the bars, but Jackals get frightened.

At one end of the cage there was a shallow trough in the cement flooring and one of the Jackals crouched in this depression, only its head showing above, another crouched in the opposite corner of the cage, but the third Jackal was moved to a futile exhibition of flight. It scurried across the cage to the trough, leaped at the end wall, got its forefeet on the wall and then, by a thrust of its hind legs against the floor, hoisted itself higher up the wall so that all the four feet were momentarily on the vertical surface, kicked out with its hind legs against the wall and through itself back on the floor from this kick - then it scurried across the other end of the cage, turned, and rushed back to the trough to leap again at the wall at its end. I was fascinated by this tactics, for I knew what that frantic Jackal was trying to do - had it not been a sheer, smooth, plastered wall that it leaped against but a rock face offering the least purchase to its feet, it would have gone higher up from the kick against the vertical surface (instead of throwing itself away from the wall) and have cleared the top of the rock.

However, that is only my theory. An elderly gentleman, who stood beyond the rails narrowly watching both the Jackal and my attempt to photograph it, seemed to take a different view. After staring hard for a couple of minutes, he walked off, flinging a comment at me over his shoulder as he went away in the manner of elderly gentlemen.

"Mad!" he pronounced. " Stark, staring mad! "

I am sure he was referring to the Jackal's behaviour and not mine.

Years ago, writing in this column about the ability of the common or garden Cat to scale a vertical surface by leaping at it and then propelling itself further up by a quick kick of hind legs against the wall or other sheer surface, I pointed out how certain light-footed creatures were able to ascend heights which they certainly cannot clear at a jump, by this means. To a large extent, it seems to be a feat that only agile creatures, with powerful but deft hind legs, can perform, but if the vertical height is not too much, even heavy animals can manage it.

Years ago I had a beautifully balanced Poligar hound and a massive stout-hearted Labrador. My compound wall, which was just four feet high, was no limiting factor to Chocki the Poligar _ she could clear it easily with inches to spare. But the Labrador, who was a great wanderer, had to leap at the wall, get a purchase on the top momentarily with his paws and then project himself over the wall with a kick of the hind legs against the base. That is not quite the same thing at leaping at and then up, a wall face, though it was a remarkable feat in an animal weighing all of 70 lb - I shall return to this difference later. Incidentally, that Labrador could climb trees after a fashion if the bole was not too high and sloped sufficiently for him to scramble up to the lowest fork.

I have seen a Jackal in the scrub streaming up a boulder that was taller than I, at that time I thought that the animal has reached the top in one leap, but now realise that it must have jumped at the side of the boulder and then projected itself upward with a kick. I have repeatedly watched Cats perform this trick. So deft and quick is the movement that unless one watches for the kick with the coupled hind legs against the wall, one is apt to miss it altogether and gain the impression that the animal reached the top of the wall in one clear leap.

Surely this is why Panthers cannot be confined by high walls or a deep moat - being extraordinarily agile, they have no trouble leaping into the moat, and then clearing the outer wall by the " double-jump " technique. No doubt the marvellous ability of klipspringers, chamois and other light-footed animals in jumping to the top of high steep rocks is also due to this trick.

During the past year, I have observed young goats jumping to the top of a wall, using this technique - the mother goat was not able to do so. When I kept milch-goats, I noticed that while the compound wall was high enough to confine the heavy buck, the big cross-bred does, the kids and the trim little Surti does had no difficulty getting to its top.

Lions and Tigers and other heavily-built beasts no doubt find their weight against them though they are so wonderfully swift and fluid in their movements and cannot leap against a sheer wall and then over its top from a quick downwardly directed kick against its side with the hind legs. The distinction between this trick jump and climbing or scrambling up a vertical surface has to be kept in mind - the "double-jump" trick may seem only a speeded-up extension of a swarming movements upwards, but it is not.

Quite massive animals like bears can climb expertly and I believe my Labrador was by no means unique in its ability to scramble up walls and fences and that other dogs of the breed are equally given to it. But that is not the "double-jump". I have carefully watched such expert climbers and scramblers as Monkeys and Squirrels attempting to go up vertical surfaces such as walls - where they succeeded ( they failed many times ) it was by scrambling upward using all four limbs to grip a surface sufficiently rough, not by a swift projection of their bodies but by a kick with the hind legs against the wall."

-M. Krishnan

This was first published on 25 May 1958 in The Sunday Statesman


#The photographs documenting the trick of the Jackal not reproduced here.