Date: 13-Jan-2014

Time: 7:00 pm

I was ambling along the lane — hands in my pocket — tossing a stone by my bare toes. The weather was cool, reminded me of the summers in Bangalore. I passed by a castle of wrinkled leaves. Seconds later, I came back to that spot. I swear to God, I did not notice anything odd which pulled me back to that spot. The lamppost was not performing its duty. On a closer look, I noticed a flap. Veiled in the flaps was a bat. I tried to shoo it away — I’m acquainted with the dogs here, it was not. But it wouldn’t fly off. I carefully cover it with a dry leaf, and hold it in my hand. I could feel its heartbeat. Boy, it was fast! I walked my way home. For once, I thought it was looking at me. I responded. It tried to free itself incessantly, only to later lick the joints of its right wing.

I reached home.

I asked mom through the window, “I brought a bat. Can I have a bowl and a small cup of water?”.
“One does not brings bats inside home”, pat came the reply.

I reiterated that I needed the bowl and cup, outside the flat. She brought it, and swiftly closed the door.

I shouted, “what is it? It can’t fly right now.” No answer.

I carry it, along with the stuff to the terrace. I switch on the torch (in my mobile), and see what’s wrong with it. I noticed that its right wing was broken and the bone had tore itself out. Even the blood had clot around. I tried to feed it some water, it wouldn’t drink. So, I poured some over the wound and its eyes. Then did I realize that it didn’t have cataract in it’s right eye, it was a dust speck.

I couldn’t help notice its eyes. It was glaring. I noticed its hair — it were horripilated. Maybe out of fear. I switched off the torch. Full Moon was merely 2 days away. So, the terrace was not dark and all. It was fairly visible. It furiously tried to crawl out of the bowl. That struggle continued for a full minute. That’s the law of nature, i observed. It was mortally wounded — beyond redemption. But, it struggled to be free, to survive. Then, it stopped and started to lick it’s right wing. I felt bad. I slowly turned the bowl, and it crawled off with ease. It lay down — with it’s wings widespread — like it’s moon-bathing.

In my restlessness, I dialed up on Blue Cross, Itika, Promit, and Asiem to see if anything can be done here!

“Hey Promit! I have this situation here. Can you help me?”, I explained that it had a broken wing.
“Oh. . Get some Iboprufin and give it to it. May help.”, came the reply.
I was not sure. I’ve never done that before.

The Blue Cross picked up the phone. Apparently, it undertook cases pertaining to cats, dogs and other non-flying mammals. Silly me, should’ve known that!

Most of the efforts went in vain. I tried help it drink water, it wouldn’t lick. I brought milk. It wouldn’t lick it either. It’s hair was still pointed straight — it was still afraid. I built a small fort (I know, I’m exaggerating) of withered leaves, an old mat and a broken cricket bat. I came the next morning. It was still there, alive. I told Dad about it, and asked his advice. Surprisingly, he didn’t question my actions. Normally, at situations like these, he would advocate zero-intervention policy. This time was different, he listened to me. But, he helped me realize that I’ve hit a dead end. We decided that after dusk, we’ll relocate it — to a vacant plot which had overgrown weeds and creepers.

Night fell. Me and my brother relocated it. I looked at it one last time. It didn’t make any movement. My brother was confident that it was alive. I was not. We left it there.

Sometimes I feel like a hypocrite — preaching something and doing something else entirely; at times facing a crisis of morality. Asiem told me there were hardly any chances it’ll survive. I knew that earlier, I saw it’s wound. But, it took an other person to tell me that.

But one thing is for sure. Bats are stubborn. When they don’t want water from you, they DON’T want it from you.