The Bat and I

A bat came to visit me last night.

I was half asleep when I was awakened by the whirring sound of wings in a dimly lit room. The television was the only source of light. The comedy on the television had started to lull me into bored dizziness when my senses were suddenly heightened by this sound. I squinted to find something moving above in the space between the ceiling and the mosquito–net.

The house I currently live in is an old bungalow dating to the British India which has been done up multiple times in the past to make it breath-taking to look at but barely liveable. It has high wooden ceiling which drip during monsoon, but certainly do not allow the entry of bats on a regular basis. I wondered how this creature of the night got inside.

I did not get much time to worry about. The bat was flying in the room in an oval orbit, with the centre around two feet above my head. I was safe inside the mosquito net, but it was flying irritatingly close to my head. It was making for the window which was covered with wire mesh.

I marvelled at the fact that not once did it hit the wire mesh, the mosquito net, the wall, or any other structure in the room. I recalled something about navigation that the bats used, akin to the sonar. I recalled how, a few years ago, a bird had somehow got inside my room and had injured itself in an attempt to break free. It was only after it lay on ground, injured and covered in its own blood, that I was able to take it out in the open and release it.  Surprisingly, it had flown away after a few minutes of rest.

I was really happy that the girls were not here to see it. They both would have started shouting their lungs out the moment they would have seen the bat. The younger one is mortally scared of any bird or animal. She does not go out if she spots too many insects in the garden. The only living being that she can tolerate from nearby, other than members of the human species, is butterfly. But her enthusiasm is limited to observing them, not touching them. She also likes to see her sister and their friends play with stray dogs, but only from a distance.

The elder one has, of late, become a little brave in this regard. She frequently pets a stray cat that has been trying to adopt our home for the past few months. She has, in the past, allowed the cat to jump up and sit in her lap while she read a novel or story book in the winter sun.  Her friend is fond of dogs, and both of them are often seen playing with stray dogs. A few days ago, Aadya’s friend was bit by a dog, and had to take anti – rabies shots. While Aadya was quite nonchalant about it, the younger one remarked that she had warned them of the likelihood of such a scenario many times. “But she just doesn’t listen,” she had ruled.

“Will I require anti-rabies shots if it bites me?” I wondered. I have heard of some deadly diseases spread by bats in Africa.  Even Corona is rumoured to have a bat connection. But I could not recall of having heard of a bat – bite story in the people I knew of.

It was the coronavirus that had forced me into this planet of solicitude in the palatial but barely liveable house in the first place.  The children were visiting their grandparents’ house when the pandemic forced the indefinite closure of schools and I was stuck at my workplace alone, while my wife and children were braving it out at their native place.

That came out wrong. They were making the best of the opportunity while I was the one braving it out and playing host to my winged relative of mammal family. And it was making immaculate, if puzzled, ovals a little above my head.

I had to get it out of the room, but did not know how to proceed. I took a chance, and came quietly out of the mosquito – net, and switched the tubelight on. The bat continued along its well-defined path. It did not display any interest in making any close contact with its aerially-challenged, biped relative, and I was very glad for that. I waited for a few minutes, then bravely switched the light off, and tip-toed back to the safety of the mosquito net.

The bat must have got puzzled by then, for it went to the wooden ceiling and hung upside down to ponder upon the lopsided world. I went supine and aided to its pondering by switching the television off. Then, slowly, I slipped out of the net enveloped bed again and opened the door which led to the garden. Having completed this brave mission, I rushed back to my very comfortable bed and decided to match the meditations of the bat.

A lot of time passed, during which I was able to recollect that my daughters have probably got the fear of animals from their mother. My wife cannot face even the cutest dog that comes to greet her whenever we visit any friend who have pets. She has been known to hide behind me when stray puppies come towards her during morning walks, wagging their cute little tails and hoping for a treat. I am not much braver when it comes to animals, but the relativity of bravery helps me maintain a façade of stoic indifference towards the canines.

Meanwhile, the bat decided to brave it out again, and set along a different orbit in the room. The path still did not lead it towards the open door, and I started contemplating other options. “Will it get injured if I try to capture it?” I wondered.

The bat did not explore the options for too long. Within a couple of minutes, it was resting on my mosquito – net, barely a foot from where I was breathing. I was sure it was looking at me. I tried to stare back, but could not find its eyes, so I gave up. However, I started making a plan to capture it with a blanket and release it in the open. Only, I was not sure about whether it would continue to rest while I moved about the mosquito–net in order to get around to capture it.

After much contemplation, I carefully got out with a towel in my hand. My first stop was towards the open door, to check if I could open the it any wider. The apprehensive bat, at that very moment, decided to try again. I ducked to the ground and lay prostrate while it got airborne. This time, it made a very small circle above my head, and I crawled on all fours towards my bed.

The bat orbited an imaginary point two feet above my head four times. Then it took an elliptical path and rushed towards the night air out of the open door.

I stood up as fast as I could from the crawling position and approached the open door to see the bat flying away towards the eucalyptus tree outside my garden. In a quarter of a second, it got camouflaged with the grey darkness of the night.

I told the story to my colleague in office in the morning. “We had a similar incident a few days ago,’ he said. “We caught it with a blanket and released it.”