NATURE
Village of birds
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A visit to Kokkrebellur leaves one wondering about the strange kinship between birds and humans. Akber Ayub
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Photo: K. Murali Kumar
Homecoming: Painted storks at Kokkrebellur.
Three-year-old Manja bawled shrilly in the heat of early summer. “Shshsh… you’ll disturb the birds,” admonished his mother Gouramma. “They are resting, sitting on their eggs. If you make a lot of noise, the eggs won̵
7;t hatch!” Little Manja soon quieted down.
That exchange between Manja and his mother exemplifies the fondness the villagers of Kokkrebellur feel for their annual winged visitors — Pelicans and Painted Storks.
Kokkrebellur, in native Kannada, means the village of storks. During October-November every year this village, a ragtag assortment of tiled and thatched houses, teems with feathered activity, as it turns home to migratory birds. Flocks of Painted Storks (Ibis leucocephalus) and Spot-billed Pelicans (Pelecanus philippenis) descend on this hamlet to build their nests and rear their young.
About 80 km out of Bangalore, en route to Mysore, it is easy to miss the forest department signpost ‘Kokkrebellur’. Once you turn into the road, for the next 14-odd km, you’re surrounded by paddy fields, ranging from lush carpets of vibrant green to the burnished gold of mature paddy ready for harvest. Suddenly, you just happen upon a cluster of large trees at a village square. Only when you hear the cackle of birds and smell the slightly acrid stench of their droppings do you realise you are in Kokkrebellur.
Colonial nesters
These two species are colonial nesters and are known to nest in close proximity. Large, shady trees bristle with breeding colonies of birds; the air is filled with the quiver of flapping wings and the rattle of their large, pointed bills. Standing in the shade, you get a ringside view of the drama. For avid bird watchers, this place is paradise. And they come in droves, especially during February when the population peaks.
“February witnesses an egg-laying frenzy,” says a village elder. “Then there is a lull as they settle down to roost.” That lull is broken in late March when the eggs hatch. Then, there is a renewed hum of activity. Each tree is home to about 15 to 20 pairs, in large nests wedged between branches and lined with hay from the surrounding fields. As summer progresses, these gentle, graceful creatures glide tirelessly back and forth, busy feeding their fledglings. The nearby Shimsha and the many large ponds surrounding the village are happy hunting grounds, providing an endless supply of fish.
A photographers’ delight, these birds look magnificent in their striking plumage. The Painted Stork, almost a metre tall, has a yellow, tapering bill and snow-white plumage with shades of pink at the shoulders and wing tips. During nesting, each nest contains from two to five dotted, dull-white eggs. Once the eggs hatch, the storks can be seen providing shade for their chicks under their outstretched wings. Sometimes, they also fetch water in their beaks and sprinkle it on the nests and on the fledglings to keep them cool.
The Spot-billed Pelican or Grey Pelican, on the other hand, is only half as tall, chiefly grey and greyish white, with short stout legs and large webbed feet. The bill is flat and enormous, with an elastic bag of purple skin hanging below it. Given their size, these birds are considerably agile and are often seen soaring in circles with the storks. Each bird lays a clutch of up to three chalky white eggs.
To the villagers, these winged visitors are welcome guests. So much so that if they fail to turn up in a year, they believe it bodes ill for the village. Around five years ago, the birds failed to keep their annual tryst. That year, drought and an outbreak of flu took a heavy toll on the villagers. More scientifically, though, the birds probably sense disturbances in weather patterns and keep off. But when they do come, they bring with them an added gift. The droppings of these fish-eating birds are valuable manure for the paddy fields. It is easy therefore to understand the sentiments of the villagers towards their winged visitors.
Admittedly, the roots of these sentiments go deeper than mere bird droppings. According to them, these birds have been coming here since ancient times and this alone, if nothing else, seems to have forged this unique kinship. “No one knows what really brings them here,” is the common refrain, which leaves you wondering why these flocks travel hundreds or perhaps thousands of miles — from as far away as Siberia, according to some findings — to home in here.
Nursery for birds
You are also amazed at the ease and assurance that the birds display at such close proximity to humans. From behind the counter of his teashop under a Peepul tree, Rudrappa says, “No one from this village will ever hurt a bird, so they feel safe here. Sometimes when a fledgling falls off a nest, or a weak and injured bird finds itself grounded and flightless, we care for them in the nursery.” He points to a fenced-in enclosure under a large tree in the distance.
Alive to these sentiments, the local administration was quick to rope in the forest department to establish an outpost near the village and appoint a ‘watcher’ to watch over the birds and look out for poachers.
The department also announced compensation to the villagers for leaving the trees alone where the birds nest, declaring them protected under the Tree Protection Act. Ongoing conservation efforts include planting new saplings, protecting the surrounding water bodies and involving villagers in their efforts.
“We disburse nearly Rs.50, 000 annually to the tree owners,” says Anande Gowda at the forest outpost. “We also keep a count on the nests that helps us determine the bird-count each year. This year has been lean — only about 1000 birds. Earlier, following a good monsoon, we’ve had counts of up to 3000.”
The tourism department, for its part, has been quick to discover the potential of Kokkrebellur and has promptly built a tourist lodge on the outskirts. That should be a boon to serious bird watchers and ornithologists, since the village has little else to offer for overnight stay.
By May, as the summer heat begins to peak, the birds finally bid adieu and take to the skies to return yet again next year. That prospect, however, is becoming grim with each passing year, as the pelican is now on the endangered list and Kokkrebellur is only one of the 10 known breeding sites left in India. The storks, though, are relatively better off.
In the stillness of a mid-May dawn, as the flocks finally depart soaring into the lightening sky, a grizzled old woman says, “For us, these birds are like a daughter coming home for delivery….” To an outsider, these sentiments may sound maudlin, but to the villagers, it is not just a matter of co-existence with the birds, but something more — an affection that borders on reverence.
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