The Cry of the Jackal
A jackal cries in the shadow of rain Howling to the wind, in love or in pain, For whom, I wonder, by the waters untame Into twilight, into the moonlight, in glory or disdain With a cry of sorrow or victory, that no man can explain With what power or prowess, that no man shall [ever] tame They lament for defeat as beautifully as they sing for glory. I’ve often found comingled tracks of the Indian Jackal, Canis aureus indicus , and the domestic dog, Canis lupus familiaris , in the muddy areas around the fragmented forests, but I can never tell the difference. I can simply assume it to belong to them, at least some of them; because I know they hunt this hillock. In the dark I hear a pack of these night-stalkers howling and yelping – for a fallen comrade or for securing a kill – I can never tell the difference, but their presence always fills me with gladness that they’re around. The calls are usually heard between dusk and early dawn. It starts first with yelps, soundin...