A Duck Shooting Interlude
After shooting down the wolf, it was natural for complacency to set in. We all thought, we had done a wonderful job, and there would be no more kills henceforth. But as usual we were in for a rude shock. Only two days later a child was killed in village Gwala about ten kilometers away. It was clear that though we had accounted for another member of the pack, the man, eater, or at least one of the man eaters, possibly the leader of the pack was still alive and well.
We had now been on the trail of the elusive animal for more than a month, and though I did not lack for creature comforts, the sense of failure and a feeling of despair was beginning to creep into our party. To relieve the tension, we decided to take a break from man eater hunting and spend some time at our favourite sport, duck shooting.
I think it may be in order to say a few words about shot guns which play such an important role in duck shooting. These come in various shapes and sizes and often reflect the personality of their owners. Some like double barrelled guns, some single barrelled ones. Some favour the long barrelled gun, others prefer the shorter regulation size. The most prized shot guns are those, made by the British firm Purdy, now sadly no longer in business. Purdies often come in pairs and have the same snob value among gun owners, as Rolls Royces have among car owners. After Purdy come the Holland and Holland shot guns, made by the British gunmaker of the same name. Italian Berettas are also much prized and lately Spanish, guns have also entered the lists in a big way. A good shot gun is a thing of beauty, with a polished walnut stock, suitably embellished, with carving and a gun metal blue lightweight barrel that is no less beautiful. The fancier guns may have silver chasing on the trigger guard and engraving on the breech. The newer models are gas operated and can shoot several shells, one after the other. However in this matter, as in so many others, I am a traditionalist, and I favour the hand loaded single or double barrelled gun over its modem counterpart. Shooting is a sport, and there is no sport in firing a whole cannonade at a defenceless animal. The well placed single shot, that brings down the quarry, is what all hunters aspire to, and for this the self restraint imposed by the older weapons, is preferable any day, to the self indulgence of the new automatic weapons.
Unfortunately, though a lover of guns, the only shot gun that I have ever possessed is a humble ordnance factory weapon, crude, heavy and entirely lacking in finish. What it lacks in elegance though, it makes up in effectiveness, and has been a faithful companion in many a shoot. Dr Haidar, on the other hand, possessed a light weight Spanish single barrel gun, which he claimed possessed extraordinary accuracy and range. I do not recall the details of Siddique's gun, but like everything about the man it was accurate and efficient.
The destination of choice, when ever we went out shooting ducks, was Bhagwanpura tank. Situated about ten kilometres from the district town of Sehore, this tank is a stretch of clear blue water at the head of rich farming country. The lake is shaped like a seven pointed star, with the seven arms terminating in narrow winding creeks, where at the extremity, the channel is narrow enough for a man to jump across. These creeks, are the perfect places for sitting up for ducks, because they offer enough cover for a hunter to conceal himself and because the ducks like to feed among the weeds that grow at the shore line in these creeks.
There are two methods of shooting ducks. The more commonly employed method depends on the use of decoys. These are made of either wood or rubber and often look surprisingly like real ducks.When these are not available, even a few pieces of paper scattered on the ground can do the trick. Decoys work because, ducks like to come down where they see other birds already sitting. Ducks are extremely wary, and they normally post sentries to watch for trouble, when they are out feeding. It is almost impossible to surprise them, but the decoys lull them into a false sense of security and thus make it possible for the cautious hunter to surprise them .
The other method, can work only when there are two tanks situated in close proximity of each other. If this happens to be the case, then two guns are sent out to flush the birds from one of the tanks. This is easily accomplished by firing a few shots at the birds, as they sit in the middle of the water. Thus disturbed the birds rise and head for the nearest body of water, in this case the other tank, where, carefully concealed, the hunters are already lying in wait for them. Their 'hide', is usually directly under the flight path of the approaching ducks. As the birds come down to alight on the water, they are fired upon by the hunters while still in the air, and this method usually succeeds in bringing down at least a few birds.
However on this day we chose neither of these methods. Dr Haidar, was the progenitor of a rather new idea, which seemed to appeal to all of us because of its very novelty. Close to the shoreline at Bhagwanpura tank, was an old boat, a fisherman's dory, that had been for years, lying on its keel near the banks, and was now buried almost upto the gunwales in soft mud. Dr Haidar's idea, like most ideas emanating from his fertile mind, was bold in conception, but difficult in execution. He wanted us to unearth the boat, row it to the middle of the lake, and after concealing ourselves in it, wait for the birds. This we now proceeded to do. It was not difficult to free the boat from the encrusting mud, but devising a suitable oar took a little more time. Finaly a small Zareba was made out by cutting down enough ipoemia bushes and arranging them over the boat. In the stockade we concealed ourselves, waiting for what seemed like hours for the ducks to arrive. The boat kept bobbing gently on the placed waters of the lake, but no birds arrived. Evidently our hide was not as good as we thought, or the birds had seen us at work and were hterefore keeping away. Whatever the reason, Dr Haidar's bright idea, did not seem so bright in retrospect.
But perhaps it was just as well that they did not do so. Frankly, I do not think I had the heart for shooting ducks that day. A few months later I gave up this sport altogether, and have not touched a gun ever since, except once to scare away monkeys who were damaging my wheat crop. Ducks are, after all, beautiful creatures. Any one who has seen a duck at close quarters will know what I mean. Their downy plumage has the most beautiful variegated colours, their brilliantly coloured speculum, and their proud carriage gives them a special cachet. Who says ducks waddle ! they have the imperious grace of a queen. A concourse of ducks, wild teals, brilliantly coloured mallards, the proud sheldrake, the sprightly pintails and the ultimate prize that all hunters seek; the bar headed goose; is a delightful sight when they float on the waters. Unfortunately the only duck that most people see is a dead duck. Therefore it wasn't such a tragedy after all that we did not kill any ducks that day.
