Nature's palette at Birdpur

Winter's officially out the door, but we still entertain memories of a January morning in Bharatpur amid winged angels and wicked vandals

Accompanied by the creaking of the cycle rickshaw's suspension, the eerie silhouettes created by the dense fog eclipsing the post meridian sun presented a negative portent right out of the sets of a Tim Burton movie when a thought crossed my mind: "Have I made this journey in vain?"


Though looking at the environs through a skeptical eye, I pepped myself up with the thought of a treasure trove engulfed in winter mist. Remitting the entry fee of 50 rupees and collecting my copy of the map, wiping the nasal trickle off the top of my lips, I entered Birdpur -- Keoladeo National Park in Rajasthan.

Till dusk do us part...

Arid patches of land on either side and the veil of suspense still presented a murky view of the truth. It was as though avian life cared two hoots about the insignificant soul who had travelled more than two thousand kilometers to the Mecca of birding. Even pilgrims go back satisfied while I, whose quest was for beings more earthly, was peering through nothingness with the biting cold of a January winter gnawing resolutely and tunneling its way through the fortress of my determination. 


Two hoots I heard and two hoots was all that I gave to the antagonistic cold as Phool Singh the rickshaw puller and my guide for the day looked up the thick canopy and said, "Scops Owl." I could barely make out its eyes and horns through the mist and foliage. 

It is advised to carry your own lunch to KNP

Migrants, migrants everywhere...

"Yes Virginia! There are birds at Birdpur" was the boding as the Collared Scops Owl sighting was the prelude to an avian extravaganza that followed when the curtains of mist lifted on the world's greatest bird show. As the sun shone bright I saw nature's palette held more colors than an exterior emulsion's shade card. 

Nature's palette...

Starting off with the Redstart

The Keoladeo National Park at Bharatpur is a national monument, and like any of the monuments it witnesses its share of vandalism with the picture-perfect facade of sightings disfigured by the graffiti of human footfalls. The bedlam created by tourists for whom Bharatpur is just another stop in their tight itinerary of to-dos is the reason birds retire deeper into the sanctuary from late December to mid-January, I was told. Yet, even its most niggardly offering had me glued to my binoculars. And, as an honorarium for my ardor during those cold and hazy January days, I was treated to some unique mammalian and reptilian encounters.

Mammals call it home too...

Moving on to the less disturbed areas of the park, I came across wetlands splashed with bright red shades of algae. This was paradise, I thought, and I could reach it with a economy flight ticket and two-and-a-half-hour rail journey. Why, then, do many embark upon the path of violence in their quest for paradise? I felt lucky that here I was, alive and experiencing paradise while sucking on the juiciest grapes and bacchanal pleasures nature had to offer, with a wicked smile for the plight of those who give up their worldly possessions or blow themselves up in a train station to achieve the same.

Bedlam...

...and those who manage to find peace

Further ahead a colony of Northern Shovelers offered a calming sight, when a Marsh Harrier appeared overhead resulting in pandemonium below. Through all that entropy one message appeared clear: There are battles fought everyday that we are not even aware of, and as I approached the board that pleaded for the conservation of the Siberian Cranes I realized that the results of these lesser-known battles affect us all. That battle was lost and the board now remains a mere epitaph, a grim reckoner that even paradise can be lost.

Marsh attacks

Tailspin - Northern Shoveler

Whistlers sounding the bugle

The sun had set and jackals howled as my rickety rickshaw thrust towards the park exit - I was back on the sets of the Tim Burton movie when a thought crossed my mind: "When will I return next?"

Epitaph!

Text and Photos: Anand Yegnaswami

What's cooking in Khichan?

Journeying in another Green Ogre's footsteps, this wild crane chase off the beaten track culminated in an immensely rewarding avian spectacle. The Demoiselles of Khichan are alive and well, and numerous and beautiful as ever!

