Giving wings to conservation
Standing in the fields of North India, prancing through shallow wetlands, and strutting through many a birdwatcher’s camera, sarus cranes are unforgettable. This is the world’s tallest flying bird, and through its confidence, it seems to know this. With a greyish-white body, a proud demeanour, and red face and throat, the sarus seems to be the quintessential crane—with many confusing it for the Siberian crane (now extinct in India).
A single sarus crane hit global headlines recently. Near Amethi in Uttar Pradesh, a farmer called Mohammed Arif rescued an injured sarus. The bird is known to mate for life, forming strong bonds. This sarus imprinted on Arif, following him around everywhere. Videos of Arif cycling through fields, the sarus whooshing through the air behind him, went viral.
The fame was possibly detrimental to the bird: forest officials slapped a case on Arif for detaining the crane, and took it to the Kanpur zoo. As per the Wildlife Protection Act, one can’t keep a wild animal. Yet, it is permissible to help or rescue them in good faith. Even India’s Oscar entry, the documentary All That Breathes, follows two brothers who rescue black kites in Delhi. Once treated, the animals must be freed. But what if it comes back to its rescuer? Because this sarus was free, prima facie this incident doesn’t appear to be a violation of the law.
But officials don’t like entertaining exceptions, and thus the bird was taken away. Yet, the incident opens up an opportunity to debate how conservation can be achieved. Is it possible to implement the law through intelligent interventions, in which a semi-tame sarus is used as a mascot for conservation? Or is a life in a zoo better, because that is neat and ordered?
Sarus are listed as a vulnerable species. Traditionally, people, especially farmers, have been friendly towards them. But the birds face new, modern threats. One is high tension wires. Sarus have been found electrocuted in Maharashtra, and there are other instances from Uttar Pradesh. They also face the spectre of chemical or insecticide poisoning, along with the overall loss of good wetlands.
Recently, I watched a stately sarus family near a paddy field. One parent foraged in a corner, while the young one—its face still not the blazing red that comes with adulthood—gingerly probed the ground. Another parent was nearby, always watching. The two moved in tandem, like shadows of one another. The bonds within the family unit seemed to shimmer over them, as did the recollection that sarus look dejected when they lose their mates. I recall a video of Arif visiting the Kanpur zoo, and the crane leaping up to meet him, dancing in recognition of its unlikely found family.
Clearly, there are no easy answers when it comes to making exceptions. Many would want Arif and his sarus to be reunited, and others wouldn’t want such an event leading to scores of birds being picked up by others. But one thing is clear: in a complex and fraught world, events like this should start a discussion in favour of the best way ahead for conservation. And who knows, perhaps a single sarus could create
a butterfly effect.
Neha Sinha
Conservation biologist and author
Twitter: @nehaa_sinha