Wordless Wednesday - What's inside the fig?

Photo: Sandeep Somasekharan

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Encounter: Indian Giant Squirrel

Fluffy and tubby, the Indian Giant Squirrel is a treat to watch anywhere you may wander in the forests of peninsular India from the Western Ghats all the way to Madhya Pradesh

The first tell-tale giveaway of its presence is a crashing and rustling of treetop branches followed, sometimes, by a glimpse of a ruddy brown shape scampering through the high branches. Occasionally, you might hear a loud, percussive call that you can't match to any bird you know of. There's your culprit -- the Indian Giant Squirrel (Ratufa indica).

Popularly called the Malabar Giant Squirrel in the south, it is the largest species of squirrel in the world. Placed in the family Sciuridae in the order Rodentia, these furry mammals can grow up to 3 feet long (including the extremely long tail) and weigh up to 2 kg. This arboreal creature is found in deciduous, moist deciduous and evergreen forests of peninsular India.

Though the squirrel is fairly common throughout the Western Ghats and its foothills, until my trip to Dandeli in northwestern Karnataka I'd had only two fleeting glimpses of the giant squirrel. At the Kulgi Nature Camp (where we Ogres stayed) and at the timber depot in the town centre, the squirrels were so unafraid that they went about their activities without a second look at us. After a while I grew getting tired of their antics. Showoffs!

The Indian Giant Squirrel is usually found in the upper canopy and rarely leaves the comfort of trees. It moves along the canopy from one tree to another through interconnecting branches and, in situations where there are gaps in the canopy, it leaps from the end of one branch to a neighboring tree. They have been known to leap 5 to 6 meters from one tree to another. It uses its long tail for balance. When frightened, this squirrel has the habit of lying flat on a branch, motionless, or hiding behind the trunk. These squirrels are mostly active during morning and evening, avoiding the heat of the day. They can be seen lying flat on a branch catching up on their siesta. They are also known to sleep in the nest if the weather is too cold or rainy.

The Indian giant squirrel is heard more often than seen. Its call is a loud and penetrating series of chucks. Thanks to the other Ogres, I recognized the call for the first time in Dandeli. although I had heard it before.

Indian giant squirrels are omnivorous, feeding on fruits, berries, flowers, bark, eggs, insects etc. Adults are solitary and sometimes found in pairs. The female gives birth to two pups after a month's gestation period. The nests are large and spherical, made with twigs and leaves, and are built on the thin branches for safety from larger predators. According to Prater, an individual squirrel may build several nests within a small area and use them as sleeping quarters.

Two individuals we saw at Dandeli perched low on a (barely) leafless tree and fed on berries. They did not appear to be disturbed by us standing directly below and observing them. They seemed oblivious to aerial attack as well. It was amusing to watch them grasp the berries in their front paws and chomp away while they clung to the branch with their hind-paws.

The squirrels' coats may vary from red to brown to black on the upperparts while underparts may be light cream or white.  Their populations are so fragmented and isolated that several races can be distinguished by colour schemes. This has also given rise to disagreement among biologists regarding subspecies.

Even though the giant squirrel is fairly common in our forests, the most immediate threat to the species is habitat degradation due to logging and encroachment of forest land for agriculture. Sensing the threat, the 130 sq km Bhimashankar Wildlife Sanctuary was created in 1984 at Ambegaon near Pune, Maharashtra.

As we left the squirrels to eat in peace, I couldn't help but imagine that, with their paws clasped together, they were imploring us to help save their kind.

Text and photos: Arun
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Chhattisgarh Diary: The Palace at Kawardha

Secularism throbs in Kawardha's historic heart and its pulsing beat invited Jennifer Nandi to be one with it

Stretches of evergreen forest flank the western edge of the township of Kawardha. Towards the south flows the river Sankari. Baiga tribals form a significant segment of the district’s tribal population; although the erstwhile rulers of Kawardha were Rajputs there has been an assimilation of both cultures.

Italian, British and Mughal architectural styles are all represented in this regal palace of some 56 rooms with a splendid domed and filigreed Durbar Hall. Much of the ground floor of this palace at Kawardha has been converted into a heritage hotel run by the erstwhile royal family.  

