The Odisha Odyssey

Chapter - 15 : The Fork

'Get up,' Mama instructed, rolling up a bedsheet into a perfect rope and whipping me where the sun didn't shine. I groaned and sat up slowly, like an ancient mummy being brought back to life. I stayed, watching the sun creep in through the gap in the curtains. With a battle cry, Mama threw them open and picked up her whip. I bolted for the bathroom.

'Come on, become sentient,' Mama coaxed me, smacking my cheeks lightly.

'Sentience is what caused all problems in the first place,' I mumbled through the toothbrush in my mouth.

'I do not want to get to the bottom of that,' Mama declared, throwing up her hands and walking out the door. 'Come down to the canteen when you've evolved.'

I ate with Uncle and Aunty. Mama prodded me with a fork to hurry me up. My parents were already done, sitting excitedly, fidgeting with all the cameras in their lives.

'We've come at a very good time for migratory birds,' Papa said, going over the book of local birds. 'I'm hoping to capture the elusive night heron today.'

We carried some peanuts and oranges and set off. The early morning sky was light blue, with a thin haze over it. 'There's a mild hurricane formation off the Odisha coast,' Papa commented. 'I saw the satellite images today.' 

The landscape changed rapidly. We saw tiny embankments, some filled with brackish water and reeds, while some dry and cracked. The rains started and ended early here.  

There was a diversion in the road, and a guy standing near a tree told us to take the left, along the huge poster of a dolphin. It looked legit. 

Uncle's mustache twitched in suspicion, and he checked Google maps for the correct location. 'No no, it's straight ahead,' he told Chintu. 'They've been planted here to mislead us.' We went straight ahead as Uncle yelled 'Nice try' out the window. 

I saw a drongo sitting on a wire, its forked tail cutting into the sky sharply. We turned into Chilika Lake, the second largest lagoon in the world.

By Dr. Raju Kasambe - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17996941

The black drongo (Dicrurus macrocercus). The species is known for its aggressive behaviour towards much larger birds, such as crows, never hesitating to dive-bomb any bird of prey that invades its territory. This behaviour earns it the informal name of king crow. Being commonly found on telephone lines, they have a wide range of local names. Local names include Kalkalachi in Sindhi, Kotwal (policeman) in Hindi; Finga in Bengali; Phenshu in Assamese; Cheiroi in Manipuri; Kalo koshi in Gujarati; Ghosia in Marathi; Kajalapati in Oriya; Kari kuruvi (charcoal bird), Erettai valan (two tail) in Tamil; Passala poli gadu in Telugu; Kaaka tampuratti (queen of crows) in Malayalam; Kari bhujanga in Kannada and Kalu Kawuda in Sinhalese. A superstition in central India is that cattle would lose their horn if a newly fledged bird alighted on it. It is held in reverence in parts of Punjab in the belief that it brought water to Husayn ibn Ali, revered by Shī‘a Muslims.

Chapter - 16 : The Water

For a world-famous tourist spot, there wasn't as much a commercial landscape as we thought; a small restaurant that served lunch caught the same day, an Odisha Tourism Department boating office, and a coconut water stall. I made a beeline for the coconuts. 

'Unna helneer kodi,' I spoke from muscle memory, and realized this wasn't Karnataka almost immediately. 'Bhaiyya, ek nariyal paani.' 

He grinned and handed me a giant one. I drank directly from the cut mouth which he'd sculpted like a spout. It was salty and tangy, and most importantly; bountiful. 

'Mama, I've evolved,' I told her sagely as she appeared, grinning. 'Get the ones with thin malai for all of us, we're coming.' She replied.

He opened six, and I downed one on the spot. It was honey-sweet, and even the texture was thicker than any I'd tasted before. I saved one to drink with my family.

'We can pre-order lunch at that restaurant, so it'll be ready by the time we come back.' Aunty said after we were done with the coconuts.