The Demoiselles of Khichan

Heading from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer we took the road less travelled towards Phalodi. You don't have to be born with a compass in the head to realize that the route you are taking is circuitous. Yet, our quest justified this digression. Fewer tyre treads had ensured the roads were in better shape, yet it was not our ride that purchased our concentration but the scenes outside. Though this was not my first visit to a desert, the Thar compelled us with a different sensuality, dotted as it was with settlements of thatch-roof huts (called jhopdis). 

Desert Cafe on the way to Khichan

Catching our attention from time to time were Black Shouldered Kites, Indian Rollers, Grey Francolins, Shikras and Grey Shrikes. We passed camels feasting on acacias, which evoked the question (to our driver Kailash): "Yeh oonth paltu hain ya jungli?" (Are these camels domesticated or wild?), to which his answer was always in favour of the former. 

Camels were not the only mammals we saw. There were Chinkaras aplenty at one desert enclave before Osiyan; we spent a quarter of an hour with the herd getting pictures. We passed Osiyan and its famous Jain temple, a desert cafe, more camels, more questions on their social life, more curt responses from Kailash and one final, all-settling retort: "Yahaan sirf paltu oonth miltein hain!" (You only get domesticated camels here!). Kailash had presented an iceberg that wrecked my interest in the ship of the desert.

A Chinkara on the way to Khichan

We opened packets of savories and I reflected on the reason that had brought us on this path. A few years ago my good friend and fellow Green Ogre Sahastra had visited a little-known village in Rajasthan, Khichan, famous for the flocks of Demoiselle Cranes (Anthropoides virgo) it hosts every winter. In a two-part post published on this blog he had piqued my interest in this spectacular avian congregation (whetted by the fact that the species had been christened by Queen Marie Antoinette herself). While I firmed up my itinerary I got yet another reminder from Sahastra: "Don't miss Khichan." And so we sped north by northwest while our eventual destination lay northwest of Jodhpur. A signpost for Khichan pointed right and a sense of guilt crept in for I had dragged my friends along on this wild crane chase. However, I was confident that we would take back something special from this detour.


A Nilgai showed up on the pale arid patch as we arrived close to Khichan and soon we heard the clamour that the flock of Demoiselles presented. Stepping out of the car for better shots, I saw a flock hurriedly take off and then turn back and land. Thrilled, I counted 50 to 70 birds and went trigger happy on the shutter release. Our driver said there were more ahead. Up ahead was a water body, beyond which was a larger flock of Demoiselles with smaller flocks joining them every few minutes. Circumnavigating the water body we got closer to the flock and my mental algorithm kicked in, giving me an estimate ten times the previous number.

A growing flock of Demoiselle Cranes

I had never come across such a large gathering of any living species, not even ants or termites, and it appeared that the cranes weren't done gathering. Tiny specks appeared on the horizon, growing in size. They assumed the shape of a line, then a triangle, then descended towards the field with vigorous, almost violent flapping of wings in the manner of air brakes, hopped and settled as drops in that ocean of grey. More cranes joined the flock in coordinated victory formations. The awe-inspiring atmosphere thus created might have seemed to some octogenarians like a repeat of the Battle of Britain with the RAF and Luftwaffe squadrons swarming the sky for aerial supremacy. 

An approaching cloud of Demoiselle Cranes

And they kept coming....

A chat with young Jethmal from the village taught us that there are four such large water bodies in Khichan. At the appointed time, 10 AM, the birds arrive to feed at the feeding house, where they roost. Jethmal said the birds were fed 10 to 15 quintals of grain a day. 


We turned back to get more pictures of the cranes while maintaining a respectful distance in order to avoid disturbing them. Some of the cranes acted like sentries -- they formed the front line of the flock and seemed edgy. I nicknamed one Long John Silver as it was missing a foot. The last thing we wanted was an alarm call from one of these lookouts. We couldn't have enough of the sea of grey at Khichan, yet we had a schedule to keep up. The numbers kept swelling and my last estimate was about two thousand cranes in the area, though more of them were still flying in. 

Flying in formation

Long John Silver, the crane without a foot

As we were leaving, a group of foreign tourists arrived. Indeed, the Demoiselle Cranes had put Khichan on the tourist map. I won't be surprised if more and more wayfarers choose the road less travelled from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer via Khichan. Promising to return, I left for Jaisalmer.

