The beautifully colourful bee eaters. I never tire of seeing them, as they flash through the air in search of insects or sit on wires sunning themselves. Every trip I've made into the forests is "greened" with a sighting of these birds. And even the backyards of Chennai for that matter.
So I was especially thrilled to received these pictures from Mr Ramanan, a veritable bee eater photo festival!
The blue-tailed bee eater, seen at Sholinganallur. A little bigger than the green bee eater. Merops philippinus
The same chap. They love to sun themselves and also watch for insects from these perches.
Notice the beak. Sharp and pointed to catch those flying insects. They generally bang about their insect morsel before eating it, to get rid of the venom. They love bees incidentally.
Mr Ramanan photographed this pair of blue-tailed beeeaters at Corbett. They are pretty gregarious birds, hang around in large groups, and are also monogamous for a season, so this may have been a "pair"?
The smaller green beeeater, seen at Corbett. Merops orientalis, the more common one that we see around our cities as well. seen at Chennai near the marshes.
The chestnut headed bee eater seen at Thengumaragada, Kotagiri, Nilgiris. Merops leschenaulti. I have not yet seen this bird. The chestnut head glints in the sun!
And neither have I seen this one. The blue bearded bee eater! Nyctyornis athertoni. Amazing isnt it? It is o the largest bee eater in India I'm guessing at about a foot in height, with a different square-ended tail.
Check out the beard feathers in this profile shot! They are supposedly loners, and have a loud cackling call.
Little birds, with prominent sharp beaks, the bee eaters are a delightful introduction to birding, as they are active and busy and not so shy either.
How a village near Odisha’s Chilika Lake, once infamous for hunting, transformed into a haven for migratory birds
A whiskered tern. Photographs by Ananda Banerjee/Mint
Today, the
Mangalajodi marshes on the northern fringes of Odisha’s Chilika Lake are
again a haven for water birds. Thousands of them flock there every
winter, from November-February. The black-tailed godwit, the Siberian
bluethroat, an assortment of ducks, geese, grebes, harriers, bitterns,
herons, snipes, gulls, terns and crakes—you get to see them all. Many of
them fly thousands of miles southto beat the harsh winter in
their breeding grounds. According to local bird guides, some migratory
birds have even started staying back in the area.
Chilika is the
largest coastal lagoon in the country. It is spread over 1,100 sq. km
and three districts: Puri, Khurda and Ganjam. Mangalajodi is one of 132
villages that dot this vast lake adjoining the Bay of Bengal. It is a
poor, sleepy fishing village with a population of about 5,000, most of
whom live off the land. So a wild duck for the pot or a waterfowl for a
feast is not uncommon.
But in the early
1990s, the birds came under attack on a much bigger scale as Mangalajodi
gained notoriety for the exploits of Kishore Behera. He is said to have
begun poaching as many as 4,000 ducks daily, using nets, traps and
pesticides, supplying the birds to markets nearby. Behera came to be
known as the “Veerappan of Chilika”, a reference to the infamous
sandalwood smuggler who eluded the authorities for years.
By 2001,
Mangalajodi had begun to be described as a “poachers’ paradise”. The
Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) reported that the number of birds
had dwindled to an estimated 5,000 during the migratory season, down
from the many thousands, or hundreds of thousands, that would be spotted
earlier.
That was a time when
“villagers were expected to carry a wild duck as a gift to officials to
get work done, or if they were visiting family or friends outside
Mangalajodi,” says Nilanjan Behera, founding chairperson of the
Mangalajodi Ecotourism Trust (MET), a community-owned and operated
eco-tourism enterprise that has been working on conservation issues
since 2010.
Slowly but surely,
efforts such as MET’s have brought about a remarkable change in
Mangalajodi. The villagers are now involved in conservation. Binod
Banik, 29, who dropped out of school in class VIII and was my guide for
the two days I spent in the village, can easily spot about 70 of the 211
bird species recorded in the village. Bala, who effortlessly navigates
the boat through the tangle of floating vegetation, knows exactly where
to find an elusive crake in the reed beds.
Both Binod and Bala
are members of MET. Their new-found winter professions have given them a
certain social status and a better life; in summer, Banik works at a
shop, while Bala goes back to fishing. The number of visitors to their
village has been going up every season, and there is a growing pride
among villagers in showcasing the avian diversity and setting an example
in conservation.
Sugyan Behera, a
bird guide, shows off a photo album in which his father, also a guide,
has neatly pasted the currency notes of different countries that he and
12 other guides got as tips. George Washington, the first US president,
looks down from the one-dollar bill in the plastic album, which also
has a Bhutanese ngultrum, Bangladeshi taka, United Arab Emirates dirham
and currencies from South-East Asian countries.
