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Birds of the Varanasi River Front - a photo-essay

Sparrows on the wood weighing scale
Sparrows dust-bathing in a boat
A Blue Rock Pigeon drinks of its reflection
A White-throated Kingfisher brightens the clutter
Bank Mynas inspect a priest's wares
A Bank Myna surveys its domain
Even paradise takes prisoners, like this parakeet
Monkey business as usual - and does the kite qualify as a bird?


All of us at The Green Ogre wish you a very happy 2011, filled with hope for the future of our earth.


Photographs by Sahastrarashmi

Encounter: Brown Headed Gulls in the City of Light


One does not usually associate birding with Varanasi’s riverfront. This ancient and holy city, which is amongst the oldest continuously inhabited places on earth, is crowded, filthy, crassly commercial, oozes religiosity, garishly dressed up, loud, endlessly fascinating, photogenic, friendly, unpretentious and very often sublimely beautiful -- even spiritual. Bird life is limited to the commoners – Bank Mynas, Rock Pigeons, Black Kites, Rose-ringed Parakeets (both free and caged), Common Crows, Sparrows, an occasional Pond Heron, White-thoated Kingfishers (and sometimes it’s Pied cousin), Wagtails (a few Grey Wagtails in the winters) and an occasional Magpie Robin. The river front is over built and the entire 6 km long curve of the Ganga is choked with ghats, steps, temples, teashops and people. Successive generations of preachers and princes have all strived to leave behind a legacy and ghats are the scene of round-the-clock outpouring of humanity and its rituals. The entire spectrum of life’s chores, from deep meditation to sewage disposal, are carried out with the same fervour.

However, in winter this city is host to a beautiful migrant – the Brown-headed Gull (Larus brunnicephalus). On chilly and calm mornings, as the fog reluctantly rises above the languid river and the boats disgorge the lighted diyas on the frigid waters, one can notice skeins of dim white birds doing low passes on the river’s surface. Soon enough, as the day warms and visibility improves the cries of “aaaao – aaaao” are heard from the ghat steps and the boats. The gulls recognize it, in fact are waiting for it. They mob the source of the sound - boats in midriver, bathers on the banks and regular bird feeders – all are distributing food and a feeding orgy ensues. Residents love the birds for they break the monotony of the riverscape which has few waterbirds if any at all. The tourists are pleasantly surprised at this unexpected bounty from nature in a city where their purpose is mostly religious. Those who feed birds regularly at dawn and dusk relish this novel punya and for once the pigeons, monkeys and the sparrows take a backseat. The food offered to the birds is mostly fried savouries (namkeen), which are by no means suitable but the gulls seem to relish and fall over each other to get to the salty morsels. They are fed all through the day, every boat with tourists wants to experience this thrill and the fish and the turtles (introduced to help clean this stretch of Ganga, which carries a more than normal share of bio-waste) are the lucky beneficiaries of this largesse. The demand for gull feed has led to a seasonal occupation – a few boats in the river are there for the sole purpose of selling “bird namkeen” to the boaters and the enterprising boatmen advertise their wares by calling out “aaaao – aaaao”, getting the birds to fly in but hold back the food. The Brown-headed Gull breeds in the marshes and bogs of the Central Asian plateau and high-altitude lakes of Ladakh in India (among them Pangong Tso). It nests on the ground (usually a mound of grass on marshy terrain) in large colonies and is a gregarious species. It is migratory, wintering on the coasts, tidal creeks and large inland lakes of tropical southern Asia. In India it is found along the coasts, large lakes and river systems of northern India. I have seen it on the Ganga-Yamuna river system at several locations including the confluence (Sangam) at Allahabad. While wintering they often flock with other gulls and terns and we have seen them in large flocks with Caspian (Hydroprogne caspia, formerly Sterna caspia) , Greater Crested (Sterna bergii) and Lesser Crested terns (Sterna bengalensis), on a coastal sand bar near Marakkanam in Tamil Nadu (November 2010). It is a bold and opportunistic feeder. It scavenges and also eats small invertebrates and winged quarry. The dark brown hood is seen only in breeding plumage. In winter plumage, the head is white with a prominent dark spot behind the eye. The bill is dark red with a black tip. The legs are red and the eyes are white. It has a grey upper wing and broad white primary base, creating white half-moon against black wing-tip with prominent white mirrors (a diagnostic help). The tail is white and quite prominent in flight.
The residents love the birds and it is with a sense of pride that they tell the Indian tourists about this “safed kaowa” from Siberia (literally white crows) which is a regular visitor to the holy city. Bizarre as it may seem, this appellation is not such a farfetched one – for the gulls are numerous, mob the feeders like crows do, and for once they outnumber the crows ten to one. This is the only urban landscape where there are fewer crows than gulls or for that matter any other species of birds (mynas included). Text and photographs by Sahastrarashmi

