Subtle Symphony of Bhigwan

Where the sky meets wings and wilderness

One fine day, we rolled out at 4 a.m., long before sunup, giving ourselves time for relaxed tea halts, roadside banter and comforting rustle of snack packets which is part of any Indian highway journey. The road ahead lay quiet, still wrapped in pre-dawn indigo, while our spacious vehicle hummed steadily under the weight of camera gear, tripods, beanbags, binoculars and luggage packed with more excitement than clothes. We had promised ourselves four action-packed, indulgent safaris at Bhigwan, and the cosy little hotel near the highway seemed the perfect anchorage for our birding odyssey.

Most travellers speak of Bhigwan as if it were a single dot on the map. But step into its geography and a far more intricate mosaic reveals itself. The region is a living tapestry where grasslands, drylands, wetlands and agricultural fields merge into a grand stage of life. Rashin, Kadbanwadi, Baramati etc. each grassland patch lies about 40 km away in a different direction, each harbouring its own specific wilderness and wildlife. Only the backwaters sit close to town, a short, breezy drive away, unfolding suddenly into a vast, shimmering expanse that seems to swallow the horizon whole. An open-boat rides ferry you straight into the kingdom of the water birds and waders, unfortunately Bhigwan most iconic visitors, the flamingos were yet to arrive…

We loved Bhigwan so intensely that we returned within a month. Both trips were long but effortless 7-hour drives, about 470 km from Hyderabad, on well-laid national highways just short of 100km from Pune in Maharashtra. The first tourwas in the last week of October, when winter migrants had just begun arriving and the second in late November, when the wetlands were brimming with bird life. Each time, we reached just around lunchtime, freshened up quickly, gobbled our food. By 3 p.m. we were ready with a battery of cameras, tucked our heads in cosy caps and plenty of water to keep us hydrated for the safaris.

Beckoning Backwaters

By the time the clock nudged past three, the golden hour had already begun draping Bhigwan’s backwaters in liquid sunlight. The lake, calm and composed with hardly a ripple, almost sighed in welcome. Every afternoon safari felt like stepping into a world you think you know, only to realise that nature has rearranged the script entirely a bewildering wilderness.

Under the stewardship of Akshay Gaware, one of several local Nature guides at Bhigwan, we were ready to venture into the wilds. A multitalented young lad in his mid-twenties, he comes from a family that not only owns seven boats but also the lakeside land and the jetty. An enthusiastic naturalist with a keen eye, Akshay knows his birds, beasts, and the lay of the land with effortless confidence. Always cheerful, always multitasking, he would single-handedly ease the wooden vessel off the shore, the oar slicing through the still water in a soft, unhurried rhythm. A mild, earthy fragrance wafted from the wetlands, one of those scents you soon learn to associate with life itself. The lake stretched ahead like a giant mirror, holding clouds, colours, birds, and time suspended on its glassy surface.

Soon, the migratory ducks began their symphony, beautifully juxtaposed against the calls of the resident waterbirds. Great masses of Shovelers, Gadwalls, Teals, and Pintails lifted in swirling formations, circling the lake in shimmering ribbons. The sound of hundreds of wings cutting the air is something no camera can truly capture. In their gleaming white plumages, scores of Gulls and Terns hovered over the waters, hungry and hopeful, as the lake was full of fish and life seemed generous that morning.

Closer to the aquatic reeds and weeds, Grey and Purple Herons, long-legged Stilts, Herons, Spoonbills, Painted Storks, delicate as brushstrokes, tiptoed along the waterline. Meanwhilethe beautiful black Cormorants,Coots and Darterssliced the shallow waters with their alert outlooks.Sometimes the Herons and Ibises broke the monotony with sudden, lazy flaps, their reflections trailing them like slow-moving shadows.

The highlight of the evening was the powerful fish-eating raptor, a lone Osprey, its talons curved like heavy hooks and its beak bent like a polished sickle. From a distance it seemed like just another raptor resting, but as our boat drifted closer, its calm silhouette sharpened. In its striking black-and-white plumage and gleaming sharpshooter eyes, it suddenly opened its wings and lifted off. Only then did we realise, with a pleasant surprise, that it was clutching a massive half-eaten fish. The moment felt almost theatrical, nature displaying, with effortless finesse, the eternal dance between hunter and hunted.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the entire lake turned surreal. Thousands of Rosy Starlings gathered, stirring in elegant, synchronized waves until they merged into a single living entity. It was roosting time, and as always, they treated the sky to a prolonged, mesmerizing performance before settling, only to rise again like a fast-moving cloud. They were enacting the celebrated murmurationaexceptional bird behaviour in some species. Their silhouettes, backlit by molten gold, etched a memory we knew would stay with us forever.