The enchanting palace at Kawardha

Adding texture and depth to Kawardha’s history is its importance as an erstwhile centre for the movement of the followers of Sant Kabir, a late-15th century poet and revolutionary social reformer. Akbar’s architectural eclecticism coupled with his eclectic curiosity had far-reaching consequences. It was the Emperor himself who sponsored and supported dialogue between adherents of different faiths. Abu’l-Fazl ibn Mubarak, author of the imperial memoir known as the Akbar-nama, notes that Akbar was only 19 when he began to show an unconventional interest in the spiritual matters of his subjects. His pursuit of reason and the practice of open discussion to address problems of social harmony were welcomed by representatives of several new creeds.  

The palace at night

Stately hallways

Nearly two thousand years after King Ashoka had championed public discussions, thereby sowing the seeds of democracy, disputing divines from far and wide flocked to the bazaar at Fatehpur Sikri to debate issues of heterodoxy that later richly contributed to the emergence of secularism in India.

It was late afternoon when we arrived for lunch. The owner and his wife graciously gave us company while we ate a delicious meal. When we stepped out into the garden the light was perfect for a visit to one of the nearby villages. Here the women pulled up their sarees between their legs as is the custom in Maharashtra. Their adornments were Baiga-like but this was a Hindu village. The children were at home, having returned from school. We handed out books, pens and sweets, all of which were gladly received.  

The tinkling of bells announced the return of the cattle in the capable hands of the elders of the village. They filed past in orderly fashion to their sheds – some were sheltered in the very homes of their owners. They were lovingly received by the children. It was a sense of being family, with family values – respect for nature’s cycles, harmony, and a kind of reciprocity which is an alien concept for urbane sophisticates.

Birthday champagne loosens up the author (left) into joining the dancers

Our guide Tapan conversed with all slipping easily from one dialect into another. He led us through the village with humility and respect greatly enriching our experience. Back at our hotel, our hosts had organised the locals to dance for us. It was an all-male team, very colourful and very loud. Not one to be intimidated, I stepped into the performance much to the amusement of all. But the drumbeats were enticing and I was heady from the champagne we had drunk, it being Ken’s birthday!

By Jennifer Nandi

Also read:

CHHATTISGARH DIARY | ODISHA DIARY | ANDAMANS DIARY | SUNDARBANS DIARY

Would they kill the keelback?

Did that curious crowd know, or care, that the snake we were trying to see off to safety was a harmless albeit aggressive Checkered Keelback?

Here's how to tell a Checkered Keelback from its venomous relatives: Round eyes, checkered scale pattern, keeled scales and the oblique stripes behind and beneath the eye

I didn't really plan to make a habit of writing about snakes and the human folly of mistaken identity, but it appears that the subject seeks me out. Remember the young cobra I had written about some time ago? And the harmless rat snake that could easily have been mistaken for a venomous snake by the ignorant and the fearful?

Heading back from Bandipur last week after a tour organised by the Kumble Foundation (more on that in upcoming posts), we had not yet reached Mysore when a peculiar spectacle beside the highway compelled us to pull over. Two bikes were parked on the verge. The rider of one appeared to be staring hard at something his companion was holding. One chap perched on the pillion of the first bike cradled a live chicken in a cloth bag, its thirsty mouth ajar as it clucked comically in innocent contemplation (perhaps, of its gastronomic destiny). The first rider held in his hands what looked like a snake. By happy accident or design, he gripped it securely behind the head, and the snake did not appear to resist. In fact, it seemed so limp that Arun and I feared it was dead. 

We stepped out of the taxicab to look. Arun, adept at identification, pointed out immediately that the snake was a Checkered Keelback (Xenochrophis piscator), also known as the Asiatic Water Snake. It was olive green overall with checkered markings, which were not as pronounced as in some other individuals that I have seen. True enough, there was the diagnostic oblique black stripe/ band below the round eyes, and the scales on the snake's back were rough. It was almost four feet long and amply muscular.

Questioning the riders, we learned that they had found it on the road in a stunned condition and picked it up to prevent it from being run over. Good move. But now, the folks had no clear idea what it was and what to do with it. I guess they must have assumed the snake was dead. I took it from him, still gripping it securely at the back of the neck.

Keelbacks can bite, and how. As a child I'd seen a cousin savaged as he foolhardily attempted to handle one swimming in a tank. The snake champed hard on his big toe, repeatedly reaffirming its grip even as he tried without joy to release it. He was left with an unsightly sore and ample insult as onlookers jeered his inopportune bravado. Naturalist Rahul Alvares has written about one snake that left a tooth behind in his bite wound!


