Country notebook:m.krishnan

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"I HAVE just returned from a drought-stricken suburb where only the tangled grey of spiky shrubs relieved the flat, baked brown of the landscape. The trees were few and far between, the grass was withered and such life as there was clustered, open-mouthed, around a few deep wells. Even the crows and goats seemed reluctant to leave the delightful shade of the village neem trees, which were in flower, but walking across the desiccated open I found a drier life in possession. Brown grasshoppers rose from the brown, sparse grass underfoot, there were finch-larks in the fields, bloodsuckers ran splay-legged to cover the fences at my approach and, at long intervals, big Grey Shrikes sat austerely on the bush tops, very much at home in that desolate setting.

A pair was together, from which I concluded that these stern birds had weakened already under a seasonal urge. The Grey Shrike loves its own company and keeps relentless vigil over its territory, allowing no kith and kin to violate its privacy. But then summer comes spring is not far behind, and for a while it relaxes its strictness and suffers a mate. It sings a sweet, tinkling song and then that no one would expect from looks and habitual laconism; but even then it is not given to flutterings and fluffy displays; it comports itself with a dignity and restraint exceptional in the love-silly world of birds.

I always thought this shrike one of the most aloofly distinguished of our birds. There is the hint of silver in the grey of its plumage and the big, square head,the top-heavy build, the heavy, hooked bill and broad, black eye-stripe all convey not only the suggestion that its love of thorn-scarred wastes and its unsociable habits confirm. Other shrikes that live in somewhat similar places have similar natures, but somehow the tribe has earned for itself an undeserved reputation for blood lust.

These are the "butcher birds", a tribe repugnant to the sentiment of Western writers of popular history. Quite recently I read an American description of a typical shrike, where the bird was damned with all the lurid exaggeration that the writer could command, as kill-crazy, callous, bloodthirsty murderer that lurked in bushes and throttled innocent little birds. I have never been able to understand the importing of human concepts of virtue and morality into a study of natural history, in all seriousness, but even granting that this is good form, I cannot see how shrikes are any the more bloodthirsty than other birds that watch for their prey from a perch and pounce down on them.

Such birds usually hunt insects or other small creatures, but occasionally they tackle more substancial prey, weak enough to be overpowered but not sufficiently small to be swallowed in a mouthful or killed at once-nestlings, large insects with tough shells, or lizards. Birds better equipped for rapine, sparrow-hawks for instance, can kill sizeable prey quickly, but shrikes have to use much force to still the struggles of the occasional large victims, and there is no question of cruelty or blood lust involved. In fact, far from killing madly in excess of their needs, shrikes have developed the prudent habit of impaling surplus catch on thorns, against a rainy day, and it is from this peculiarity and not from their murderous violence that the name "butcher birds" has come to them.

Incidentally, I have never seen the Grey Shrike's larder in the warm plains, though I saw a lizard neatly impaled by one of these birds in the hill station. The number of things I have not seen are very many, and proves nothing, but it is possible that in the hotter plains, where putrefaction is rapid, shrikes are not much given to stocking larders?"- M.Krishnan

*Sketch of the bird not reproduced.

This was first published on 13 April 1952 in The Sunday Statesman

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

"CROWS are sitting in pairs on treetops, late in the evenings. They choose a foliage-free bough, high up, and for an hour before dark they sit close, indulging in caresses with their bills and saying low, sweet nothings to each other (of course, crows have a language-Seton claimed to know a bit of it). I have seen dozens of these courting couples in the past week and there is no doubt that the local grey necks have exchanged a communal life for a connubial one. Shortly they will nest and rear their young and young of the Koel, with loving care-incidentally. I have yet to hear Koels here (where they are plentiful) in spite of the premature onset of summer; apparently their love-life of the crows.

