If you observe monkeys, or read accounts by those who do, you’ll find that most of the social life of monkeys centres around grooming. It seems to be as important to monkeys as chatting is to us. I watched the two langurs you can see in the featured photo. The smaller one was initially sitting by itself, when the larger one sauntered by. The smaller was startled, and was ready to run in fright, when the bigger one reached out, pulled it down and began to groom it.
These gray langurs, sometimes called hanuman langurs, have been studied extensively. Much is known of their genetics and social structure. Still, interesting new material comes to light from amateur observation of these herbivorous monkeys. Many interesting new observations are of deception. I wasn’t lucky enough to see anything as interesting as this.
If you spend even a little time in an Indian forest you cannot fail to see an association of Cheetal and langurs. Of course, if amateurs and tourists can spot this, professionals must be writing papers about it. The bottom line seems to be that Cheetal gain from staying around langurs.
We stopped to watch the deer, but my attention turned to the monkeys. After the first incident, which I described above, I saw many more pairs grooming each other. Another encounter was also startling. A smaller monkey ran towards a larger one and hugged it (as you see in the photo). The larger one then started grooming the smaller one. What was it? Mother and older child?
Monkey behaviour is complex enough to be endlessly fascinating.
Nilgai (meaning blue cow) and wild boars are original residents of India. I’ve seen paintings of both these animals in the Bhimbetka caves, so they have been part of the landscape around the earliest humans in India. For all that, they are not very dense on the ground. So one tends to stop and admire them when one comes across an individual.
In Ranthambore I saw a single large male almost as soon as we entered the park. The stately, slaty blue antelope was foraging at the periphery of a herd of Cheetal. The scene was quietly beautiful: the yellow-brown coats of the Cheetal were lit up in the morning sun, whereas the darker Nilgai stood in the shadows of the trees.
As I watched the Nilgai craned its neck up to browse on the low branches of the tree near it. I saw it eating the woody twigs along with leaves and recalled news stories of man-animal conflict because Nilgai ate up crops. Nilgai population outside of these protected areas is very sparse. So talk of Nilgai destroying crops over large areas sounds like a lame excuse to hunt a protected animal.
In recent years the decline in Nilgai populations has reversed, but recent decisions to allow their killing could easily endanger them again. I was happy standing with a group of people gawking at this animal out of our history in such a peaceful setting.
In my mind Cheetal is always associated with the following bad joke: "When is a spotted deer spotted? Only after you spot it, of course." In fact it is born spotted, as you can see from the photo of the very young fawn below.
The jungles of Ranthambore resonated with the agonized call of Cheetal that we came to recognize as the male’s rutting call. All the adult and adolescent males sported full grown antlers. Interestingly, these fall off and are regrown every year. There were also a number of young and year-old fawns in all the herds that we saw. The cheetal can mate all through the year, so the spread in ages was not unusual.
We had a grand view of two adolescent male Cheetal sparring while the dominant male of the herd calmly browsed in the background. The fight did not look serious; the two pushed at each other, and then broke away to continue to browse. I’ve never seen Cheetal badly damaged in a fight, and this is the usual end to a bout.
The previous day we had seen a Cheetal carcass. It had been brought down by a leopard, which came back several times to feed. The park is full of Cheetal, so it is not surprising that here this is the main prey for both leopards and tigers.
I was right at the back of a large open top vehicle called a cantor (I have no idea why a large jeep is named after a singer). When we came to a halt I was one of the last people to figure out that there was a large number of peafowl on the road. It had rained overnight, and there were several pools of water in the road. The bunch of birds must have tired of the worms and grass seeds it had been foraging on, and come to drink the water.
Although peafowl are widespread, I’ve never seen people walk past them without stopping. All twenty of us in the cantor were happy watching these pheasants walking around, drinking water, and generally having a relaxed time. This was not the mating season, so there were none of the fabulous displays that one sees from the male when its trying to attract a female.
Off to one side of the road a couple of these dandies were displaying an aloofness that completely disappears in the mating season. I haven’t seen the red in the plumage before. Since the spectacular blue on the neck, and greens and golds on the tail feathers are all tricks of light (being due to diffraction from the microstructure of the feathers) this colour could be just due to the special angle I happened to see it from.
There doesn’t seem to be anything particularly distinctive about peafowl apart from the colours of the male. So why was it chosen to be the national bird of India? Quora has an interesting discussion on this, One day I must read the record of the deliberations of the committee that made this choice.
We stopped near a peaceful lake on an afternoon in Ranthambore. It took a little while for us to see the crocodiles lying on the bank: you can see them near the reflected glare of the sun in the photo above. They must have just come out of the water and were basking in the sun, warming themselves again.
The Indian fresh water crocodile, also called the mugger, is one of the thirteen species of crocodiles presently found around the world. One of the things about crocodiles that I find really interesting is its jaw. I’ve often seen them sleeping with their mouths open. Apparently this is a way for them to cool off, like the panting of dogs. Their jaws can exert a pressure fifty times more than ours, so for crocodiles biting through a leg is probably as easy as biting through an apple is for us. But they have very little strength in opening their jaws; even a rubber band can keep one from opening. This must be the esoteric knowledge that crocodile wrestlers use.