Memory had not eluded me even as Arun gingerly reminded me of the keelback's propensity for biting. I held the snake gently but firmly behind its thick muscular neck, which felt tough but offered little resistance to my grip. Some scales had been chafed near the right side of the head but there were no flesh wounds, no haemorrhage and no obvious tissue damage. That was a relief. But the snake was in trauma and needed to recuperate safely before it made off. Initially, I suspected it was gravid but given my inexperience, I assume it was only food in its stomach that I was feeling under its skin. Arun pointed out that a fully fed snake would usually disgorge its meal to lighten up before taking flight.

Placing the snake on the ground, I hoped it would shoot off into the bushes, but it stayed put flicking its tongue. Arun and I, as well as some of our fellow-travellers, exchanged worried glances. If the snake didn't flee, it would become an easy target for humans zealous for a show of heroism. A crowd of passing motorists had collected by now and clearly, they anticipated action. I caught wind of conversation -- one expert pronounced that it was a cobra I was holding. In despair, I appealed to the crowd to disperse and informed them that it was only a water snake. I bent down and picked up the snake again, half-hoping that it would turn and bite, as that would offer assurance of its ability to fend for itself. But the keelback was still sluggish.

Diinesh, Arati, Radha and others who were travelling with us suggested that we leave the snake in a quieter place away from the highway. Idiotic as it may appear, anyone picking up a 4-feet-long snake by the tail looks like a superhero to the gawking bystander and I found it hard to shake off the crowd trailing me. Happily, the snake in my hands was now starting to resist, whipping at me with its tail and veering its head around. When I placed it at the foot of a hedge beside some farmland, the snake began to crawl forward but still not at satisfactory speed. Were we within sight of a water body, we could have released the snake into it without fearing for its fate.


Much of the crowd had now dispersed but a few persistent men followed me to investigate this most questionable rescue operation, among them the swaggering stud whose better judgement informed him that the snake was a cobra. "Nagara haavu," he pronounced in Kannada to those about him; they nodded agreement. I pleaded with them to leave the snake alone but they lingered. I was also concerned about holding up the rest of our group so we left the snake, which was now slithering away from the road with what I hoped was renewed determination. 


A pang of guilt gnawed at me for the rest of the journey. Sure, we had averted a roadkill, but would the snake evade that crowd before its idle curiosity turned to ignorant fear, and then possibly to murderous rage? 


I'd rather not know...


Text by Beej
Photos by a very focused Arun (who happily decapitated me in his zeal to photograph the snake)


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Encounter: White-cheeked Barbet, the Invisible Chatterbox

The White-cheeked Barbet, earlier known as the Small Green Barbet, just melts into the canopy. But peer into the roof of leaves and you'll see it devouring fruits and figs

I saw this green bird for the first time at Polachira, a wetland near Thiruvananthapuram. My friend Rahul pointed to a bush and said, "White cheeked Barbet". Where? All I could see were green leaves. Careful scrutiny helped me discern its form. And that was my introduction to Megalaima viridis.

In the green canopy, the barbet is tough to spot

Look carefully atop fruiting trees, and you can see through its camouflage

Unlike his cousin the Coppersmith, whom we have met earlier, the White-cheeked Barbet is not arresting in its coloration. Its body matches the green leaves, its pale pink beak almost matches the leprous trunk of a guava tree - this is a tough bird to spot when it is amidst leaves.

Oops! Hope no one saw it!

As with the Coppersmith, the White-cheeked Barbet's voice is disproportionate to its size. Go anywhere in the wooded areas of the Western Ghats and lend an ear. Above the din of forest noises you will hear a loud call from somewhere high in the canopy. "Ku-turrr, ku-turr" it goes, on and on, all day, ad nauseam. And this is undeniably in Kerala the bird answers to the name of Chinna kutturuvan -- Malayalam for 'the little one that goes kutturr'. Truly onomatopoeic!

A frugivore, the barbet uses its thick, large beak to scour out holes in tree trunks to nest. The birds are quite frequently found in orchards around the Western Ghats, launching vicious assault upon guavas, mulberries and figs. A friend once told me that they were hunted in his village with slingshots as they were a delicacy. I, though, prefer the pleasure of watching them feed and go ‘kuturrr kuturr’ any day.