The grey-headed House-crow is the commonest bird of town and countryside, and so varied in habit and intelligence that it is always interesting to watch. More than one observer of Indian bird life has devoted an entire book to it and still how little we know about it! Does it pair for life? Nothing definite seems to be known on this point. The one sure way of finding this out would be to ring a number of crows with distinctively coloured rings and watch them over years- strong metal rings would be needed, as these birds have powerful and clever beaks and will peck at and remove rings made of celluloid or similar material. Both birds of a pair must be distinctively marked- I used to know a white-flecked crow and watched it nest in successive years, but could never be sure if its mate was the same each year. Grey necks live in a flock in the off-season, when not nesting, and roost in company. It may be thought that this sociable winter habit would be conducive to promiscuity in pairing, when the breeding season comes again, but need not be so- there are monogamous birds with a gregarious habit.

One thing I am fairly sure of, after watching House-crows and Jungle-crows for years, is that the former are far cleverer in the wing. They are less clumsy in build and movement, though less powerful, and on the whole I think they are more intelligent than their jungly cousins. It is in fight, however, that their superior skill is obvious. When the termites swarm and both kinds of crows are feasting, the grey neck's comparative air mastery is clear.

A House-crow will shoot up from its perch, chase a fluttering insect on quick flapping wings and take it surely- it is more given to hunting winged prey in this manner than most people think. Moreover, some grey necks are noticeably more expert than others.

Recently I had the occasion to verify the truth of this.

I was sitting at a table in an open-air cafe on a beach one evening and was offered a plate of "chaklis"- which I thought unfit for human consumption after sampling. After my usual thrifty habit, I looked around for non-human habitues to whom I could donate the burnt, twiggy, garlic-spiced dish. There was a thin dog with soulful eyes watching me and, further away, there was a pair of casual grey necks, apparently more interested in a tete-a-tete and the seascape than in me. I turned my back on the dog, for I find yearning canine eyes beyond my will power, and tossed a bit of the "chakli" into the stiff crosswind. The crows jumped into the breeze and one of them caught the morsel deftly in its beak- they never take things in the air in their feet- and swallowed it in mid-air. I tossed another bit high and, as if by magic, five crows shot up after it.

Presently there were well over a dozen of grey necks. I kept on tossing the twiggy inducements into the breeze and when the plate was empty I ordered another. I learned much from this brief spell of flighted offerings to the crows. In spite of their packed numbers, they never collided in the air and only once was one of the several fragments thrown up together allowed to land. One crow- I am certain of it as I never took off my eyes off this bird- was far cleverer than the rest; its interception of the parabolic trajectory of the morsels was sure and easy. It did not swallow its first catch and went for the next bit as well without dropping the first one, repeating the astounding performance till it had four bits crosswise in its beak. Then it was forced to retreat for a brief spell of swallowing.

All the crows were grey necks- Jungle-crows don't care much for the strong crosswind on the beach. I would much have liked to prolong this tossing experiment, but when the second plate of burnt offerings were finished I noticed that everyone in the cafe, including the waiters, was staring at me in undisguised amusement and this forced me to call for the bill and leave in a hurry. Perhaps some other day when I can summon a less self-conscious mood, I may complete the experiment."- M.Krishnan

*The sketch of the bird has not been reproduced here.

This was first published on 4 May 1952 in The Sunday Statesman

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

" HIGH up in a towering casuarina, a hundred feet above the ground, the Sea Eagles had built their ponderous nest. It was wedged firmly into the trifid, ultimate fork of the trunk, a firmly-knit stack of thick twigs and dry branches, looking more like a pile of faggots than anything else. It was hollow on top, though I could see the depression from the third-storey terrace of the building from which I watched, for the eyrie was well above the level of housetop but the way big nestling disappeared from view everytime it waddled to the centre from the rim of the next showed as a hollow.
***

