Salt and Sambhar - a place in need of urgent attention

17th January 2015

We bundled into our cars in Sujangarh, as we reached the last day of our rather interesting week in Rajasthan.

The town seemed to have some south Indian influence, as we saw a familiar gopuram by the roadside.

Lakshmi pleaded that we should have breakfast elsewhere, and so we landed up at Rama hotel, which was a vast improvement to our hotel, and we gorged on parottas, which kept coming from the kitchens.

Our souls were in a better state at the end of that, and we set off on our long journey east to Jaipur.

We were at the fag end of our trip, and it was with some regret, as I realized it would soon be back to work.

As I looked out of the window, I saw the by now familiar lopped Khejri trees, looking forlorn and leafless, standing over fallow fields.

Further east, and the trees were in leaf, as also the mustard fields.

And then suddenly there were these lines of lorries filled with salt.

We were closing in on Sambhar lake, the salt water lake of my childhood textbooks.  I remember our Geography teacher droning on about how it was India's largest inland saline depression.  I also remember never quite having it explained as to why it was saline!

Never did I think that one day I would actually visit this lake, far removed from the beaten track.

(It has always bugged me as to why it is called sambhar, my favourite gravy.  (The same is true for the deer as well.  ))





Located between Jaipur in the east and Ajmer to the west, it is now a designated Ramsar wetland.

We crossed a red brick, shabby building which announced the station - yes the lake has a station - and my sense of anticipation grew.

I thought of Pulicat and Chilika, the other estuarine backwater lagoons, with large expanses of water as far as the eye could see.

We turned a corner, and the cars halted at the edge of what looked like the local garbage dump.

Nabeel our guide said we had to walk past a little bund we saw.  To my increasing shock and dismay, it seemed we were walking into the local village facility, we seemed to interrupt people in their toilet, and there was garbage and feces everywhere.

I still cannot get over it actually, how this could be a Ramsar site, and be so neglected.  More than the birds then, it was the shocking state of the lake that hit me.

There were children playing cricket in these unhygienic conditions - on the dry lake bed, and we spoke to some of them, asking them why it was like this.  They seemed to indicate that the village elders were unconcerned, there was not enough of toilet facilities, etc etc.

On my return I also read that there are two PSU salt companies - Sambhar Salts Limited and Bharat Salts - located here and working the salt pans.  Why on earth have they not taken on the revival of this historical lake that is part of our ecological and environmental heritage?

Even Pallikaranai seems better off when compared to this lake.

From Google maps

A railway line cuts the lake - the side we are in (the western side) is the protected (rather, neglected) lake, left for the birds, while the other side is the salt pans.  There is also a dam further east to regulate the water flow to the pans.

Sambhar city relies on salt mining for its livelihood.  Salt has been mined here from the 6th century AD when the Chauhans ruled, and has continued continuously to date.

How is this lake saline, though?

Greater flamingoes - yes, they were the main attraction and they stood in the middle of the lake, probably in half a foot of water.

A pied Avocet tried to make the best of a bad deal scrounging in the murky waters.

As we watched a train came rattling by on the track.  The track dates back to British India, and was the line for transporting salt out of the region.

The flamingoes decided they were better off in the air at this point, and circled in formation until the train passed.

They came settling back down only after the train had moved on.

At one point in the eighties there used to be lakhs of these birds, I read, not so anymore.  Not enough water is reaching the lake as the frehwater channel/rivers are choked

Lapwigs, stilts and godwits mucked around disconsolately (I thought).

We even spotted a snipe

And a wagtail

We were not unhappy to leave, frankly, a rather strange phenomenon for an MNS group which is always malingering.

I hope that I am able to raise some awareness of the urgent needs of this habitat.

We headed out to lunch and then set off for Jaipur on our way back home.

Further surprises awaited us, as we came to learn from indifferent Air Costa staff that our Chennai flight was cancelled.  Of course they were "generous" enough to give us a full refund.

We then were all forced to book tickets on the Jaipur-Bangalore flight, thinking that it is better to come south than hang around there.

Then the question was how do we move from Bangalore to Chennai?  A KSRTC bus that left at midnight was found by Kumar's enterprising daughter and tickets were booked online, as we raised a toast to the mobile phone and online booking!

So, deplane at Bangalore, rush madly to baggage claim, and a quick bathroom stop before we caught two cabs urging the drivers to drive us with speed to the bus stand in town.

Then we (in one cab) reach the well marked bus bays, and find a couple of people hanging around on the pavement, and asked them about the Chennai bus.  They informed us that it was yet to come, so we hang around with them, while eyeing another bus that was idling ahead of us.

The second cab arrives, with Kumar's daughter, who asks us why we are waiting and not boarding the bus!!  She had received an sms with the bus number, and the gents on the pavement were obviously unaware or spreading disinformation!  Giggling hysterically, we got on, and made our way to the seats.

We continued to laugh until we dozed off fitfully, reaching the chaos of Koyambedu on the morning of the 18th, boarded a share auto and suffered a bone rattling ride all the way home.

A good bath, and a morning cup of strong filter coffee, and all was once again well with the world!

