Hope survives in Kabini | Evolve Back Kabini

We were up before the sun, as always. Our boat arrived at the jetty at the designated hour and we boarded in silence - mostly because the guests were sleepy!

Twenty minutes into the river and the soft breeze soothed our senses beyond words. It was a crisp golden morning in the forests of Kabini, the kind of morning that makes every leaf shimmer and every sound sharper. We had a full house and it was heartening to see parents and kids alike on an early morning boat safari. As we entered the Park the calls of drongos and barbets echoing from a distance, and the rustle of langurs high above, filled the air. Our experienced boatman pointed at a herd of elephants just behind the ring of trees at the periphery, quietly retreating into the shadows.

Instinctively my eyes scanned the horizon through the binoculars, as they always do, seeking movement or a dark silhouette against the soft morning light. That’s when I saw it — a sudden commotion in the distance. A huddle of large dark shapes in a circle, away from the trees. My instinct told me something wild was unfolding there. We steered towards the open patch beyond the grove, and what awaited us was one of the most dramatic spectacles of the wild — a gathering of vultures around a carcass.

Spread out on a dry patch of grass, half shaded by the forest’s edge, lay the carcass of a spotted deer. Around it stood a group of Indian long-billed vultures, with their characteristic pale plumage and prominent bills. They were feeding with methodical precision, their powerful necks plunging deep into the carcass to tear at the flesh, while others waited their turn a few feet away. But what truly caught my attention was a strikingly different figure among them — a red-headed vulture, also known as the Asian King Vulture. Its bald, crimson head glowed in the morning light, almost regal in contrast to the earthy browns of the forest floor.

The King vulture is among the rarest of India’s scavengers today. Once common across the subcontinent, the vultures plummeted from being found in crores to only a lakh. Seeing a King vulture one in Kabini was nothing short of extraordinary. But on second thought, it shouldn’t be an uncommon sight at all. The Red Heads are known to feed on the carcass of ungulates, smaller birds and fish - all of which are available in abundance in the neighbourhood. The green banks of Kabini should be just perfect for them!

Our hero, the King, stood slightly apart from the group of long-billed vultures, maintaining a sense of aloof authority. Its bare red head and neck, deep maroon legs, and glossy dark plumage gave it a striking appearance — as if it had dressed for a solemn ceremony. As the group continued to feast our hero would raise his head high and scan the surroundings with a piercing gaze that reflected both caution and command.

Unlike the gregarious long-billed vultures, which often congregate in dozens around a kill, the red-headed vulture prefers solitude or the company of just one partner. True to that trait, there were only two individuals present that morning — a pair, perhaps mates, sharing the feast in quiet coordination. While the long-billed vultures jostled and hissed over the carcass, the red-headed pair waited their turn, stepping forward only when the others retreated. Once at the carcass, they fed with deliberate, powerful movements, tugging firmly at sinews and strips of meat. Their sharp, hooked beaks and muscular necks made quick work of even the tougher portions. As I watched through my binoculars, I was struck by how the forest seemed to hold its breath in reverence. The scene was both raw and sacred — a reminder of nature’s unbroken cycles of death and renewal.

The vultures, often misunderstood and overlooked, were performing an essential service. They were the forest’s silent custodians, cleansing the land of decay and preventing the spread of disease. Without them, the delicate balance of the ecosystem would crumble. But the cruel truth is that we subject them to hatred and treat them with disgust - just as we neglect the sewage cleaners and sanitation workers. Anything ugly is often mistaken for dirty or filthy and thereafter neglected. Anyone ugly is also treated the same. And that includes these poor vultures - victims of our pointless prejudice.

The red-headed vulture, Sarcogyps calvus, is a medium-sized raptor but one that commands presence far beyond its stature. Unlike the larger Himalayan griffons or the slender Egyptian vultures, its proportions are stockier, and its features more intense. It prefers open areas, semi-deserts, and dry scrublands, keeping its distance from human settlements.

The pair we were observing had likely nested somewhere deep in the forest, perhaps atop a tall teak tree. Red-headed vultures build large stick nests on high branches, where they raise a single chick in a season, carefully guarding it from predators and disturbances.

Their diet, like that of other scavengers, is composed mostly of carrion and contrary to popular belief they don’t swoop in and brutally murder other birds for a quick meal. Their wary nature keeps them away from human activity. It is perhaps this very trait — coupled with the shrinking of wilderness areas and poisoning of carcasses — that has contributed to their decline. Once widespread across India, they are now critically endangered, with only isolated populations persisting in the Himalayan foothills, parts of Assam, and a few reserves like Kabini and Bandipur where wild prey is abundant.

As the morning rolled on slowly our boat drifted slightly, and we stood with our cameras and binoculars glued to our faces. We watched the red-headed vultures for over an hour. The sun climbed higher, and one by one, the long-billed vultures began to retreat to the tall trees nearby. The red-headed pair lingered a little longer, picking at the last scraps before flapping heavily up to a bare branch overlooking the clearing. There they sat side by side, wings slightly open to the breeze, letting the morning warmth dry the blood from their feathers. It was a sight both solemn and magnificent — two survivors of a vanishing lineage, perched like sentinels over the forest.

We sailed back finally, with excited conversations filling the air. It was then that I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the encounter. In that fleeting hour, I had witnessed not just the drama of predator and prey, but the sacred continuity of life itself.

The vultures, so often maligned or ignored, stand for resilience. Their presence in Kabini was a sign that the forest still breathed in balance. These endangered birds came as a reminder of what we stand to lose if we let prejudice and negligence replace the echo of their beating wings.

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