The birds are back...

It’s a trip after several years—perhaps the first since the Gujarat earthquake. And then Bharatpur, once a mandatory annual excursion, fell upon bad times; all but written off like so many big-name banks today. Now tales of a miracle, which had to be checked out… The approach is not promising; the road outside the sanctuary, as I remembered, was two-lane and shady; today it’s a four-lane highway for which all the trees have been sacrificed. And as you enter, more signs of devastation: the canopy is all but gone, the landscape looks bombed out. But wait, this is all for the good, because what’s been blasted and uprooted out of existence—permanently—hopefully, is that rabid coloniser, Prosopis juliflora alias Vilayati keekar.

Heart-warming

In the hazy blue of early morning comes that heart-warming sound: the roar of thousands of waterfowl wings as ducks rise en masse, from the waters, like a Mexican wave getting airborne. Pintail, and common teal, shovellor and gadwall speed through the gossamer mists as their perennial extortionist the marsh harrier comes calling. They swirl and settle, only to be roused again within minutes. In the maroon azolla-covered waters, purple herons stand stock still, merging beautifully with the marsh grasses, and egrets dazzle in pristine white. A flock of bar-headed geese fly past, honking in that conversational way of theirs, and on a branch just off the path, a little cormorant yawns…

A trip around the drier sections of the park has less on offer—flocks of squeaking silverbills, pied bushchats, the odd shrike and that easy-rider the black-shouldered kite. Past Python point and the old hunting lodge and on to the waters of the Mansarovar which are teeming with birds. Just off the path, a pair of immaculate sarus cranes feed; and grey herons wing away with hoarse squawks of irritation. Here, the main attraction is those enchanting musical ducks—lesser whistling teals—bright-eyed and perky as schoolboys in their tobacco and copper plumage, showing off tints of blue-grey and dark grey on their wings as they fly in circles and splash down. They are resident ducks as are the naktas, or comb duck, which have a delightfully snobbish air about them, despite their ink-spattered faces! Purple swamp hens in their shot blue silks and size 16 feet and vivid red frontal shields and bills look like the ultimate viragos, and it suddenly strikes you that the birds here seem somehow more vivid and richly coloured than their compatriots in Delhi. This impression is reinforced by the rufous tree pie you meet at the canteen later; its brown and white is newly minted and rich, unlike the faded versions you see in Delhi.

Must-do

A rickshaw ride from the check post to the Keoladeo temple is another “must do”, for you get to see and meet all the main tourist attractions of the season: Sleepy collared scops owls in the date palms, dusky eagle owls glaring at you from the rims of their huge twiggy edifices, grey nightjars impersonating branches, dozing away the afternoon, a smirking monitor lizard, flapshell turtles, holding their heads high—all impossible to spot unless you had inside information, which the rickshaw pullers do. Again, the importance of actionable intelligence… We’ve been told that pythons have been sunbathing everywhere but don’t meet any this time. Also, we haven’t done too well with raptors so far, a greater spotted eagle on a faraway perch is all we’ve bagged, until another one flies over and circles around us, giving us all the time to admire its broad chocolate wings and wedge tail. Late breeding painted storks are still caring for ravenous adolescents, some adults squatting on the backs of their “knees” look pretty done for! We catch but a furtive glimpse of a black bittern, and of the three normally encountered kingfishers, the sapphire-spangled little (or common) kingfisher, is the last to mark its presence, but squats unconcerned on a stump, softly backlit in the early evening sunlight ready for all admirers! Darters strike their crucifix poses, one looking especially martyred as it changes the position of its head every now and then, and then starts preening.

There appear to be more Indian than foreign visitors trundling down the path and happily, they’re better behaved than I remember from past visits, even if a little bewildered by the variety of birds. Everyone is delighted that Bharatpur has recovered after the trauma of past years; it appears that one good monsoon and a little good sense has made all the difference. There are plans now to ensure that it never experiences that devastation again by arranging a perennial source of water so that both breeding and migratory birds can be happy. Better cross-border relations with surrounding villages have hopefully also been forged (villagers were allowed to cart away the hacked Prosopis for firewood), though there were the usual, unavoidable transgressions. Bharatpur is a man-made ecosystem, dependent on human management for its existence and well-being, with a helping hand from nature of course. We’ve seen what neglect and deliberate anti-conservation measures can do. It’s time we ensure we never travel down that disgraceful route again and that the plans for its eternal resurrection and happiness are actually implemented.

It appears that one good monsoon and a little good sense has made all the difference.

Quick facts

The Keoladeo National Park (formerly Bharatpur Bird Sacntuary) was originally created as a duck-hunting reserve for the Jat Maharajas of Bharatpur and is a major wintering ground for aquatic birds from Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, China and Siberia.

The park is open throughout the year. Best months are August-November for resident breeding birds and November-March for migrant birds.

http://www.hindu.com/mag/2009/06/21/stories/2009062150370800.htm