The Flight Plan

Nesting Grounds

• India has lost 99.9% of its vultures; less than 60,000 remain
• Many died after consuming the cattle drug, diclofenac, depriving us of efficient waste managers
• They are now bred in captivity, to protect them from the drug and to increase their numbers
• This has taken off in Pinjore, with eggs hatched in artificial incubators, as well as naturally

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With the hatching of A07 (now followed by the births of three more artificially incubated ones and five naturally born chicks) at this first-of-its-kind vulture breeding centre in India, hopes have been raised of arresting the steep decline in the bird’s numbers. With vultures almost dying out since the ’90s after consuming the chemical diclofenac (now banned)—commonly used in painkillers for cattle and deadly for vultures feeding on their carcasses—breeding them in captivity is now their one big hope of survival. Indeed, Prakash, principal scientist of the Pinjore programme, set up by the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS), calls it a “desperate measure” to keep vultures safe from the drug, while attempting to increase their numbers. (Diclofenac will hopefully be completely phased out in the next five years.) Conservationist and film-maker Mike Pandey concurs: “With 99.9 per cent of our vultures gone, scientific intervention in breeding centres is the only hope of restoring the population. This needs to be done in every state.”

The centre uses a method called “double clutching”. A vulture lays only one egg at a time but if that egg is removed from its nest within 10-15 days of laying, the confused mother will lay another egg. The first one is put into an artificial incubator and monitored round the clock till it hatches. It’s a long, painstaking procedure involving constantly controlling the temperature in the incubation unit, and rolling the egg around from time to time—but delicately, and only halfway—just as the mother or father bird would do. It’s vital, Nikita tells us, to prevent the egg not just from cracking but also getting infected. “In fact,” she says, “it’s as tricky as bringing up a baby.” Artificial incubation is commonly used on poultry farms, but the stakes there are much lower since there is no scarcity of eggs. “Here,” says Nikita, “we just can’t afford to lose an egg.” To compound matters, vultures are also slow breeders—a pair can take years to give birth to a healthy baby.

So, while the vulture may well be a forgotten link in the foodchain elsewhere in India, it is the king in Pinjore. No effort has been spared to make the centre’s 127 residents, captured from Gujarat, Maharashtra, Delhi, Assam and Madhya Pradesh, feel at home. They are fed on goat meat twice a week, live in large, roomy aviaries and even though  electricity supply is erratic in the nearby villages, there’s round-the-clock power back-up here to keep incubators running without a glitch. What’s more, CCTV cameras are fitted in each aviary to study the big bird’s behaviour. As Prakash puts it, “Breeding vultures needs a great amount of dedication. We’re here for a purpose and that is to increase their numbers.”

The irony is that the very humans who fiercely guard these carrion eaters, and nurture them like their own children, must be seen as little as possible by the birds—strictly only when the aviaries are cleaned twice a year. The faintest sign of attachment can prove dangerous for both birds and carers after the vultures are released into the wild. They might, Prakash explains, become overly dependent for food, and not learn to fend for themselves; may even attack their care-givers. 

But perhaps a peek wouldn’t hurt? We make our way through the slush to a nursery aviary where through the crack in the bamboo panelling we spot a nestling perched high on a concrete slab. Sensing our presence after a few minutes, it flaps its wings furiously and flies out of sight into a safe corner. “Their common strategy to ward off predators is to start vomiting and releasing strong-smelling bile that will force anybody to retreat,” says Prakash. Hastily, we back off.

It’s safer, and quite fascinating, to watch their movements on CCTV. The aviaries are open to the sky, albeit with a mesh to protect them from visiting leopards. The drizzling, humid afternoon seems to have caused a lull; the birds are not moving about much, as they tend to do, we are told, on other occasions. The hatched chicks, now fledglings, are just about learning to make short flights; or are nestling cosily in artificially created perches in the nursery aviary, each clearly possessive about its favourite spot.