A Summer’s Day

I broke the big rule about going outdoors in summertime, which is to start early. Owing to unexpected traffic, it was almost ten when I reached Satchori National Park. The forest seemed enveloped by heat and humidity and I heard few bird calls.

Near the entrance, I caught movement in a tree trunk and looked closer. From a cavity, a parrot hatchling was peeking out. Summer means that birds have mated, laid eggs and perhaps hatched them. Thinking the mother might come to feed its baby, I decided to observe it discreetly. The baby popped expectantly every few minutes until the mother appeared. It was a Plum-headed Parakeet. Using its four toes - two facing front and two facing rear - it perched vertically on the trunk at cavity entrance and fed the hatchling. Then, surprise, another head appeared in the cavity: there were two hatchlings! The mother continued feeding them.

I trudged along the park’s main trail and climbed the broad stairs leading to the base of the watchtower. A few bulbuls appeared along the way, but the highlight was a hungry Pygmy Grey-headed Woodpecker frantically pecking at branches and peeking under large teak leaves for his morning meal. Once I had climbed the ninety-four steps of the tower and looked out, the sight of waves of deep green modulated by splashes of yellow Sonalu and red Krishnachura instantly relieved my exhaustion.

Two hours atop the watchtower netted me no interesting bird. Climbing down, I hiked into the forest.

It’s funny how winter makes you forget about the little details of summer, such as insects. On this day they boldly made their presence known on the forest floor. The loud, staccato noise of Jhijhi Poka surrounding me in the forest could hold its own against any of the construction machinery in Dhaka.

I was at a clearing in the forest where the trail split into a Y when I heard a loud rustling. Several Pig-tailed Macaques – adults, juveniles and mothers with babies hanging from their bellies - were making their way through a large Chapalish tree to my left. Proceeding from tree to tree, they crossed over my trail from left to right. More and more monkeys appeared until a herd of perhaps thirty had marched its way through six or seven trees describing a wide U before coming to rest on a large Banyan tree to my right.

They relaxed and stretched out their legs on large branches. Family groups stayed together and became busy grooming each other. A mother carefully looked through the head and limbs of its child perhaps looking for parasitical insects. A larger male – probably the head – sat by himself at a raised corner and languidly watched everything. After the break, the group dissipated into the trees beyond, family by family.

Standing still, however, had made me an attractive target for insects. One such bug, the tiny black mosquito (coinciding with jackfruit season) whose bites grow into large red welts, started tormenting me, biting me in the back out of reach of my fingernails. Added to flying irritants getting into my eyes, red ants climbing over me, and the muggy heat, I decided I had enough and headed back. It had been an uncomfortable but rewarding summer’s day in the forest.

(Note: I had a guide with me. Never go into the forest alone.)

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