Text and photos by Sandeep Somasekharan
All rights reserved

Also read Sandy's encounter with the Coppersmith Barbet

Close Encounters of the Slithering Kind

These are not just encounters, but close encounters. In these situations I have either touched or been too close for comfort with certain members of the suborder Serpentes

I'd never imagined that such a day would dawn. In 2008, I visited the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station (ARRS) with friends PD, Zak and Subbu. I must mention here that I was so scared of snakes that I was almost on the verge of being ophidiophobic.

We were roaming the campus when station manager Prashant’s 4-year-old daughter found a baby Common Vine Snake (Ahaetulla nasuta) and caught it to show us. All four of us were stunned at the girl's courage. PD took it from the girl's hands and handled it easily as he was used to working with snakes during his stint as a volunteer with the Gujarat Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (GSPCA). Then Subbu mustered the courage to hold it. Next was Zak.

All this while, I was chewing my fingernails. I too wanted to handle it but my inner voice hissed, "Don't get any bright ideas dude, that's a bloody snake!" At the same time I could hear PD saying, "Dude, it’s just a baby snake." Finally PD's voice won over my inner voice and I did it! The mortal fear dissolved away as I watched the little green fella slithering around my arm, once in a while flicking his tongue to 'taste' the air. This was a big milestone for me. I had held a live snake!

The first touch

The Indian Rock Python (Python molurus) is one of two kinds found in India. The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) lists it as NT (Near Threatened). Threatened or not, these snakes can be found every once in a while at the National Institute of Technology Karnataka (NITK) campus in Surathkal. I had seen them there twice in a span of 18 months.

I first saw a python when some security guys were showing it off to bystanders by catching hold of its tail and throwing it from one side of the road to the other. My requests to them to handle the snake properly fell on deaf ears. Luckily, a student helped the guards bag it and take it away to be released some 7 km away. This python was young and measured approximately 3.5 to 4 feet.

A year later, I encountered a python again and this time I had an experienced ally, PD, to guide me. Late one night, PD popped into my room and said, “Arun! Python, Ist block!” and ran back to his room to pick up his snake hook.

It took me a second to decipher what he had just said. We ran to the spot followed by Zak and Subbu wondering whether it could be a Russell’s Viper (Daboia russelii) since that short, thick venomous snake might appear to be a python to those who cannot tell them apart. There was no doubt about the snake's identity when we reached the spot. There, among the weeds, lay an enormous snake. Even in the darkness lit by a dim street-light, there was no mistaking its size and markings. This was an Indian Rock Python.

We wanted to move the snake from there as it was close to the hostel. If workers saw it, they might kill it. PD asked me to help for its sheer size and weight. I was so out of my wits that I looked around for help, only to see that Zak and Subbu had moved away. PD had already jumped on the snake and held its head. He was shouting at me to hold its lower body and tail as otherwise it would start wrapping around him. After a millisecond’s hesitation I too dived into the weeds and caught the snake.

The snake was extremely strong and there was ample confusion in the dim light. Finally, we subdued it and got a grip. That first touch of the python I shall never forget. The dorsal part was hard but with smooth scales. The ventral scales were rough. The body was hard and muscular. I could feel the muscles moving inside its body. It felt as if a leather sheath was filled with moving cricket balls. This was one snake that you didn’t have to worry about squeezing too much when handling. It was strong and hard to resist all of that! (Just kidding, you do need to handle it with extreme care.)

Once the snake was in our hands, everybody wanted to touch it while we both were already worrying about where to release it.

The fear that had enveloped me until now evaporated now that we caught the snake. After ensuring that the python was safe in our arms, everybody came forward to touch it and take snaps. We later measured, bagged and released it inside a forested corner of the campus, away from the hostel blocks. The python was 7 feet in length (adults grow to around 13 feet).

With this incident I actually overcame my fear of snakes. But this doesn’t mean I’ll go pick up a snake at the first instance I find one!


