Hornbill Homecoming

This is the first-time in my life that I spotted  pied hornbills; four of them, having their morning sun-raiser, as they prepared to fly out to meet the requirements of their day. It was a typical  Corbett morning in late December, cold and misty,  but by 8am, the sun does make a grand  appearance and wash the  gray off the skies, unveiling the beginnings of a  baby blue.  The hornbills sat on a Jacaranda tree, finished with flowering and having dispersed  all of its seedpods, retaining  only a few  petioles with fernlike pinnate leaves. Its tall, spread out branches provided the hornbills  with a wonderful overview  of  possible flight routes. I know nothing of the habits of the pied hornbill,  having only stumbled upon  one solitary gray hornbill  at IIC and another  in Jaipur. Both these birds had flown away, showing little desire to linger and introduce themselves.

 This time round, I could gaze at these pretty robust-sized birds, much larger than the magpie robins, mynahs or pigeons I usually encounter, and continue to admire their beaks and plumage because their backs were turned to me. They sat calmly, unlike the usually garrulous and restless babbler crowd. Initially, all the birds gazed out into the horizon, but  the two  birds on the right began to gaze over their shoulder, responding to some commotion  in the  neighboring mango tree. Lo and behold,  a trio of sand coloured baby monkeys  were climbing up the leafy branches of the mango and  steadfastly  making their way up to the Jacaranda.  The bird sitting on the lower branch took off, without a backward glance. The two birds to the right continued to watch for the  baby monkeys speeding up to the jacaranda, finding footholds on the trunk and on  thinner branches and when they felt the monkeys were too close for comfort, turned, clutched their perch  in the manner of  race-worthy cyclists, dived off the tree and were airborne. One hornbill continued to wait, doubtful perhaps that the baby rhesus could reach a branch that was so high up.  In a matter of seconds one little rhesus stood at the intersection of the trunk  with the branch. So hornbill number four hastily sprinted off its perch. The other two little macaques, following the leader, decided to jump back to the mango tree, break off orange green leaves and chew on them.

The jacaranda tree emptied out and became a silent spectator. The macaque troops had swelled with the  addition of  older siblings and an indignant parent; all of them began to frolic and  forage amid verdant mango foliage. Watching this live-show from the sidelines, ensconced on a sofa behind enormous french windows,  provided  a stretched  hotspot of joy. Were the  little monkeys playing  a game with the hornbills? Is this the way that different species communicate? Nadeem, who drove us into the forest mentioned that  monkeys  often broke leafy branches for the deer to partake of. A  birdwatching stroll the previous evening had drawn attention to the nest of a pair of hornbills atop a tall fish-tail palm, near the Tree Top restaurant. Possibly they flew down  from there to this tree every morning. I found them on the Jacaranda tree again the following morning, but they flew off  before the charge of the primates began. Not finding the hornbills at their perch, four tiny primates peered into my room, pressing their forms against the glass and standing on the narrow wooden frame,  trying to make sense of a slow moving dormant  species.  When I tried  to take a picture with my cell phone camera, hoping to preserve  near human expressions digitally,  they scampered off, returning with an older sibling or parent, to subject me to yet another momentary scrutiny. After a few minutes of this, they left in search of more promising adventures.