Summer in the Haor
Take care of your camera because it will rain soon,” the boy gathering dried hay near the freshly harvested paddy field warned me.
I looked at him in disbelief. I was in the middle of Hail Haor in Moulvi Bazar, walking through a rice paddy looking for some birds I had spotted from the road. The afternoon sky was a clear blue with white puffy clouds. The sun was hot but a breeze blew from the southwest, making the heat bearable. But rain? There was no sign of it.
I had driven into the Haor earlier that May afternoon. This large open land, slightly below sea level, submerges during monsoon. But the rest of the year it is mostly farmland, grazing fields and fisheries. During winter, it is a haven for birds and draws many birders including myself. However, today my expectations were different. I wanted to experience the Haor during summer, just before the rains engulfed it.
Two things struck me immediately upon arriving at the Haor: the green and the clear air. Fresh rains had injected new life to the vegetation. Grass grew tall in many places, weeds such as Dhol Kolmi spread rambunctiously, leaves dripping green, and even the chopped stalks of rice were green. The air, which during winter always carries some haze, was crystal clear. You could see for miles in any direction.
I saw the flock of small birds playing in a distant paddyfield within minutes of entering the area. They flew in unison like an undulating wave of sparkling stars shining against the green and yellow background. Eventually they settled on a spot in a rice paddy about 200 metres from me, flitting about busily. Alighting, I set out on foot to get closer. The dry caked mud of winter was replaced by soggy ground and I had to step carefully. Just as I was wondering how to negotiate the next thin ail through the muddy field, luck favoured me as the flock landed on a clump of Dhol Kolmi closer to me. I was able to get a few photographs before it took off, this flock of babui, baya weaver, well-known for constructing intricate nests.
Back in the car, we soon hit a rough patch on the dirt road. From here I walked, observing that the lakes, beels and ponds, which had receded in winter and invited shorebirds, were now filled to the brim. Plenty of domestic ducks, geese and swans swam in the waters, but the wild ducks and shorebirds of winter were gone.
Walking past some fisheries, I headed west towards low-lying patches, unsure of what I was looking for. A mongoose saw me and scurried away. Several kids stopped me to inform me it was too late for the birds, come back next winter.
The lotus pond surprised me. It was hidden behind weeds and tall grass. The delicate pink flowers had just started blooming. I was looking at the flowers through the viewfinder when I noticed a subtle change in the light. Looking up, I saw dark clouds had moved in from nowhere. Within a minute the weather had changed. Fortunately the wind blew hard keeping the rain away. I made my way to the car and started back.
Although the clouds threatened and postured, rain did not materialise. Just before sunset the sun broke through enveloping Hail Haor in its golden glow.
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