Right behind the writer's house is a pond that no one has used for a long time, writes Tahmid Hasan. Thick moss and water spinach (kolmi lata) cover the water, spreading like a green carpet to the banks. Yet in the water body left useless by human neglect, another life has taken root. Among the water spinach and behind the bushes, a flock of waterhens (dahuk) move about all day, making small sounds. Whether anyone notices or not, this is their home, and the waterhen family is growing, neglected or perhaps well cared for.

The dahuk is a very familiar name in Bengal, yet few people actually get to see the bird. Most know it only from its sharp, somewhat harsh call drifting from afar at night or on monsoon mornings. The writer counts himself lucky to have met this temporary resident without even looking: dark grey above, white breast and face, and a reddish tinge under the tail. What a lovely contrast of colours.

He has heard it said that if a waterhen sees someone eating and is not given a share, a curse follows. Such proverbs and beliefs have been passed down by word of mouth for generations, giving this ordinary bird a kind of mysterious status in rural culture. Whether it is true, who knows.

Though a lover of water, the waterhen prefers ponds and ditches covered in bushes, reeds, water hyacinth or dense aquatic plants, the ridges of paddy fields and the edges of bamboo groves. Dense cover gives it safety and lets it move about unseen by predators. With its long legs it walks easily across water hyacinth, and if needed it swims across small ponds. In this city, though, the writer suspects the waterhen may be a migrant.

It eats whatever it finds, from insects, earthworms, snails, small fish and tadpoles to seeds, grains of rice and soft plant parts. This varied diet helps it survive easily in rural surroundings. Yet here it is, living in the bushes of an abandoned pond of black water in the lap of a polluted city, walking along the water's edge with its chicks.

In Bangladesh the waterhen is still a relatively common resident bird, but its habitat is steadily shrinking under the pressure of urbanisation. It is not yet on the endangered list, but as the country's small water bodies disappear one by one, whether the bird will survive in the long term is a real concern.

In Bengali poetry and song, the waterhen's call has returned again and again as an inseparable part of the evening and night landscape of rural Bengal. In nature poetry, especially in descriptions of the scenery of Rupashi Bangla, the calls of night birds have often been used to convey solitude, the rhythm of village life and the symbol of nature. Yet a waterhen pair has made its home in this pond in a city full of factory smoke. The writer keeps thinking about it: they are his guests.

The writer is a student at Gono Bishwabidyalay.

Source: Jagonews24. First published in Bengali on The Agro News.