Ordering was easy (except my mother restraining me from asking for one of each), since they had Chilika specials and nothing else.We were by the pier in no time, looking at our kheveyya pulling in what was essentially a large canoe with a roof. After a lot of balancing and weight-shifting, we settled in snugly.

We pushed off, and I felt the familiar sway of the aquatic hammock, the floating sensation, and the descending calm of the water. It was a motor-boat, so tranquility went for a toss, but it faded away once I focused in on other sounds; a trick one of my seniors from music club had taught me.

Our gondolier slowed down the boat, pointing calmly to a patch of water, and nonchalantly muttered, 'Irrawaddy Dolphin.'

We craned our necks in that direction, bewildered, until two dolphins pirouetted over the water in a stunning arc, like a momentary rainbow. Before we knew what was happening, we were all at the edge of boat, clicking away, while our boatman yelped anxiously at us to distribute the weight.

Soon, we were surrounded by them, making our eyes dart about with every flurry they caused. They were sleek, grey-blue Irrawaddy dolphins, with round childish eyes and a fixated smile, which on a human would have been grounds for a restraining order.

'Almost got one,' Papa showed me a very expressive photograph, with splashes of water and a cheeky mugshot - but it was too blurry. 'It's a very short window. They can reappear anywhere, and disappear as soon as you blink.'

All of us relaxed, going back to our posts, much to the relief of our ferryman. We sat and watched the dolphins playing catch with the sun, smiling at us. I felt like joining them.

We approached an island, inviting us with its dense forest and the calls of birds. Papa spotted a flock of Brahminy ducks and stood up. They formed a playful flock of their own, sisters to the dolphins.

Our Charon directed the boat to the coast of the otherworld, and I could feel the dolphins watch us go, leaving no remembrances except ripples in the water.

The ruddy shelduck (Tadorna ferruginea), known in India as the Brahminy duck. In their breeding quarters, the birds are very aggressive towards their own kind and towards other species. The female in particular approaches intruders with head lowered and neck outstretched, uttering anger calls. If the intruder stands its ground, the female returns to the male and runs round him, inciting him to attack. It is a migratory bird, wintering in the Indian subcontinent. Buddhists regard the ruddy shelduck as sacred and this gives the birds some protection in central and eastern Asia, where the population is thought to be steady or even rising. In Europe on the other hand, populations are generally declining as wetlands are drained and the birds are hunted.

Chapter - 17 : The Flock

Everyone stumbled out, crossing a thin plank to land on the island. There were more coconuts to go around, and we gulped them eagerly, thirsty from the salty peanuts we'd munched on the boat. Papa tried to get as close to the flocks of birds as he could without alarming them or falling into the marsh.

'There are so many. Egrets, ducks, herons, storks...I think there's even a darter bird there.' Papa said, almost dropping the coconut malai. 'We've come at the right time for migratory birds.'

Papa sat and explained how the flight pattern and posture was sometimes a more reliable indication of the species, as most colours, patterns and sizes were easily misjudged. I nodded, remembering how lighting and distance had caused a lot of my artworks to mutate in front of my eyes. 

Mama had found another spectacle to direct her curiosity at. There was a lone tree, with a red cloth tied to one of its branches. 

'There's no other tree of this species here.' Mama told me. 'And its not even suited for this climate and soil. How could it have gotten here?' 

Life finds a way, I remembered from Jurassic Park. There was this lingering hope that no matter what we'd done or do to the planet, it'd always heal. A dog crossed the marsh in front of us, sending the little stilts and redshanks scurrying about, flapping their wings in alarm. One particular stilt hopped closer to us, separating from the flock.

The black-winged stilt (Himantopus himantopus). The scientific name Himantopus comes from the Greek meaning "strap foot" or "thong foot". The breeding habitat of all these stilts is marshes, shallow lakes and ponds. Some populations are migratory and move to the ocean coasts in winter. The diet of the black-winged stilt is variable according to season, but typically comprises aquatic insects, molluscs, crustaceans, spiders, worms, tadpoles, small fish, fish eggs and seeds. With its long legs, it can wade into deeper water, where it may be seen snatching insects that hover over the water’s surface, dipping its head below the water to catch small fish, or pulling small worms from the mud.



