Latent hum ਮਿੱਠੀ ਗੂੰਜ

It was the first Sunday of the new year. My bare feet felt like they were breathing on the cold concrete floor outside the arches of our house of worship, a Gurdwara. I grabbed a steaming hot cup of chai to comfort myself before catching up with a friend from the congregation.

Engrossed in conversation, I suddenly felt a tap on my back & a series of slaps. I turned around, the cold evaporating from the heat of my irritation, to see Puran. At first, I thought he was horseplaying, but before I could say anything, he spewed so many words that all I could hear was the following: “Bapu jee.” My impatience grew as I broke off my conversation to try to understand my son. Puran spoke again, still flustered. “Hurry! Hurry! Bapu Jee. There is a bird down on the floor. We need you.”

I followed him to a circle of kids and made my way in. My eyes traced the wet concrete floor, finally perceiving the shimmering warrior with her tucked wings. My heart sank. Puran and his friends whispered to each other, “It’s a hummingbird. Is she alive?” I inched closer and kneeled, my body shivering, desperately scanning for any signs of life.

I picked her up & held her in my palms: a fluffy gem, peaceful in its grace. I felt no trace of a beat or awkward stiffness. I have always admired the meditative acrobatics of the hummingbirds buzzing through my backyard at home, sipping nectar from the purple ears of Mexican sage. It was eerie to hold one in my hands, a reminder of the intricate beauty of nature.

I asked the kids to get a cardboard box and a paper plate, but they hesitated, wanting to touch the elongated rainbow feathers. I reacted in a sharp pitch, telling them that touching her wings would soil her armor and make her unable to fly. Their faces dropped as they murmured, "Why are you holding her, then?" I reiterated my request for help. There was no time to explain that it would be too dangerous for many people to handle her.

When the children returned with supplies, I placed her on the paper plate platform inside a cardboard box, her elongated beak pointing upward. Bhavnoor, Puran’s Keertan classmate, seemed perplexed. Her eyes were glued to the feathered warrior as if conversing with the bird. 

“She needs nectar!” Bhavnoor said, jumping up & running to the tea area in the dining hall. She returned quickly, her little hands holding a steel saucer. With a metal spoon, she rapidly stirred sugar into water. Our circle of commotion grew as kids from the playground came to watch.

They all began to hum. "Waheguru, Waheguru. Please.”

She continued to lie flat on the plate, completely still. Her beak glistened, the colors shimmering. She looked like a kid slumbering in bed too late on a Sunday morning. 

We moved the box from the cold concrete to an area with stronger sun rays. The space was lined with palm trees & enough flowers to make her feel at home. We took turns dipping a tissue into the sugary syrup & squeezing a few drops onto her beak, but signs of life eluded us. I handed the syrup responsibility to Bhavnoor & Puran & stepped out of the circle, pulling out my phone. I searched for any open bird rescue centers & made some calls. The only one open on a Sunday was in Delaware, which was too far from where we were in the Bay Area. With my shoulders sinking, I returned to where Puran & Bhavnoor were still working on the drip.

I took a turn, dipping a fresh paper towel into the sugary liquid. The water looked like a shining pearl as it landed on her long beak and trickled onto the plate. The Waheguru hum buzzed in my ear, and then her sword-like tongue burst out, latching on to a few licks of the nectar. 

She flew up to the palm tree in a flash, & we were left amazed. Resting momentarily on the thin blades of the leaf, she looked at us & buzzed away to her endless playground. The kids beamed with pride & quickly vanished to their next act. I could not comprehend what had transpired. Gazing at the fallen nectar pattern on the box, my hopeless doubts about the fate of the Warrior wings forever erased. I picked up the box & held it close to my chest, my eyes glistening, the nectar in me sweet... 

As I sat inside the main worship hall, Keertan rhymed in the air. Her grace settled in my palms, her colors shimmering deep in me, & my soul abounded.