Sundarbans diary - Leaving Bangladesh

In the fifth and final episode of her travelogue, Jennifer Nandi comes away admiring the simplicity of Bangladesh country life

A village pond with a mugger/ marsh crocodile

JANUARY 7, 2010
We come away from Bangladesh with an impress free from agitation of mind or spirit. This glowing effect devoid of conflict or commotion lasts us throughout our travels. This feeling was nourished by our soft-spoken team on the boat, by their generosity, their eagerness to please, their pride in their spotless vessel, the care and attention we received. And now driving through the countryside from the port of Mongla on our way to Jessore, the feeling settles nicely like a warm tea cosy. We pass villages that are clean, their surroundings well-attended. Even though on occasion village-life abuts the main road, there is a surprising lack of strewn garbage. Cows are not the hazard they are in India, where their aimless wanderings even on National Highways is a given.

Village scene in Jessore, Bangladesh
We stop at a fish market and are at once welcomed by the local people. They see us watching birds and ask whether we are conducting research. They witness our moment of high drama when we spy a small group of Grey-headed Lapwings. Our pleasure gratified by this serendipitous find, we invite them to look at the bird books. Ken shares his binoculars with them but the gesture is greeted with more puzzlement. If it’s your first time, it’s not easy to peer through field glasses. It takes some getting used to. They sheepishly pass the binoculars around and then, unrewarded, back to us. Our enhanced enjoyment of the ordinary puzzles them.But they are friendly and proudly show us their fish, sticking their fingers into the eyes and gills in a bid to show freshness of produce. They graciously make way for us to leave and wave goodbye enthusiastically.

At Bagerghat, 17th century architectural wonders at a UNESCO World Heritage site
En route to Jessore, we stop at Bagerhat to visit the country’s UNESCO world heritage site, the Shaat Gumbaj or sixty-dome mosque and other 17th century mosques built by one Jehan Ali Khan. To me, they all look the same and hold little architectural appeal. There is also a 16th century Hindu temple whose corbelled arch is a load-bearing feature - an architectural projection from the face of a wall to support weight, adding an interesting dimension to the temple. But what we really like is our unfettered access to walking in the surrounding villages. The people are again warm and friendly. They shyly peer at Ken - European tourists rarely come to this part of the world and he does cause quite a sensation. Sometimes local visitors from the cities ask that we be photographed with them. Yet the interest is not as undesirably prominent and in your face as it is in Rajasthan.

The corbel arch of a 16th century Hindu temple
Our flight to Dhaka is on schedule and we celebrate the end of our Bangladesh experience with a bottle of good red wine at the Hotel Westin’s fine Italian restaurant.

JANUARY 8 
The next day we use the hours before our flight to go on a guided city tour. Traffic is horrendous but we do get to see Dhaka to get a sense of the place. At the airport we face a few hours delay before we return to more eating at the Oberoi’s superb Thai restaurant. And, of course, there is always more re-packing to be done for the next leg of our journey, this time to the Indian side of the Sundarbans.



Missed the previous episodes of Jennifer Nandi's Bangladesh travelogue? Read them here:


Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.

On dry ground in the Maldives - a photo diary



In July, I travelled to the Maldives with a rock band that I worked with. We stayed at Club Faru, about 20 minutes by speedboat from the main island of Male. After finishing work on our second day, I discovered that I had five days more to do nothing -- or take in the best of the island.


The edge of the reef
The Maldives are an archipelago of 1,192 coral islands in the Indian Ocean. Only 200 islands are inhabited and a majority of these are controlled by global tourism conglomerates and designated as resort islands. Though the Maldives are an Islamic nation and alcohol is neither served nor consumed on the main islands, the resort islands have a free rein.


As far as natural history goes, the Maldives hold a magnetic fascination for divers. Being challenged in that department, I could only listen to those who went underwater and experienced the sights firsthand. 