'There's another spot up ahead, where we'll see lots of birds.' Our oarsman grunted. 'We should leave for that.'

Everyone climbed back in gingerly, and our flock sailed off to see others.

Chapter - 18 : The Kite

We'd left all land far behind. The only indication that we were still in a lagoon was a tiny green line at the horizon - the peacock island. That's where we were going for the birds.

On the way, we saw various groups of migratory birds, exhibiting themselves like the inauguration procession of all participating countries of the Olympics. 

'What are those poles sticking out of the water?' Mama pointed at some stilt-like branches the birds were perched upon.

'They use those for fishing. They attach nets to them and enclose a specific area where schools have been observed.' Chintu told us. 'The birds observe this and perch upon them, ready to have their fill before the fishermen come back.' He grinned. 'The early birds get everything.'

Egrets and pond herons perched close to the nets, cocking their heads to the side and waiting for the right moment to pounce. My father and his camera were doing something similar.

'Grey heron,' he pointed with an excited whisper. Our captain rowed slowly along the nets, until we could see every black stripe on its neck. We were all admirably quiet, and there was no sound in the lake except the ripples caused by our vehicle and the soft clicking of cameras.

A cattle egret flew by and landed on a grassy marsh right in the middle of the water. 'Look, a black-headed ibis. It's near threatened - I've only seen it here and in Bhavnagar,' Mama said. Another ibis joined it, and the trio frolicked together, preening their feathers and sunning.

'A gull,' Papa pointed to one of the fishing poles. Never a dull moment. 'We can get a really close look.' And the boat, as if it had heard him, nudged itself in that direction. 'This is Nat Geo level,' I commented, looking at Papa's photos.

The black-headed gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus). In the breeding season, the head turns completely black. They primarily feed on worms, insects, fish and carrion. They are migratory birds; however, huge populations have been found far inland, a very uncommon trait among gulls. 



Terns, cormorants, egrets of all sizes, and the solitary grey heron - all flitted about like pieces in wizard chess, part of a larger hive mind directing the game.

We made our way back in silence, glimpsing more birds and the occasional dolphin, all of us heading off together for lunch. The sky had grown brighter and the sun warmer, and our throats thirsted for coconut water again.

As we alighted from the boat, a Brahminy Kite landed on one of the closer poles, with its back to us.

'This is also a breeding ground for a lot of birds. Most of them will stay here until their younglings can fly with them southwards.' Mama told me. 'What joy it is, to see your child make his first flight.' She squeezed my shoulder and left.

I stayed on the pier, waiting for the kite to fly away.

Chapter - 19 : The Flight

The sky is vast, my child, and the wind is wild, but you are strong,
And I have held you in my warm embrace from the storm, for far too long,
So flap your tiny wings as nature sings, and take this song,
And fly away, my child...fly away.

Remember what I taught, don't be distraught, by slips and falls,
And soar with eyes towards the sky, and don't be shy, when summer calls,
As you grow up, you'll see what life can be, how it enthralls,
So fly away, my child...fly away.

Maybe, one day you'll find this world's designed to foster none,
Maybe you'll find on every fir, a predator, a loaded gun,
You'll melt and fall ashore, when once you soar, too close to the sun,
But not today, my child...not today.

When you have tots awaiting their first flight, remind yourself,
Of this doting ditty, and sing when you bring them behind yourself,
Miss me in the clouds, my angel, when you fly to find yourself,
Now fly away, my child...fly away. 

