Hulking trees rise from shallow pools. Golden light dances madly on the water’s surface. A web of tangled branches blocks out the sky. And on the ground, hundreds and thousands of pencils poke out of the mud — short and squat, tall and slender, pale and dark. It’s a scene out of a surrealist painting.
One December morning, my guide Bijay Das leads me right into this art piece in eastern Odisha’s Bhitarkanika Forest Block, where a four-km-long trail meanders through mangroves and meadows. Walking into the heart of a forest is always special, but a mangrove habitat is altogether otherworldly. At ground level, far under the maze of branches, a dense miniature forest of aerial roots hides and reveals itself with the rhythm of the tides.
Mangroves are curious ecosystems that are always shifting and surviving the harshest conditions — salt and storms, wind and water. They stand like defensive walls against cyclones and hold back surges of tidal water. A complex root system holds the soft soil together, preventing erosion. This nutrient-rich habitat is home to a plethora of terrestrial, avian, and aquatic life.
Apart from large reptiles and fish, mammals like spotted deer, otters, and the elusive fishing cat (above) also live in Bhitarkanika.
Cover: Mangrove trees display several adaptations which help them withstand harsh climatic events like tidal surges and cyclones. While aerial roots are a common feature, tall trees often sport wide flying buttresses at their base (above) for additional support.
On the map, Bhitarkanika presents itself as splotches of green on Odisha’s eastern coast, sinuous veins of water carving deep gashes into the land as they rush towards the Bay of Bengal. A vast mangrove ecosystem lies in the delta formed by the Baitrani and Brahmani rivers. At the core of this wilderness, where sea, rivers, and land converge, lies the Bhitarkanika National Park —145 sqkm of mudflats and tide pools, narrow creeks and tangled forest.
Every six hours, the tide comes in hungrily, swallowing the riverbanks in great big gulps. It submerges roots and plants, and even entire trees until only leafy tops stick out of the water like floating bouquets of green in a muddy expanse. In this twice-daily cycle of drowning and draining, all the creatures that live here have adapted to survive in water and on land. To straddle life on both sides, fish must walk on land, and trees must live in water. Reptiles and amphibians are most adept at living life on the edge. Water monitor lizards and green pond frogs are common sights, but no creature dominates the scene quite like the hulking saltwater crocodile.
Across many national parks in India, flagship species are often elusive. This is not the case in Bhitarkanika. On sunny afternoons, saltwater crocodiles dot the banks like sunbathers on a crowded Goa beach. From minuscule yearlings to massive 7-m-long adult males, they occupy the mudflats with quiet authority. Even as noisy motorboats whir past, they are unflinching. They exhibit a breezy flamboyance, their gaping maws wide open as they regulate their body temperature and reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Bhitarkanika was formerly the hunting ground of the Kanika kings. As a result the saltwater crocodile was nearly hunted to extinction. A conservation program in the 1970s brought them back from the brink, and today, visitors can spot dozens of these mammoth creatures on riverbanks and forest paths.
Seated on the unshaded roof of a wooden motorboat, we had set course for the Bhitarkanika Forest Block early that morning. At that hour, the Khola creek was a swollen stretch of chocolate brown, the riverbanks completely submerged by high tide, and the characteristic mangrove roots I expected to see nowhere in sight. My eyes were peeled for a glimpse of the apex predator, and every floating log of driftwood masqueraded as a crocodile. Das guaranteed we would spot them on our return once the tide receded.
Over 200 bird species inhabit Bhitarkanika, including the tiny forest wagtail (above) and eight subspecies of the kingfisher. With their flamboyant plumage it’s easy to spot the black-and-white pied kingfisher (top left), and the brown-winged kingfisher (top right), endemic to mangrove forests.
We dock at our destination, where the canopy filters out the sun and the air fills with the symphony of the forest —a chirp here, a rustle there, but most of all, the constant ripple of water. As we traverse the path lined with tide pools and towering trees, Das, who is a fount of knowledge on the local vegetation, highlights the incredible floral diversity and adaptations unique to mangrove ecosystems.