The sea was not a mile away, perhaps not even two furlongs by air. One of the parent birds mounted guard on the treetop, a few yards from the nest, while the other sailed away on a foraging expedition. These were White-bellied Sea Eagles, almost as big as a vulture and much more shaped in build, with slaty-brown backs, the head, neck and underparts white, sail-like wings broadly edged with black, and a short, fan tail. The adults looked strangely like overgrown gulls, the grey and white in the plumage and length of the wing suggesting a gull, but they sat in the manner of eagles, upright on the treetop, talons gripping bough firmly. The wings projected beyond the brief tail in repose, their tips crossing.
Through my binoculars, the bird was startlingly near and clear; I could see the grey, hooked beak, the powerful talons, even the dark apprehensive eyes. It was watching me intently, with obvious distrust. Thereafter I cared to do my watching from the shelter of a pillar or the parapet, not too obviously.
Off and on, for a fortnight, I watched these sea eagles, and learnt not very much about them. One of the adults is slightly the larger; I thought this was the she-eagle. This one it was that stayed near the nest, watching most of the time. Much of the scouting for food, for the entire family, fell to the lot of the other eagle. Sizeable fish seemed to form staple diet, though once a forager returned with a long, dangling prey that looked like a sea snake-but probably it was only an eel. The grown birds fed by turns, after parting with a large piece to the offspring. There was a patrician lack of haste about the feeding and flight of these eagles that was impressive: who would believe that it is these same birds that flog the air above the sea with untiring wings and chase each other in giddy flight, clamouring raucously all the time, earlier in the year!
***
The youngster was about three-quarters the size of its parents, and much more cognizably eagle. The feathers on the head and neck were not white and sleek as in the grown birds, but streaky, pale brown, and the stood out in hackles. The body was a dark, mottled brown- the colour one associates with raptorial birds This fledgeling progressed rapidly during the fortnight, and when I saw it last (on 1 May), it was standing on the nest-platform and flapping its wings gawkily, though it has not yet essayed flight.
***
The food-laden return of the parent bird was the signal for crows to gather around the nest, or fly over it. Not once I see them profit by this watchfulness: they never dared to get on to the nest, to try to snatch a morsel, though they would sit all around, close by the tree. At times one or the other sea eagles would leave the nesting tree and sit in a neighbouring one (also a casuarina), and when this happened the crows mobbed it immediately.Apparently, away from the location of the nest, they were not afraid of it. Frequently they forced to big bird to take wing and fly away from their attentions, with a harsh, mettalic, reiterated call, but once I saw the eagle dive at two crows that were annoying it and send them scattering for dear life.
***
I was told by the gardener of the house, that these sea eagles had nested here for years, that every year they reared their progeny on this same nest, that he did not know what happened to the youngsters when they grew up but the old birds remained there right through the year. The nest looked as if the accretion of many years had been added on a structure that was originally no small thing. We estimated that it was a rounded cube, about four feet each way. Even allowing for interspaces and hollowness of its top, it must have contained over hundred sizeable pieces of wood, and have weighed about 200 lbs. How did these seafaring birds acquire the large, dry branches that formed the cross-beams of the eyerie? Did they pick them off backwaters, or did they wrench from greenwood, as Jungle-Crows do? I cannot answer these questions, or find someone who can, but it seems reasonable to suppose that much of the nestling material was, originally,flotsam."-M.Krishnan

*The sketch of the nest and birds not reproduced here.
The article was first published on 18 May 1952 in The Sunday Statesman

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

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COUNTRY NOTEBOOK: M.Krishnan: Little Cormorants : The Sunday Statesman: 23 March 2014
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LITTLE CORMORANTS

" ONE way or another, I have been seeing quite a lot of the Little Cormorant in the past few months. Not that it is rare or shy. If you know its haunts you may see it in hundreds, for it is highly sociable and goes about its most personal affairs quite publicly, unlike most birds. Only, it is so very much a water bird and I am so terrestrial that I have had limited opportunities for observing it, till recently.

Of course, it is not little. Its name does not refer to its diminutive size, but only to larger cousins. I should think it is heavier built than a Kite, though on the wing it looks smaller because of comparatively shorter wings and a short stiff-feathered tail.

In the evenings the cormorants would come home from feeding grounds to their nesting-trees in the water. In wave after wave of close, quick-winged flights. Most of them came from the West, at sunset. A thin, black, pulsating line would cross the flaming horizon, then another and another. By the time the first flight has passed overhead with a swish of stiff pinions, the next would be halfway across, rapidly resolving itself into birds from a quivering black line and then a pattern of rhythmic black dots shrinking and growing in unison as the wings were moved in perfect coordination. Even when the birds were right above, flying low, one did not see them as so many cormorants but only as a formation - there was that sameness of looks and matched movement in them that makes it so hard to pick out one soldier from the company at a marchpast.