By Challiyil Eswaramangalath Vipin from Chalakudy, India - Brahminy kite series #3, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3667672

The brahminy kite (Haliastur indus). It is distinctive and contrastingly coloured, with chestnut plumage except for the white head and breast and black wing tips. It's about the same size as the black kite and has a typical kite flight, with wings angled, but its tail is rounded instead of forked. It is primarily a scavenger, feeding mainly on dead fish and crabs, especially in wetlands and marshland, but occasionally hunts live prey such as hares and bats.They may also indulge in kleptoparasitism and attempt to steal prey from other birds. Brahminy kites have even been recorded taking advantage of Irrawaddy dolphins herding fish to the surface. In Hinduism, it is considered as the contemporary representation of Garuda, the sacred bird of Vishnu. For the Ibans of the Upper Rajang, Sarawak, Borneo, a brahminy kite is believed to be the manifestation of Singalang Burung when he comes down to earth. Singalang Burung is the ultimate deity of incomparable qualities and superior abilities in every dimension. He is also known as the god of war.

Chapter - 20 : The Fish

'This is a special bhangan fish, only found in Chilika lake. Also presenting the Chilika crab, and the Chilika tiger prawns,' the waiter told me, looking at me like I was Hannibal Lecter. He stretched his arms and kept the plates warily, as if I was going to bite his hand off.  

'It has a unique texture - it actually tastes like how one would expect a brackish water fish to.' Papa said. 'It's not that fishy, Rupa,' he turned to my mother and offered a piece. 'You might like it.'

Mama took a piece delicately and chewed it. 'I give it an F for fishy,' she concluded, 'But yes, nowhere close to the seawater ones.'

After everyone was done, me and Papa set out to dismantle the crab, while Aunty told us about how expert Odiyas would just tap a spoon at the right places and break open the shell. I was hungry, so I just crushed everything and put in it my mouth. 'It's good,' I grimaced, chewing on the shell and waiting for the meat.

'Why do I hear crunching?' Papa asked and Mama burst out laughing. I scowled and passed the crab to him, watching in awe as he opened up the exoskeleton like it was a candy wrapper.

The hard-earned crab meat was delicious, with a tough, juicy consistency. I ignored the masala and simply focused on the main attraction.

'Have your carbs,' Mama glared at me. 'These aren't "snecks",' she imitated our Konark guide. I curled my hand up like a darter bird's neck and pecked at the crab meat.

By Kaippally - Own work, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2167223

The Oriental darter or Indian darter (Anhinga melanogaster). Like the cormorant, it hunts for fish while its body is submerged in water. It spears a fish underwater, bringing it above the surface, tossing and juggling it before swallowing the fish head first. The body remains submerged as it swims, and the slender neck alone is visible above the water, which accounts for the colloquial name of snakebird. Like the cormorants, it has wettable feathers and it is often found perched on a rock or branch with its wings held open to dry. In some parts of northeastern India, darters were are used by tribals to capture fish from streams. A ring is tied around the neck to prevent them from swallowing the prey just as is done with cormorant fishing in parts of Southeast Asia.


I took some rice reluctantly and moved on to the tiger prawns. They were the easiest to eat, succulent and almost creamy. However, the thickness of the larger variety meant that almost none of the flavour of the spices it was cooked in percolated through - not that it needed it.

'In most cases, the gravy is only for the rice, it doesn't really bother the seafood,' Aunty smiled, reading my mind. 'Marine life comes with its own flavours.'

'Yeah, how's that mercury tasting?' Mama asked, immediately collapsing into a fit of giggles, while I protested. And then we compared the sustainability and nutritional benefits of being a vegetarian vs being a carnivore.

'As all resources are dwindling, animal farming will have a larger energy and carbon and nitrogen footprint,' Mama concluded, banging her fist on the table.

'No footprints if I eat the legs,' I muttered, and Mama punched my stomach.

We got the bill when I was on my last prawn, and I looked back out into the water to see it darkening. It was just 4 pm, and the day was already ending. I saw a distant flock of storks, probably flying on to where summer was calling them. I followed them with my eyes until they winked out into the sky.

