🕊️ The Courtyard Parliament of Birds

Every morning at 6:00 AM in Kuthar

Every morning at exactly six, in Kuthar, all the birds gathered for a feast.
They sat quietly till five minutes past, and then — as if some invisible bell had rung — the air filled with their calls.

Sandhya opened the door with a wide brass platter: dried leaves, broken Rotis, a glimmer of asli ghee.
For a breath, the birds hesitated — sparrows on the lemon tree, magpies on the mango, a few mynas clinging to the shrubs.
Then the courtyard burst into festival.

Sparrows pecked rapidly at the seeds.
Magpies and crows strutted for the larger pieces.
A flash of parrots, a handful of bulbuls — and the congregation felt complete.
It was a langar, a barakhana — a feast of wings and voices, a small democracy of hunger and delight.

While parrots ate with the force of their flock,
the crows did it with personality.
The sparrows sneaked in between them, quick and invisible.
Magpies strutted proudly, as if on stage.

Magie, the boldest of them, lived in a house full of shiny things —
her own palace of trinkets and reflections —
on which she would gloat and puzzle over their worth.
The others knew exactly what they sought: a seed, a crumb, a soft twig for a nest.
The crows, ever restrained, lived in austere homes — black simplicity against the morning gold.

Maggie didn’t quite know why she collected bright things.
Every glint seemed to promise meaning.
Then, one morning, drawn by the shine, came another magpie — broad, loud, and restless.
His name was Frump. His speciality was to enjoy every luxury
and destroy other birds’ well-made nests, cackling as he did so.
“Maga, Maga, Maga!” he cried. “Let’s make Americalc great again!”

Maggie wasn’t sure what he meant — she had never understood the meaning of great.
Here she was, a thieving little thing, and there was Frump,
now dacoiting on her stolen goods.
Yet somehow, they were made for each other.
They lived happily — but not forever.

Far away, Sandhya saw it all with a twinkle in her eyes.
She knew that the day she left that house, the free feast would end.
The birds would scatter, Magie’s trinkets would gather dust,
and only the crows — the faithful pair — would keep coming,
waiting by the lemon tree,
just in case Sandhya returned.

---