Neither yellow nor brown, but somewhere in between, the colour ochre always posed a dilemma in my childhood. In my drawing class, I would wonder where I could use the colour appropriately. But it often remained unused in my Camlin poster colour box. On a trip to Uttar Pradesh in November 2024, the penny dropped. I was struck by the ochre-hued mud cliffs at Bah, a tehsil along the banks of the Chambal River. It was as if someone had generously splashed bottle after bottle of my unused ochre paint on the tall cliffs. And the rocks falling off the cliff made the river ooze with their colour.
The National Chambal Sanctuary is a 5,400 sq-km tri-state protected area jointly administered by Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, and Uttar Pradesh. A 425-km stretch of the 960 km-long Chambal River, which flows through the three states, is part of this riverine sanctuary. The Chambal originates in the Vindhya Ranges near Indore in Madhya Pradesh before entering Rajasthan and finally joining the Yamuna River at Etawah in Uttar Pradesh.
Cover Photo: Gharial hatchlings emerge from their nests around late May and early June. They disperse to shallow sections of the river as water levels rise during the monsoon. Photo: Shivang Mehta
The Infamous Ravines
In Bah, the Chambal separates Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh. The 20 odd-km from Mela Kothi – The Chambal Safari Lodge, where I was staying, to Nadgawan Ghat, an access point to the sanctuary, took us (my guide Dushyant Singh, driver Dinesh Singh, and me) around half an hour. After snaking through the crowded market roads of Nadgawan, we were in the countryside. Peafowl foraged on a farm on the way. Gradually, we entered the vilayati babul-infested ravines of the region. A grey francolin, followed by her three chicks, crossed the mud road leading to the river. A watchtower overlooked the jetty where our boat awaited us. Dushyant said that the water level was low during the winter, but during the monsoon season, even the tower was under water.
The Chambal ravines, which range in height from 200-500 m, were formed by centuries of flood and rainwater erosion. The maze of intertwining mud cliffs was a hideout for dacoits until the noughties. The dacoits kept people away, which proved to be a blessing for wildlife. Leopards, hyenas, jackals, wolves, jungle cats, monitor lizards, pangolins, and hares roam the ravines today.
Dushyant pointed out nests of white-throated kingfishers (holes in the mudbank) on a river island after we left the jetty. “Look, a dolphin,” he pointed ahead. The creature disappeared by the time I turned my head. The game of hide and seek continued for a few minutes until I finally glimpsed the Ganges river dolphin (called sus in Hindi), surfacing to breathe. Suddenly, there were more, a testament perhaps to how undamaged rivers can produce miracles. The cliffside vilayti babul reflecting on the water gave it a greenish tinge. Ruddy shelducks made a ruckus on the riverbank. Nearby, a nilgai looked at us curiously. A red-naped ibis foraged in a mustard farm along the riverbanks. Up ahead, a gharial, a marsh crocodile, and two Indian tent turtles were sunbathing on a river island a few metres from each other. White-browed wagtails and pied kingfishers seemed at ease in their presence. Dinesh hopped onto the island to collect a hazardous piece of discarded fishing net after the reptiles slinked into the water.
Project Crocodile: A Brief History
The National Chambal Sanctuary was established in 1979 to protect the gharial, a critically endangered crocodilian found only on the Indian subcontinent. In the late 1960s, crocodilian numbers in India had declined severely due to poaching, expansion of agriculture, and sand mining. The government launched Project Crocodile in 1975 to mitigate the crisis. Rivers such as the Chambal, Girwa, Son, and Ken in North India and the Mahanadi in East India were chosen for gharial conservation, while the Krishnagiri, Coringa, Papikonda, and Manjira Wildlife Sanctuaries in South India were selected for marsh crocodile conservation.
Quiet descended on the Chambal by evening, creating a bucolic charm. A haze hung over the wide river. Terns flew above our boat. An under-construction bridge leading to Gwalior loomed in the distance. The sun was about to disappear behind the ravines. A great thick-knee stared at us with eyes wide open. We could hear lapwings calling over the hum of the boat’s engine. We stopped our boat to observe a jackal heading into the ravines. Suddenly, the skies turned grey, and we heard thunder in the distance. With no desire to get drenched, we decided to return. The six-kilometre ride back to the jetty was pleasant, with the wind in our faces. Peafowls descended from the valley as we alighted from the boat.
Birding bonanza
The National Chambal Sanctuary hosts more than 340 species of resident and migratory birds. It is one of the few places in the country where the endangered Indian skimmer is known to breed. The sandbanks and sandbars along the Chambal River provide these birds with suitable habitats for nesting. I was able to spot resident birds such as terns, egrets, kingfishers, herons, cormorants, stilts, thick-knees, ibises, greenshanks, sandpipers, hoopoes, kestrels, vultures and eagles, and migratory species such as Eurasian teals, ruddy shelducks, lesser whistling ducks, bar-headed geese, woolly-necked storks, and white-browed wagtails during my week in the sanctuary.