Isolated flights would come in from time to time throughout the day. Most of these went straight to the nesting trees and vanished all at once as the birds settled. Occasionally, a flight would come hurtling into the tank, hitting the water over a wide area like a scattering of heavy missiles from some old-fashioned cannon. These " water-crows" (an English name that is a verbatim synonym of the Tamil name) swam and dived and fished with easy speed, but were less effortless in taking away from the water,splashing along for a few yards before being airborne. When they left the tank for their feeding grounds,they went singly and in small parties so that one hardly noticed their departure, though their return in packed company was almost dramatic.

In the evenings they roosted on the topmost boughs in hundreds, darkening the trees before the night. In flight and repose, they kept so much together, in such numbers that one could not see the birds for the flock.

The young were almost grown up, and sufficiently by themselves for close study - but I knew better than to try anything so messy. Cormorants work hard, frequently flying to distant waters to satisfy their voracious children, and the young are usually chock-full of small fish. And when they are closely studied,there is a conclusive movement of their thick, snaky necks and the contents of their bulging crops are sort out in a stream on the observer beneath!

Incidentally,in nearly two dozen nests I saw there were only two young per nest (often the bough supporting the nest, for the juveniles were now well able to clamber about), except for two nests that each held three. The pairs, and the sets of threes, kept close together when they moved out to the ends of their boughs, seeing me approach. Yet the 'Fauna of British India' says the number of eggs per clutch is from three to five, and earlier in the season I saw at least three eggs in nearly every nest I was able to inspect.

The good book also says, of the genus 'Phalacrocorax' to which the Little Cormorant belongs, that the second primary is usually the longest - note that in my photograph of a cormorant in overhead flight,the third and fourth primaries of the left wing (i.e., the wing to the right side in the picture) are the longest; the tip of the other wing, blurred in the print, has been touched up and so cannot be taken into consideration.

It was as I was watching the paired young from a safe distance that the great idea came to me. I had a loaded camera and by sheer chance two flash bulbs in my pocket - earlier the day I had to photograph a human infant and had used the flashgun to catch the fleeting expression. Here was opportunity, to be seized by the forelock, mane or tail for a truly unique photograph.What I had to do was to creep near a pair of young birds without alarming them, then move in quickly and focus before the rising lumps in their throats reached their beaks, and record the reaction literally in a flash I gave much thought to preliminaries. Reluctantly, I set the shutter to the fastest speed it had, though that meant a wide stop and loss of depth of field - else I could not freeze the shower of small fry as it fell.

I selected a pair of young on a nest low enough for my purpose - the water round that tree was waist-deep and singularly filthy, but one does not get record pictures by sheer cleanliness. I turned my face the other way and slowly, ever so slowly, backed my way till I was near enough for the part demanding rapid action. As I adjusted the focus in a preliminary way before entering upon the second part of the plan, I noticed a leafy twig, directly between me and my subjects; this twig, just above reach, had not seemed obstructive earlier. however, I also noticed a simultaneous compensation. About three yards from the perch of my original pair, actually standing off their nest in another and lower branch of the same tree, was another pair of juvenile cormorants, better placed for my picture.Only, I should be quick for they were already alarmed and stretching their necks.

I took one long, splashing, underwater step to get near enough, focused rapidly and squeezed the trigger just as the gaping mouths opened to discharge their regurgitated shot. And as the flash flared up, a glittering little fish hit the lens of my camera with a smack, completely running the picture. I had forgotten all about the original pair of young birds, now directly above, and they had been a split second earlier in their reaction than their fellows. I am afraid I will have to wait till next year for my remarkable picture. I am still cleaning the eye of the camera with tender care, a little area at a time and in gentle installments, so as to remove all foreign matter without damaging the coating."

-M. Krishnan

This was first published on 22 April 1956 in The Sunday Statesman

#The photograph of the bird in flight with full wingspread is not reproduced here.

