Almost as abundant as the spotted owlet is another feathered pigmy—the jungle owlet (Glaucidium radiatum). This species, like the last, calls with splendid vigour. Fortunately for the Anglo-Indian its note is comparatively mellow and musical. It is not altogether unlike the noise made by a motor cycle when it is being started, consisting, as it does, of a series of disyllables, low at first with a pause after each, but gradually growing in intensity and succeeding one another more rapidly until the bird seems to have fairly got away, when it pulls up with dramatic abruptness. The best attempt to reduce to writing the call of this bird is that of Tickell: “Turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, tukatu, chatuckatuckatuck.” This owlet calls in the early part of the night and at intervals throughout the period of darkness, and becomes most vociferous just before the approach of “rosy-fingered dawn.”
Very different is the cry of the little scops owl (Scops giu). This bird has none of that Gladstonian flow of eloquence which characterises the spotted and the jungle owlets. His note is, however, more befitting the dignity of an owl. He speaks only in monosyllables, and gives vent to those with great deliberation. He sits on a bough and says “wow” in a soft but decisive manner. When this pronouncement has had time to sink into the ears of his listeners, he repeats “wow,” and continues to sound this impressive monotone at intervals of a minute for several hours.
The above are the three owls which are most often heard in the plains of Northern India. Sometimes all three species, like the orators in Hyde Park, address the world simultaneously from neighbouring trees.
There are numbers of other owls that disturb the stillness of the night with more or less vigour, but it would be tedious, if not impossible, to describe them all. It must suffice to make mention of the low, solemn booming durgoon durgoon, of the huge rock-horned owl (Bubo bengalensis) and the wheezy screech of the barn owl (Strix flammea).
Another call, often heard shortly before dawn, is doubtless usually believed to be that of an owl. This is the deep, whoot, whoot, whoot of the coucal or crow pheasant (Centropus sinensis), that curious chocolate-winged black ground-cuckoo which builds its nest in a dense thicket.
Unfortunately for the peace of mankind the coucal is not the only cuckoo that lifts up its voice in the night. Three species of cuckoo exist in India which are nocturnal as owls, as diurnal as crows, and as noisy as a German band. A couple of hours’ sleep in the hottest part of the day appears to be ample for the needs of these super-birds. From this short slumber they awake, like giants refreshed, to spend the greater portion of the remaining two-and-twenty hours in shrieking at the top of their voices.
Needless to state these three species are the brain-fever bird, the koel, and the Indian cuckoo—a triumvirate that it is impossible to match anywhere else in the world. Some there are who fail to distinguish between these three giants, and who believe that they are but one bird with an infinite variety of notes. This is not so. They are not one bird, but three birds. Let us take them in order of merit.
The brain-fever bird or hawk cuckoo (Hierococcyx varius) is facile princeps. In appearance it is very like a sparrow-hawk, and, but for its voice, it might be mistaken for one. This species has two distinct notes. The first of these is well described by Cunningham as a “highly pitched, trisyllabic cry, repeated many times in ascending semitones until one begins to think, as one sometimes does when a Buddhist is repeating his ordinary formula of prayer, that the performer must surely burst.” But the brain-fever bird never does burst. He seems to know to a scruple how much he may with safety take out of himself. It is not necessary to dilate upon this note. Have we not all listened to the continued screams of “brain-fever, brain-fever, Brain-fever,” until we began to fear for our reason? The other call is in no way inferior in magnitude. It consists of a volley of single descending notes, uttered with consummate ease—facilis descensus—which may or may not, at the option of the performer, be followed by one or more mighty shouts of Brain-fever. There is not an hour in the twenty-four during the hot weather when this fiend does not make himself heard in the parts of the country haunted by him. His range extends from Naini Tal to Tuticorin and from Calcutta to Delhi. Assam, Sind, and the Punjab appear to be the only portions of India free from this cuckoo.
The second of the great triumvirate is the Indian koel (Eudynamis honorata). This noble fowl has three calls, each as powerful as the others.
The first is a crescendo ku-il, ku-il, ku-il, very pleasing to Indian ears, but too powerful for the taste of Westerns. The second is well described by Cunningham as an outrageous torrent of shouts, sounding “kuk, kŭū, kŭū, kŭū, kŭū, kŭū,” repeated at brief intervals in tones loud enough to wake the seven sleepers. When the bird thus calls its whole body vibrates with the effort put forth. The third cry is uttered only when the koel is being chased by angry crows, and is, as Cunningham says, a mere cataract of shrill shrieks: “Hekaree, karee.”