The following morning, the river was shrouded in mist. A black drongo perched on the watchtower beside the jetty. A monitor lizard scurried into a hole in the mudbank as our boat passed a river island. A pied kingfisher hovered over the water. It suddenly launched into the water like a missile but missed its target. We continued to spot crocodilians every 10 minutes. A conversation with researcher Suyash Katdare revealed later that the adaptable marsh crocodiles have benefited from the protection afforded to gharials under Project Crocodile. Unlike gharials, whose numbers recovered to an extent through human intervention, crocodiles multiplied on their own. A pair of dragonflies skimmed swiftly across the surface of the river. An Egyptian vulture circled high up in the sky. I half expected to hear the ominous cry of a raptor as they show in the movies.
A Cursed River
According to mythology, the Chambal River was unholy. It was believed that the river originated from the blood of thousands of animals sacrificed by a king. The river came to be known as Charmanyavati, or the river on whose banks animal hides were dried. Additionally, Draupadi from the epic Mahabharata is thought to have cursed the river for being a mute spectator to her humiliation after a game of dice between the Pandavas and Kauravas along the banks of the Chambal. She proclaimed that anybody who drank water from the cursed river from that day onwards would have an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Interestingly, the Chambal ravines were hideouts for rebels fighting imperial armies over the years. The allure of the rebel or baaghi died once they switched to thuggery and kidnapping for ransom.
Once the sun was overhead, the cattle, let loose by villagers, slowly made their way to the riverbank. Our boatman, Shobharam, nodded in affirmation when I asked if crocodiles take cattle. A large Indian softshell turtle on a river island seemed to be reaching out for the sun with its outstretched neck. A pair of Bonelli’s eagles splashed about in the shallows. We stopped to have chai.
A Rare Turtle
We decided to go downstream instead of upstream in the afternoon. But we couldn’t go very far as the water level was low, and the motorboat kept hitting the riverbed. Dushyant pointed out sandbanks where skimmers nested every year. A red-crowned roof turtle swiftly slipped into the water as it heard our approaching boat. The Chambal is one of the last bastions of this critically endangered turtle. The Chambal is also home to seven other species of freshwater turtles — the Indian narrow-headed softshell turtle, three-striped roofed turtle, Indian softshell turtle, crowned river turtle, Indian peacock softshell turtle, Indian tent turtle, and Indian flapshell turtle.
I undertook a road journey to Rajasthan in the evening to learn how the Chambal, which enters the state through Chittorgarh district, flows in its upper stretches. I halted for the night at Chitra Niwas Palighat, a homestay in Sawai Madhopur. Palighat, located near the Chambal River, falls under the National Chambal Sanctuary and is also part of the broader Ranthambore Tiger Reserve. My guide, Moralilal Berwa, drove me to the Palighat jetty in the morning. The Pali Bridge over the Chambal near the jetty connects the road from Rajasthan (Sawai Madhopur) to Madhya Pradesh (Sheopur). Moralilal informed me that the railings along the bridge were built to prevent people from jumping into the river. But the railings were broken at a section, and I saw people throwing garbage over the top. After they left, I walked to the spot to see turtles swimming about below, perhaps attracted to the trash. A few crocodiles swam nearby; others rested on the banks.
Upstream of the River
Unlike Bah, where there were only three tourist boats, there were around 50 in Palighat. The terrain was rocky in contrast to the mud cliffs in Uttar Pradesh. Tourists with sunglasses and hats waited for boat operators on the jetty. We were off on our way once our boatman joined us and continued to spot crocodiles and gharials along the way. Crocodiles hid behind elephant grass growing profusely on river islands. The sun glinted on the smooth backs of gharials resting on the riverbank. Villagers washed their clothes along the banks, unmindful of crocodilians swimming nearby. Moralilal pointed out a shrine where a puja is held every six months. He informed that back in the day, vehicles used to cross the river on boats and locals believed no boat accidents have occurred here due to the blessings of the deity.
All is Not Well
Fishing with a line and hook was rampant along the Madhya Pradesh side. We saw men hunched along the banks of the river with a rod in their hands. When we approached two men in the afternoon, they said they were fishing for their own consumption. Crocodile and gharial sightings also seemed to be more frequent in the afternoon than in the morning once the disturbance caused by tourists reduced. The sweet calls of a flock of great thick-knees suddenly disrupted the calm on the river.
I noticed long pipes from the river leading to farms along the banks. Researcher Jailabdeen Ajji M. told me later that the diversion of water for human use, river interlinking projects, and sand mining are the main threats facing the Chambal.
Moralilal and I walked towards the confluence of the Parvati River (a tributary of the Chambal) and the Chambal River in the evening. I hoped to sight otters among the stony outcrops of the Parvati. A pied kingfisher was perched on a rusted metal water pump. Moralilal pointed out tyre tracks in the sand, a clear indicator that even the protected area is not free from the scourge of sand mining. I sat on the riverbank, watching rapids on the Parvati, joining the slow-moving waters of the larger and wider Chambal. And pondered if a baaghi of yesteryear ever sat here and enjoyed a moment of respite from his life on the run.
About the contributor
Anirudh Nair
is a staff writer with Roundglass Sustain. He enjoys walking through the wilderness and is constantly in awe of wild nature.
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