The third close encounter, now that I think of it, was one of the most hair-raising ones. Except that neither the snake nor I panicked. This species -- the Russell's Viper -- is responsible for the majority of human snakebite deaths in India

Russell's Viper (Photo of a captive snake taken at Guindy Snake Park, Chennai)

One morning, after camping in a forest in the Hosur Forest Division the previous night, I picked up my binocs and began birding alone. I was so engrossed and happy without the extra weight of my camera that I did not pay attention to the forest floor. As I observed a Crested Serpent Eagle calling and circling directly above me, I heard a faint rustle of leaves right next to where I was standing. I turned around to see a thick snake with brown or chestnut coloration, with prominent dark brown oval shaped markings. “Russell’s Viper?” I thought to myself calmly as I observed it uncoiling and beginning to move away, just a foot or so away from my feet. It took me a couple of seconds to realize how lucky I was not to have stepped on the snake or frightened it into biting. I still wonder how I stayed calm that day without jumping at the sight of a snake so close to me.

As the snake moved away into the dry bushes and settled down, I circumvented the bushes and came up in front of it. From there I watched the snake for a good 15 minutes before moving away. Unfortunately, I did not carry my camera that day. But the sight of the viper uncoiling will always be etched in my memory.


Had the “dangerous/deadly” snake, as most people claim vipers to be, chosen to strike instead of moving away, I would mostly not have been here to narrate this encounter as medical help was very far away from the spot. The viper moved away and let me live even when I intruded its personal space. Had it intruded our personal spaces, what would we have done?

Scale pattern of a Russell's Viper 

Text: Arun
Photographs of the Vine snake and Rock python: Pankil Desai
Photographs of Russell's Viper: Arun

Creeped out? Time to get over it! Read other snake posts on The Green Ogre

Le Question: Did Indians do nothing but celebrate festivals?

A tree may be our  primary connection with the universe -- but it will take us all our lives to acknowledge it

The Ficus virens that outgrew the shrine

Shashwat: Haven’t the Americans built big cities, warships, fighter jets and so on? 

Me:  I guess so.

Shashwat And the Germans have made very fine automobiles and autobahns?

Me: Yes, they have.

Shashwat: The French have the TGV!

Me: Yes, so?

Shashwat: So, in India, did we spend all our time celebrating festivals and meditating?

Me: Silence

The canopy, loved by both peacocks and Hanuman langurs

Five minutes later the hush still rules as fervent devotees accompany the lord through the city, drumbeats announcing the procession a kilometre away from where a Sunday morning chat is languishing for lack of words. Blame it on Discovery Channel.

The best I could do was distract him with a tale.

Once I saw a cobra make its way through the network of aerial roots

Back in my great-great-grandmother’s time, a young boy had the duty of striking the hour. One fateful day he may have dawdled after his morning smoke or perhaps gazed at a damsel too long - and missed striking an hour. This is where things get curious, for while he missed it, the hour was still struck. His inquiries failed to find the person who had struck the hour in his absence. The lad, true to instinct, concluded that it was none other than Lord Hanuman, whom he worshipped, who had done it on his behalf. Grateful to the Lord but mindful of the fact that he had inconvenienced Him, he gave up the job. He built a shrine, planted a Ficus sapling (Ficus virens) in front of it, and announced to all and sundry that from that day on, he will perform only the Lord’s duty. He had enough of l’affaires du monde.

Almost 150 years on my father has inherited the piece of land on which the tree stands. I discovered its charms early in life and, when I learned that my favorite pickle was made from its spring leaf-buds, our bond deepened considerably. Summer yielded an enchanting and often forbidden lesson of natural history. Lifting up the platform bricks revealed small snakes curled up below, making me wonder if they had grew up in that position. Young Hanuman langurs (Semnopithecus entellus) socialized under the watchful eyes of the matriarch. The monsoon invigorated grass, which on closer inspection revealed clutches of peacock eggs which I dutifully counted. I apprehensively spied a cobra make its way along the sinewy branches possibly preying on treepie nests. I watched squirrels chase each other in hormone-fuelled sprints, while my dog could only gaze longingly and salivate. Inconvenienced by the water I poured, mad-with-rage scorpions emerged from their narrow slit burrows straight to my waiting collection jar. Their rage, I imagined briefly, turned into puzzlement and then helplessness. The scorpions I was forced to part with -- my grandma would have none of my entreaties to their being a part of my collection for the purpose of scientific research into scorpion sting antidote. I am sure her hand in their release was not due to any sympathy she may have felt at their cruel confinement.

