One winter morning, I was walking down SCB Main Road to the bank. Since it was just nearing opening hours, I walked slowly, on purpose. Whenever I'm out on the roads with time to spare, I make it a point to observe what's new since my last visit.

I noticed a new STAR Super Bazaar, operated by Tata and Tesco (UK), had opened near Shyam's (Indian Oil) petrol pump. As expected, eager customers thronged it - after all, among supermarkets, STAR is known for selling goods at the lowest prices without compromising on quality. Shyam's pump itself had expanded, adding an "Emission Test Centre" to its facilities. The small Indian Bank branch at the intersection of National Highway 43 (NH 43) and SCB road had moved out, and replaced by a medical diagnostic laboratory. Around the bend, I could see Pranav's Psychiatric Hospital, and beyond it, about a kilometer away, the Bhagini bus depot.

I glanced at my watch. There were still five minutes left before 10 AM, the bank's opening time. Once it opened, it would take another 10 - 15 minutes for the staff to log into their workstations and be ready to serve customers. There was a nice snack center near the bank, and I debated whether to step into the bank immediately or grab a cup of coffee first.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

A man wearing dirty white pyjamas and carrying a small duffle bag slung over his shoulder came tearing down the road, shouting, "Bhago! Jaldi Bhagoo!" in Hindi (which means "Run! Quickly run!"). His face was covered with sweat and grime. He looked like someone who hadn't bathed or shaved in a while. Many passersby stopped, watching curiously.

"Bhago!" he shouted again before scaling the wall of a large, empty compound adjoining the road, about four buildings away from my bank, and disappearing inside. Four men in white trousers and shirts were in hot pursuit, running as fast as they could but still lagging far behind.

I wondered what was happening. Was the fleeing man a thief? Or a terrorist disguised as a petty laborer? I quickly thought it through and concluded otherwise - he was neither a thief nor a terrorist, but an escaped psychiatric patient from Pranav's Psychiatric Hospital! The four men chasing him were likely psychiatric nurses who were trying to apprehend him. That seemed most likely, but I wasn't entirely sure. I needed more details.

So, I sprinted to the empty compound to find out more. The wall was too high to scale, dressed as I was. I looked for another entrance and found a small, broken-down wooden gate in the far corner. Some of its planks were missing, leaving gaps through which small animals could wriggle into the compound.

The gate was slightly ajar. I pushed my way through and entered.

I stopped and looked around. Almost in the middle of the compound, I found the fleeing man standing with his back to me. There was a caduceus mark printed on the back of his dress, and below it were the initials "P.P.H.," in faded red. That was the missing piece of the puzzle. The caduceus confirmed that his clothing belonged to a medical institution, and "P.P.H." most likely stood for Pranav's Psychiatric Hospital. Now, I was sure - this man was a psychiatric patient who had escaped and was on the run, not a thief or terrorist.

Just as I reached the conclusion, a well-built cop entered through the same gate, running. Simultaneously, the man at the center turned to face us. The police officer charged toward him, and I followed.

We stopped about five to seven meters away.

"Who are you?" the cop demanded.

"Baldev Singh," the man replied nonchalantly.

"Why were you running?" the cop asked. "And what's in your shoulder bag? Give it to me!"

Baldev stood silently before the cop but did not answer or give his bag over.

"Surrender!" the cop shouted, whipping out his pistol and pointing it at him.

It was time to intervene. I stepped forward and said politely, "Sir, don't shoot. He is a psychiatric patient, not a thief or a terrorist."

"Shut up," the cop snapped. "Don't interfere! He is Yakub bin Laden, a wanted ISIS terrorist, known to wear different disguises at different times to escape detection. Look! There's a prominent 'ISIS' mark on his bag. It must contain bombs or chemicals used for making bombs. You to clear out! I am going to arrest him now. "

What was I to do? Hindering a police officer in the line of duty is a serious offense, punishable by law. But wasn't it a greater crime to allow a defenseless, mentally challenged man to be mistaken for a criminal and shot by an overzealous police officer? I glimpsed at Baldev's bag and found the officer had made a mistake. What was printed on it in large letters was an ISI (Indian Standards Institute) mark, not ISIS as he feared!

I was sure Baldev was mentally ill, while the cop was certain he was an ISIS terrorist in disguise.