When I saw a crocodile glide through the water (photo above) it was not hard to imagine that it can get to a speed of over 30 Kms an hour. It looks perfectly adapted to the water. It is a very successful hunter, with acute senses: colour vision, smell and hearing. I’ve never had the luck to see a crocodile make a kill, but I’m told it crushes the victim with its jaws and swallows it whole. I’ve also heard that it swallows small stones to help with digestion. This is entirely believable, because some birds do this, and crocodiles are closely related to birds.
Earlier in the day I’d seen a crocodile motionless on a spit of land jutting out into a lake. Its stomach seemed full. Someone asked whether it had just eaten. No one knew the answer. I searched later but could not figure out how long a crocodile takes to digest food. Did we just miss a kill, or had it fed more than a day ago?
Wild boars are fairly common, so it was strange that I had no photos of these animals at all. I’ve always seen them on the run in wildlife sanctuaries; perfectly understandable behaviour from an animal that is a common prey of the leopards and tigers which are the top predators in these places. This weekend in Ranthambore national park I came across a sounder of boars placidly feeding in a meadow. They kept an eye on us, but did not stop eating. I got plenty of time to photograph these wonderfully social animals.
The particular individuals that you see in these photos are of the subspecies called Sus scrofa cristatus (India harbours yet another subspecies). They are omnivores, and have been photographed feeding not only on roots (as here), but also on carrion. This sounder had no tiny squeakers, which probably means either that the mating season is on, or that it is not yet four months past. Since there was no tusked male in sight, I guess the mating season could have finished. As I took photos I wondered about the ease with which these wild animals treated us. This was so different from what I’ve seen before.
If there is one thing, just one thing, that every visitor remembers about Ranthambore national park, it must be the Rufous Treepie. They are common around the park and inside. The harsh call of a treepie is one of the loudest sounds you hear, and you hear it often. This colourful bird is a member of the crow family: clever, aggressive, not choosy about what it eats, and often flies away with a large amount of food, presumably to store it in a hiding place. When I visit Ranthambore, practically the only thing I’m sure of is that I’ll have a couple of good photos of this bird. Treepies are fairly common across India, and all the way south-east to Vietnam, but they perhaps interact most with humans in this national park.
How aggressive is it? The photo above gives you an idea. Inside the park animals are very safe from humans, and some misguided tourists even feed these birds. The result is that whenever it sees a human it swoops down aggressively for a treat. At times this is dangerous, because monkeys have learnt to pay attention to these calls. Of course, monkeys are more intelligent and aggressive, so the appearance of a treepie is often a prelude to chaos, as a combined troop of treepies and monkeys attack a vehicle full of humans.
It turns out that humans are not unintelligent, and in recent years they’ve largely stopped feeding these birds. The fact that they still try to seek food is probably an indication that there are still some humans who continue to distribute packaged food to wild animals. A treepie’s normal diet largely consists of insects and carrion, and a little fruit. I wonder what the transfats and high fructose corn starch from biscuits does to the birds.
The last week came with a long weekend. I took the time out to travel with friends to Ranthambore national park. We flew into Jaipur and drove for three hours. The weather was worse than I’d expected when I looked at the prediction the previous night. The afternoon temperature was 15 degrees Celsius and we drove through a thunderstorm. The Family remarked "If the weather does not change, we aren’t going to see any tigers." The Victor was very cheerfully replied, "We aren’t going to see them anyway."
We were on a four-lane divided highway, with a very monotonous vista of scrub land around us. The light was dull and we were deep in conversation about the merits of Ranthambore as a national park when suddenly we spotted camels on the horizon. Not one, but a whole herd of domesticated camels were on their way towards us. We knew we were in Rajasthan. The desert of thirty years ago is slowly giving way to agriculture as canals and irrigation systems reshape the land, but camels remain ubiquitous in the towns of Rajasthan.
Traffic rules do not seem to apply to camels. The bunch spilled over more than one lane as it travelled the wrong way down the highway. I had a quick glimpse of one of the camel drivers as we moved past the herd. I’m told that traditional social and caste divisions in Rajasthan can be read off from the way the turban is tied. I’m a non-starter in reading these signs.
We settled back for another couple of hours of monotony, with the heavy rain drumming on the car. But the camels had energized us. I had my camera in my hand and was looking around for more signs that we were driving through rural Rajasthan. Tractors overloaded with hay waiting on the side of the road are common all over India. There’s nothing about it which spells Rajasthan. But we also sped past congregations of men with large turbans and a very few women, with faces completely covered, which told us where we were. By late afternoon the weather cleared up, and we passed Sawai Madhopur station and turned into the road to the Ranthambore national park and our hotel.
Of course, camel carts shared the road with tractors and jeeps.