Crabs anticipate the turn of the tide


On our resort island, the weather was balmy, with a steady, persistent breeze mellowing the sun's glare. Temperatures hung around 28 to 30- degrees Celsius, though storms could cool the air dramatically. Coral reefs calmed down the breakers into a gentle shoreward current, and the clear aquamarine waters revealed their treasures. On the shores, crabs clung to the eroded shelf of the coral atoll. In the shade of the coconut palms, hermit crabs scuffled for new mollusc shells in which to conceal their soft abdomens.


Hermit crab, up close (and delicious?!)


Hermit Crab
There is very little in terms of mammal life on the islands. On Club Faru, lazy fruit bats flitted drunkenly between their tree roosts in broad daylight. One night, a rat was found running about on the beach. Dogs are banned by Islamic law though there are plenty of cats on the islands. 


Striated Heron


Sentinel-like, the Grey Heron poses regally


Quiet contemplation
As for birds, we saw terns, gulls and tropicbirds while out at sea. On the islands there were white-breasted waterhens, enormous grey herons and the rarely seen striated heron. An occasional party of crows would breeze through the island. Oddly enough, it was the introduced birds that piqued my curiosity. 




There were rose-ringed parakeets, cockatiels, canaries, budgerigars and a large red and black parrot, which hopped on my shoulder and nibbled my ear. Interestingly, there was also a pair of koels on the island - had they been introduced?




I saw no amphibians, but there were two species of reptiles on the island -- a speckled gecko and a species of Calotes lizard. 


Gecko


Calotes lizard

Calotes lizard

Among insects, carpenter bees, honeybees, large lemon-yellow butterflies, ants and wasps were in abundance.




But it was the fish that really blew my mind and pained me for my ignorance. Black-tipped reef sharks, eels, squids, wrasses, blennies, sweetlips, surgeonfish, stingrays... and more fish that I could barely identify.


Pretty orange fish with a pointed snout


Stingrays swarm the reefs at dawn
Sweetlips at the surface
Black-tipped Reef Shark
Blue Surgeonfish (the absent-minded Dory of Finding Nemo)
Moray Eels scavenge near the pier
On a couple of trips we encountered pods of Spinner dolphins, their dorsal fins slicing through the deep blue water and occasionally leaping out in a characteristic spinning motion that gives this species its name. Sadly, they were too quick to photograph.


Lichen rings on the bark of a coconut palm


A fishy funeral - these fish mourn their dead by eating its body


Location of Club Faru in the Laccadive Sea:


 

Encounter - Antlions and the pit of death

An ant's minefield of death. In each of these pits lurks a very hungry antlion larva

For as long as I can remember this killing field has been around at the same spot, sheltered under the arch of our ancestral home in Uttar Pradesh, northern India. The present colony sits on the mud collected between the wall of the arch and the road. What used to be a mud road running into the courtyard of the house was upgraded to a brick road and then to a tarred road, but the colony (not really a "colony" since the individuals have little to do with each other in a communal sense) has thrived. This minefield of inverted volcanoes has been home to several generations of antlions and its near permanence is testimony to their adaptation and survival instincts.

As kids this colony of antlions fascinated my brother and me endlessly. It was the place for macabre experimentation in complex predator-prey relationships fueled by both curiosity and frenzied betting (involving marbles for coveted currency), though not necessarily in that order. The basic level was to introduce a hapless ant in a selected pit and place bets on its fate. The antlion would indicate its presence by throwing up puffs of dust, almost as if the inverted volcano was erupting. It served to confuse the ant and collapse the steep pit slopes, blocking the ant's escape. The ant would become absolutely still, perhaps sensing its fate. Then in sudden fateful and much anticipated moment it would vanish, pulled in by the still unseen predator. Bets involved both presence and capture; mostly they were both settled with the presence. Escape was rare.

Then there were the variations. The next level was to catch the antlion by scooping off the entire pit just at it had grabbed the ant. We would then carefully sort through the mud and locate the guy – a tiny bug with menacing jaws (for its size) and otherwise, to our eyes, unremarkable. This tiny predator is actually the larva of the antlion, the next stage being the pupa which metamorphoses into a damselfly like adult. I have rarely seen any ants or small insects in the vicinity of the colony so the food supply is not really abundant but then I guess it does not need to eat a lot. The colony has always had pits of different sizes to suit the size of the larva and newer pits keep coming up, so by all means the colony is prospering.