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

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COUNTRY NOTEBOOK: The Shawk :m krishnan :The Sunday Statesman: 23-February-2014
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The Shawk
(Lesser White Scavenger Vulture)
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"A FEW miles from Mahabalipuram, celebrated for richness of its curvings, is a shrine no less celebrated among the pious. Tirukkhalukunram (I follow the spelling of the railway guide) is one of the 16 (or is it 60?) holy places of the South. It is a temple perched on top of a small, rocky hill, lacking the grandeur of other Southern hilltop shrines. But every day it is graced by the visit of TWO SAINTS IN AVIAN GRAB.

Rain or shine, shortly after the noon invocation, a portion of sweet, opulent prasad of jaggery and milk, ghee and rice, is brought out by the priest and placed on a shelf of rock. And two large white birds materialise from the skies and partake of the offering. They are, of course, not birds at all but saints in feathers, most rigorous in their penances and rites.

Each morning they wing their northern way to the Ganges for a dip in its purifying waters, then they fly all the way back to Rameswaram for a further dip in sancity, visiting Tirukkalukumram in time for lunch. Local traditions give the names of these two punctilious saints, and further particulars.

Unfortunately for those with romantic inclinations, these birds have no claims to looks, in spite of their whiteness and the sail-like spread of their black-pinioned wings. They are not even kites, as the railway guide calls them, but are Scavenger Vultures, perhaps the least prepossessing of our birds. On the wing they look handsome enough, circling with effortless ease or swooping along the skyline at a terrific pace, breeze-borne.

But the weak, yellow beak and face, the dirty hackles and the clumsy, waddling gait proclaim their ugliness when they are on the ground and near. In their youth they are less hideous, a decent dark brown all over, but even then you can tell them apart from kites and other brown birds of the sky by their wedge-shaped tail. I do not remember the saint-names given to them at Tirukkalukunram, but can give you their aliases - the Neophron, or, more specifically, Neophron percnopterus ginginanus, Pharaoh's Chicken, the Lesser White Scavenger Vulture, and, according to Eha, the bird known to Mr. Thomas Atkins, as "The Shawk".

The last name, I think, is derived from the bird's habit of frequenting heaps of garbage and ordure. If I am right in my etymology, it is a name truly indicative of this vulture's disposition. Wherever there are mounds of manure or other assorted filth, offal and refuge lying around, you are likely to find the Neophron. It is commonest outside the city and industrial centre, where there are broad acres of what the engineers call "rubbish", and around the hilltop shrines and country marketplaces. It is a very useful bird, indeed, and no one who realises the public good that scavengers do will ever dream of looking down upon it.

Incidentally, it is not only at Tirukkalukunram that it is sacred; it was venerated in ancient Egypt. Unlike most other birds of its profession, it is not gregarious, but usually goes about with its mate, in a close pair. Like all vultures, it is long-lived and has wonderful powers of sight and flight.

It is likely the pair at Tirukkalukunram have long been residence, and it is a fact that they are most punctual in their attendance at the shrine. But there is nothing remarkable in all this. Many birds have an instinctive sense of time, and these vultures deeply appreciate regular provision of food I have seen several pairs of these birds in and around Tirukklukunram, so that it is quite conceivable that when the seniormost pair dies, their territory and prasad is taken over by the pair next in order of precedence among local Neophrons - that way one can understand how, for generations, these birds have been attending the shrine each day, and set up the tradition of immortality. Irrelevantly, it occurs to me that the phoenix must be some sort of vulture.

I can even testify to the fallibility of the daily visits of the pious birds. One day, in the winter of 1935, no birds turned up at the feeding rock, in spite of the priest's loud invitations and widely waved arms. No vulture of any sort was visible in the skies, and I concluded that a cow must have died on the hillside beyond, that day. The priest made no comment, beyond pointing to the slight drizzle that there was, but an elderly gentleman by my side volunteered a complete explanation. He was a native and assured us that the absence of the birds was most exceptional; in fact, they were absent only when some major sinner, who should never have been admitted to the precincts, was there. And I must say I did not like the rather pointed look he gave me."

