Owl in a Day

Anyone who has seen Hampi can tell you that walking is the only way to enjoy its richness. On my way to Hampi, after my only visit as a young girl fifteen years before, I was determined to walk around all day to make the most of the next two days. Anyone who has seen Hampi will also tell you that two days are nowhere enough. So, I was keen to cram in the sights as much as possible. Not only was the plan ambitious, but it was also somewhat futile. The heat of early March is a good preview of the unforgiving summer that is just around the corner. By midmornings, the skies can turn blinding white and the boulders punishing to look at. (At this point, a wise guide will advise you that this is the time to stay within the rock structures where the temperature drops a few notches — the temples, the mandapas — and enjoy the carved stories on pillars and walls). So, enjoying the scenic landscape of Hampi meant planning an early start around dawn and wrapping up a good while after sunset.

 

The rolling hills glowed with a reddish hue around sunrise. I had planned to walk along the river to view the sun rising behind the boulders lined by coconut fronds. My path first took me along a dry-as-a-bone bottomless ravine before I caught up with lush fields along the plains. A flock of Woolly-necked storks sailed gracefully across the sky, seemingly surveying the length of the rift. From several feet below in the rocky ravine came a familiar cheek-eek-eek-eek, as a blue streak flew across the walls. A white-throated kingfisher landed on a bare branch of a tree leaning out horizontally across the gorge. As my eyes followed the little bird across its flight, I became aware of being watched.

 

Unnerved, I changed focus from the little blue bird to the big fiery eyes fixed in a rock staring at me with what I could only imagine as disapproval. I realised the ‘rock’ had a feathery outline of an eagle owl. Two long tufts of ‘ears’ hung proudly above the face that continued to scrutinise me. I thanked the kingfisher in my mind and pulled the camera out ever so slowly, hoping the bird would stand its ground. It did. The fixed stare had started to make me nervous. The owl was perched on a tiny ledge barely wide enough for it to be tucked in for a good day’s sleep. The shelf was on the opposite wall, at least fifty feet away. I certainly hadn’t barged into its bedroom or rudely interrupted its nap. Or had I? The owl was too alert for that, sharply turning at a sudden sound but bringing its gaze quickly back.