The early bird catches the worm. True enough, getting off the bed and heading for Dipor Beel, the Ramsar wetland site on the outskirts of Guwahati, at the crack of dawn with wife and kids in tow, I did manage to catch some worms — a breathtaking view of birds.
The predicament of having to pull out kids from bed at an early hour, and the uncertainty over whether we would get to catch a glimpse of the birds did dampen my spirits initially. But as soon as we hit the road through Gorchuk and the vast openness of the wetland came into view, doubts gave way to reassurance.
Reaching there, we saw some wooden boats lined up, and a local boatman came forward, oar in hand, to offer us a short ride around. Just as we were boarding the boat, my son pointed to huge footprints on the mud bank and declared that they were elephant tracks.
Our instant reaction was to brush him aside, but our boatman confirmed that a group of elephants were there the previous night. Elephants, he said, frequented the Beel to feed on the floating plants, which covered the water and made it look like a field. And on this mosaic of diverse shades of green and brown were camouflaged hundreds of birds, both big and small.
After an initial hiccup (we had to change boats as the first one that we boarded was leaky), as we slowly advanced through the endless green carpet, it was as if we had stepped into an ethereal world, pure and pristine. Millions of low gurgling voices, sharp squawks, blunt thuds and voices added mystique to the scene. We were intruders into their world and as they flew away from the path of our boat to safer distances, they made no attempt to hide their displeasure. The camera in my amateur hands did manage to find many different species — gulls, teals, geese, cormorants, cranes, egrets and kingfishers, to name a few. Dainty footed, nonchalant cranes walking around with a business-like attitude, well-muscled shiny cormorants darting in and out of the water, groups of geese constantly taking off and landing, tiny wagtails flying about with bursts of energy, it was as if every bird had a tale to tell.
Soon we were back to the banks. The children scampered off the boat and ran up the watchtower as the women got busy laying out breakfast. I climbed up after the children, and on reaching the top, realised that the view was even more breathtaking. Becoming more apparent from this high point were the Brahmaputra, and the fact that the Beel was a detached bend of the mighty river straddling the Meghalaya hills.
Also visible were the many brick kilns mushrooming along the fringes, dumpers and earthmovers working overtime as if in a hurry to suffocate the Beel. A few fishermen were seen patiently navigating the waters in their search for fish and survival. They too, I thought, would be left without a means of sustenance if the Beel were allowed to shrink.
The energy of the birds all around us seemed to have rubbed off on the children. For me, the joy on their faces was rewarding.
Back to the mundane Finally we drove off, the Beel receding in the rear-view mirror. We got back into the city, into worries of our daily life of unfinished work in office, of school homework, of competition, of rising prices and discount sales, of eating out and diet control, of depressing newspaper headlines and warring politicians. If only we could cling a little longer to the blissful moments we had spent in Dipor Beel!
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