I visited Ranganathittoo 6 months ago, while on the way to Coorg. We hadn’t really planned to stop there, but it turned out to be among the most enjoyable things we did on that trip. Below, my piece on that visit. (I had earlier uploaded some pics of the birds at the sanctuary here).
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Some of us like to think of ourselves as global citizens. Two weeks every summer travelling to distant lands, the occasional assignment abroad, dining out at restaurants where food with unpronounceable names is served, flitting at travel websites, we are ready to christen ourselves. Such vanity must pale when we come face to face with the true global citizens – migratory birds that can rightfully call every part of the world, Home.
When I visited the Ranganathittu bird sanctuary in February this year, such were the humbling thoughts that came to mind. Ranganathittu is of course conveniently located for human visitors – a short detour on the Bangalore-Mysore highway, just before reaching the town of Srirangapatna. Its network of islets with their banks covered by reed beds and surrounded by waters well stocked with fish is even more convenient for visitors of the avian kind. There are some who make it their permanent home too. The paddy fields adjoining the area are also fishing grounds for many of the species that don’t fish in water.
On entering the sanctuary, we are very much struck by the well-maintained beauty of the place. Perhaps it helps that at 8:30 in the morning, we are early, well before the crowds will arrive. Still, it cannot be denied that in spite of its proximity to urban areas, Ranganathittu feels a little lost to the world. Its neatly laid out lawns, tree lined and meandering paths, cobbled steps and most of all, the cries of birds that can be heard even before they are seen – offer a vision of a gentler and more beautiful world than what is available to us today. I feel greedy, eager to lap it all up in the short time that we have; but it is an unashamed sort of greed, somewhat like a very large drink of water that someone straggling out of a desert might feel entitled to.
As we approach the lake, the source of the cries comes into view. The banks are too far away to permit identifying any of the birds without binoculars, but the authorities at the sanctuary have got around that. There are boats waiting to ferry passengers around the lake, closer to the islets where birds can be sighted with ease. Thankfully, these are old fashioned row boats that glide through the water silently, not the noisy monsters that pollute the water at so many tourist spots in India.
Almost immediately, we pass a large flock of open-billed storks, their bills joining at the top but not quite closed at the centre. All five people in the boat watch in rapt attention as the birds carry on preening, resting and fluffing up their feathers, paying us no attention. “Open-billed stork, open-billed stork”, we tell one another, with the air of children repeating something new and wondrous.
As we make a circuit of the lake, more birds come into view. The most numerous of these are the egrets. Egrets don’t have the stateliness of pelicans or even the quirkiness of the open-billed stork whose bill won’t quite close. But, what they lack in distinctiveness, they make up for with their abundance. If numbers rule, egrets are the kings (and queens) of Ranganathittu. We saw four species – the large egret, the medium egret, the little egret and the cattle egret.
The pelicans on the other hand, are few in number, but lofty creatures, literally. They occupy higher ground, well away from the water, ensconced in comfortable, large nests. Our boatman acts as a guide, pointing out these surprisingly hard to spot creatures, considering their size. Initially, we advertise our novice stature in the world of birdwatching by mistaking one white bird for another, but soon enough, we start identifying birds confidently. And that is the thing about even a short visit to a sanctuary – very soon, the ‘regular’ world of jobs, commuting, errands and responsibilities starts to seem alien, while this one with its webbed and feathered creatures grows more and more real.
Suddenly, a pair of beady eyes appears in the water, moving alongside our boat for a good five minutes.
“Are there crocodiles in the water?” I ask.
“Oh, over a hundred of them, but don’t worry, this is only a fish”, the boatman tells us. “And they don’t prey on human beings anyway”, he adds, in what is meant to be a reassuring manner.
Only a fish! We find it hard to bring to mind any fish that swims in that peculiar fashion. It disappears as suddenly as it had appeared, but before long, we are greeted by the sight of a crocodile lazing on the banks, about fifteen feet away from us. Motionless, it almost appears dead, until the sight of our boat seems to propel it into action. With a swiftness that I had till now seen only in Natgeo programs on crocodile attacks, it heads straight for us. Hearts go pitter-patter and there is a perceptible movement away from the sides of the boat, as we wait for a thump. Curiously, it passes under our boat, leaving us more than a little relieved. Self. Check. Husband. Check. Ma-in-law. Check. Pa-in-law. Check. Professional photographer sharing the boat with us. Check. Boatman. Check. All on board if a little shaken. The experience also reminds me that despite the ease of sighting birds, Ranganathittu is essentially a place that belongs to the wild.
Sadly, we learn from the boatman that well protected as it is, Ranganathittu is still under some pressure. As the surrounding villages grow, population pressures, he hints, may lead to some encroachment and poaching. There is a larger danger too. If the rural character of the surrounding villages changes and concrete takes the place of paddy and sugarcane fields, many of the birds would find it hard to survive, since it is only some of them that fish in the lake itself.
One of these, a Little Cormorant, breaks into the surface of the water, a speck of black, as it dives for fish. Lighting fast, it is gone before the human eye can spot the direction in which it has flown away. The river tern, a dull-grey bird with a white underside and bright orange beak and legs suns itself on a cluster of stones. The most beautiful inhabitant of the sanctuary, the painted stork, parades itself as I watch enviously. Its wing feathers display a finely traced pattern in black while its tail feathers are shaded a cotton-candy pink. It is a work of art that would find place in any self-respecting gallery.
In the face of such beauty, I feel a strange reluctance to return to urban life with its low quotient of space and quietude. On this trip, Ranganathittu was an afterthought on the highway, a detour while rushing elsewhere. But this afterthought becomes a highlight of the journey. The Salim Ali Interpretation Centre at the sanctuary is still closed when we leave. A kingfisher has eluded us throughout our boat ride – tantalizingly close, giving us a second’s glimpse of its colourful plumage but never deigning to appear. No doubt, other seasons may bring other birds that I haven’t yet seen, or even heard of. I promise myself that I will return, soon.
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