Winter is the season of the winged visitors. Birds fly thousands of miles to warmer climes to places like ours where winters are far less harsh and food and drink plentiful. Some 200 or so kilometres from my home in Ranthambhore is a bird paradise known officially as the Keoladeo National Park. We locals call it Bharatpur after the town. Thought I'd drop in there — not on a birding trip but to play Sherlock Holmes. There is a little mystery that I wanted to investigate.
The Bird sanctuary here comprising wetlands, marshes, shallow lakes was created by the Maharaja of Bharatpur in the 19th century for his Majesty's hunting pleasure. Now, of course, that is a thing of the past and Bharatpur was officially declared a National Park in 1982 and two years later got the tag of a World Heritage Site too.
But this bird haven has been having its share of woes of late and is under threat of losing that heritage status. Over the last six or seven years, the place has been reeling under a heavy drought. Home to nearly 300 species of bird life, both residents and visiting — varieties of geese, cranes, pelicans, herons, cormorants, warblers, wagtails and others , the most awaited visitor every season was the Siberian cranes who fly over 6500 km from freezing Siberia.
But over the last years they have stopped these winter visits altogether. This was the mystery I was hoping to solve.
On getting to Bharatpur, I went to pay my respects to the wise one — Ulooka, the owl. She opened her ancient, sleepy eyes and smiled down at me from her tree hollow.
“Well, aren't you young Sheroo? Your mother came here 10 years ago. I guess that was before you were even born,” she said. When I told her the purpose of my visit she laughed, “Oh! The Siberians who came in from the cold! Your mother told you the stories?”
Of course she had, which is why I was here. When she came here in 2001, she had met Ivan and Lydia, the lone pair of Siberian cranes to visit our parts. They were a charming pair, she had said, with dark red heads and faces and a startlingly white body.
But that was the last time any one had seen them. What had become of them? “Water woes, Sheroo. Winter visitors don't want to come here any more as there has been a drought here,” said Ulooka. “All the water we get is from the Panchana dam. Water from here fills up our lake and marshes. No water was released for the past several years because of scarcity.”
“Sounds awful,” I said. “Well, may be things will look up,” smiled Ulooka. “Rain gods have been more than kind this year and they have released water for us from the dam. Or else the UN guys would have taken off that Heritage tag you see...”
“So will the Siberians return after all?” I asked hopefully.
“Don't think it likely. They have other issues too. Their route is a treacherous one, what with the risk of being shot down by game hunters in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Plus the Americans on their flying machines fighting a war in the midst of it all,” Ulooka looked mournful.
Siberian cranes are on the critically endangered list, like us tigers. There are only 3500 of them left today. Some of them head to the Caspian Sea coast near Iran for the winters while another group flies to the Yangtze River in China. But looks like the ones who used to come to Bharatpur are no more.
Long haul
The Siberian cranes used to begin their annual voyage in mid October every year, flying across Russia, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and Pakistan before reaching north western India. En route they would halt at the Abi-I-Istada Lake in Afghanistan to rest their wings before moving on. The entire journey would take them eight weeks
A Children for Animals and Nature Unlimited Initiative (CANU)