Mangalajodi is
slowly turning into a birding destination, says Nilanjan. India Post has
recognized the change, releasing a special cover on Mangalajodi in
association with the Eastern Indian Philatelic Association.
The transformation,
however, wasn’t easy. Nilanjan recalls the day he was mocked by his
college teacher as someone who belonged to a village of poachers. That
was in the 1990s. “I wanted to do something to change the image,” he
says.
“The marshland of
Mangalajodi comes under the revenue and irrigation departments. So the
forest department had no land or presence in and around Mangalajodi.
There was no control over poaching. Also, the village had little idea
about conservation and wildlife protection,” says Nilanjan.
With the help of
Wild Orissa, a non-profit, they formed a bird protection group called
Sri Mahavir Pakshi Suraksha Samiti (SMPSS) in 2000. In 2010, this became
the MET, with the Royal Bank of Scotland (RBS) Foundation India and
Indian Grameen Services, a non-profit, playing a pivotal role in its
establishment. Today, it provides alternative livelihoods for 70
households.
The turning point
came in 1996, when they managed to convince Kishore Behera to give up
poaching and take up pisciculture. Other poachers followed suit.
It took another
decade or more for the SMPSS to get organized as a community-based
conservation project, but this was the period when birdlife began
returning to the village. Gradually, the villagers, too, began to
understand how avian tourism could help them. Many villagers work under
MET as boatmen, guides, souvenir shop operators and hospitality service
providers.
Today, the
marshland teems with birds. According to the BNHS, Mangalajodi sees
around 150,000 migratory birds every year; it’s designated as an
Important Bird Area (IBA) by BirdLife International, the world’s largest
nature conservation partnership.
N. Sunil Kumar,
director, RBS Foundation India, says: “Mangalajodi has struggled to get
out of the infamy it had gained due to bird poaching in the 1990s.
Today, the place is considered one of the best to spot different species
of birds.”
It is now off the
radar of Kishore Behera, who has left the village, and on the radar of
tourists. Around 1,000 tourists visit every season. A number of hotel
chains are showing interest in the area.
It is equally
clear, however, that Mangalajodi cannot sustain mass tourism. Much,
then, will depend on how Mangalajodi and MET walk the tightrope between
economics and environment.
Pakistanis last year in Baluchistan Province with their catch of houbara bustard. Foreign hunting permits have been canceled.Credit Talha Ali
For decades, royal Arab hunting expeditions have traveled to the far reaches of Pakistan in pursuit of the houbara bustard — a waddling, migratory bird whose meat, they believe, contains aphrodisiac powers.
Little expense is spared for the elaborate winter hunts. Cargo planes fly tents and luxury jeeps into custom-built desert airstrips, followed by private jets carrying the kings and princes of Persian Gulf countries along with their precious charges: expensive hunting falcons that are used to kill the white-plumed houbara.
This year’s hunt, however, has run into difficulty.
It started in November, when the High Court in Baluchistan, the vast and tumultuous Pakistani province that is a favored hunting ground, canceled all foreign hunting permits in response to complaints from conservationists.
Those experts say the houbara’s habitat, and perhaps the long-term survival of the species, which is already considered threatened, has been endangered by the ferocious pace of hunting.
That legal order ballooned into a minor political crisis last week when a senior Saudi prince and his entourage landed in Baluchistan, attracting unusually critical media attention and a legal battle that is scheduled to reach the country’s Supreme Court in the coming days.
Anger among conservationists was heightened by the fact that the prince — Fahd bin Sultan bin Abdul Aziz, the governor of Tabuk province — along with his entourage had killed 2,100 houbara over 21 days during last year’s hunt, according to an official report leaked to the Pakistani news media, or about 20 times more than his allocated quota.
Still, Prince Fahd faced little censure when he touched down in Dalbandin, a dusty town near the Afghan border on Wednesday, to be welcomed by a delegation led by a cabinet minister and including senior provincial officials.
His reception was a testament, critics say, to the money-driven magnetism of Saudi influence in Pakistan, and the walk-on role of the humble bustard in cementing that relationship.
“This is a clear admission of servility to the rich Arabs,” said Pervez Hoodbhoy, a physics professor and longtime critic of what he calls “Saudization” in Pakistan. “They come here, hunt with impunity, and are given police protection in spite of the fact that they are violating local laws.”
The dispute has focused attention on a practice that started in the 1970s, when intensive hunting in the Persian Gulf nearly rendered the houbara extinct there, and with it a cherished tradition considered the sport of kings.
