A date with Padma’s breeding waders in Rajshahi
A field visit to the Padma River’s shifting charlands reveals how ground-nesting waders breed in fragile habitats shaped by erosion, weather and human disturbance
Our boat anchored barely a metre from the shoreline. As soon as I stepped ashore, about half a dozen Small Pratincoles and little terns gathered around. Soon, red-wattled lapwings and little ringed plovers joined them. Chaos erupted overhead. For a moment, it felt inevitable that one of these relentless bomb-divers would strike me.
Just a few metres away, several pratincoles began broken-wing displays, a classic distraction behaviour. When a predator approaches their nests or chicks, the birds pretend to be injured, dragging a wing or limping to lure it away.
As the predator follows the injured bird, expecting an easy catch, the birds keep a careful distance, staying just out of reach and drawing the threat away from the nest or chicks. It is an effective survival strategy. Of course, the attacks directed at me appeared more defensive than truly harmful.
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Accompanied by Babu, the birder and guide, I began searching for the ground nests that had drawn me to this island.
A night journey to the Padma
It was hot, humid and relentlessly sweaty. The heat felt even more intense as I had sacrificed my sun-protection hat to shield my camera from overheating. I was walking across freshly formed charlands a few kilometres south of the Rajshahi University campus, along a stretch of the Padma River that borders India.
The search required patience
Nearly 99% of the nests existed only in name. They were shallow depressions, just a few centimetres deep. Most were pre-existing pits left by receding floodwaters from the previous monsoon, slightly refined by the birds pressing their bodies against the edges. No nesting materials were used.
My journey began the previous night. I left Dhaka at midnight amid heavy traffic. With Kallyanpur effectively a "no-entry" zone for interdistrict buses, I had to navigate congested routes near Gabtoli. The situation was confusing, with little guidance for passengers trying to locate their bus counters.
Eventually, I found my 11:45pm Rajshahi-bound AC bus, still waiting for delayed passengers. Once it departed, the journey was smooth, and we reached Rajshahi around sunrise. From there, I made my way to a boat station near the Keshabpur area.
The southern portion of the island had a firmer surface, becoming softer near the waterline. A clear gradient of vegetation was visible. Dense, wet growth near the shoreline, dominated by water hyacinth, gradually gave way to grasses, creeping plants, herbs and scattered shrubs further inland.
Across two islands, we found five pratincole nests containing a total of nine eggs. Clutch sizes ranged from one to three eggs. On average, the eggs weighed about 10 grams and measured 32 mm in length and 22.5 mm in breadth, slightly larger than some reported ranges in the literature.
Walking the ephemeral charlands
With the river flowing west to east, India lay to the south and Rajshahi town to the north. The terrain was uneven, marked by hardened mud projections and shallow depressions. Walking barefoot was nearly impossible, forcing me to return to the boat to retrieve my heavy-soled waterproof boots — a decision that proved useful during nearly ten hours of fieldwork across two islands.
Even before we anchored the boat, the birds had begun swooping overhead. The island, temporary in nature, will likely disappear beneath metres of water in the next monsoon or re-emerge in an altered form.
A landscape between river and desert
By 6 am, after a hurried breakfast, I boarded Babu's boat. A birding prodigy of Rajshahi, he is both an exceptional birder and a skilled guide. As our noisy diesel engine pushed us downstream, we hoped for a rewarding encounter with breeding char-dwelling waders.
The morning was misty and overcast—hardly ideal for birding. But as we moved deeper into the field, the sky gradually cleared, offering manageable sunlight. By the end of the day, the temperature would climb to nearly 37.8°C.
After about an hour's ride, we reached an island—more a large promontory, as its northern edge connected to land near Kazla. The central portion was slightly elevated, sloping gently southwards. Toward the north, it flattened into vast sandy stretches merging with the bank. Looking eastward, the expanse resembled desert landscapes I had known in Dubai for decades.
Nests that are barely nests
Amid constant alarm calls and dive-bombing, we soon located our first small pratincole nest — three eggs laid on bare ground, well camouflaged. The nest was little more than a shallow scrape in sandy soil, with no nesting material. The buff-coloured eggs, speckled with dark blotches, blended with the surroundings.
This and four other nests measured approximately 7–10 cm in diameter, with depths ranging from 1 to 2.5 cm. Their irregular shapes further enhanced concealment against the earthy background.
Measuring life in fragile beginnings
We began taking measurements. Egg length and breadth were recorded using a slide calliper, and weight was measured with a Pesola spring balance accurate to 1 gram. Nest dimensions were also noted.
As we leaned closer, faint pipping sounds could be heard from within the eggs, indicating that chicks were preparing to hatch. One egg, in particular, showed more frequent and louder pips, suggesting imminent hatching.
Across two islands, we found five pratincole nests containing a total of nine eggs. Clutch sizes ranged from one to three eggs. On average, the eggs weighed about 10 grams and measured 32 mm in length and 22.5 mm in breadth, slightly larger than some reported ranges in the literature.
For little terns, average egg measurements were around 30 mm × 22 mm, with a weight of about 10 grams. The largest eggs belonged to Red-wattled Lapwings (41 mm × 31 mm, 24 g), while the smallest were those of Little Ringed Plovers (25.5 mm × 19.5 mm, 9.9 g).
The second island: A breeding stronghold
After completing work on the first island, where hatching appeared imminent, we moved on.
The second island, about 3 km downstream, was larger and had more breeding activity. It stretched roughly 3 km eastward and 1 km westward. Nesting density was significantly higher, with eggs, chicks and vigilant parents observed across the island. Continuous mobbing by birds forced us to work quickly and carefully.
Within the first hour, we located five Little Tern nests, four pratincole nests, and one nest each of little ringed plover and red-wattled lapwing. After recording measurements, we installed several cameras to monitor parental behaviour and revisited the sites every two hours.
Witnessing the moment of birth
Later, as Babu and our companion rested, I continued photographing under the sun until it began to set. It was time to revisit the first nest, where three pratincole eggs were expected to hatch.
We returned quickly. One egg had already cracked open, with a visible break revealing the chick struggling to emerge. The other two continued pipping.
It was the right moment to conclude the day.
We returned to the boat ghat, and I began my journey back, boarding an evening bus to Dhaka and aiming to reach the capital by midnight.
Dr Reza Khan is a wildlife, zoo and safari park management and conservation specialist.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