Other game variations involved introducing more than one ant, ants of different sizes, and an especially morbid one where an antlion was introduced in another’s lair. The variations kept coming, fuelled by a steady supply of ants and helped along by weak incipient conscience and imaginative betting odds.


The Antlion larva's menacing jaws
Photo: Jonathan Numer (Wikimedia Commons)
Close up, the antlion is a fierce-looking character. Wikipedia gives the following description, “The life cycle of the antlion begins with oviposition (egg-laying). The female antlion repeatedly taps the sand surface with the tip of her abdomen. She then inserts her abdomen into the sand and lays an egg. The antlion larva is a ferocious-appearing creature with a robust, fusiform, a very plump abdomen the thorax bearing three pairs of walking legs. The prothorax forms a slender mobile "neck" for the large, square, flattened head, which bears an enormous pair of sicklelike jaws with several sharp, hollow projections. The jaws are formed by the maxillae and mandibles, which in each pincer enclose a canal for injecting venom between them. Depending on species and where it lives, the larvae will either hide under leaves or pieces of wood, in cracks of rocks, or dig pits in sandy areas. Antlion larvae are unusual among the insects as they lack an anus. All the metabolic waste that is generated during the larval stage is stored and is eventually emitted as Meconium near the end of its pupal stage.” 


Antlions belong to the insect family Myrmeleontidae comprising about 2,000 species. I have encountered them in several locations especially below rock outcrops (quite a number are to be found in Ramanagaram near Bangalore).

After spending their larval stages as pit hunters, the ant-lions metamorphose into a damselfly-like adult that some know as the Doodlebug (the long antennae are telltale). Arun Menon shot this adult in Bangalore
While the larval stages may last 2-3 years based on the food supply, the damselfly-like adult with transparent wings (an effective camaouflage since during the day it lies motionless) lives for about a month alone. Its main job is reproduction. That achieved, it dies. It must wait for a few minutes after emerging from the cocoon (emergence is mainly at dusk) for its wings to expand and toughen but it is never a very good flier -- compared to dragonflies and damselflies. The adult is mainly active at dusk and the usual wingspan is 8 inches but can reach up to 16 cm in the African genus Palpares. The body length is typically 4 cm.

The website Antlion Pit has this interesting bit of information on the antlion being host to another species: "Of the documented relationships between antlions and other animals, perhaps the most interesting is the relationship in which antlion larvae serve as hosts to parasitic insects. For example, the larvae of the Australian horsefly (Scaptia muscula) live inside antlion larvae pits, where they share the spoils of the antlions' trapping abilities".

This year, as I introduced my son to this master predator, I realized I had lost a fair amount of skills in dealing with them. It was time for him to take over but he seemed reluctant. My wife attributes it to a more evolved conscience; I privately disagree and am convinced that it has to do with lack of appropriate betting stimuli.

These pits were the scene of many childhood games



Text by Sahastrarashmi
Photographs by Arun Menon (adult ant lion) and Sahastrarashmi
Antlion larva photograph courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
For further information please see http://www.antlionpit.com/what.html