Rajasthan was now a memory.

The Indian "Steppes" - eagle visitors at Taal Chhapar

Jan 16th 2015.  As we soaked in the beauty of the Blackbucks on the one hand, we were also awed by the majesty of the soaring Steppe Eagles, as they dotted the grasslands, sitting on rocky outcrops, gliding over the grass and making the territory their own.

I step back into my school geography class and Ms Rohini when I think of the Steppes - those grasslands that once spread across Asia and Europe.  It coexists in my memory along with the nomadic pastoralists and Genghis Khan swooping across the plains

From the lands of the great Khan come these large eagles, swooping down to winter in our own grasslands in north-western India.

By far, they were the most common raptors we saw that day at Taal Chhapar.  Aquila nipalensis.  They eat carrion too, which accounts for the fact that we saw them at the carcass dump the next day as well.

They would take off on sorties every now and then, probably searching for small rodents and partridges.  Their large wingspans were a sight to see.

The characteristic brown and black flight feathers and tail.  This is the largest eagle I have seen so far.

The yellow gape that extends beyond the eye distinguishes it from the Tawny Eagle

The Tawny and Spotted eagles also have this yellow gape, but the extent of it, the shape of the nostrils and mouth are all different.  For our amateur eyes, we would have problems differentiating I am sure, but then we saw only the Steppes, so there was no "idying" confusion.

We almost missed the red collared doves shuffling around next to the road, as we trained our binoculars on the eagles afar. Streptopelia tranquebarica.  My first sighting of them of these reddish-matron doves that are found in fields, gleaning for seed in the undergrowth.

As the light faded, we also saw Harriers.  Couldn't figure out which one this was....

...though this one looked like a juvenile Pied Harrier

We had to leave, and our final sighting was a huge herd of wild boar grunting and scuffling through the grass.  They passed quite close to the eagles who did not seem to care!

A hot dinner awaited at Churu, in the same home where we had lunch, which was so fresh and wholesome that we shamelessly invited ourselves for the night as well!

We met the five daughters of the couple who were our hosts, and it was indeed heartwarming to see such well educated, confident and outgoing girls, where one would least expect it.

I think they were also intrigued by this strange bunch  from the south, with a large smattering of women who were by far more noisy than the men!

Horn, OK Please.

16th January 2015

The magical Taal Chhapar grasslands in Rajasthan. A tiny little sanctuary at seven square kms on the eastern borders of the Thar.  We were coming from the western ends of the desert and the gigantic Desert National Park (more than 3000 sq kms).

We left Sujangarh and motored to the ghoshaala in the early morning mist, where we chased the tree creeper most successfully.

So it was with cheer and anticipation that we arrived at this little sanctuary of the blackbuck.  Antilope cervicapra rajputanae.  Bhanu had visited Taal Chhapar in 2014, and her pictures of the beautiful blackbucks in the rolling grasslands had piqued my interest.

The 7-8 sq kms of this sanctuary is filled with grassland and saline rock and khejri trees.

Blackbuck are at home in grasslands, no forests for them.  The browns merging with the mothiya grass and only their horns standing out like a ships' flag mast! The grasslands give them an advantage when fleeing from predators, and they do not mind the semi-arid conditions. So, as we convert grasslands into farms, the blackbuck habitat shrinks.  

These beautiful antelopes are endemic to the Indian subcontinent, and we are the only country with a sizeable though endangered population.  Hunted with cheetahs by our maharajahs, protected fiercely by the Bishnois, they seemed almost mythical and magical as they moved around in the grass.  

The males have horns and the skin turns darker with age.  The fawns don't have horns and are a much lighter hue.  The ponds are formed in the low-lying parts of the sanctuary.

Young males, with a fawn brown colouring.

An adult male posed proudly, its horns resplendent.  And those rings around the eyes like big moons.

Those horns!  "A well-formed pair of horns on a mature blackbuck male may reach two feet in length and have a nearly equal spread between the tips." observes R K Menon

They grow from the base, do not fall off, grow spiralling outwards and are a pretty handy weapon of territoriality, as we saw later.    

As dusk fell, we grew quiet, watching these shadows pass by in the grass, their silhouettes like a Japanese painting.

As I saw the sun go down, I dreamed of the plains of Africa.  Would I ever make it there?

But the drama of nature had one more act.  A male passed purposefully on the track ahead of us.

And before our eyes, horns were locked and a turf war began.

Just as quickly. it ended, with both the males trotting off in different directions, and to us, it seemed like it was a "draw"!

