he hoopoe is missing. In a Quranic legend, Prophet Suleiman (peace be upon him) is irked at the hoopoe for not showing up to his court. Annoyed, he decides that a severe punishment is only fair for the tardy bird. But the hoopoe returns with a good defence: he had just witnessed the magnificent kingdom of the pagan Queen Sheba, whom Prophet Suleiman converts to the one God.

In another fable, a thirsty crow fills up the water bucket with pebbles to quench his thirst. The two birds have nothing in common. But in Lahore, hoopoe and crow have a situation.

Lahore’s hoopoe is missing too. The city’s majestic hoopoe, a uniquely beautiful foul, is among the recent victims of the city’s ambition to score among the pageantry of Dohas and Dubais of the world. Or better, Paris.

As Lahore explodes in all directions, its original inhabitants are leaving the city to more opportunistic species like crows and eels. Like Suleiman’s hoopoe, the bird’s declining numbers also bear some news: Lahore’s ecosystem is dying a slow death away from the gaze of the opportunist crows and humans.

The city’s oligarchs have made it clear: Lahore must grow, and Lahore must grow fast. To make room for future Lahoris, arriving with aspirations unmet by smaller towns, the real estate machinery is throwing out plans like a 3D printer. But Project Lahore isn’t free and it isn’t for everyone. The city’s exclusionary expansion is only for some birds and some people. If you are a crow, or if you own a vehicle, you’re welcome. If you’re a quieter bird that feeds on flowers, or a human that walks, you’re not. Gentrification of low-income neighbourhoods and commercial development on agricultural land have made it easier for birds, and humans, like crows to thrive.

The city’s exclusionary expansion is only for some birds and some people. If you are a crow, or if you own a vehicle, you’re welcome. If you’re a quieter bird that feeds on flowers, or a human that walks, you’re not.

Lahore’s smog-laden air failed another species, the honeybee. Take this: three of Pakistan’s four honeybee species are endangered and we’re down to 11 kinds of honey from 22. In a truly self-destructive fashion, humans take more and more from others to build cities that need more and more to function. There’s no place in megaprojects for bees and birds. And cities without birds and bees are cities without life.

In 1962, Rachel Carlson questioned the moral responsibility of humankind’s unsatiated appetite for growth. Science and technology, she argued, was distorting our relationship with nature, trying to subdue it. The foundational relationships between species are collapsing as human control over food production and technological development disregards the more-than-human — the life deteriorating under active war waged by one species, the homo sapien. Welcome to the anthropocene.

“The hedge is withered from the lake, and no birds sing.”

— Keats

Sarah Sikandar is a freelance writer based in the US. She can be reached at sikandar.sarah@gmail.com