It was a day like any other in the village of Vedanthangal. Long before the paved walkway and watchtowers came up around the lake, and sounds from the outside world were yet to invade the music of the visiting birds, an act of malevolence unfolded by the pristine waters. A group of huntsmen stalked the waterbirds at dawn, their country guns at the ready. The birds called out in alarm. The residents, who were within shouting distance, knew something was not right from their tone. They swooped down on the trespassers and handed them over to the authorities. The birds were saved.
This is a story any visitor to the bird sanctuary, that’s one of the oldest in the country, is told by the locals. S. Lakshmi, who runs a tiffin shop by the entrance of the sanctuary, narrates it to us over bittersweet coffee on a wet morning. “If there are no customers at the shop, I head straight to the lake to see the birds,” she says. “I can never get tired of watching them.” Stories surrounding the birds and the villagers have been passed down generations in Vedanthangal. “They don’t peck at the paddy seeds planted by our people,” Lakshmi laughs. “I don’t know how they know it. But they fly directly to the crops that belong to those from the neighbouring hamlets.”
We land in the sanctuary on an overcast dawn, hoping the skies won’t open up. But the moment we step in, it pours. We scramble for cover into a watchtower. Is this it? Has the monsoon washed away our chances of observing the multitude of water birds that have arrived this season? In the end, the rains show us a new side to the birds. They are lazy and decide to call it a day — much to our delight.
Spot-billed pelicans
A bulky white bird with brown-grey wings and crest and a large pink bill that’s pointed downwards when it floats in water. A pink pouch wobbles below the bill.
Perched on branches that are higher up, the birds are a rather refined lot. When the shower slows to a drizzle, one or two are seen wading in solitude, sometimes with nesting material in tow. They don’t want to waste even a minute idling away.
Spoonbills
The bird is named after its characteristic orange-tipped black bill that’s shaped like a spoon at one end. A golden patch is smeared down its chest.
Perched in a cluster a little below the pelicans, these birds seem restless to get the moisture off their feathers. They shake their necks this way and that and seem annoyed.
Grey herons and open-bill storks
Open-bill storks look magnificent in flight; their characteristic feature is the large beak that has a curved opening even when it’s closed shut. Grey herons can be identified by their long necks and ash-grey body with black flanks.
The birds are cooped up a little distance from the spoonbills. They seem to have taken a liking for each other and stick together; so much so that it’s hard to tell one from the other without field glasses.
Cormorants
A gleaming black body with dark eyes and a sharp, hooked beak. The rain seems to have no effect on these birds; they fly gleefully in the drizzle and one or two wade nonchalantly as though to tease the bigger birds.
Count and tell
Locals place the current unofficial bird count at 15,000. They say that the birds have arrived early this year; usually, they start flying in only in December. The dashing painted storks, though, are yet to arrive. According to K. Gnanaskandan of Madras Naturalists’ Society, 2010 and 2011 were the best years for Vedanthangal. “There was a dip in numbers in 2012. The following year was better; but 2014 was a bad year.”