Baldev got excited at the mention of the word "terrorist." "I am not a terrorist, police Saab!" he said. "I come from a lineage of brave military men... We kill terrorists!" He made a wrenching motion with his hands as he spoke as if he wanted to give the impression of twisting a terrorist to death. "And we don't deal with mean people like you."

The police officer had had enough. "Hands up!" he ordered, his pistol aimed at Baldev's head.

Baldev did not raise his hands.

I could see fire in the cop's eyes as his finger curled around the trigger.

"Sir, please?" I said one more time. "Don't shoot him. I'll give you proof!"

At this, the police officer turned his pistol menacingly toward me. "Didn't I order you to leave? Why are you obstructing me? Who are you, anyway? Are you an accomplice? Hands up!" he ordered me.

Shock seized me, but I lifted both hands to comply while maintaining a calm and relaxed stance.

"Sir," I said politely, "there is a caduceus mark on the back of the man's dress, and below it, the initials 'P.P.H.' Please go and take a look."

Baldev, who had been silent until now, suddenly began chanting, "Zindabad! Zindabad!" enthusiastically raising his right hand each time.

That was the breaking point.

The officer, who was beginning to see the light when I told him about the caduceus, immediately reverted to his original suspicion, perhaps mistaking "Zindabad" for a terrorist's victory cry. He was about to shoot me (and maybe, Baldev next) when, out of nowhere, something like a solid ball swooshed through the air, hit the cop's pistol, and knocked it out of his hand. Simultaneously, a sharp stone fell from the sky, hitting his head with a 'bonk' sound, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groaned and writhed in pain. Another stone, meant for his head, landed harmlessly nearby.

"Zindabad! Zindabad!" Baldev kept shouting while I stood frozen at the spot.

Presently, a sparrow flew in from the opposite direction of the projectile. It was Clifton!

"Pradeep sir, it's I," he said cheerfully, floating onto my right shoulder. "And these are my friends Banjo and Beula," he said, pointing to two other sparrows who had landed at my feet.

"Thank you, Clifton," I said, much relieved.

He had been watching from somewhere and clearly sensed it when things started getting out of hand. Hence, his attack on the cop to disarm him in the nick of time!

I quickly called Inspector Raj to inform him of what had happened, just in case the wounded cop recovered and made another attempt to shoot either Baldev or me before help arrived.

"Don't worry," the Inspector assured me. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes and will handle everything."

Relaxed, I looked at Baldev and then turned my gaze to SCB Main Road. Just then, I noticed the psychiatric nurses running on the road, shooting past the compound, quite oblivious to our presence. Not to worry, however, they soon returned, redirected by some onlookers. Spotting Baldev, they rushed in via the wooden gate and ran to apprehend him.

There was high drama again when Baldev, in an attempt to escape from the nurses, ran and hid behind the cop (who had staggered to his feet by then) gripping him from behind like a wrestler. Mistakenly, he thought he could use the cop as a human shield and keep the nurses at bay, but without luck! One nurse went behind and fired a tranquilizer dart at him. After a minute or two, he turned groggy and fell unconscious. The nurses then carried him to an ambulance that had arrived at the gate and drove off with him.

Inspector Raj arrived soon after. The cop immediately stood at attention and saluted him. I explained what had happened and assured him it wasn't entirely the cop's fault.

The Inspector didn't scold him but looked displeased.

Over time, some police officers develop set patterns of reasoning and make up their minds according to those patterns when sizing up a new suspect or criminal. It's hard to make them take note of something new or view the same scenario from other angles, even if they make perfect sense.

As Clifton and I walked toward the bank, I said, "To be a good cop, you need to refresh yourself each day, keeping abreast with the ever-changing environment, whether it be because of technology, medicine, law, new trends in crime, etc. I think that's what the good inspector was unhappy about."

Clinton appeared to agree.

When we arrived at the bank, his friends Banjo and Beula, having guessed our destination correctly, were waiting for us outside, perched atop the streetlight in front. They called out to him.

Sensing his eagerness to join them and enjoy the day together, I smiled and said, "Thanks, Clifton. Go enjoy your day with your friends!"

"Bye, Pradeep sir," he chirped and flew off.

Finally, after I entered the bank, I asked myself "Isn't it great to have a feathered friend like Clifton?" He can be of vital help in umpteen situations, and may even save your life, just as he had done that day!

THE END