NATURE

Day of the Indian pitta

Baljit Singh takes off to the Baerwala sanctuary in the Morni Hills to listen to the call of the wild

The Indian pitta from a painting by John Gould in Birds of Asia, 1867
The Indian pitta from a painting by John Gould in Birds of Asia, 1867

I was at the car park, some 100 yards from entrances to the Baerwala sanctuary (15 km from Chandigarh in Morni Hills) and the first bird I heard loud and clear was the Indian pitta.

I was enjoying the lingering resonance of that call in my mind yet, when a startled peacock shot up in the air with laboured wing-beats and hysterical cackling until out of breath. As he levelled in a powerful glide and passed overhead, he looked unbelievably invincible. Now that was an exciting start to a couple of hours morning walk.

I am lucky to be mostly accompanied by Sada Ram, a Wildlife Inspector, whose jungle lore is enviable. We came by several cowdung pats, freshly scattered by birds to pick food from. Sada Ram could tell at one glance at the disturbed dung as to the thicket the birds would now be sheltering in. And sure enough we put up the notes of a faint bird call, entirely new to me. We scanned but there were no birds to be seen. Sada Ram was sure that there were at least two crimson sunbirds. Shortly, we did see one on a eucalyptus branch.

Last year too, I had seen them hereabouts and so I assume that they perhaps breed at Baerwala otherwise these birds aught not to be here at this peak time of nesting cycle. As we watched, calls of Indian pittas filled the background. May be, they too breed here.

Looking at another Eucalyptus cluster, there was a family of rufous tree-pies, two adults and three juveniles, the size of Babblers. Even though the chicks of birds be grown up enough but they remain conditioned to beg food, should parents be in sight!

A prominent feature of the topography of the Shivaliks is the vertical mud cliffs, mostly bare and smooth. There is one in the middle of the sanctuary which last year had some 80 active nests of the small green bee-eaters. There was not a single active nest this year.

As we stared at the desolate cliff face, we were cheered to see several crested buntings. They were attracted to the trickle of water oozing from the base of the cliff. And there was one female of the species whose mellow colours, the tidy crest and slender body gave her a delicate presence. I can bet my last rupee that the male grey bush-chat we saw next, was my fourth sighting on that same bush in the last two years!

On the skyline of the mudcliffs, altogether we saw four gorals, (the locals conveniently call them "Van Bakri"). We should have seen many more. But then, we had also encountered two packs of six to 10 village dogs who have become predators. One wildlife guard had attempted to rescue a young sambhar the previous evening but the emboldened pack chased the guard away. I am told that such packs are also playing havoc with bird nests on the ground and on bushes.

While we watched one common iora and one lessar white-throat, there were more pittas calling from close quarters. One king crow came and alighted a few paces away. There were two persistent bird calls which with the aid of Krys Kazmierczak’s book (maps and syllabised calls), we put down as belonging to the white-browed scimitar babbler and the grey-bellied cuckoo; on the latter’s identity there was just no doubt.

Nearing the car park, there were three Egyptian vultures, all of them in the chocolate brown plumage of the juveniles. One Indian roller flew overhead with his monumental slow wing beats. We spotted a yellow-fronted woodpecker who was hammering away at the trunk of an amaltas in bloom. Amid thick foliage of a jamun, one female koel sat so concealed that for a long time she had us guessing. I was truly sorry that so many white-breasted kingfishers were all sitting out-of-job in this parched landscape.

Next we were drawn to considerable bird activity as we neared another small puddle of water. There were at least 20 chestnut shouldered petronias. This was my first sighting of this species here. At long last, we saw the lineated barbet looking all the more plump because of cloud of white-eyes in his close proximity.

And then, one pitta flew across, the two white moons on his wings on full display. Time to get back home, refreshed in body and soul.

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