'Come on,' Mama smiled at me and made for the car. I took one last look at the fish, and followed her.

Chapter - 21 : The Flower

We sat at the back and corroborated our identifications of the Chilika birds with Salim Ali's book. 'We did see terns there, right?' I asked Papa as I peeled an orange, poring over the photographs in the book. 'Don't spill orange juice on it,' Mama told me sternly. 'And yes, we saw the whiskered tern. There is a good photograph, I think.'

The whiskered tern (Chlidonias hybrida). In breeding plumage, it has a black crown and white cheeks and sides of neck. It prefers shallow terrestrial freshwater wetlands, freshwater swamps, brackish and saline lakes, floodwaters, sewage farms, irrigated croplands and large dams. They eat mainly small fish, amphibians, crustaceans, insects and their larvae. There are three main methods of feeding; plunging, dipping and hawking. Plunging involves a hover then dive, with wings raised above water. They may also hover and dive to take insects in paddocks. Dipping means that they fly low over water, skimming the surface to take insects from on or just below it. Hawking is taking insects during flight; mostly over dry plains.

'There's a better chance of spotting more varieties at Bhitarkanika Sanctuary.' Papa said. 'There'll be aquatic, migratory and arboreal birds there. We're going day after tomorrow.'

'Yay,' I said and went back to eating the orange. Mummy took the book from me and gave it to Papa.

Dusk embraced us as we drove back towards Puri. The sun had lost its excited white and turned a melancholy yellow. The sky looked like a drop of bright paint on a wet cerulean cloth.

'Hey that's a kewra flower!' Papa piped up, looking out the window. Chintu stopped the car and we all dismounted to take a closer look. Out of sheer luck, the flower fell as soon as we touched the branch. I picked it up and Papa took a photograph.

It was very slender, with velvety white petals. There were a lot of white pistils with pale yellow stigmas. And the smell, of course, one of the most heavenly I had ever experienced. I remember Papa had once sprinkled kewra water on sheerkorma (milky vermicelli sweet dish) for Eid.

'Natural kewra essence is now really expensive. Our institute gave the process which is used to manufacture the synthetic version everywhere.' Papa said proudly.

I put the flower in the car, and spotted a white-breasted kingfisher on a tree stump. I nudged Mama - she was already ready with the camera.

I looked back to see Papa looking at a bee-eater and a drongo on the telephone wires.

We also spotted three black-winged stilts near a pond; two female and one male.

'It's like a conference of birds.' Mama chuckled. I looked at her quizzically. 'The Conference Of The Birds is a masterpiece by Attar of Nishapur.' She explained.

'In it, the Hoopoe guides all birds towards the Valley of the Simorgh, a legendary bird, to find enlightenment. Each bird represents a flaw in humanity that keeps them from nirvana. They begin the journey, and a lot of them die, but thirty birds make it - to find that they themselves are the Simorgh. Simorgh in Farsi means thirty birds, incidentally.'

'Woah,' I gushed. 'It's the quintessential finding-yourself-through-a-long-journey parable.'

'Although the Simorgh is also an actual bird,' Mama continued. 'It is widely believed to be the Persian counterpart of the Phoenix.'

We called out to Papa and he jogged to us, showing us a picture of the two small birds with the sun in the background. He clicked one last picture of the Kingfisher as it flew off, and we got back into the car.

Night was very close, and the motion of the car was like a lullaby to my senses. We would reach our hotel in an hour. Gobbling the last orange slice, I stuck my nose inside the kewra flower like a sunbird and smelt it for the last time, carrying off the fragrance to my dreams, to bring to the Simorgh.

"If Simorgh unveils its face to you, you will find

that all the birds, be they thirty or forty or more,

are but the shadows cast by that unveiling.

What shadow is ever separated from its maker?

Do you see?

The shadow and its maker are one and the same..."

- Farid ud-Din Attar, Maqāmāt-uṭ-Ṭuyūr (The Conference Of The Birds) 

Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.

Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/
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