By Dhan Gopal Mukerji

The city of Calcutta， which boasts of a million people， must have at least two million pigeons. Every third Hindu boy has perhaps a dozen pet carriers， tumblers， fantails and pouters. The art of domesticating pigeons goes back thousands of years in India， and she has contributed two species of pigeons as a special product of her bird fanciers， the fantail and the pouter. Love and care have been showered on pigeons for centuries by emperors， princes and queens in their marble palaces， as well as by the poor， in their humble homes. The gardens， grottos1 and fountains of the Indian rich—the small field of flowers and fruits of the common folk， each has its ornament and music， —many-coloured pigeons and cooing white doves with ruby eyes.

Even now， any winter morning， foreigners who visit our big cities may see on the flat-roofed houses innumerable boys waving white flags as signals to their pet pigeons flying up in the crisp cold air. Through the blue heavens flocks of the birds soar like vast clouds. They start in small flocks， and spend about twenty minutes circling over the roofs of their owners homes. Then they slowly ascend， and all the separate groups from different houses of the town merge into one big flock， and float far out of sight. How they ever return to their own homes is a wonder， for all the housetops look alike in shape in spite of their rose， yellow， violet and white colours.

只見母鴿抬起頭，對(duì)準(zhǔn)目標(biāo)。她兩下就啄開了鴿蛋，從里面露出了一只小小鳥，整個(gè)嘴，還有小小的顫抖的身體！且看母鴿，她非常驚訝。這就是她這么多日來期待的小寶寶嗎？噢，他是多么弱小，多么無助??！母鴿意識(shí)到鴿寶寶的無助時(shí)，就用胸前柔軟的藍(lán)色羽毛蓋住了他。

But pigeons have an amazing sense of direction and love of their owners. I have yet to see creatures more loyal than pigeons and elephants. I have played with both， and the tusker on four feet in the country， or the bird on two wings in the city， no matter how far they wandered， were by their almost infallible instinct brought back to their friend and brother—Man.2

My elephant friend was called Kari， of whom you have heard before， and the other pet that I knew well was a pigeon. His name was Chitra-griva； Chitra meaning “painted in gay colours，” and Griva， “neck”—in one phrase， pigeon Gay-Neck. Sometimes he was called“Iridescence-throated.”

Of course， Gay-Neck did not come out of his egg with an iridescent throat； he had to grow the feathers week by week； and until he was three months old， there was very little hope that he would acquire the brilliant collar； but at last， when he did achieve it， he was the most beautiful pigeon in my town in India， and the boys of my town owned forty thousand pigeons.