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 With almost 377 bird species already spotted
at Bharatpur, the place is certainly one of the most inviting
bird sanctuaries in the world. You can easily spot between
50 to 100 species in a single day, and if your luck permits,
you may even come across a Siberian crane in the winter.
In fact, Bharatpur//’s primary claim to fame is that it
is one of the only two known wintering haunts of the western
race of the rare and graceful Siberian crane.
Of course, the birds you see will naturally depend on the
habitat you are in—and Bharatpur has a variety. The marshy
wetlands of the Hansarovar or Mansarovar or Ramband, for
instance, are areas where the migratory waterfowl congregate
in their thousands. Both the greylag and the bar-headed
geese can be found here, often together. The former is somewhat
dowdy in its pepper browns and has a pink bill and legs;
the latter is smartly turned out in silver-grey, black and
white, has an ochre bill and legs, as well as three charcoal
//’caste//’ marks across its head. Ducks come in quite a
selection: raffish, auburn-headed red-crested pochards wearing
black polo necks and vermilion lipstick; more conservatively
clad-white-eyed pochards in black Nehru jackets; beady-eyed
shovellers (Anas clypeata) floating low and mean, cleaving
the water with their patent-leather bills; common teals
hiding behind silky green masks; pintails, in chocolate
and silver, and mallards with thousand-carat emerald heads.
Of the resident ducks, the cotton teal float demurely around
in their simple canvas-like outfits, while the mahogany
and honey teals enliven the proceedings with lovely disyllabic
whistles as they fly around in disorganized sorties.
Here too stride the waders—some tall enough to pace though
the marshes, others light enough to tiptoe over the floating
vegetation. The lovely Siberian cranes are of course, the
cause celebre of this lot. Equally elegant are the stately
grey sarus cranes, a pair often accompanied by a chick who
keeps between its parents. There are spoonbills doing their
minesweeping act, white ibis looking hunched and rather
craven, cattle egrets that take off like blizzards, 250-strong;
and everywhere, squeaking, scuttering sandpipers and redshanks,
all so confusingly dappled and blotched as they explode
from cover and zing away.
The splay-footed purple moorhen look like overweight matrons
clad in purple silk, the elegant bronze-winged jacanas show
off their metallic tints and the khaki white-tailed lapwings
stand tall and upright on reedy yellow legs. A pair of black-necked
storks may patrol the middle distances of the marshes, careful
to keep apart and, suddenly, a large squadron of common
cranes may appear overhead, calling evocatively as they
circle and land.
And then, the dangerous shadow of the marsh harrier or fishing
eagle passes over this contented congregation. There is
a sudden heart-stopping roar of wings over water as some
5,000 ducks take to the sky in tumultuous take-off, the
panic spreading though the marsh like a wildlife in a scrub
jungle. The birds swarm and circle agitatedly and then sploosh
down to a landing once more. You can easily spend the day
at the edge of these marshes watching the goings on.
The trees (mainly acacias) that shroud the bunds you walk
along also teem with birdlife. Small minivets, in lava,
ash and charcoal flicker amidst the greenery, bejewelled
kingfishers flash off their perches like short-circuits;
red-breasted and grey-headed flycatchers regard you out
of round, innocent eyes—the former brown with a flush of
orange on its breast (only the male has this), the latter
deadly in sulphur and gunpowder. The shrikes eye you suspiciously,
their black eyes glittering behind their executioner masks.
And a host of dapper wire-tailed swallows may keep you entranced
as they dodge deftly between the trees in some hectic game
of chase.
The sandy, stony tracts around Python Point, near the Hansarovar,
may seem devoid of birdlife except for the odd disgruntled
bulbul but the thickets here are the haunts of munias and
warblers, and pipits and larks that saunter about on the
sand.
The shady woodland areas where the peepuls and kadams soar
high and wide, like the lovely stretch along the park//’s
eastern boundary wall, are the haunts of shikras (sparrow
hawks), tree-creepers, nuthatches and woodpeckers, to mention
a few. Another marvelous spot is Kadam Kunj, where an ancient,
crumbling hunting lodge squats, surrounded by a moat of
black water and crowned by enormous peepul trees, from where
the wheezy whistling of green pigeons is interspersed by
the crashing, flapping sounds of clumsy nesting vultures.
And wherever you are, it pays to look carefully at the numerous
dead trees that dot the landscape for they make favourite
perches for many: majestic serpent eagle that use them as
vantage points; owls that may peer out of the hollows, their
eyes huge and golden; Stealth-bomber-like darters and witch-black
cormorants holding their wings out to dry; herons waiting
in ambush, and even amorous brahminy mynas! It is also sensible
to look up every now and then and see what the sky has to
offer.
Even the highly //’populated//’ areas of the park have their
share of birds. At the site of the Keoladeo temple, for
instance, white wagtails strut about pompous as landlords
amongst the visitors; the blue-throats and redstarts are
more circumspect. White-breasted water hens stride officiously
from litter bin to litter bin and the jungle babbler will
snatch the chips from your hands and then jeer at you rudely.
In this avian kingdom, mammals have also made their home
to provide necessary ecological balance. The areas near
the Forest Lodge and Forest Resthouse are favourite haunts
of jackals and sounders of grunting wild boar. Spotted deer,
sambar and nilgai splash about in the marshes, and if you
are lucky you may catch a glimpse of that princeling amongst
antelopes: the blackbuck. Less visible are fishing cats
and monitors. If you are both very quiet and lucky, you
may catch sight of the massive gleaming pythons, sunning
themselves at Python Point beyond Keoladeo Temple: they
are quick to glide underground though, and very sensitive
to footfalls and voices. And if snakes are there, can the
mongoose be far behind? Well, the nemesis mongoose is also
seen here in quite an appreciable number.
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