-M.Krishnan

This was first published on 15 January 1956 in The Sunday Statesman

#One beautiful coloured sketch of the bird in flight has not been reproduced


The last posting on 23-02-2014, 05:10 PM may kindly be deleted.

[Saktipada Panigrahi]

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COUNTRY NOTEBOOK: M. Krishnan: The Brahminy Kite : The Sunday Statesman : 16-March-2014
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BRAHMINY KITE

"AN elderly gentleman from the borders of Hyderabad (Deccan) who has lived as a gentleman should, spending his ample leisure in open-air pursuits, assures me that he has known the Brahminy Kite successfully used in falconry, that, properly trained, the bird can bring down middle-sized quarry both in the air and bush.

Now, the Brahminy Kite is powerfully built, more like an Eagle than a Kite, and if the size is the criterion, it is large enough to bring down a pigeon or a partridge. Moreover I went into the matter not only with my landed informant but also with his equally elderly, equally sporting tenants and there was good evidence that at least one local falconer has trained the bird successfully for hawking. Falconry is no longer practised in those parts, for the landlords are now preoccupied with deprriving legislation and their camp followers with that hateful thing, working for a living.

But in my many talks with these old-timers I felt satisfied that the sport has flourished there only 20 years ago. The country is ideal for it, being dead-flat and bush-clad Red-headed Merlins,, Kestrels, Shikaras, Tawny Eagles, Short-toed Eagles, Harriers, a buzzard or two and an occasional passing laggar represent the local raptors, but I was told that in the old days Peregrines were imported, and a big, bold, peafowl-killing bird which, to judge from hearsay, was nothing less than the Bonelli's Eagle.

I am no falconer. In fact, my acquaintance with birds of prey from the other side entirely, that of a man who kept racing pigeons for years and so had to watch the skies anxiously and to get to know their killers. But thinking it over, it seems to me that heavily built as the Brahminy Kite is, it lacks the dash and speed of wing to provide anything more than novelty to the sport of falconry, especially when there are many nobler birds available.

Mind, I do not say it lacks the heart. The Brahminy has been called a coward by many ornithologists, a chicken-raider that will not face the mother hen, a snatcher of small fry from the basket of the fishwife. That opinion, I feel, is not scientifically sound. We rarely make allowance for avian values and individual variations in judging a bird's "character". Many of the eagles, which this kite resembles in miniature in build and flight, also live mainly by scavenging and piracy. Moreover, the Brahminy Kite may be quite aggressive on occasion.

Once, feeling curious about contents of their nest and trying to get a closer look, I was attacked with such determination and persistence by a pair of these birds that I had to beat a hasty and undignified retreat, though I knew I was critically watched by three small boys. Though it is true that this kite gets its living picking fish and other things off the surface of the water and by robbing successful but smaller hunters, it can and does kill snakes.I have seen one with a four-foot rat snake in its clutches, but it could be that the snake was killed by some villager and later picked up by the bird.

That brings to the question: Is this the Garuda (omit the terminal "a" for most North Indian languages and add "n" after the terminal "a" for Tamil), according to mythology, is the most feared enemy of the snake tribe, the bird whose very name strikes terror in the hearts of the denizens of the subterranean Nagaland. Throughout South India the Brahminy Kite is called "Garudan" and even in paintings (paintings of no great antiquity, say about a century or two in age) this bird is shown in depictions of mythological description of the Garuda. However, the Crested Serpent-Eagle, the Short-toed Eagle and some hawk-eagles are much more given to snake-slaying than this kite, and are much nearer iconographic descriptions of the Garuda.

Be that as it might, I find an unforced occasion for quoting here an old Sanskrit verse that has always appealed powerfully to me (in spite of my comprehensive ignorance of Sanskrit!), so tellingly does it expound the power of circumstances:

'Do not associate with the lowly;
If you must with the mighty, make
friends.
For the cobra, having Vishnu's
protection,
Inquired fondly after the Garuda's
health!' "

-M.Krishnan

(This was first published on 11 March 1956 in The Sunday Statesman)

# A painting of the bird in flight with its nice wingspread not reproduced here.