THE FLYING VISITORS OF DINJAN

The best part about my job is to manage the military land of Dinjan and play lots of golf. Located on the banks of the mighty Brahmaputra and surrounded by tea estates and jungles this is a wild life haven. The air is cooled with the majestic Himalayas looking down on us from afar. The golf course, my home away from home, is surrounded by 'jheels', almost horse shoe shaped. A jheel is a lake filled with reeds and fish.

The rains came late this year so the jheels filled up only in Aug. It's a nightmare for us golfers as by some strange gravitational law the balls get attracted to the surface no matter how much height, or speed they may possess. Plonk!

I recall clearly, it was the 16^th of Aug, the day after Independence day when my local caddie said 'Look, Pani Kavi' and pointed skyward. And there they were...

In perfect unison and grace hundreds of ducks from across the mountains! It was as if the grey monsoon skies parted to let them through. It was simply breath taking.

They circled the jheel, selecting their exact point and effortlessly landed in the tall grass, getting enveloped immediately.

For the next few months we watched them go about their work as if we never existed. Once in a while a ball landed in their midst and with a flutter that grew in crescendo and a warning quack to their young ones they would all take off, circle a few times and land precisely back. I suspect some of us sacrificed a ball purposely to see them take flight. It was simply breathtaking.

The littler ones grew and sometimes bravely ventured into the open water. We could spot them in the grass with their bobbing heads.

As winter advanced they would come into the open sun giving us a rare treat, splashing around flapping their wings enjoying the warmth - Silver droplets glinting in the sunlight.

Then the flying lessons began. Around and around us they swirled in the skies -The smaller learning about the V formation and how to relax in the slip stream. They would be gone for longer hours as the training got more strenuous, preparing them for the long flight ahead. Inwardly we dreaded the day they would depart, we had gotten so used to them

And then the day arrived as they took off for the final journey. I distinctly remembered the moon was still in the sky.

In one big giant flap of a million wings they arose, circled the jheel as we watched and then they were off towards the mountains, tiny black dots swallowed in the blue sky.

They will be back next monsoon and forever because we soldiers stand vigil for their safety.