While hunting for a place to spend the remaining days of our life, we had one serious constraint. Broker had taken us to a number of bright locations and tempting apartments; only our purse did not allow them. Finally, we had to settle for a place that was quite unique in terms of geographic and demographic characteristics. The southside area of our plot was vacant . Till today, it remains submerged in rain water for the greater part of the year. But the north side is overcrowded- a group of squatters had taken possession of that land long before the chicken-hearted middle class babus could think of inhabiting there. They had multiplied following the rule of geometric progression and gifted the grazing land of thieves and murderers a stable population. And they are omnipresent. The kid-gang appeared promptly when my mom’s pet Amrapali mango bore the first fruit. Starting from week old mango- buds they devoured the entire output of the tree within the first month itself. The tiny rouges appeared again on my mom’s Neem tree and though Neem leaves are entirely unpalatable, they took special pain to carry them home for a health tonic. In short, this bunch is nobody’s favourite. Like the unwanted weeds in a cultivated garden they appear everywhere, unclaimed by their parents, unloved by the neighbours, away from the realm of school and discipline. Naturally in my annual vacation at home , I did not allocate any time for this bunch. I had no idea that spending my precious time I would be penning this blog on one of them. But something had happened yesterday that changed my entire thinking.

Last evening Ma was nervous. As I entered home after a busy day ,she drew my attention to an unusual object. The Neem tree at the southside of our house, had suddenly developed an attachment. In the torchlight, we could see that at the cross-section of two sturdy branches, a medium sized earthen pitcher , secured strongly with coconut rope.

The placement is exactly parallel to our window. Placed horizontally, the opening of the pitcher was opposite us and there was no way to know what could be the content without dislodging the object from its height. Ma was disturbed.

Newspapers are full of stories these days. Throughout the state CPM and Trinamool supporters are taking on each other. People are hiding bombs at unusual places. Could it be a bomb?

Tensed as I was , I got out and talked to the neighbours. No solution. The window was closed and I was wondering whether the local committee should be informed. Then out of blue, appeared the chief architect of the whole drama. Laltu , a ten year old from neighbouring Bagdies had confessed to the crime.

During the noon at broad- daylight , he had climbed the tree-top and tied the pitcher at that opportune spot. The objective was noble; providing ready –made home to a Mynah. He had seen a Mynah roaming in the area and felt that the aristocratic bird needs some specialized help. The pitcher was placed to attract the lady bird for laying the eggs and once hatched Laltu wanted to raise the new –borns. Quite an ambitious plan!

Laltu had lost his mother two year back , his father has remarried. The child spends most of his time on neighbours treetops but still hasn’t lost his innocence.

Today also Laltu was there on the tree top during the noon but for the first time Ma didn’t shout at him. Standing near window she was seriously discussing the issue of raising a Mynah. May be in her own way she trying to save his innocence.