Man and a sparrow named “chioo”.
There was a man. And there was a sparrow named “chioo”.
First she met him in the story of “chioo and kaoo”.
He was a baby at that time and she was as if his mother. She used to sit in her wax-house that wouldn’t get washed away in rain. She cleaned and bathed him, clothed him, fed him, protected him and cared for him.
But then, he didn’t realize that.
He knew nothing at that time.
There was a man. And there was a sparrow named “chioo”.
She met him in the courtyard. Always twittering chiu chioo- chiu chioo, hopping and jumping, flying away bhurrrrrr and coming with bhurrrrrr. Sitting on the lap of his grandpa, he then used to throw grains and chioo would come near to eat them. When he learned to walk he tried to run with clumsy feet, trying to catch her. Then she would fly again with bhurrrrrr. She was real, now in his courtyard, materialized from the story of “chioo and kaoo”.
But then, he didn’t realize that.
He knew nothing at that time.
There was a man and there was a “chioo”.
Now she came through another story. Grandpa’s favorite “unending story”.
There was a large godown. Many men used to bring huge quantities of grain and stored it there every year. The godown had a small window. Through it one sparrow came, took one grain and flew away with bhurrrrrr. Only one grain, enough for her small beak and small appetite. Thus many sparrows would come and go. This went on and on forever.
In that story, that godown never went empty and everything was always enough for men and sparrows and everybody for that matter. And there was a hope and assurance that the story would never end. There was safety and security. There was a faith that till the time you hear the sounds of sparrows twittering “chiu chioo”, and the sound of their flying “bhurrrrrr”, godowns will never be empty and everything will be enough for everyone.
But then, he didn’t realize that.
He knew nothing at that time.
There was a man and a sparrow named “chioo”.
He was a small boy then. He would be studying or playing in his home.
She would bring hay in her small beak, one straw at a time. She would sit on a bar of a window and peep inside. Then she would enter. Thus she would wander, bhurrrrrr in and bhurrrrrr out of his home all the day.
She chiu and He chioo had built their nest-home with the straws behind the photo-frames of Grandma and Grandpa. A home in the home. In those days, hanging on the walls, there used to be photos of grand parents, grand-grand parents and lots of framed pictures of Gods and Goddesses. In their omnipresence, families of their children and families of sparrows would flourish. Sweet homes were filled with continuous sounds of “chiu chioo” twittering, laughing and shouting. In that pleasant nostalgic mixture of sounds one sound was of his own.
But then, he didn’t realize that.
He knew nothing at that time.