Peacocks lay their eggs in the wild growth beneath the tree after the first monsoon showers

The platform around the tree cracked and fissured with every monsoon and life permeated through it till it became a semi-organic being, one with the tree itself, its living extension.

The tree's local name is Pakadiya or Pakad. It is also known as Pilkhan in the north

The monitor lizards (Varanus bengalensis) were the ones that really troubled me. One year, while I was away at school between vacations, a couple of monitor lizards supposedly set up residence on the tree. This was fine, I had no issues sharing the tree. But a local friend who informed me about this latest addition to the tree’s denizens slipped in a cautionary note on their natural history. If I ever got bitten by one, my survival depended on peeing immediately and drinking it up before the lizard did it. Too terrified to even think of why the creature would indulge in such a horrifying practice, I spent many a sleepless summer night replaying the scenarios with only a mocking Great Bear for company. Even if I did manage a pee on demand, and that too after sustaining an excruciating bite from the reptile, I wasn’t exactly sure if I'd be able to slurp it up before the lizard did so. I made grudging peace with my unseen tormentor: I gave up climbing the tree. My world was diminished. It remains that way. Now, as I confess this, I have this nagging doubt that I was perhaps set up. 

Grandmothers are deceptively clever.

The tormentor I never saw -- this one was photographed at Parambikulam

A feather, a question

As my patchwork memory metamorphoses into nostalgia, the next generation has befriended the tree. Shashwat and I visit it every day during our vacations and there is always something -  a feather, a scorpion scurrying for cover, a bird-call hitherto unheard.

The "wooden monkey" is a gift from two years ago and the Kukri snake (Oligodon arnensis), having been mistaken for a juvenile Russell’s Viper, was killed last year - I was too late to save it.

A dying Kukri snake, a victim of mistaken identity

The best lessons will be the ones he will learn on his own. I suspect he is already on the job. As for the question regarding the object of Indians’ passion for festivals through history, he will answer it for himself. Like every other race, we have a view regarding what drives the universe, but we have survived and that proves a lot.

The "Wooden Monkey"

Weaver ants have established a huge colony on the tree

The tree is nearly 150 years old and for me it's been there for ever

By the way, Lord Hanuman, who never had the benefit of a proper prana-pratishtha, remains un-worshipped. He has managed keep the attention off Himself. I admire Him for that.

Text and photographs by Sahastrarashmi
Read more posts in our Le Question series

Raptor Friday: Crested Serpent Eagle

What's the fuss about the Serpent Eagle's crest? At first glance, it isn't even there. But wait and watch...

I first ran into the Crested Serpent Eagle (Spilornis cheela) in BR Hills on my first-ever trip with Beej, Sahastra and Sunita, and I wondered why those who named this bird thought it was crested. Why not Bulge-eyed Serpent Eagle? To me, the Changeable Hawk-eagle (Nisaetus cirrhatus) -- earlier known by its well-deserved name of Crested Hawk-Eagle -- ought to have benefited from any title that contained "crest".

Majestic in flight

This dark-plumaged forest eagle had no visible crest though even without it, the bird was captivating: the huge yellow eyes sported a don't-mess-with-me stare, with a proud hooked beak and heft to match. And the ease with which it zipped in and out through the forest trees! Juveniles, I understand, are paler to the extent of being almost white, and have a white and black pattern on the back of the head. When in flight, the underside of the flight feathers and tail feathers show distinct black-and-white bands.

It took me a few sightings to realize the name was not in vain. A few times I saw the hint of a crest when wind ruffled the head feathers, and I was lucky to capture one such moment from a distance.

Any doubts about the crest?

I have spotted Crested Serpent Eagles increasingly in the suburbs of Mysore after my first sightings, which were in dense forests. Once I saw one in a mango grove, taking off from a tree upon seeing us. Another time, a juvenile was being mobbed by crows near Infosys Mysore campus. Essentially, though, they are forest birds, keeping themselves to mid-canopy on the lookout for snakes, as their name suggests.

A juvenile mobbed by crows on the outskirts of Mysore

A raptor is handsome in a deadly way and the Crested Serpent Eagle is no exception. Handsome to us and deadly to snakes, and thankfully, pretty common in reasonably forested localities. Hope it stays that way...

Text and photos: Sandeep Somasekharan

All rights reserved

View other posts in our Raptor Friday series

No teeth, no claws, but very much a Tiger!

