Remembering Sultanpur: Birding for the Soul

I first visited Sultanpur jheel (lake) in the early 1980s, and it did not impress me. It was a shallow sheet of water amidst an arid, tan landscape, studded with a few hump-like islands in the middle with hardly a tree in sight. The land sloped into a shallow bowl where rainwater collected. Having impressed birders such as the late Usha Ganguli, it had been declared a Sanctuary in 1971. The 1.42-sq-km sanctuary was designated a National Park in July 1991. By then, the authorities had begun planting trees along the lake’s edges and islands in the hope of attracting more birds. And the birds, especially waterfowl, seemingly loved it and thronged to it, especially in winter.

So, in 1985, the environmental NGO Kalpavriksh, where I was then a member, began a nine-year-long love affair with the sanctuary: a monthly “bird count” which was actually just enjoyable, easy-going, old-fashioned birdwatching rather than an exercise of scientific vigour. Some of our sessions went on for eight hours, and there were also several overnight stays. There are some 87 Sultanpur entries in my notebooks, each summarising the day’s visit in that period. Although I haven’t been back to Sultanpur for many years now, I know that the birds didn’t disappoint us back then, and they continue to offer visitors fantastic birding experiences.

Looking back, I recall that as winter approached, from September onwards, the massive squadrons of ducks, some 5000+ arrived: mallards with emerald heads, widgeons, pintails, shovellers, common teals, ruddy shelducks (Brahminy ducks), common pochards, gadwalls etc., as well as both the bar-headed and greylag geese, which would graze in the surrounding flatlands. Echelons of cranes — the common and demoiselle — would wing over towards sunset, having spent the day raiding the surrounding fields. Smiling flotillas of great white pelicans would launch fishing sorties, scooping up their bounty in their huge shopping bag bills. Ruff and reeve would clot the muddy edges, kept company by sandpipers, redshanks, and godwits. One year, in March, we saw the ruff rehearse their courting behaviour. Some had started changing into their rich, gingery Elizabethan breeding attire and clotted thickly together, and the whole group would move a step or two sideways, first one way, then another. This is what is called “lekking” – a demarcation of territory.

Always exciting to behold was the battalion of around 600 greater flamingos (in one year, accompanied by a single lesser flamingo), who even demonstrated their classic “march past” routine, all murmuring slightly malevolently under their breath as they stiffly passed us by! Ruff and reeve and sandpipers would “flicker fly” across, rather in the manner of starlings, turning from brown to silver and then invisible in a trice. Snazzy European lapwings, white-tailed lapwings, and avocets would keep the resident red-wattled lapwings and black-winged stilts company, as would coots and moorhen. Painted snipes, with their made-up faces, would lie low until virtually stumbled upon, exploding off in a bluster of wings.

Some of the waterfowl were obviously only in transit, as their numbers would fluctuate through the season. And where there were waterfowl, there were raptors. That masked bandit, the marsh harrier, occasionally kept company by lank, easy-riding black-winged kites and bomber-like eagles (greater and lesser spotted amongst them), would more often than not send the dozing squadrons of ducks up into the air, wheeling around in panicked whirlpools before they settled down again. Always, a weakling or slowpoke would be targeted. 

All through the 1980s and 1990s, the availability of water was a major issue, which became more serious as the years went by: the well-to-do from Delhi had begun buying up land adjoining the sanctuary and sinking borewells, and then the park authorities built a fence around the perimeter, blocking the inflow further: the lake was rarely more than one third full. On the tussocky grassy areas around the “bundhs” that had been built, larks and pipits scuttled and rose into the sky in spring to sing their hearts out. Here too, francolin (usually the grey, but occasionally the black, which was more heard than seen) and quail skulked as did ashy-crowned finch larks, which virtually vanished amidst the hard clods of earth and tufts of dry grass.

The summer and monsoon months had a complement of “stars”. Sarus cranes, so stately and dignified, escorted their young to the islands during the rains, and the implacable black-necked stork also nested here. As the acacias that had been planted grew, painted storks and black-headed white ibis began their colonies on the islands. 

In the acacia thickets, tiny-tot warblers — the Blyth’s reed, the dull green, the Orphean, the chiffchaff, etc. would drive us nuts as we tried to figure out who was who. Perched on thorny lookouts, bay-backed, long-tailed and grey shrikes would display amazing patience as they allowed us to get close enough for a selfie (mercifully not possible those days!). Red-turtle doves would nest here, and blue-cheeked bee-eaters would fill the sky with their lovely contralto songs.

There were always herds of nilgai roaming the sanctuary — often chased from one end of the place to the other by stray dogs. We saw a pair of bulls in combat once, and ensured we kept a safe distance away from the furious animals.

The water problem was attempted to be tackled by the digging of borewells, but the water that emerged was too saline. Then, a plan was made to get water via a canal from a nearby river, and the situation improved. Other issues that besieged the park included rampant grass-cutting and grazing, though what upset us the most was the raucous and wanton behaviour of the hordes of litter-happy picnickers that descended on the place every Sunday. Despite all these vexing issues, we would return after a whole day’s birding, with our heads bursting with the colours, sounds, shapes and events we had witnessed that day. It was never really about the numbers; it was about spending quality time with the astonishing variety of birds that graced the place, year after year.

Photo sources: greylag geese, crested lark, rufous-tailed shrike