The platform in the background from where tourists can enjoy views of this magnificent congregation

Text and Photos: Anand Yegnaswami

Encounter: The Demoiselles of Khichan - Part II

Demoiselles, like other cranes, suffer on account of habitat loss and degradation throughout their breeding and wintering ranges. With the spread of agriculture in the Eurasian steppes a large swath of the species' breeding territory is threatened on account of disturbance, grazing and hunting.

In India, where the cranes winter, the primary problems are population increase and the resultant erosion of farmers’ tolerance for this crane. Cases of death from poisoning – both deliberate and inadvertent (pesticides) – are on the rise.


For cranes migrating to India another major threat along the migration path comes from hunting, which is prevalent in Afghanistan and Pakistan. The USGS website describes a hunting practice known as “soya”, which is used on the migrating Demoiselles: "Following traditional hunting practices, the crane hunters in Pakistan station themselves in valleys where the cranes pass on migration and use tame cranes to lure wild birds within range of rock-weighted slings (known as soya). Hunters hurl the soya into the air to entangle the flying cranes. In recent years, increasing numbers of hunters have taken up this traditional practice, while firearms have also been used with greater frequency. The Eurasian Crane and the critically endangered central population of the Siberian Crane are also affected by this practice. As many as 5000 cranes of all three species (10%-15% of the total population of migrating cranes) have been shot or captured in Pakistan in a single season, and the popularity of the sport continues to grow."

The next morning I am at the Chuggaghar (the feeding centre set up by the residents of Khichan). It is dark but the last few stars bravely twinkle on. The desert air is cool and crisp. Khichan is still asleep and the Demoiselles can neither be seen nor heard. Behind the Chuggaghar, the desert begins. After a shallow nullah I can see the dim shape of the dunes.

A few hundred yards ahead, I have crossed the patch of Babool bushes and have reached the base of the first dune. From behind them, I can hear faint but unmistakable crane sounds. The Demoiselles are roosting somewhere behind the first row of dunes. I take off my slippers and climb the dunes – at this early hour in late February the sand feels cool and moist, like the clay on the banks of a river. I sit down facing east and wait for the sun. And the Demoiselles.

I do not have to wait long. The sounds increase steadily and creep closer. In an inspired choreography of nature, the bluish-hued pre-dawn desert slowly fills up with crane calls behind me as the sky before me fills up with the reddish glow of dawn.

The first cranes fly in from the north. They come in a long line flying over the dunes, the line dipping near the centre giving a faint impression of a V, mirroring the Vs of the soft pre-dawn contours of the dunes. They fly over me and pass over the Chuggaghar and then beyond it towards the sun. Soon, there are cranes flying in from all sides – all in the same long lines with a hint of a V at the center. They fly from over the dunes towards the Chuggaghar. Some of them fly past the Chuggaghar and then turn back towards the desert and start settling over the dunes. Others descend in the Chuggaghar to feed. By now, the sun is up and I am completely surrounded by cranes. For a brief moment my world dissolves in a symphony of white sand, blue sky, red sun and the beautiful silver grey of the Demoiselles.

Read the first of this two-part post

Text and photographs by Sahastrarashmi

Encounter: The Demoiselles of Khichan - Part I

As I enter the village children greet me. They are a cheerful lot, waving and smiling at the visitor with a camera. I notice that they are playing with a dead snake and want me to see it up close. For an armchair explorer like me, fed on a regular dose of National Geographic specials, the relation between the desert and deadly snakes needs no explaining. And I am wearing sandals.


The kids are aware of the purpose of my visit. They point me to the village pond where the cranes are roosting. Khichan has three ponds on its northern edge – two twin adjacent ones and a smaller, secluded one a few hundred metres to the north. As I climb the ridge towards the pond, a voice calls out from behind me.


“To aap koorja aaye hain?” (So you have come to see the cranes?)