Bangladesh Sundarbans - At the Tiger's Dining Table

Despite the many natural treasures they harbour, the Sundarbans are most famous -- and notorious -- for the creature that dominates the food chain. In the fourth episode of her Sundarbans travelogue in Bangladesh, Jennifer Nandi has a brush with the Royal Bengal Tiger.
Fishermen lay lines to collect crab
Another dawn breaks. Our guide hands us ‘jungle shoes’ and asks that we wear them to protect our own footwear from being clogged with miry mud. As we struggle for a comfortable fit, he shows us a tiger swimming across the water recently caught on film. Our thoughts are with that majestic animal as we board our speedboat. There is a slight wind whipping the waves and we draw our windcheaters tighter. Kotka Beach looms as a grey-brown patch on the horizon. Moving coloured dots appear. They materialise into a loud, long line of early local holiday-makers in footwear most unsuited to walking on a mangrove beach. The women hitch their sarees up in vain to aid their struggle for a firmer footing. At the end of this unlikely line is a single armed guard. One has to wonder what earthly use he would be should a tricky situation present itself! All halt at the sight of us. Some, with more daring, approach us for a photograph. We pose and smile and then make our way towards muddier parts in search for waders. We pick out Whimbrels along the shore; and further out Lesser Adjutant Storks are feeding. Further still are groups of Brown-headed Gulls readying themselves for the day’s feeding. In the spotting scope the birds show their fabulous detail.
One of the broader channels
The beach itself has very large Mangrove Apple trees. I’m careful not to trip over the air-breathing roots, but it is difficult to watch birds and to watch where you’re going! Here the silt has accumulated from river-borne sediments enabling the land to advance seawards. Pioneer species of mangroves with slender aerial roots which protrude from the mud have colonised this beach. Tiny pores on the surface of these roots absorb atmospheric oxygen to supply the subterranean roots with crucial life-giving air. Underground roots would otherwise suffocate in the closely packed sediments. These air-breathing roots serve a dual purpose – they trap more silt brought in with each successive tide.
Large mangrove apple trees show their air-breathing roots
So here I am, critically contemplating the muck! This exploration is really introspection. In order to be one with reality, in order to penetrate it as it were, I need to explore myself. It is an exercise I find myself frequently engaging in to find the answers to questions such as ‘How am I connected to this….?’ But the silence is being violated by the cacophonous crowd returning. So we make ready to walk toward denser forest. In a short distance we are plunged into a tangled gallimaufry of roots and shoots. It is suddenly dark; the daylight fades to black. Large Sundari trees push their stout prop roots at us. Artists must have come here to a mangrove swamp when they were looking for the archetypical tree to place in a witch’s garden. The Sundari tree is large with footholds of gnarled bark and tough vines to grip. Walls of roots, several feet broad and thick, steady the tree and provide it with extra space for breathing. But it looks like any moment it’ll start walking and it’s while I’m negotiating the roots of this witch’s tree that I hear a deep growl. Penetratingly powerful with strength to bolster it, the sound permeates my very being. I turn around to see if the others had heard it as well. Everyone’s face is as wide-eyed as mine. An armed guard motions us to keep together. He then loads his shotgun with ammunition. I am disturbed, wishing almost that the tiger would escape detection. I know the armed escorts’ intentions are good – that the shots they would fire, would be in the air, should the tiger make a charge. Yet the very idea of having to traumatise such a dignified presence is disturbing. The guard moves ahead and out of sight. We wait in the loud silence. When he returns it is with news that it is indeed the tiger and that we should follow him.
At the tiger's dining table in Kotka
Fresh tracks lead to a large mound - one of three - where over a hundred years ago men had descended from the hills to make their living selling the salt they’d collect in mud pots. Now only shards of pottery remain. We are now in the vicinity of what they call the Tiger’s Dining Table - we climb these mounds, several feet high, built of the remains of prey that had served as food for the powerful predator. The air is still. Armies of ants march in thick columns to demolish long-dead debris. There are tiger tracks and chewed antlers of a once-sprightly spotted deer. The air hums with sound and smell. Our unease is acute; we leave quickly and head for the speedboat.
Fresh tiger pugmarks in the mud
We pass by the remnants of Forest Houses. This is the part of the Sundarbans that had been devastated by Cyclone Aila two years ago. The severity of the storm is evidenced by the ruins of human habitation, large uprooted trees and general devastation. Our guide tells us stories of how they had clung to the roof of their homes for days in order to survive.
Forest houses damaged in 2007's Cyclone Aila
Back on board the Bonbibi, we eat heartily at breakfast and are again ready for a boat ride. The speedboat takes us far out into the Bay of Bengal to another large island. The jetty is on the steep side of the island where the mangroves are. To get to the beach we must walk some three kilometres. Parties of locals play volleyball on this very wide and white beach. But there are no birds in sight. We follow evidence of tiger tracks advancing on spotted deer’s spoor. The deer’s footprints appear to be hurried and rushed as the herd must have had to bunch for safety. The trail ends abruptly. We turn back for a long walk in the sun to the boat.
