The Beauty of Birds in the Rains at Tadoba National Park

Most people avoid visiting National parks and Wildlife sanctuaries during the monsoon, and understandably so, as the core zones of the jungles are closed to visitors. Few, however, realise that the buffer zones remain open. Knowing this, I set my sights on Tadoba National Park in Chandrapur district, Maharashtra. The 400 km drive from Hyderabad was an open-road invitation I couldn’t resist, rain or no rain. If the skies decided to drench me during a safari, so be it. Armed with my container of cameras and obviously there was a rain coat and umbrella to keep out that intermittent drizzle.

When the first monsoon clouds rolled over Tadoba, the forest seemed to exhale. The brittle, sun-baked browns of summer melted into an endless expanse of greens. Once-dry nullahs brimmed with pools of fresh rainwater, Sal and Teak leaves dripped with diamond-like droplets, and the very air pulsed with the intoxicating scent of wet earth. The transformation was so dramatic, so complete, it felt as though the land itself had been reborn and only shades of lush greens were visible. In this rebirth, it is the birds that take centre stage. The monsoon in Tadoba is not only the realm of prowling Tigers or the watchful eyes of Sambar and Chital, it is the season when feathers outshine fur, when the forest becomes an open-air amphitheatre for a spectacular avian performance.

Birds greet the rains with an infectious energy, their joy both audible and visible. For many, this is the season of courtship and breeding, their plumage glows richer, their calls more insistent, as if they too cannot resist the romance in the air. The Indian Pitta, secretive for most of the year, suddenly appears on the damp forest floor, its emerald, sapphire, and crimson plumage gleaming like scattered jewels. With its sweet, rhythmic call, the Pitta is the herald of the rains, its colours mirroring the fresh monsoon palette of the forest.

Peacocks, those timeless emblems of grace, seem to come alive like never before. In clearings and along misty forest tracks, they unfurl their celestial fans, shimmering with iridescent blues and greens, and dance with a regal flamboyance. The patter of rain on leaves becomes the percussion to their performance, and the wild mango trees stand witness as they call out in echoing notes that carry far into the drenched canopy.

By the swollen streams, kingfishers claim their own spotlight. The Common, White-throated, and Pied varieties perch like ornaments against the grey drizzle, their plumage electrifying in its brightness. Then, in a flash of movement, they dive with surgical precision, re-emerging with a fish that glistens briefly before disappearing down a slender throat. Drongo, Bulbuls, and Iora fill the misty mornings with a cheerful racket, their voices rising above the steady drizzle, while Barbets and Cuckoos keep up a patient, rhythmic chorus. If that was not enough, the Racquet Tailed Drongo went about strutting its long tail feathers just the like the Paradise fly catchers.

Tadoba’s quieter wetland pockets, Kolsa, Telia, and other rain-fed meadows, become sanctuaries for monsoon-loving waterbirds. Painted storks and Open-billed storks wade elegantly through the shallows, while Indian Spot-billed Ducks paddle between reeds heavy with rain. Among the grasses, almost invisible until they move, stand the Indian Thick-knees, their large eyes shining with alertness. In the tangles of rain-drenched undergrowth, paradise flycatchers flit past, the white-tailed males streaming long ribbons of grace through the air. Red-wattled lapwings patrol the wet ground with their chicks, fussing over them like attentive teachers. An occasional Purple Heron and Grey Heron played statue with angled neckline to catch lurking fish at their feet.

Even the raptors, those masters of stillness, seem changed by the season. The crested Serpent eagle and the Changeable Hawk-eagle spread their wings wide to dry in brief moments of sun, perched like living sculptures against storm-grey skies. With sudden sweeps over the meadows, they remind the forest that beauty and power are often found in the same frame. My own most unforgettable sighting was of a young Fish Eagle, fresh in its independence, wheeling effortlessly above the rain-silvered landscape and testing perches along the lake’s edge, each movement a study in strength and freedom. Alas their number are endangered and dwindling.

For those willing to brave Tadoba during what many call the “off-season,” the rewards are unmatched. Safaris in the monsoon are unhurried affairs; the forest is quieter, the mist clings low to the ground, and the grass is heavy with dew. The soundtrack is a blend of rain tapping leaves, distant peacock calls, and the liquid notes of the Orange-Headed Thrush or the sudden, insistent cry of the Brain Fever bird.

In these months, birds become the soul of Tadoba’s wilderness. Some dazzle—like the Black-hooded Oriole, a Golden Flame against the greens, while others charm with their understated elegance, relying not on colour but on voice to make themselves known. Together, they turn the monsoon forest into a living, breathing orchestra, a celebration of resilience, courtship, survival, and sheer, unrestrained joy. Seeing five Tigers was of course a bonus but in the subdued light conditions under the cloudy sky photography was a big challenge with long lenses. At the endo of four safaris sighted 119 bird species but managed to click only a few of them.

As you leave Tadoba in the rains, you carry with you not just photographs but the memory of a forest alive with wings, a place where every drop of rain seems to add a note to a song that has been sung for centuries. In the monsoon, Tadoba does not merely host birds. It becomes them.

– N Shiva Kumar