Not the cuddliest tiger around but certainly the safest to introduce your kids to, this one is best chased with a camera on a sunny spring morning. If your intentions are evil, back off or you'll be left with a bad taste in the mouth!


The Plain Tiger Butterfly (Danaus chrysippus) carries all the glory of a tiger. The bright orange wings are often left spread flaunting their brilliance, and the butterfly can be identified by its nonchalant flutter. It is the friendliest for a butterfly lover to start with, and we shall soon find out why...

The Plain Tiger has orange wings bordered with black and white on the inside and paler orange with black spots on the outside. The male can be distinguished from the female by the hindwing: The female has three black spots while the male has an additional black-and-white spot. It is probably the first butterfly that I ever photographed since I took up photography in any seriousness.

So what makes Plain Tigers so friendly and easy to photograph? The secret lies in the butterfly's childhood dietary habits -- yes, while it was a wee caterpillar sucking its little pinky-toes (well, not literally!). As a caterpillar, the Plain Tiger gorges on leaves that are rich in alkaloids. These contribute to making them unpalatable, leaving them with few natural enemies. When attacked by an ignorant predator that does not know how bad a taste it can leave in its mouth, the creature switches to plan B - it secretes a foul-smelling fluid that deters the by-now-repulsed predator.

These interesting defense mechanisms end up being very beneficial for other butterflies. For example, the female Danaid Eggfly (Hypolimnas misippus) mimics the Plain Tiger butterfly and this offers it protection from predators. With a little training, you can tell the mimic from the model (as the mimicked butterfly is called). The mimic has a more elaborate black-and-white pattern at the edge of the wingtips, but only to higher life forms like you and me. For relatively one-track-minded predators, it is another plain tiger butterfly that ought to be shunned.


Before you flip the page, read Arun's detailed photo-documentation of the metamorphosis of the Plain Tiger Butterfly


Text and photos by Sandeep Somasekharan
All rights reserved

Wordless Wednesday: The hues of advancing autumn

Photo: Sahastrarashmi
Chopta, Garhwal Himalaya, Uttarakhand

Freedom in a cage - a critical look at captive breeding

On the 64th anniversary of India's freedom, we wonder about the efficacy of captive breeding programs. Are they really worth it?

In the last six odd decades since Independence, India has been witness to the exploitation of its wildlife and natural resources along with apathy to diminishing forests coexisting with strident conservation initiatives. In this land of abundant wildlife, royals and nobles were enamoured with shikar. With ample help from their English masters, they brought about a rapid decline in the population of species large and small. In the latter part of our history, conservation programs have attempted to create safe havens for endangered species. Some conservationists have enthusiastically embraced the idea of captive breeding and reintroduction. Programs aimed at augmenting the wild population of the species have yielded mixed results. On Independence Day, we look at the issue of freedom in captivity. Does it really make sense?

The Himalayan Musk Deer (Moschus chrysogaster)

IUCN Categorization: EN –Endangered

The last surviving Musk Deer (2006) at the Kedarnath Breeding Centre

The Himalayan Musk Deer found in Jammu and Kashmir, Sikkim and Kumaon regions of India were extensively poached for the musk pods borne by male deer. A captive breeding program was commenced in 1980-81 at Kanchula Kharak in Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary, Uttarakhand with a pair of Musk Deer. Thirty years later the program has slipped into obscurity. In 2006, when Sahastra visited the breeding center, he saw the last survivor of the program. The fact that the Musk Deer had perished due to disease and climatic conditions, indicate insufficient monitoring of these parameters.

Kedarnath Sanctuary in the Garhwal Himalayas protects critical Musk Deer habitat

Siberian Crane  - The Lily of Birds according to A O Hume (image courtesy ICF) 

The Siberian Crane (Grus leucogeranus)

IUCN Categorization: CR – Critically Endangered

Siberian Cranes had three distinct populations at the turn of the last century: the Eastern flock migrating to China, the Western flock to Iran, and the Central flock to India which wintered in the Keoladeo National Park in Bharatpur, Rajasthan. The long migration routes of these birds make them vulnerable to hunting. In 1993 a captive breeding program was carried out with two captive bred Siberian cranes introduced to the Keoladeo National Park to unite with the migrant flock and return with them to the breeding sites in Siberia. The birds stayed back and subsequent attempts to introduce captive-bred birds to the migrating flock failed as well. As the Siberian Cranes form strong social bonds at birth, the plan to see the captive-bred cranes fly back to Siberia failed as the cranes did not get sufficient time to build new social bonds with the wild cranes.