Kumar is a part-time potter and a hotelier-in-the-making (he wants to open a small hotel in Khichan for the crane-besotted). However, for now he has chosen to be my guide and companion – a role into which he slips easily and which he plays with flair for the rest of the evening.


As we climb the ridge that makes up the edge of the shallow village pond, about two thousand roosting Demoiselle Cranes come into view. The place is alive with their calls. Demure, with silver-grey bodies, glistening black necks and white plumes extending backwards from their sparkling red eyes, the cranes are magnificent to behold. Some accounts maintain that the crane was christened by Mary Antoinette, the queen of France better known for her unplanned rendezvous with the guillotine.

Demoiselle Cranes (Anthropoides virgo) inhabit dry grasslands or poor-vegetation lands such as savannah, steppes and semi-deserts. They are increasingly adapting to agricultural fields and are usually found within reach of water sources (which, like other cranes, they use for roosting). Khichan is on the edge of the desert with sparse cultivation and a few shallow ponds – ideal Demoiselle habitat.


As we observe the cranes from the bund, Kumar volunteers information on the purpose of their visit. “Yeh yahan par honeymoon manane aayi hain,” he tells me with a smile and a wink. “They are here to celebrate their honeymoon.”


After the American Sandhill Crane, the Demoiselle Crane is the most abundant of the world’s cranes, with a population estimated at about 240,000. There are no known subspecies and the Demoiselle has six main populations of which the Eastern Asia, Kazakhstan/Central Asia, and Kalmykia are abundant. Small populations are found in Turkey, North Africa and the Black Sea. The Demoiselle has been recorded from more than 40 countries in the world.


In India, Demoiselle Cranes fly in from countries of the former USSR (the area around the Caspian and Black Seas) and Mongolia, flying over the Himalayas at almost 24,000 feet. They are regular winter visitors to parts of northern and central India. Large flocks can be seen in parts of Gujarat, Rajasthan and Maharashtra (flocks have been observed near Pune) and North Karnataka (a large population regularly winters near the Hidkal Dam near Belgaum). More recently, they have been observed in Ladakh.

The crane winters in India but does not breed here (unlike the Black-necked Cranes). Come March, they will begin their long flight home, reaching Eastern Europe or the central Asian and Mongolian steppes in the beginning of spring, and start the breeding cycle. The locals inform me that the cranes begin the return migration on the full moon night of March and before setting off, circle the village (which they otherwise never enter), seemingly offering thanks and a promise of return.


Peter Matthiessen documents similar behavior in the Black-necked Crane (Grus nigricollis) in Bhutan: “According to tradition, the birds will return to Phobjika valley in late December, arriving at midday when the sun is highest. Invariably, say the villagers, they circle three times over Gantey Gompa, crying out to the lama for his blessing before gliding slowly down into the dark-walled valley.”


Scientists speculate that the slow circling allows the cranes a gradual ascent and hence has more to do with flight dynamics than gratitude. But in the East, where reality has been traditionally perceived in subjective terms and explanations are multi-hued, the former explanation makes as much sense as the latter, and both co-exist without challenge to their veracity.

I spend some time with Kumar watching the cranes feeding and preening. A few are flying about the pond but the overall impression is one of peace from the near-absence of predators. They are lined up along the circumference of the pond and completely cover a small island within it. Some have settled a distance away from the pond on the gravel. A camel cart is parked nearby (it seems to be a permanent fixture at Khichan – I have seen it in earlier photographs of the place) and the owner is filling it up with mud dug up from the pond. The actual digging is performed by women and girls dressed in the blazing red and orange hues commonly seen in Rajasthan.


The cranes appear oblivious to their presence. Occasionally a tourist vehicle arrives within a hundred yards of the pond causing mild commotion within the ranks. Things settle down quickly once the vehicle leaves. Kumar tell me that Khichan witnesses a lot of tourist traffic due to the cranes but few visitors spend more than an hour in the village. Other than the cranes the village boasts some old havelis – a signboard on the road proudly points them out.

To be continued...

Text and photographs by Sahastrarashmi