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Prof Aparajita’s camera unlocks the Sundarbans’ hidden treasure—the small-clawed otter, exclusively for Different Truths.
From where I live, the Sundarbans are quite close by. Yet a trip to the place had been pending for a long time. Everyone knows about the Royal Bengal Tiger of the Sundarbans. But apart from the well-known supremo of mangrove heaven, there is an entire panoply of animals and birds in the delta. And all of those are just as astounding in their variety as they are in beauty.
So, I set out with a group that was out for wildlife photography. It was a wonderful and close-knit team of people who vied with each other in their yen for the wild. It was a homely stay in a homely and not-too-flashy little cottage. The food—home-cooked and healthy—was extremely good. And the hearts of the entire crew were good, too.
Our guide told us that we would keep a lookout for otters that day.
On the second day of the trip, our guide told us that we would keep a lookout for otters that day. This was exciting to me, as I had little idea about the species endemic to the region. So, we set out early in the morning, rueing the fact a little that it was heavily misted up all around. Our boat, a quaint wood and metal vessel that came equipped with its open deck, kitchen, sleeping quarters, and restroom, skimmed through the misty-murky waters of the Vidya River, leaving a trail of white, lacy, frothy wake behind.
Gradually, as the sun made its way up the sky, the mist cleared up and the waters turned an emerald green. Our guide had his eyes glued to his pair of powerful binoculars, keeping a sharp lookout for wildlife of interest.
Then came the sudden cry: ‘Otter! Otter! Otter!’
Then came the sudden cry: ‘Otter! Otter! Otter!’ And we whirled around at him, trying to figure out where exactly his eyes were trained. Looking where he was looking, we caught sight of a dark, sleek head that had popped up from behind the high bank of a creek. But even as we watched, the head dipped and disappeared, even before we could train our cameras on it. Crestfallen, we kept watching in the desperate hope that it would appear again.
And appear it did, and settle, but, behind the tangled roots and branches of the mangrove. As we waited, our boat glided over to a position from where we could see it lazing out there, briefly, from a more-or-less unhindered spot.
I clicked like crazy, and so did my other extremely talented photographer co-enthusiasts.
I clicked like crazy, and so did my other extremely talented photographer co-enthusiasts. Even as we tried to find a better shot, the little creature slipped down from its perch and just vanished before our eyes.
But I had managed to get in a considerably decent shot by then.
And what I could get is now before you. So, here’s presenting the small-clawed otter of the Sundarbans.
Photo by the author
