Text by: Malavika Bhattacharya
In the pale light of dawn, a wooden boat named Stilt slices noiselessly through the reed-covered surface of a marshy wetland in Odisha. The watery meadow extends as far as the eye can see, dotted with winged visitors from Siberia, Central Asia, and the Far East.
There are grey-headed lapwings (Vanellus cinereus) from Japan and bar-headed geese (Anser indicus) from Mongolia, brahminy shelducks (Tadorna ferruginea) from Central Asia, ruffs (Philomachus pugnax) from Siberia, and a seemingly infinite number of fluffy purple moorhens (Porphyrio porphyrio), residents of the subcontinent. Dibakar Behera wields a copy of Salim Ali’s The Book of Indian Birds and expertly rattles off names and factoids with an authority that indicates deep knowledge and careful observation of the species in question. Nonchalantly, he adds, “All the birds you see here, I’ve eaten them all.”
Dibakar and boatman Sanatan Behera are my guides for the morning in the Mangalajodi wetlands on the northern fringes of Chilika Lake. A birding hotspot, the wetland is prime wintering ground for waterbirds, and hosts over 200 species of waders, dabblers, and waterfowl from September to March.
Mangalajodi’s waters are rich with fish, molluscs, frogs, and insects, all of which sustain the thousands of birds that arrive every winter. Birds like the purple heron (top left) prefer a non-vegetarian diet, but others, like the godwit may feed on grasses, using their long beaks to uproot wild aquatic plants. Grey-headed lapwings (above right) arrive in Mangalajodi from China, Japan, and Russia, while ruffs (above left) come from Siberia. They prefer to spend their winter in the region’s marshy areas and paddy fields. Photos: Dhritiman Mukherjee
Cover Photo: Every winter, more than 200 species of birds descend on Chilika Lake from as far away as Siberia and Japan. The northern pintail (Anas acuta) is a common visiting duck from Central Asia, named for its characteristic pointed tail feathers. Cover Photo: Dhritiman Mukherjee
Until about 2000, Mangalajodi had a reputation as a village of poachers. For nearly 80 per cent of the community, hunting was common practice. The two men talk at length about how resident and migratory waterbirds were hunted until the late ‘90s, both for consumption and sale. “Tastier than mutton,” they say, adding that visitors from Bhubaneshwar and other nearby towns would frequent Mangalajodi on the weekends just to sample these exotic meats.
Locals who grew up sharing space with these birds gathered deep insights into their behaviours. Dibakar cracks open a green water lily fruit to reveal bright pink seeds. “This is the birds’ favourite food,” he says, adding how it was common practice for poachers to glide out in their boats at night and inject a poison called Furadan into these pods, knowing the birds would feed on them. In the morning, the waterscape was filled with fallen birds for easy pickings. Nests of resident birds like purple moorhens and herons were often raided for their eggs.
(Top) Ruddy shelducks (Tadorna ferruginea), also called Brahminy ducks generally arrive in Mangalajodi in October, from Ladakh, Sikkim, or Central Asia. A female ruddy shelduck (seen here with pintail ducks) can be easily differentiated from a male, as the latter sports a distinct black collar. (Above) Many fishers from Mangalajodi row out to the main Chilika Lake every morning in search of better catch, returning only at sundown. Photos: Dhritiman Mukherjee
Today, Dibakar introduces himself as a former president of the Sri Sri Mahavir Pakshi Suraksha Samiti (SSMPSS) — an organisation whose agenda lies rooted in its name — a committee to protect birds. What changed? “Our guruji showed us the way,” he says.
Over the course of three days, several of Mangalajodi’s residents allude to guruji’s guidance. The person in question is Nandakishore Bhujabal, who spearheaded the movement to end poaching in these parts.
On an afternoon boat ride the next day, my guide is Bhagyadhar Behera, currently secretary of the SSMPSS. He relates the tale of perseverance and patience that put the village on the birding map. “Everything Mangalajodi is today we owe to NK Bhujabal, a true bird lover,” he says.
In 1996, when poaching was rampant in Mangalajodi, NK Bhujabal returned to his native home in nearby Tangi and was alarmed at the state of affairs. Birds were being hunted in the thousands. Of all the winter visitors that arrived in the wetland, only about half made it home. “I’ve shot birds here too, in my youth,” he says, but the experience didn’t sit well with him. He started to gently cajole the local community into giving up poaching and looking to other means of earning a living.
(Left) Boatman Sanatan Behera holds up a variety of water grass locally known as pirudi; it has a sweet-tasting root that many birds like to feed on. (Right) To avoid noise and fumes, tourist boats in Mangalajodi are not fitted with motors. Instead, wooden country boats are manually manoeuvred using long wooden poles to push against the lakebed. Photos: Malavika Bhattacharya
Initially, he was met with deep mistrust. “The birds were our lifeline — our livelihood and also our food. And we thought, here’s a man who’s trying to take it away from us?” says Bhagyadar Behera. Gradually, however, the community began to understand Bhujabal’s point of view. “Once all the birds were gone, where would the money and food come from?”
The village chose twelve of their best hunters and posed Bhujabal with a challenge. Get them to change their ways, and the rest will follow, they said. For months, Bhujabal spent entire days out on boats with the poachers, teaching them about the birds — their names in English, their habits and habitats, and how each species was vital to the ecosystem’s balance.
A major win occurred when ace hunter Kishore Behera, locally known by his moniker the “Veerappan of Chilika,” laid down arms.
In 2000, the SSMPSS was formed with 12 members, with the intent of conserving and protecting these birds. Former poachers with intimate knowledge of the birds and the wetland habitat used their skills to transition into naturalists and boatmen.
(Left) The waters of Mangalajodi are barely 1-2 feet deep, and covered in nala forests, tall reeds, and wild aquatic grasses. (Right) White, pink, and red water lilies are a common sight. Their fruits are a popular snack for both birds and humans. Photos: Malavika Bhattacharya
Today, the committee has 42 members and 24 boats. They work on a rotational basis, taking tourists out and introducing them to the rich avian life of the region. Bhujabal recounts the arrival of the first tourist in 2003. Bhagyadhar Behera, says, “Nobody imagined tourists would come here to see the very birds that we hunted, and that we could earn from this.”
Twice a day, committee members also patrol the waters for illegal activity. But the fight continues.
At his home, a visibly distressed Bhujabal is fielding phone calls about a poaching incident the previous night. A fishing cat that inhabited the wetland’s tall reeds was poisoned, and the culprit from the nearby village of Sundarpur identified.
For the young poacher, an arrest is imminent, but prior to that, he arrives at Bhujabal’s doorstep, escorted by others from the local community.
As a stalwart in the field of local conservation who has a long and deep association with reformed poachers, Bhujabal’s word carries weight. He offers reprimand, but also gentle guidance and counsel. Bhujabal and the others highlight how former poachers now have an alternate means of livelihood from community-based eco-tourism in Mangalajodi, and everyone agrees that that is the ideal way forward for the entire region.
It is imperative for all stakeholders in the region to work together to ensure a sustainable and year-round source of livelihood for the local community, so incidents like this – fuelled by lack of opportunities – do not occur.
As the poacher leaves, Bhujabal asks him, “Once all the birds and fishing cats are gone , what will you do next?”
