My Eccentric Guests | Ruskin Bond

 My Eccentric Guests

        When mist fills the Himalaya valleys and heavy monsoon rain sweeps across the hills, it is natural for wild creatures to seek shelter. And sometimes my cottage in the forest is the most convenient refuge.

 There is no doubt I make things easier for all concerned by leaving most of my windows open, I like plenty of fresh air indoors and if a few birds, beasts and insects come in too, they're welcome provided they don't make too much of a nuisance of themselves.

  I must confess I did lose patience with a bamboo beetle who blundered in the other night and fell into the water jug. I rescued him and pushed him out of the window. A few seconds later he came whirring in again, and with unerring accuracy landed with a plop in the same jug. I fished him out once more and offered him the freedom of the night. But attracted no doubt by the light and warmth of my small sitting room, he came buzzing back, circling the room like a helicopter looking for a place to land. Quickly, I covered the water jug. He landed in a bowl of wild dahlias and I allowed him to retain there comfortably curled up in the hollow of a flower.

      Sometimes during the day a bird visits me - a deep blue whistling thrush, hopping about on long, dainty legs, too nervous to sing. She perches on the window sill, looking out at the rain. She does not permit any familiarity. But if I sit quietly in my chair she will sit quietly on her window-sill glancing quickly at me now and then just to make sure I am keeping my distance. When the rain stops she glides away, and it is only then confident in her freedom that she bursts into full throated song, her broken but haunting melody echoing down the ravine.

   A squirrel comes sometimes when his home in the oak tree gets waterlogged. Apparently he is a bachelor anyway, he lives alone. He knows me well, this squirrel, and is bold enough to climb on to the dinning table looking for tidbits which he always finds because I leave them there deliberately. Had I met him when he was a youngster, he would have learnt to eat from my hand; but I have only been here a few months. I like it this way. I am not looking for pets; these are simply guests.

        Last week, as I was sitting down at my desk to write a long deferred article, I was startled to see an emerald-green paving mantis sitting on my writing pad. He peered up at me with his protuberant glass bead eyes, and I started down at him through my glasses. When I gave him a prod he moved off in a leisurely way. Later I found him examing the binding of Whitman's Leaves of Grass; perhaps he had found a succulent bookworm. He disappeared for a couple of days and then I found him on the dressing table preening himself before the mirror.

        Out in the garden, I spotted another mantis, perched on the jasmine bush. Its arms were raised like a boxer's. Perhaps they are a pair I thought, and went indoors, fetched my mantis and placed him on the jasmine bush opposite his fellow insect. He did not like what he saw - no comparison with his own image! - and made off in a hurry.

My most interesting visitor comes a night when the lights are still burning - a tiny bat who prefers to fly in through the open door, and will use the window only if there is no alternative. His object is to snap up the moths who cluster around the lamps.