For any upcoming birder, an annual (if not biannual) pilgrimage to ‘Bharatpur’[2] or more specifically, the Keoladeo National Park a.k.a the ‘Ghana’, was de rigueur. And back in the day – the 1980s and 1990s – the highlight of any such trip was to see the Siberian Cranes or ‘sibeys’. These 4-4.5 ft tall elegant snow-white birds, with their dark red faces and black-tipped wings, would arrive in Bharatpur in winter, flying all the way down from Siberia and happily feed on their favorite tubers found in the shallow waters of the ‘jheels’[3].  In 1964-65, some two hundred birds arrived, but then the numbers declined steadily: between sixty and seventy in the period 1969-1976, between thirty and forty in the period 1979-1988; just ten birds in 1991; and down to zero in 1992-93. A few birds did turn up in subsequent years, but today, no-one mentions Siberian Cranes in Bharatpur anymore. The India-visiting flock was (fortunately) just part of a larger population, some of which migrated to other countries such as Iran and China so the birds are not yet globally extinct. 

    The Bharatpur ‘sibeys’ were considered V.I.P.[4] birds and there would always be a gaggle of awe-struck birders (and human V.I.P.s) gazing raptly at them at any point of time. Desperate attempts were made to understand why their numbers were dropping by affixing satellite transmitters to track their exact migratory routes – and enhance protection along these if necessary – but it proved impossible to tag the wild cranes. Desperately, the authorities tagged a hand-reared crane, brought all the way down from the (then) Soviet Union, hoping it would join its wild compatriots at Bharatpur and fly away with them. Alas, a friendship never blossomed, and the bird was left behind. 

     Hunting is thought to be one of the major causes of the Cranes’ decline: they were met with gunfire – and nets – as they flew between the mountain passes of Afghanistan and Pakistan en route to India. Another reason cited was that the supply of their favourite tubers became less and less as the years went by.  

      Visiting Bharatpur in winter (especially after a good monsoon year) is always invigorating, but a trip will never be as enriching as it was when these immaculate, snow-white birds stalked the vast marshes, their bugling calls echoing over the waters.  

What is really scary about ‘extinction events’ is that even the slightest, most innocuous seeming action on our part (if not properly researched beforehand) can spell wholesale disaster even for the toughest nature has on offer. Admittedly, very few of us would show any kind of empathy towards vultures – but we – and the rest of the world did sit up and notice – when suddenly in the mid-1990s there seemed to be none circling the heavens above us. Indian skies were empty of these immense, easy-soaring birds, and horrified ornithologists and environmentalists maintained that populations had plummeted 97 percent in under a decade. The vultures, it seemed, were flying away forever. 

      Decades ago, when the family lived in Bombay (as it was then), I used to go to the terrace of our building to get an eye-level view of these magnificent flyers – just as I had done in 1971, when Air India's first 747, the ‘Emperor Ashoka’, flew into the city for the very first time. On New Year’s Day, seven years later, that historic, if unfortunate, jet crashed into the Arabian Sea shortly after take-off from Bombay.  Was the same fate now awaiting the five odd species of vultures found in India? They were sickening and dying in huge numbers all over the country. 

     Here in Delhi, where I now live, they nested in the big old trees in the Quidsia Gardens opposite my house, and I would watch them sailing down to land at dusk every evening with all the avidity of a plane-spotter.  In the mornings, the birds that had used the trees in the next-door Nicholson cemetery as a roost would stretch their giant wings, looking a bit infra dig as they caught the first rays of the sun. Take-off for the day’s patrol would be around 11am once the thermals were strong enough to send them up.  

      Make no mistake, vultures are tough birds. Their stomach acid (hydrochloric acid) is much more powerful than ours, with a pH value of 0.7, so ulcers wouldn’t be very pleasant. The pH (potential hydrogen) of water, which is neutral, is 7. The famous lammergeyer or bearded vulture soaring over the Himalayas, dines on the bones and marrow of dead animals: swallowing them whole; the bone-end begins to dissolve before the entire bone has got into the stomach! Other (once commoner) species, like the iron-coloured, white-backed or white-rumped vulture, and the slender-billed vulture could thrust their naked necks deep into the most putrefying carcasses and gulp down the rotting flesh without a burp. True they don’t have the best table manners, screeching hoarsely at each other and fighting over the tender most cuts, but a group of 200 could clean up a buffalo carcass in 20 to 30 minutes. As a clean-up crew they were hard to beat. And we in India needed them: they kept the streets clear of roadkill, and the countryside dumps (especially near villages) free of rotting carcasses of livestock, preventing the spread of bacterial and viral diseases. In the jungles, they cleaned up after the big carnivores had left the table. And contrary to what you might believe – they are the cleanest and most hygienic of birds: they have to be, considering their diet. 

    Frantic investigative research into why these birds were literally falling out of the skies en masse eventually pinned down the culprit to – of all things – an analgesic and muscle relaxant called diclofenac given to livestock to make milking less stressful. (Humans use it too as a relaxant.) The remnants of this drug in the carcasses of buffalos and cows attacked and destroyed the kidneys of the big birds, killing them. Diclofenac has now been banned for veterinary use, though we can still use it. Additionally, attempts have been made to increase the birds’ population by captive breeding programs and even the opening of vulture ‘restaurants’ (‘The Gore ‘n’ Gristle Bar and Restaurant’, ‘Blood on the Rocks Cocktail Bar’?) to encourage the birds to wine and dine! Here the only service charge would be – go home and have more babies quickly! (Alas they too are slow breeders.) In parts of India, they do seem to be staging a recovery, but it’s going to be a while before they nest again in the big trees in the Quidsia Gardens and Nicholson Cemetery next door.  

Great Indian Bustard (Photo: Ranjit Lal)

Siberian Crane (Photo: Ranjit Lal)

Vulture (Photo: Ranjit Lal)