It was the Northeast monsoon season of 2016. Our home which we moved into some years ago, surrounded by mango trees and paddy fields with no other houses nearby, was a little heaven for all kinds of wildlife.

At night, along with the chirping and croaking of millions of tiny insects and horny frogs and toads, there were the elusive Mottled wood owls. In our language they are known as "Kaalan Kozhi" or fowls of death. They hid in the distant bushes and trees, with their signature eerie "Pooovahhh" sound echoing throughout the night (In my native tongue "poovah" roughly translates to as "let us go"), never allowing us to catch a glimpse of them. I have heard the widespread stories about them before. How their ominous calls at night heralds someone's death, like the Banshee in Irish folklore. I have also read it in my favorite book "Oru Deshathinte Kadha" (Tales of Athiranippadam) by my favorite writer S K Pottekkatt. That monsoon season was a hotspot for Mottled Wood Owl activity if I remember correctly. Every night fall you could hear their calls in the cover of darkness until you fell asleep.

One particular day, I was sitting in our veranda at night after finishing my homework, covered in my blanket (as it gets pretty cold there) when I heard a loud "Poovahhh" coming from a dense undergrowth beyond our property, bordering the fields. Growing up hearing all the stories, I know I should have been scared. But I was curious instead. I breathed in all the air I could muster into my lungs and returned a 'Poovah' to the bush.

It didn't take long for me to get an answer. A loud "Poovahhh" emerging from that same bush. I mimicked a "Poovah" back again to be met with an even louder one. Now, I was really intrigued! We began a back and forth of "Poovahs" which even piqued my parents' interest. My opponent even seemed changing his location from bush to bush and branch to branch, seemingly coming closer to our home. The mysterious grim reaper in the dark and I continued our "Poovah" battle well into that night until my mother drove me away to bed with a ladle.

This continued for the second and the third night as well until the grim reaper finally decided to show himself. I was at the back kitchen door ready to shout another "Poovah" into the night when this large blob of white, black and grey wafted into our view and landed heavily on a low lying mango branch, bathed in the light of our backyard LED bulb.

We were flabbergasted. After moving into our home I had the opportunity to see one or two smaller owls but this guy was huge (and thick and fluffy)! And not only that, the elusive Kaalan Kozhi of myths and legends, decided to show himself to us, to me, right in our backyard under a man made light, starring at us without any fear!

And that's how the big guy began showing up at our home every night afterwards. Even though our rap battle ended, he was very curious. A little too curious for his own good I would say. While his brethren hid deep in the dark undergrowth and tree tops at night, wary of any human eyes, this gentleman would just chill on the pipe right next to our kitchen door catching insects that came attracted to the light. At times when my father would gather and burn the dried leaves on November nights, he would come and sit nearby. It was a sight to see him fly through the orange glow casted by the fire, without any sound and whoosh of air. He could also fly really close to the ground. I decided that even though he looked large, he must have been a young juvenile owl or something due to his lack of fear of humans.

And my suspicion only grew stronger when he stopped showing up at our home, by the end of that winter. He must have grown. His elders must have scolded him to be wary of humans. He must even have had a family of his own. After all these years, even though I now live at my mother's home (surrounded by other houses and people and the only noticeable "wildlife" being the feral cat whom I call "Gundappan"), when the rainy season comes, I still remember him.

Who knows, maybe he was an owl or maybe he was someone or something else. Just like "Mavoottan" the black cat with green eyes who showed up one day, whom our neighborhood grandmother would point and say "that's not a cat". That's a story for another post.

PS: I don't have grim reaper's pictures. Me and my mother didn't have any cellphones back then and it never occurred to me to take one with my father's phone. At that time, due to my daily familiar proximity to wildlife even though I felt all this as very normal, now looking back it feels like something out of a fairytale.

PPS: I recently learnt that the "Poovah" sound is actually a mating call.

The time I befriended a fowl of death