Bhitarkanika is home to more than 80 species of true and associated mangroves —truly resilient plants that can withstand immersion in saltwater, constantly shifting water levels, and low-oxygen environments. True mangroves, found exclusively in mangrove habitats like intertidal zones, have adaptations like salt-expelling glands on leaves and stilt roots to enable them to live in soft, muddy environments.
When the tide recedes, the riverbanks come alive with minuscule creatures like pale ghost crabs (left) burrowing into the mud. Mudskippers (right) are tiny fish that have adapted to live on muddy land and are often seen hopping on soft soil.
Pneumatophores or aerial roots are among the most characteristic of mangrove adaptations and in this open-air museum, roots of all shapes and sizes are on display. The knobbly, bendy knee roots of the bandari tree, named for their resemblance to human knees, and the tall and spindly roots of the bani, their width inversely proportional to the immense girth of the tree trunk.
The pointy roots spread far, sometimes several feet away from the main tree, taking in oxygen through lenticles on their surface and helping underground root systems breathe.
With reverence, Das points out a mammoth sundari tree with sweeping, wave-like buttresses at its base. “These trees sometimes grow more than 15-metres tall,” he says, adding that they are called the “sal of the mangroves”. At that height, the trees need the additional support of a wide base, especially when cyclones hit.
On either side of the waterways, a dense tangle of mangrove trees like kerua and sinduka form a wall of deep green. Boat safaris are the most common way of exploring mangrove ecosystems close-up.
From 1999 to 2021, Odisha has seen ten cyclones. For the habitations on the edge of the forest, the mangroves of Bhitarkanika are the first line of defense against these furious storms. “The super cyclone in 1999 caused immense destruction in Odisha, but we didn’t see terrible damage here in our district,” says Das, gesturing to the trees around us. As the elements of nature roll through the forest with force and fury, the tight web of trees and roots meet it like a wall, absorbing the shock of the storm before it reaches human settlements. Das explains that the density of the forest enables it to withstand high-velocity winds of even over 100mph. In contrast to 1999, Cyclone Yaas in May 2021 wreaked havoc in these parts, uprooting several mangrove trees. In the intervening years, the forest has shrunk due to agriculture and illegal aquaculture, leaving both humans and wildlife vulnerable to the forces of nature.
The trail soon opens up into vast meadows and a large waterbody filled with squawks and squeals. On the water, we spot black-winged stilts, sandpipers, ruffs, and amidst them, a scaly, ridged back. A female saltwater crocodile, with one sea-green eye trained firmly on us, lies basking in the sun mere metres from our path. She eyes us lazily, as if mildly annoyed that we’ve disturbed her siesta.
Water monitor lizards (left) are among the main predators of crocodile eggs. These reptiles sunbathe on tree trunks and are also spotted on beaches like Habalikhati (right). They spend their time scavenging and feeding on fish and crabs.
When we return to the boat and cruise back, the water has receded by at least seven or eight feet, and we spot crocodiles every few feet. Adults lie still, soaking up the sun, while the young slip and slide along the mud. The umbrella-shaped stilt roots of the garjan border the waterway, along with swathes of aerial roots that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. Chital forage among the trees and rhesus macaques jump amid branches. The forest and water throng with life.
The rivers and creeks are rich in mullet, bhekti, and hilsa fish — all a major part of the local diet. Mangrove ecosystems provide a healthy home for fish, prawns, and crabs. Plants like the hental are the ultimate givers — crocodiles use their leaves to build nests, and humans use them to construct thatch roofs, fences, and doors.
For those that live life on the edge of land and sea, the incredible mangrove ecosystem acts as provider and protector and is especially critical at a time like this. Ominous clouds darken the sky the next morning, and rain lashes down. Loudspeakers blast messages advising residents to stay indoors. Cyclone Jawad is expected to make landfall anytime, and at Das’s Mangrove Pitta homestay, everyone is glued to the news. I ask if they are worried about what might unfold in the next few days. The reply comes instantly: “As long as the mangroves exist, so will we.”
