The Bird

My little brother told me that when he dies he wants to come back as a bird. That was nearly 30 years ago now and we’re both still here. In the literal sense that is. He laughs when I remind him of it. How every night when we lay on our bunks that he wished he would dream of being a bird. The thought consumed him. It was exciting to witness. With the morning came disappointment. After a night of dreaming, flying over hills and down valleys, he woke realising he was still human.

He could never tell me why he wanted to be a bird, nor that his bird of choice was a sparrow. I thought surely he could aim for something a little more grand. A parrot, emu or bird of prey. But no, he just wanted to be a sparrow. Imagine, now he is an advisor to the Prime Minister!

I suppose though we are all birds, imitating natures creation in one way or another. Strutting around like the emu, impressing women with our colourful feathers like the peacock , or sitting thoughtfully like the owl. There are thousands of birds, I must also be one of them! One night when sitting by an African campfire I was reminded of my brothers desire to become a sparrow. The elder said;

‘It was time to elect a new king of the birds, but no-one could agree what the rules of the election should be. Small birds said it should be a small bird this time, sea birds said it was their turn to rule, the big forest birds who live alone got nervous with the crowding and noise and went off to sulk and say it should have been them, the geese wanted there to be a new ruler every twenty minutes. At last the hawks said quietly but fiercely it would be one of them, and chased the rest away. Some of them went up in the air to fight, but the vultures just watched and waited. So did the great fish eagle. The fighters came down for a rest and to mend their feathers. The fish eagle asked who had won, and they said it was a tie. The fish eagle said whoever won could fight him for the crown, but when they all looked at his terrible claws and beak - they made him king’.

As I sat by that fire I wondered, where would my brother fit in? As a sparrow he would certainly not be king. Would he still have a good life? Could he decide over his own life and be free as I suspected he dreamed of as a child? I suppose that would depend on the fish eagle, the king. This king that through no real effort of its own ruled over all the birds, no matter how brightly coloured, no matter how hard working. Just by the weapons he held of claws and a beak. Just to be born a king.

 When I think of that night I think of one thing, there are so many sparrows in the world and in comparison only few fish eagles. Surely the sparrows could reign over the fish eagles? In a democratic bird state the sparrows could vote the fish eagles out of office. And if the fish eagles were tyrannical dictators sparrows could surely outnumber them with pure force. But it is still the case that the fish eagle is king, and it is still the case that my brother wishes to be a sparrow. A sparrow that advises the Prime Minister.

The king is dead, long live the king.