But hark at that dull, low note of
indescribable pain and suffering! long and heavy it swells and
dies away. It is the devil-bird; and whoever sees that bird must
surely die soon after, according to Cingalese superstition.
A more cheering sound charms the ear as the gray tint of morning
makes the stars grow pale; clear, rich, notes, now prolonged and
full, now plaintive and low, set the example to other singing
birds, as the bulbul, first to awake, proclaims the morning.
Wild, jungle-like songs the birds indulge in; not like our steady
thrushes of Old England, but charming in their quaintness. The
jungle partridge now wakes up, and with his loud cry subdues all
other sounds, until the numerous peacocks, perched on the high
trees around the lake, commence their discordant yells, which
master everything.
The name for the devil-bird is "gualama," and so impressed are
the natives with the belief that a sight of it is equivalent to a
call to the nether world that they frequently die from sheer
fright and nervousness. A case of this happened to a servant of
a friend of mine. He chanced to see the creature sitting on a
bough, and he was from that moment so satisfied of his inevitable
fate that he refused all food, and fretted and died, as, of
course, any one else must do, if starved, whether he saw the
devil-bird or not.
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