Which is why I ended up signing a petition circulating online asking for the crane to be freed.
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Saras cranes are the world’s tallest flying birds. This large being flying alongside a man on a motorcycle is what gave the viral video of Mohammed Arif Khan and his crane-companion some of its otherworldy air. The sense of togetherness and affection in the video might be one of the most moving things I have seen in a long time. Which is why I ended up signing a petition circulating online asking for the crane to be freed.
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The crane was rescued by officials of the Wildlife department when they saw the video. Strange word, rescue, when it is used to describe the capture of a being from a space of care to restrict in a place of captivity. When the crane itself has chosen to live alongside a man, how does what is good for the crane get decided by someone else? Well, this is a question that always seems to come up in so many instances of consensual love where authorities intervene for the alleged good of lovers.
Chalo, let’s say when the officials of the wildlife department decided to ‘rescue’ the crane, they were feeling unduly officious, mera matlab hai efficient. But what would make them charge Mohammed Arif under so many sections of the Wildlife Protection Act, which could lead to a few years imprisonment and fines if he is convicted? Do they care for the crane? Or do they simply object to someone embodying care—which they are supposed to stand for? Because unfortunately, most systems that claim to be about care really become about control and that is when laws that are meant to protect become laws that punish. That is what separates the world of love from the world of power. Even the politicians who claim to defend the relationship do so mostly to attack their opponents —it is combat, not connection they are committed to.
Mohammed Arif Gurjar found the Saras crane bleeding in a field and tended to it till it was healed. The bird became his devoted companion—this process of forging a connection is called imprinting. She went with him everywhere. She socialised with other birds, but made this person her home—and was reportedly not to nice to Arif’s wife Meherunissa.
Saras cranes are known to mate for life, sometimes wasting away if they lose their partners. Though we may not know about this as a piece of general knowledge, we know the idea from songs like “do hanson ka joda bichhad gayo re/gajab hoyo rama, zulam hoyo re” (a pair of cranes was parted/ Lord, by unheard cruelty, thwarted). While the world of law might call Arif criminal, the world of story and song recognises many fluid relationships, accepts myriad loves. In the world of story and song there are many words to describe the relationship between a man and a bird he looked after: dost, yaar, humsafar, humrahi, humdum, koi apna sa (someone my own).
In these times when relationships are arraigned across ideological lines, denouncement is easier than understanding, and we are quick to sever connection because of difference, the story of Arif and the crane gleams like a reminder that love and care are their own kinship, their own dominion. In our embrace of this story lies our yearning for this lost time of love, compassion and acceptance.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at paromita.vohra@mid-day.com
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