Mudskippers look like an odd mix of tadpoles that are just beginning to grow limbs and fish flopping about on the exposed mudflats. These tiny fish are known as the fish that climb trees. They hop about using tiny jumps and are amphibious in nature, able to survive both on land and in the water.…
We putter down the river, the famed Bhitarkanika that lends its name to the national park. The water is murky under the hot sun, swirling occasionally as fish disturb the surface. An estuarine crocodile suddenly surfaces, its tail acting as a rudder steering it towards the shore. As our boat draws parallel, the crocodile sinks,…
A sea of green broad leaves. Pale purple flowers pop up on occasion. A pond heron stands perfectly still on this mat of greenery. The blue waters are barely visible. Water hyacinth. It grows voraciously, swallowing the river, clogging the channel, and tangling in the boat's propeller. Purple swamphens peck about on the wet meadows…
The kuk-kuk-kuk of the swamphen carves through the otherwise-silent night. The Phragmites rustles in the gentle breeze, creaking like old wooden stairs. We pad along the bundt, silent as panthers, flashlights off, Subas da in the lead. Himaja yawns, already bored before the watch has begun. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the lack of light;…
Little silver fish skip across the water's surface, so light and quick they might as well be flying. Like silver bullets, they cleave the waves effortlessly, skipping like stones. Fishermen spin their nets once, twice, and let them go. The nets flare as they descend. A meal secured. The terns flap noisily around the nets,…
The waters are silvery-gold, shimmering lightly in the morning sunlight. The fisherfolk are already hard at work; their days begin at the crack of dawn. Nets whirl elegantly, fanning out in a circle. There are no women in sight; fishing in Odisha appears to be a male-dominated task. The men are busy fixing torn nets…
The waves roll and rush around us, silvery-grey, tipped in gold. The lagoon is tumultuous, the skies cloudy enough to bear the promise of rain later in the day. On the boat, we are blissfully enraptured by the water surrounding us. I try to catch a wave with my toe and fail; the boatman calls…
The mud path abruptly narrows and we brake sharply. Looks like the car won't go any further. We park it off the path in some shrubby vegetation, narrowly avoiding an army of procession ants (never ever let these little guys bite you; you'll be itching for days) as we climb out and tie on our…
Dry leaves crunch beneath my sandals as I swerve to narrowly avoid the prickly bladed fronds of Pinanga dicksonii, a plant that frequently impedes my expeditions into Myristica swamps. A spine snags my shift regardless, nipping my skin through the woven material, and I yelp irritably. The loud 'trrrrrick' of the Indian bullfrog echoes through…
A swamp at the edge of a road leaves Priya with a sense of urgency. Explore Venkateshteertha through her eyes as she learns more about this sacred swamp...
On Life and Wildlife 