I was at a wetland with an important government official, showing him how the restoration of wetland vegetation in the water had brought in a variety of birds.
His eyes swept over the birds that stayed balanced in the lake, floating seemingly effortlessly as ducks do. His gaze stopped at a particularly grand looking bird—one with an orange head that looked like an inflated, oversized balloon. “Lal sar”, (red head), he said as he pointed. It was almost an insider name: for years, lal sar, or the Red crested pochard, was hunted as a kind of seasonal bounty in India. Each winter, several kinds of ducks brave long journeys to arrive in India from colder areas—Central Asia and parts of Europe. For years, they were hunted.
This year, we surveyed for birds next to a wetland near the Ganga river. The water was chequered with specks—regular birds on first sight. On second glance, the feathers became clearer—jigsaw pieces falling into place, glimpses of shared history and migrations. There were hundreds of Red crested pochards, a bird usually seen in more conservative numbers. Their cousins swam next to them—Common pochards, the males with warm chestnut heads and bright, red eyes. Common pochards have a misleading name: they are no longer common, now listed as Vulnerable on the global IUCN species Red list. And there were Great crested grebes, their heads resplendent with jaunty crests, disappearing into the water as the birds dived.
The head feathers of the Great crested grebe tell their own story. They led to the formation of the one of the world’s most influential bird organisations, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, also known as the RSPB. The bird’s perky head feathers were so impressive people wanted them for their hats. Massive hunting ensued. The grebe nearly went extinct. A group of people got together to campaign for saving the birds, eventually leading to the formation of the RSPB.
I had last seen the Great crested grebe in the Gandak river that divides India and Nepal and later joins the Ganga. Nepal lay on one shore, India on the other, and in the middle, the grebe swam and dived, impervious to the chilly water, its head feathers parting the water in calligraphy lines. To see the bird again in Uttar Pradesh felt like a full-circle movement, a reminder that some birds are able to migrate and reach warmer shores. For others, the journey is more perilous. Birds are still hunted, and climate change is a huge challenge. Wetlands are under many kinds of pressure, drained or filled with chemicals from agricultural runoff. A bird like the Common pochard needs specific vegetation to feed on, and this can only happen if we have adequate and healthy wetlands with native flora—leaves, seed, stems that the duck arrives for.
Not far from the wetland on that winter day, bodies burned on the ghats, flames leaping from the shore. A chole-kulche seller did brisk business in the cold. Chai went around in earthen tumblers, between prayers and folded hands. The birds splashed in the water, looking like any other citizen, wearing their heroic journeys lightly.
Views expressed are personal
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