Some flowering trees of Rajasthan

Spring is usually a fleeting season in Rajasthan. No sooner has one started to put the woolens away, than Holi arrives, and last summer's mulmul shirts are quickly dug forth from storage trunks. It is in March too that some of our native trees remind us that the thar desert is not just all drab and brown.

I had occasion to make brief trips to Bhainsrorgarh (near Kota, in South Rajasthan) and to Mt. Abu in March 2016. 

Driving from Jaipur to Kota on the recently completed multi-lane highway (and through the tunnel which by-passes Bundi), has cut down driving time in large measure. En-route, hillsides blush scarlet at this time. Sadly, many of the flowering trees are stunted, some are mere bushes - the result of lopping and over-grazing. Yet the flowers are beautiful.

See if you can identify the species - lets call this one 'A'

Here is another tree when in flower looks confusingly similar to 'A' - let's call it 'B'.

'B'

'C' below here, has a somewhat restricted range compared to A and B. The hills of Mt. Abu were aflame with these trees at this time.

 Can you identify 'C'?

Next up is an iconic tree of the thar. These hardy trees are true desert specialists. The Marwar region, in particular, is where you would find them in any numbers.

'D' below 

I'm a little disappointed that I only have photos of yellow flowers of  D above. In fact, the colours vary considerably from orange to yellow. From a distance, the flowering trees seem to be laden with orange flowers, not yellow.

 'D' again 

'D' - the tree itself

And if we go back to 'C' again, here is another look at the flower:-

'C' 

Here is a view of C in full flower on a Mt. Abu hillside:-

'C' 

B, of course, is a tree commonly found in Indian cities.

'B'

The flowers are not the sole pointers to the identity of the trees above. There are other differences, such as the structure of the leaves, the formation of the branches, amongst others. 

See how many you were able to identify correctly from the key below:-

A = Butea monosperma (Flame of the Forest)

B = Bombax ceiba (Semal)

C = Erythrina variegata (Indian Coral Tree)

D = Tecomella undulata (Roheda)

Cheer pheasant - third time lucky

The second pheasant breaks from cover without warning. Just as with the first, there is no call. No clue to the gathering together of a heavy body. No glimpse of the unfurled wings before it launches into flight down the steep ravine. For us watchers too, there is no time to snatch up the binoculars or to point a camera lens at this gorgeous bird as it glides down towards us.

All one can do is stare in wide-eyed, wondrous enchantment.

This second bird is a male cheer pheasant. Two impossibly long central tail-feathers stream behind.  The under-tail feathers are splayed out and stiff with the caudals, making the pheasant appear twice as large as the body itself. The neck is stretched forward, with the crest laid flat along the nape. A large crimson patch around the eye is the sole splash of bright colour. The plumage is mottled with shades of brown and grey and buff, the earth tones mirroring the textures of the dried grass from which it has burst into flight.

cheer pheasant

Achingly soon, from across the ravine and above us, the pheasant is down into cover again, perhaps 60 meters away.  Now binoculars are raised, and the late evening light brightens immediately through the Nikon glass. Half shadows spring into sharp focus, but the pheasant has frozen after alighting.

Then a stalk of grass moves almost imperceptibly: a give-away in the absence of the slightest breeze. Cautiously, a long neck is periscoped up, over the level of the grass, and a bright eye fixes us in a red-orbed glare. The bird  is motionless otherwise, perfectly hidden in its domain. If you lose it in the binoculars, you have to scan the spot carefully to pick it out again. Seemingly satisfied with the lack of any apparent threat and confident in its camouflage, it now steps forward onto a just-visible pugdandi. Where the narrow track doubles back on itself, leading higher, the full length of the pheasant is profiled in the small opening. 

It is magnificent.

The cheer does not have the pyrotechnic flamboyance of a monal, nor the sartorial slickness of a koklass. Neither would its appearance startle the observer, as does the shocking contrast of silvery hackles on the blue-black plumage of the kaleej. The cheer gives the impression of understated elegance and grace. And it is almost as difficult to track down as the jujurana itself – the western tragopan. In this very area, and in the dense forest that stretches from the crest of the hill above to the adjacent mountains that comprise the Great Himalayan National Park, is excellent habitat for all four of these pheasant species.

This particular male is the ninth of the cheer pheasants that we have seen today.

cheer and ghooral ravines

                                                         ---------------------------------

The day had begun for us before dawn, with a short torch-lit hike to get into position at the base of a cliff overlooking two faces of a ravine. Our host (and guide) had received information the previous evening that cheer were calling from this area just before roosting.

It is late November, and even though the first winter snows have not yet fallen here, at 2200 meters, it is cold. Cold, particularly when you have to remain motionless, crouching in the lee of scanty cover on this exposed mountainside.