As the ducks had proved elucive, we decided to round off the day's sport by a spot of grouse shooting. By grouse I mean, sand grouse of course. These birds are also distinctive creatures. When in flight they utter a peculiar double call, a short sharp guttural sound, which gives away their position to any observer on the ground. They usually come down to drink water when the sun has already been up for some hours. When they alight, they do so in a row, and after coming down they sit still for a while, watching the scene carefully, and looking for all the world, like a row of meditating monks. Once they have satisfied themselves that these is no danger in sight, they walk uo to the water, onestep at a time. Each step is followed by a pause, and a careful reconnaissance. Their plumage blends so perfectly with the earth, that one might easily mistake one for a clod or a stone.
That morning, the sand grouse had come down in an area where the ground was gently undulating. Intersecting this terrain of small dunes were channels of water, the creeks and inlets described above. The problem was just as we peeped over the crest of one dune the birds would spot us and fly away to the next dune. After repeating this process, two or three times, we finally gave up. It seemed we would just have to wait for our luck to turn.
Next morning we decided to set out early, before the sun was up. Our destination this time was the Jamonia irrigation tank. This is a large tank, situated a few mile west of Sehore. This tank is distinguished from Bhagwanpura, and indeed other tanks of the kind, by a dense growth of vegetation at the margin of the lake. This vegetation affords good cover for hunters and the tank is therefore ideal for duck shooting. What makes it special is the fact that the comparatively heavier cover provides the hunter with some chance of getting a shot at that most wary bird of all, the Siberian goose.
We -that is Siddique, Dr Haider and myself -were at the tank early next morning. It was quite chilly thus early in the day, and the dew lay thick on the green, damp, sward that fringed the margin of the lake. The tank was nearly full, which made it difficult for us to reach across to the far side, where the ducks prefer to feed early in the day .If we chose to walk around to other side, it would mean making a huge circuit that might take the better part of an hour and we would lose precious time in the process. Dr Haider suggested that we could get over to the other side by a short cut which was jeepable, but only just. As no one else seemed to know anything about this path Dr Haider was asked to take the wheel.
The next few minutes were exhilarating, as Dr. Haider, after lighting a cigarette and putting it between his lips, sent the old Ford jeep careering over ditches and potholes and through clumps of bushes and stretches of water that appeared to almost knee deep in places. When I asked him how he managed to steer the vehicle when no kind of path was visible, he told me that before the tank was constructed there used to be a well worn cart track around it, and as he had spent his youth in these parts, he remembered this track and was able to steer along quite nicely on this basis. I fervently hoped that his memory would prove to be more accurate in this one instance than it usually was in other cases, and when we arrived at a patch of dry ground on the far side of the tank, I raised a small prayer of thanksgiving. Siddique who had been sweating rather too much, given the cold weather, now lit his pipe with ostentatious nonchalance. Our amphibious journey had taken us less than ten minutes.
Having arrived at our destination in good time, with the faint crimson tinge of dawn barely beginning to be visible over the eastern horizon, we were soon in position behind clumps of densely growing bushes. Siddique had suggested that we divide our forces, each one taking a separate position, but Dr. Haider elected to stay with me, while Siddique took up his stand a little distance away where he thought he had a better chance of getting a shot. Siddique had so positioned himself, that he would be able to get the first shot at the ducks, and as one shot was all that we would be able to get, if we stayed where we were, we had hardly any chance of adding anything to our bag. After whispered consultation with Dr Haider we decided to shift our base a few hundred yards to the left, where the cover was less thick, but there was just the odd chance that if Siddique fired and missed, some stragglers might alight close to us and give us a chance. After squelching through the soggy turf for another ten minutes we were installed in our new hide and sat down to await developments.
Dr Haider, who was growing more and more excited with the passage of time, now took out his handkerchief, a after fashioning it in the shape of what he chaimed was a duck, he placed it the edge of the water just in front of our hide. This he told me was an infallible ploy to attract the biggest prize of duck shooting, the grey lag goose or-Kaz -as he called it. When he said the word, 'kaz' he said it with a kind of hushed reverence. Today, he said, he had a hunch that we were going to get this bird. The grey light of dawn had by now completely dissipated and a beautiful winter sunrise had flooded the lake and the mist wrapped shoreline with clear lucent light. The lake was calm as glass. It was just the kind of weather that the ducks like and we could see far away in the centre of the lake, large contingents of ducks detach themselves from the main body, like large flotillas detaching themselves from the main fleet and head for the shoreline. After a while we heard a shot from Siddique, and a few seconds later this was followed by another shot. The birds that he had scared away rose up in a compact body and after circling overhead for a longish while, a large covey of birds came down just where Dr Haider had placed his handkerchief as decoy. I raised my gun and was about to fire, but Dr. Haider motioned to me to wait. I understood that he wanted me to wait for the goose. I held my fir, and waited. Sure enough, after a few moments, a large bird with a wonderful mottled plumage landed close to us. As it did so Dr Haider, very sportingly waived his own chance and asked me to take the shot. The large bird, so close to our guns was an easy target, literally a sitting duck, and it was an easy thing to put a load of buck shot into it. As the dripping bird was retrieved by Ram Singh, there was no happier man than the good doctor, whose self denial had given me a chance to bag the goose.