As the houbara migrated from its breeding grounds in Siberia, newly enriched Persian Gulf royalty flocked to the deserts and fields of Pakistan, where they were welcomed with open arms by the country’s leaders.
For the Pakistanis, the hunt has become an opportunity to earn money and engage in a form of soft diplomacy.
Although only 29 foreigners have been permitted houbara licenses this year, according to press reports, they include some of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Middle East, including the kings of Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, the Emir of Kuwait and the ruler of Dubai.
Their devotion to the houbara can seem mysterious to outsiders. The bird’s meat is bitter and stringy, and its supposed aphrodisiac properties are not supported by scientific evidence.
But falcon hunting, and the pursuit of the houbara, occupy a romantic place in the Bedouin Arab culture.
In Pakistan, the lavish nature of the winter hunts, which take place largely away from public scrutiny, have become the stuff of legend. In the early ’90s, it was reported, the Saudi king arrived in Pakistan with a retinue of dancing camels.
To curry favor with local communities, the Arab hunters have built roads, schools, madrassas and mosques, as well as several international-standard airstrips in unlikely places.
The only airport, at Rahim Yar Khan in the south of Punjab Province, is named after Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al-Nahayan, the former ruler of Abu Dhabi.
In recent times the hunts have also played a role, albeit unwitting, in the United States’s war against Al Qaeda.
Osama bin Laden took refuge at a houbara hunting camp in western Afghanistan in the late 1990s, by several accounts, at a time when the C.I.A. was plotting to assassinate him with a missile strike.
Photo
A falcon, right, tried to catch a houbara bustard during a falconry competition in Hameem, the United Arab Emirates, last December. Baluchistan is a popular place to hunt the bustard.CreditKarim Sahib/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
The journalist Steve Coll wrote in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book, “Ghost Wars,” that American officials declined to take the shot, fearing that the Arab sheikh who was hosting Bin Laden would have been at risk of dying in the attack.
For several years starting in 2004, the C.I.A. used an Arab-built airstrip at Shamsi, a barren desert valley in central Baluchistan, to launch drone strikes against Islamist militants in Pakistan’s tribal belt.
When news of the American base stirred a scandal in Pakistan’s Parliament in 2011, the country’s air force chief sought to deflect blame onto the United Arab Emirates government.
The deserts around Dalbandin, where Prince Fahd landed on Wednesday, were the site of Pakistan’s first nuclear test explosion in 1998, and are an established way station for heroin smugglers and Taliban insurgents.
But the growing influence of Gulf Arab countries is not universally appreciated. Progressive Pakistanis bemoan their conservative influence on society, and the infusion of petrodollars for jihadi groups.
The hunts have also come under attack. In Baluchistan, where the houbara is the provincial symbol, some royal hunts had to be curtailed after Baluch separatist rebels opened fire on hunting parties.
Now the battle has shifted to the capital, Islamabad. The prime minister, Nawaz Sharif, enjoys close relations with the rulers of Saudi Arabia, where he spent much of his exile between 2000 and 2007 — one reason, critics believe, for the indulgence shown toward Prince Fahd.
Mr. Sharif sent his federal planning minister, Ahsan Iqbal, to greet Prince Fahd in Dalbandin, as well as Baluchistan’s minister for sports and culture.
“Not a single political leader reacted against illegal hunting by Arab princes,” Asma Jahangir, a prominent human rights campaigner, posted on Twitter.
Although Mr. Sharif never confirmed it, Saudi Arabia is widely believed to have injected $1.5 billion into Mr. Sharif’s government last year to help prop up the ailing economy. Last year in Islamabad, Mr. Sharif laid out a lavish welcome for the other Saudi hunting permit holder: Salman bin Abdul-Aziz Al Saud, who last month was inaugurated as king.
The International Union for the Conservation of Nature has termed the houbara a vulnerable species, and India has banned the hunt. The Baluchistan court order in November cited Pakistan’s obligation to international conservation treaties.
Hunt supporters say the houbara population has never been scientifically surveyed, and complain that the royal visits are being unnecessarily politicized.
“The foreigners are a blessing, not a problem,” said Ernest Shams of Houbara Foundation International Pakistan, a charity that works with the United Arab Emirates government to boost houbara stocks. “They bring so much money into the country.”
In a bid to overcome the court ban, the Baluchistan government has lodged an appeal in Pakistan’s Supreme Court that is likely to be heard on Wednesday, officials in Islamabad said Friday.
Prince Fahd is currently at his hunting camp in Bar Tagzi, surrounded by his falcons and a contingent of security — and most definitely not hunting any houbara, according to Pakistani officials.
“They are visiting development sites,” said Obaidullah Jan Babat, an adviser to the Baluchistan chief minister. “They are not hunting.”