Well before the first rays of the sun fire the snow-capped mountains in the distance, a group of birds starts calling, clucking rather, in our vicinity. The sound is not loud but is surprisingly far-carrying in the still air.

'Chair!' announces our host softly. (The local pronunciation is a mix between 'chair' and 'chayedh').

The calls are answered by another group farther down the mountainside. Fantastic! So we now know that the pheasants are here. The second-hand information, gleaned from the internet, that has brought us here is indeed correct - this is cheer country.

We are in ideal cheer habitat: vertiginous south-facing grass-covered mountain slopes, fissured by boulder-strewn and vegetation-choked ravines. The poor soil and the steep gradient prevent trees from growing. However, the monsoon rains nourish luxuriant swathes of grass. Local communities have traditionally harvested this to make hay for livestock. Our hosts too have been sheep-and-goat herders and subsistence farmers for generations. Unlike many communities living elsewhere on similar mountains in the western Himalayas, the villagers here protect the cheer. Sections of grasslands, particularly those contiguous to the shrubbery and trees which proliferate in the ravines, are not cut down after the rains.  Vertical cliffs sprout grassy tussocks clinging on to clefts and ledges on the rock faces. These small pockets of cover are used by the cheer.

Every morning, the cheer start calling at 6:20 am- you can set your watch by the calls. But to see them is quite another matter.

the birders 

Today we wait in expectation, carefully scanning the area from where the calls emanate. The light grows stronger. Soon the forested mountain opposite is bathed in sunlight. The Tirthan river glitters silently far below. A male hen harrier glides past low overhead, the black-tipped primaries accentuating the supple and narrow silvery-grey wings. The cheer stop calling.

Another hour passes. A warming sun thaws a benumbed nose and cold ears. There is no movement visible from where the cheer have been calling. Warm jackets are now shed. The movement triggers a sudden response from the opposite side of the ravine: a large animal emerges into the open and climbs with sure-footed agility up the slope. It is a ghooral. Of the cheer there is no sign.

We look at each other and concur quickly with our guide that we will have to get closer to the ravine from where the cheer were calling. We begin to scramble downhill. A vertigo episode the previous week, and a 14-hour drive the day before, are handicaps that prevent me from keeping up with the others. This is not a place to miss your footing. A carelessly dislodged stone gathers momentum as it cartwheels downhill. There is nothing to arrest its fall over 500 meters to the valley below.

Pausing to catch my breath, I look down at my companions. Their body language suggests unmistakable excitement. Then the guide points towards the cliff opposite. A telephoto lens snaps up to a shooting position. We have contact!

They gesture for me to join them quickly. With one eye on the pugdandi and the other trying to catch sight of the still-invisible cheer, I redouble my efforts. Too late though! I can sense from the reactions of the birders that the cheer have taken to the wing. All I manage is an all-too-brief glimpse through the binoculars of two pheasants flying downhill in deep shadow. Most unsatisfactory.

Yet the others have had good views of five cheer - three birds had flushed earlier than the two that I did see. Photos are now reviewed. Inevitably, these are somewhat disappointing to the photographer. Shooting from bright sunlight into deep shadow, along with the cheer's camouflage in the grass, has resulted in soft images despite the close proximity of the pheasants.

This first encounter with the cheer has whetted our appetite for more. We now decide to approach the southerly ravine from where another group of cheer had called earlier. It is hot work in the bright sunlight. Again, I find myself lagging behind. A flock of alpine accentors dusts down onto rocks close-by and merges immediately into the terrain. A tiny forested copse studded with large rounded boulders rings with the sharp calls of unseen birds. Soon a pair of red-billed blue magpies emerges from the trees, playfully chasing each other, with their long blue-and-white tail-streamers floating behind.

The shadow of a raptor flits past me. It is the female hen harrier this time. At eye level and very close. She quarters low over the jagged terrain, the white upper-tail coverts brilliant in the sunlight. With the binoculars firmly focused on the harrier, I feel that I'm floating with the raptor. She dips her finely-barred left wing and checks suddenly, pirouetting in mid-air. Talons flash on dangling legs, inches above the grass. Then a languid stroke of lithe wings, and she is borne aloft.

'Did you see them?'

Reverie broken, I look up in confusion.

'The hen harrier went for the second cheer!' - my companions exclaim.

'What?'

Obviously I have missed the two cheer that flushed right across from me. In the best possible light. And in the open. At eye level. It would have been a dream sighting.

The cheer had shown themselves just at the precise moment when I had the harrier in the binoculars. The harrier had feinted a mock-attack on one of the birds when it was lunging back into cover.