Our guide with armed guards
We pass through open country with grassland and scattered trees. Shrikes show themselves prominently. The black hood identifies one as the sub-species tricolour of the Long-tailed Shrike; close by is another, reminiscent of the Long-tailed but much greyer with speculums on its wings. It is the Grey-backed Shrike. But there is one that at first sight we dismiss as a rather common bird. It looks like an ordinary Indian Roller but only darker. It’s perched on a dead tree scanning for prey. We plough through short grass and scrub to see whether it’s the glare or the mid-morning light that interferes with our mind’s eye. But no, it is indeed, the ubiquitous Indian Roller but with a difference – it’s a Bangladeshi version of the same bird. . Its throat is a beautiful mauve lacking the white streaking of the race that we are familiar with. Its under parts have a strong purplish-blue flush; its mantle almost a brownish-green. Its crown and wings gleam a bright turquoise blue. It could very well be another species, so different in aspect it seems. Undoubtedly it is the affinis subspecies of the nominate Coracias bengalensis. We are delighted with our find. And as it flies off to another perch, we are now prepared for the all-turquoise tail.
Sundari trees, after which the Sundarbans take their name
The volleyball-playing groups have now gathered to picnic in the shade. Some wave and call out to us. Our team of ship’s crew and guide pick up the trail of garbage the picnickers leave behind. This is standard practice we’ve noticed on all our outings. Taking the cue, the holiday-makers too are motivated to help and dutifully pick up pieces of garbage. Once the collection is done, they are pleased to hand it over to us, the garbage-pickers! And we dutifully accept and carry it back with us. I did, however, on one occasion tell them what a beautiful place the Sundarbans were and how lovely it would be to keep it clean. Yes, they all cried in unison while handing over their garbage!
Sea Holly (Acanthus ebracteatus)
After lunch we take another one of those lazy boat rides into a channel further upstream. From the Bonbibi we see the splendid White-bellied Sea eagle. Thirty years ago when we lived in Goa I had grown accustomed to seeing it circling at great heights or stooping from a prominent rock to seize a fish close to the water surface. Being able to watch birds while we cruise is truly an experience to treasure. We are very pleased with the operations run by Guide Tours in Bangladesh. The itinerary is so planned that when we are on board, we are always cruising. We have been supported with a lovely boat, an excellent crew and the table always groans with delicious Bangladeshi fare.
No birds at the beach, but plenty of tiger pugmarks chasing spotted deer
Leaving the Bay of Bengal behind, the MV Bonbibi anchors at one of the smaller channels. Our country boat paddles us into the smaller creeks and we drift down looking for birds. Ashy Woodswallows perch at the treetops. A Crested Serpent Eagle settles itself on a nearby branch looking down at us. We get a glimpse of Bangladesh’s biggest bird – the Lesser Adjutant stork. We had seen fine examples of this bird earlier in the day along the shore. On occasion we’d pass an opening of the thick mangrove forest that leads down a steep bank of very grey mud to the water’s edge. All of these exits have tiger pugmarks. The elusive animal‘s presence is evident everywhere and we feel privileged to pass through its terrain. On trees that stretch their branches out over the water perch those lovely kingfishers, noisy at this time of the day. We see the uncommon Brown-winged, the more common Collared, the Black-capped and the Ruddy. A bird of spectacular beauty, the Ruddy has a very large coral-red bill. Its orange upper parts have an almost iridescent violet sheen. However when it flies, its brown mantle, wings and tail contrast sharply with its turquoise rump. And when it perches high in the mangroves watching for prey, the rich brown-orange of its underparts are beautiful. Towards sundown the tide begins to ebb. Soon the water level will be inadequate to support the boat. In fading light the boatman slowly completes the turn. A large bird flaps into view. The owl perches nearby looking directly at us, its facial disc very prominent, its white collar almost gleaming in the falling dusk. The Brown Wood Owl is large and not very common. We are extremely lucky. It perches within easy viewing before flapping away into the now dark forest.
On our last evening in the Bangladesh Sundarbans
Before we settle down to dinner, our guide beckons us to the bridge. He throws a mug of water overboard and we gasp. It’s unbelievable. The patch of disturbed water is lit by the phosphorescence of diatoms and other plankton. It’s beautiful. We make him throw some more only to gasp again. We can’t seem to get enough of this. I point out to other lights in the water. They are stable and don’t seem to be going anywhere. He laughs and says that those are the reflections of the stars. The stars, I cry out disbelievingly and gasp again. I can’t get over the beauty that surrounds. I look up at the night sky and it’s difficult to see the constellations; they hide among so many stars. I want to remember this moment for the rest of the year so that the stars will glow in recollection. We are acutely aware that this is our last evening in the Bangladesh Sundarbans. Over a good dinner we savour the delights of the day and know that this has been very special. 


Missed the previous episodes of Jennifer Nandi's Bangladesh travelogue? Read them here:


Episode 3: Beautiful Forest - Adrift in the Sundarbans
Episode 2: Heading for Bangladesh's Sundarbans
Episode 1: Slowly down Bangladesh's Shitalakhya River


Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.