In the third episode
of her Bangladesh travelogue, Jennifer Nandi enters the sinuous spiderweb of
the Sundarbans, where the sluggish rivers are reluctant to lose their freedom to the sea
There are three main
rivers with their tributaries that make up the Sundarbans. The River
Jamuna (Brahmaputra, in India) joins the River Padma (Ganges, in
India); and further down its course, joins the River Meghna, whose
source is in the Sylhet hills. The western portion of this river
system lies in India. Though the Sundarbans have lost half of their
inland area over the last 200 years through human encroachment, over
10,000 km of continuous mangrove wilderness remain.
The myriad channels that
crisscross the Sundarbans like a spider’s web draw
visitors such as us. Innocent of human structure, this landscape
answers to a name that means ‘beautiful forest’. One-third of its
total area is permanently covered by water. Yet, it is the only
mangrove forest with tigers; it harbours one of the largest remaining
global population of this highly endangered species. Its coastal
waters are home to the world’s largest population of Irrawaddy
dolphins. It comes as no surprise that these mangrove forests are one
of the two Ramsar sites in Bangladesh. But the Sundarbans is not an
easy place to be in.
Twice a day, the
character of the water changes from fresh to salty. And twice a day
too, much of the mud is exposed to the air. Creatures that live in
these stressful environments tolerate the fluctuating changes of
fresh to salt water. Rewards for doing so are huge because of the
nutrition that is available in such waters. Food is delivered to the
estuary every day from both the sea and the land, so the creatures
that are able to survive here flourish.
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| Water hyacinth snagged on a tree after high tide |
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| Cleaning crabs after an early morning catch |
The sandbanks being
covered by water twice a day snag prodigious amounts of food that are
inviting to the daytime gleaning of birds. This is particularly vital
for the winter migrants that need to strengthen themselves for the
ordeal of their journey to the half-frozen nesting grounds farther
north. Small, short-billed
waders exploit surface-dwelling organisms of the tidal mudflats. Most
waders possess ear openings positioned much further forward than
those in other birds. In this way, they are better able to detect
vibrations in the mud.
The shifting sandbars of
the rivers part the braids of their wandering channels and on this
cold, damp and foggy morning, we witness life at the very edge of
existence. Pastels of dawn paint the early morning water and jungle a
strange hue. We are sitting on a mattress in a flat-bottomed ‘country
boat’. The boatman paddles into a small creek. There are other
boats like ours – though their compulsion to be out, so early, on
such a cold morning, is driven by sheer necessity. They are fishing
vessels – anchored with a bit of rope to a convenient snag. The men
lean forward, yielding beneath a burden of life, as they lower their
nets for fish; others catch crab.
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| Nypa palms |
The forest dawn is long.
The dark, impenetrable mangrove forest narrows the channels. We
paddle through these tortuously twisted creeks and the mangroves
press closer. The water is shallow and dark. On the harsh, sluggish
grey, steep banks that lead down to the water’s edge are clear
prints of tiger. If one had to emerge for a morning’s snack, I
don’t think we had much of a chance, armed guard notwithstanding.
Eerie sunlight sifts through curtains of fog. It’s still cold. As
we paddle into wider channels, flowerpeckers and sunbirds gather on
the blossoms of the flowering trees taking advantage of the cold
shafts of sun that part the fog.
The river beds of the
Jamuna, the Padma and the Meghna together with their tributaries are
full of sediment by the time they reach their estuaries. They become
sluggish in their reluctance to lose their freedom to the sea.
Mingling with the dissolved salts of sea-water, their sediments clump
together and drift to the bottom. These fine-grained, great, grey
banks of mud trap the gases produced by the decomposition of organic
debris. Earthworm-like creatures, called lugworms, ingest quantities
of this mud to extract this organic material. These fat-bodied worms
are in turn food for birds whose beaks are able to probe deeper into
the mud. We see Whimbrels with their long down-curved bills feeding
on the squelchy ooze at low tide. They also feed on fiddler crabs,
probing into their burrows with their superbly adapted bills. Curlews
with their even longer bills are fewer in number. But it’s still
too early for any serious birdwatching and two hours later we head
back to our luxury boat for some sustenance.
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| Sundari trees, after which the Sundarbans take their name |
Ken is particularly
pleased - I’d taught the cook to use the percolator, so Ken could
drink Italian coffee with his substantial breakfast. We are now
sailing towards Katka, a port 6 hours away at the very tip of the
Sundarbans where we meet the Bay of Bengal. We move onto the bridge.
It is flooded with a tide of light. We sit in its warmth and softness
with mugs of the hottest coffee, and our binoculars at the ready. It
is a delightful winter morning, and we waste it watching waders. We
spot the rare Finfoot and then had the vessel halt for a better look!
It’s a shy and secretive bird – we are lucky to see it riding
high in the water. We see more Whimbrels and Curlews. The steep banks
provide little space for them to stand. Brown-headed gulls tail us
for a long while. Brahminy Kites circle overhead, and those great
white birds, the Large Egrets, with their fierce fiery eyes and
spear-like bills, fly from tree to tree in their effort to get away.
And now the true
splendour of the mangrove forest reveals itself in a study in
halftones. The trees are of different species that have all found
ways of adapting to their very particular environment. Of the 50
mangrove species in the world the Sundarbans harbour 20. The
Crab-apple mangrove is the most common species we find this morning.
Each tree has its share of Fire-breasted Flowerpeckers and Sunbirds
that suck nectar from the few flowers remaining. The Mangrove Apple
is taller but deer are able to reach its leaves. Rhesus Macaques
gather its fruit. The villagers also relish the Mangrove Apple fruit
and grind it into a chutney. Local fishermen use Nypa Palm that line
the water’s edge, to thatch their country boats for shelter. The
Blinding Mangrove has sap, as its name suggests, that blinds. Its
wood was used to manufacture safety matches and newspaper. Not
anymore. It’s a tall tree which we keep a look out for perching
birds. Irrawaddy freshwater dolphins show themselves as
fast-disappearing dark shapes.
We settle into lazy
inaction. Like light, that great zeitgeber of biological clocks, the
stable rhythm of the boat’s engine lulls my body rhythms to a state
so peaceful and warm that I close my eyes and hold the moment, as
even the wind holds its breath, making it last till the afternoon sun
yawns over the water and another sumptuous meal is served.
In the late afternoon we
board the country-boat and paddle into the broader channels. We
return before the falling river dusk and board our luxury boat to
cruise down to Kotka in the Bay of Bengal. Ours is the only boat
apart from a few crab fishermen. Here the tidal range is very large
and much of the land is flooded. At Kotka we find three other large
boats packed with local holiday makers. Tonight again we have an
excellent view of the star stippled sky. Another good day passes.
Missed the first two episodes of Jennifer's Bangladesh travelogue?
Read them here:
Copyright: Text and photographs by Jennifer Nandi. All rights reserved.