I would have to stew away until late evening when we did finally get a good look at the last pair of cheer. It would be third time lucky.

the homestay

Familiar Butterflies of Jaipur

Jaipur is not exactly a hotspot for butterflies in India. True hotspots would naturally include areas in the Western Ghats or in North Eastern India. However, lest the seasoned observer scoff at a checklist of the butterflies of Jaipur, do remember that a few species found here are not quite so common in the rest of the country. In particular the Arabs, several of which are indeed (as the name suggests) 'desert specialists'. Their distribution extends from the Thar desert to the Arabian peninsula.

I have been working on a checklist of the butterflies of Rajasthan (and not just of Jaipur) for several years now. Of course the lament is similar as that for other creatures of the wild: dwindling numbers and fewer sightings over time of the more interesting species. It is not for me to conjecture why in this blogpost.

Curiously enough, news fitfully trickles out that a 'butterfly park' will soon commence in Jaipur. This has been in the works for years. A few of the butterfly species being mentioned, that the authorities plan to 'catch and release' in the park, have me baffled.

For what it is worth, here are some of the familiar butterflies of Jaipur that I have observed and photographed. This is not an exhaustive list (deliberately so!), and I would look forward to hearing from you of any additions by email at sahdevsingh2004@yahoo.co.in

Blue Pansy - Junonia orithya

Yellow Pansy - Junonia hierta

Lemon Pansy - Junonia lemonias

Peacock Pansy - Junonia almana

Blue Tiger - Tirumala limniace

Plain Tiger - Danaus chrysippus

Striped Tiger - Danaus genutia

Common Jay - Graphium doson

Tailed Jay - Graphium agamemnon

Common Mormon - Papilio polytes

Common Rose - Pachliopta aristolochiae

Lime Butterfly - Papilio demoleus

Common Crow - Euploea core

Common Emigrant - Catopsilia pomona

Mottled Emigrant - Catopsilia pyranthe

Danaid Eggfly - Hypolimnas misippus

Great Eggfly - Hypolimnas bolina

Common Gull -Cepora nerissa

Common Jezebel - Delias eucharis

Pioneer - Belenois aurota

Small Salmon Arab - Colotis amata

Large Salmon Arab - Colotis fausta

Small Orange Tip - Colotis etrida

White Orange Tip - Ixias marianne

Common Evening Brown - Melanitis leda

Painted Lady - Vanessa cardui

African Babul Blue - Azanus jesous

Bright Babul Blue - Azanus ubaldus

Oriental Grass Jewel - Freyeria putli

Zebra Blue - Leptotes plinius

Common Grass Yellow - Eurema hecabe

Spotless Grass Yellow - Eurema laeta

Rounded Pierrot - Tarucus nara

Common Banded Awl - Hasora chromus

Indian Red Flash - Rapala iarbus

Indian Palm Bob - Suastus gremius

Copyright Reserved.

Please do not share or use the checklist and pictures in any publication or forum without my permission.

Sahdev Singh

16th October 2015

Inspiration from a 19th century book

I shared some images with friends and relatives, and asked them to tell me what first came to mind when they saw them. Here are some of the responses:-

'Nazgul (Ringwraith) from 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy'

'Sigil' or 'artwork from fantasy video games'

'Snowflakes' or 'alien spaceships from Sci-Fi movies'

When I later told them what these images actually represented, they were as surprised as I was when I first saw the paintings in a book a few weeks ago.

These are Radiolarians, which are microscopic zooplankton found in the world's seas and oceans.

Several thousands of Radiolarians were first painted and described by Ernst Haeckel in the 19th century. He later published Kunstformen der Natur (Art Forms of Nature) which features not only marine creatures but also terrestrial. The plates are simply stunning. I think they are unique in their arrangement and artistic depiction of real-life organisms. A friend concurs that these paintings bring to mind some other great naturalists and artists over the centuries. To name just one: Maria Sibylla Merian. Their art continues to delight and to inspire us even today.

Here are some other plates from Haeckel's 'Art Forms of Nature'. I wonder whether these were the inspiration for Hollywood films?

 Haeckel's jellyfish as the Medusa-like Sentinels from 'The Matrix' trilogy

Haeckel's reptiles as Dragons from the Harry Potter films

Or perhaps influencing art and architecture as here:

Haeckel's jellyfish as gilded chandeliers and ceiling decorations

Plates of other marine life-forms ...

Haeckel is a forgotten figure today. In scientific circles his legacy is tarnished for various reasons. Yet in his time he was celebrated as a naturalist, artist, philosopher and scientist. A most unusual, yet quite wonderful documentary, 'Proteus', tells us of his life, art, beliefs and his work. See it if you can.

sahdevsingh2004@yahoo.co.in