It wasn’t just birdwatching, it was a timeless performance, delicate yet powerful, stirring emotions we didn’t know we carried. A moment where wilderness, rhythm, and raw beauty blended seamlessly across the open water world.

Gossamer Grasslands

If the backwaters of Bhigwan are poetry, then the grasslands are its prose, raw, earthy, unvarnished, and gloriously unpredictable. At Rashin and Kadbanwadi grasslands, early mornings and long evenings stretched out like sepia-toned frames. Tall, tawny grasses swayed with an ancient rhythm, hiding secrets that revealed themselves only to patient, observant eyes. Step into these rolling hills and plains and suddenly the landscape begins to breathe, alive with untold episodes from the wild.

Montagu’s, Pallid, and Marsh Harriers performed low sweeping flights, barely inches above the ground, scanning for the slightest quiver of life below. Their wings sliced through the stillness like silent arrows of dusk, offering no hint of their presence. Overhead, Kestrels, the other raptors, held their signature pose, hovering motionless in midair, every feather taut with concentration as they studied the earth for the faintest flick of prey.

Thousands of Larks appeared and disappeared in a heartbeat, hopping, skittering, and scurrying with nervous bursts of energy. With a near threatened status worldwide the elegantIndian Coursers either scampered away or froze into perfect statues. Only our long lenses, with their relentless eye-tracking precision, caught them posing for us. And then, in a fleeting phantom of movement, the Indian fox would materialize, russet, nimble, elegant, darting between clumps of grass, its bushy tail catching the last gold of the sun like a brush dipped in bronze. At times it would stop and give out a shrill howl like growling scream for its unseen fellow friends. Fascinatingly these Indian Foxes, according to scientists, havenearly 30 different vocalizations calls used for various purposes, it is a language by itself.

One evening, at the cusp of sunset, when the world softened into bluish half-light, we watched groups of migratory Harriers’ drift across the sky like a whisper, silent, smoky, effortless. Unlike many birds, they prefer to rest and roost directly on the grasslands, gathering for a night’s repose under the star-lit sky. That moment, their collective, soundless surrender to darkness, felt worth the entire journey.

Even the wind behaved differently here, as it was crisp, cool, sharper around the edges, tinged with the faint scent of drying earth. The grasslands seemed empty at first glance, yet they offered wonder in the yonder every few minutes, miracles revealed not by movement, but by the simple act of pausing to look. A chinkara would suddenly give us a fleeting view only to vanish into the grasslands in its galloping gait known as stotting.

Nostalgic Nights

Back at the hotel, nights were filled with that familiar hum only birders understand. Cameras gears brushed off the day’s dust. Batteries lined up for charging. Memory cards were swiftly examined with equal parts hope and heartbreak but all downloaded on to hard discs. Silence followed when a particularly stunning frame appeared on someone’s screen. Tea was always brewing so was our anticipation and plans for the next morning were made and remade to satisfy our trigger-happy state of mind.

By 5 a.m., the ritual began again. The world was still asleep, but we were already on the road, driving into that magical hour when the horizon first begins to glow and Bhigwan prepares to unveil yet another day of marvels.

Condescending Conclusion

In the end, Bhigwan became far more than a simple satisfying birding spot. It grew into a pilgrimage, a place that gently resets the senses. Every moment stitched itself into memory, the chilled air of those 4 a.m. starts, the comfort of hot tea in steel flasks, the long straight highways. The first glimpse of the lake through the vegetation, the thrill of spotting a flurry creature in hurry as a blur, the hush that fell every time a thousand wings rose together.

Bhigwan gave us more than sightings. It gave us sorties,momentary, delicate, powerful stories of a wild world functioning in perfect rhythm. Stories of colour, chaos, stillness and movement. A story that made us pause and breathe a little slower or a little faster as per our internal emotions.

As we drove back to Hyderabad, the mind replayed every flight of the raptors or a duck afloat or that rapid mesmerising murmuration, every fox sprint, every hiding Hyena, every quiet moment on the boat when the world seemed to pause.

Rodeos Return Because Bhigwan doesn’t merely show you birds and beasts, it reawakens something within you. It offers a rare stillness, a sense of belonging to something timeless, raw, pure and unhurried… Something far larger than the frantic carousel of everyday life. It reminds you that beyond the choking cities and restless highways lie virgin grasslands, undulating horizons and gentle lakes waiting under the rising sun. And sometimes, in that quietness, a massive raptor, like the Short-Toed Eagle, a Spotted Eagle, a White-eyed Buzzard would be visible. A Shikra or even a lightning-swift Peregrine or Red-Necked Falconmakes a lofty skydive, as if calling you back, urging you to return and witness its wild magic all over again. When the Flamingos fly in about a month’s time, we will certainly ride in like the rodeos into the vast landscape of Bhigwan.

Text and Photographs by
– N.Shiva Kumar