"Blackbuck are territorial animals. A territorial animal like the blackbuck male holds a piece of meadow or land that he defends against invasion of conspecific males. The male in its white and black coat stands prominently on its territory, which he hasfought for and taken from an earlier holder or, in some cases,colonised by himself. The ownership of the territory may pass on from one individual to another each year or a single, strong male may be able to retain it for several years. 
Fights between males for territory possession can be violent.The two males clash head on to lock horns and push mightily against each other. This is where the corkscrew shape of the horns comes into use. The spirals of the horns lock into one another so that they do not slip, much as the antler of deer like chital lock during battle. Where the males are almost evenly matched, a fight may continue over a few days. 
After the first bout, the contestants withdraw for a short while, only to clash again. The contestants engage, break off, and re-engage in this turf battle until the issue is settled. When the loser flees, it is usually chased only for a few yards, and then it may be seen somewhere else where it is more comfortable.
The winner then stands in the territory waiting for the females to come, for, in blackbuck, territory is the ticket to reproductive success. When the females do arrive, the male tries to herd them and keep them within his patch of land. This it does by what is called the 'head-up' or 'nose-up' display. The male raises its tail upright to show the white underside, raises his nose till the horns are almost flat along its back, turns its ears downward and backward and moves with mincing steps, all the while forcing the females deeper inside his territory. It may also grunt during this behaviour. The females may move inward in response to the 'head-up' display and begin to graze there, but if they are not so inclined, they simply walk across into an adjoining territory. 
The male has no recourse other than to do the'head-up' display in front of the wandering female. It appears strange that once a female or herd of females crosses over into another territory, the pursuing male will stop short at the end of his territory and not take one step more. In most cases, the neighbouring male will come forward to escort the female into its own territory.To the human eye, the exact demarcation line between two adjoining territories is not always visible."

The Quintessential Antelope - Life of the Blackbuck - by R K Menon

The Thar desert on a winter morning

12th/13th January 2015

Read about the Great Indian Bustards here.

As we trundled along the flat and straight roads into the desert, visibility was just beyond our noses, and it seemed that only mad hatters and Madrasis were out.  Even the Cinkara stopped and stared in surprise!

As we stared at the khejri-tree filled landscape, something moved in the morning light.  "Desert fox" said Nabeel excitedly.  And there it was, a diminutive little thing with a distinctive white tipped bushy tail.  Vulpes vulpes pusilla

The shy fox, got us animated, and I almost forget the cold.  We were still in our vehicle, and relatively warm.

We got out at Sudasari, and the wind made a mockery of my layers of warm clothing, the monkey cap and gloves I wore, and reminded me that I was meant to be in nice balmy Madras and not in this dreadful cold, looking like a cross between an eskimo and a penguin!

Even more ridiculous were the locals, wrapped in a shawl and walking around as if it was a nice pleasant morning.

The Graceful Prinia looked anything but graceful, as the wind ruffled its feathers, and (according to me at any rate)  it had a miserable look on its face!

The Eurasian collared doves wore their usual mournful look

All over the desert were these bushes - kair - Capparis decidua - once  a year, they produce these berries, which are pickled and eaten through the year.  Kair/sangri - my culinary discoveries on this Rajasthan trip.

The doves took flight and left the Trumpeter Finches, with their yellow beaks for us to see!  My numbed and gloved fingers tried to work the binoculars to focus on them.  Thankfully, they hung around long enough for my inefficient focusing, and for Sekar to take these pictures.  It was a lovely sight, some of them with the distinct pinkish hue.  

The absent sun was higher in the sky presumably, the wind abated a bit, and the walking had warmed me into a better humour.

And then this Bengal fox, which casually crossed the track behind us, improved my mood even further.  He had a cocky and casual air about him, quite unlike the desert fox which seemed to skulk around.  The bushy black-tipped tail is characteristic of Vulpes bengalensis.

He sat and stared at us for a while, scratching himself.  We were obviously not interesting enough as he ambled away in a bored fashion, probably looking for his next meal.

Up on a dune, starkly visible against the sand was a southern grey shrike!  

It flew and perched on the scrub for us all to see.  We didn't see his "larder" of insects, though.

And sudden;y, there loomed two healthy and green Khejri trees.  Prosopsis cinerarea.  The state tree of Rajasthan (and the national tree of the UAE I subsequently discovered!),   Their greenness was a possible indication that there was a water vein below.

On closer examination, we found that they had pods.  Those red legumes are what we were eating as "sangri" at dinner times - I quite loved it actually.  

I guess they are like our coconut tree.  Every part is used.  But, excessive cutting of the tree branches for fodder is leading the the death of khejri trees in Rajasthan.  Later on, on the highways, we came across these trees with all their branches completely lopped off.

Bui - Aerva javanica - is the cotton of the desert, used to stuff pillows and mattresses, and grows widely in the desert in arid conditions.  

We saw the arid scrublands of the fringes of the desert and we saw the sand dunes as well.

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Unfortunately, there was cloud cover in the evening, and we missed the sight of the setting sun adding colours and hues to the sand dunes.  They were still beautiful, in their vastness, and the endless and infinitely different patterns that the winds created on the dunes.  The sand is soft, and powdery, quite different from the feel of the beach sand that I am used to.

Our desert "caravan".  (Note the rickety plastic stool.  We used that to hoist ourselves onto the cart.)

Bui to the left, khejri in the centre and khair to the right, and the beautiful sand patterns in the foreground.

It was time to say goodbye to the desert, and the "ships of the desert"!

Raju, the camel with the sweetest face and those most lovely eyes.  We saw some wild camels on the way, and they were the darker colour that Raju was.