Siberian Crane (Grus leucogeranus)

Gangetic Gharial (Gavialis gangeticus)

IUCN Categorization: CR – Critically Endangered

Gharials dwell in deep, fast-flowing rivers, which offer them abundant fish and sand banks for nesting. The threats they face are mainly from loss of habitat due to sand-mining, dams and irrigation projects, and hunting for their skin. In addition, depletion of prey fish due to overfishing has impacted the Gharial population. In 1976, after their population had dipped below 200 individuals, an effort in the form of Project Crocodile was launched for captive rearing of the Gharial. The National Chambal Sanctuary was set up in 1979 to protect the Gharial. Numbers have since dwindled after a major catastrophe resulting from pollutants in the river three years later, which resulted in the death of 113 animals. While captive breeding of Gharials has helped increase their numbers, it is imperative to safeguard the rivers that form the creatures' habitat.

Gangetic Gharial (Gavialis gangeticus) in a Zoo

One-Horned Rhino (Rhinoceros unicornis)

IUCN Categorization: VU - Vulnerable

Once ranging from the floodplains of the Indus to those of the Ganga and Brahmaputra, the Indian One-horned Rhinoceros was a familiar sight along the three great rivers. However, the fragmentation and destruction of its habitat for agriculture, and excessive hunting and poaching for its horn (which commands a huge black-market price as an aphrodisiac) saw the rhino population plummet, prompting stringent conservation efforts. As the majority of the rhinos are in Kaziranga, the skewed distribution of the rhino population adds to the risk of extinction in the event of a major calamity at Kaziranga. In 1984, a rhino reintroduction project was commenced in Dudhwa in a demarcated zone called the Rhino Reintroduction Area, which prevented possible conflicts between rhinos and the existing macro-fauna of the park such as tigers and elephants. A calf born in July is the latest addition to the rhino population. The phased approach to introduction with constant monitoring of feeding habits, spatial use patterns and other behavioral aspects has contributed to the partial success of the program so far.

Asiatic Lion (Panthera leo persica)

IUCN Categorization: EN –Endangered

The lion lionised on an India postage stamp

Records exist of the Asiatic Lion in Bihar, Delhi, Bundelkhand and Rajasthan. However, the lions in these regions were exterminated during the latter half of the 19th century. In the first decade of the 20th century, the only known population of the Asiatic Lion existed in the Gir region of the erstwhile princely state of Junagarh. The population has since sprung back in Gir and the renowned success story has prompted thoughts of the lions' relocation to other regions in India like Palpur-Kuno in Madhya Pradesh. One such attempt at relocation was made in 1957 when a lion and two lionesses from Gir were introduced in the Chandraprabha sanctuary near Varanasi. The pride soon grew to 11 by 1965 before abruptly disappearing. This proves the feasibility of relocation for the Gir lions as the lions had survived for seven years following relocation. 

References:

• Forest Department, Audit Report for the year ended 31 March 2006 - Chapter III 

• Protected Area Update – News and Information from protected areas in India and South Asia, Vol XVII, No 2, Apr 2011

• Gharial Gavialis Gangeticus - Colin Stevenson and Romulus Whitaker

• Gharial Our River Guardian - Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India

• Management of the reintroduced Greater One Horned Rhinoceros (Rhinoceros unicornis) in the Dudhwa National Park, Uttar Pradesh, India S P Sinha and V B Sawarkar, Wildlife Institute of India, Dehra Dun (UP), India

• The Great Indian One-Horned Rhinoceros (Rhinoceros unicornis Linnaus, 1758) S.P. Sinha

• Reintroduction of Greater Indian Rhinoceros into Dudhwa National Park – John B. Sale and Samar Singh

• Story of India’s Lions – Divyabhanusinh (National Centre for the Performing Arts (India), Marg Publications)

Text by Anand Yegnaswami

Picture credits :

Siberian Crane - ICF (www.savingcranes.org)

Musk Deer and Kedarnath: Sahastrarashmi

Other photos: Wikimedia Commons

Infographic by Beej