Common tailorbird
Photographed by Dileep Permar in Nagar
Young, Hungry Bulbuls in a nest,
Photographed by Dileep Permar in Nagarparkar
The Lives that Through Karoonjhar
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In Nagarparkar, a study recorded 44 butterfly species — including a national first: the Joker (Byblia ilithyia), never before documented in Pakistan. The highest butterfly diversity was found in a single protected site — a quiet testament to what can flourish when left undisturbed.
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This is not just a place of creatures, but of deep coexistence. The Jain sages who once made their home in these hills, as remembered by Pundit Chaturlal, moved through the world with reverence. They avoided even striking metal against stone — afraid of harming the smallest beings, the unseen lives underfoot. In their silence was a kind of listening.
And then, with the monsoon rains, come the peacocks. Hundreds of them, dancing across the wet red earth, feeding on their beloved chibbarh, trailing iridescent joy behind them. Their calls echo through the valleys, joined by the bells of camels and the murmurs of migrating birds above. In Sindhi songs — from Sarmad Sindhi and Fozia Soomro to Saif Samejo, in poems by Shaikh Ayaz — the peacocks of Karoonjhar are sung as emblems of longing, of freedom, of sheer delight.
Other lives remain more elusive. Jackals call out at dusk, but vanish before we can see them — wary of humans. Snakes coil in the warmth of the rocks. Red spiders glint against dry leaves. Bald eagles circle above, and in the clear skies, hundreds of murmurs (flocks of starlings) move like smoke, painting the air with motion. It’s a vision that lingers: shimmering, fleeting, and full of grace. Coming back to the city — to Karachi — from such wild, honest freedom felt like returning to a kind of prison.
The human and non-human here are not separate. In the past, shepherds played borindo and changg (jaw's harp) — instruments of wind and earth — believing their vibrations aided digestion and calmed the herd. Now, we find them carrying portable speakers, playing super auto-tuned Bhojpuri-Sounding --Sindhi music that echoes strangely across the open landscape.
We watched herders communicate with camels through sound — distinct vocal calls that make them follow, pause, turn. A language shaped by generations. And among Rajput families, we heard stories about deer — the most sacred of creatures in their eyes. In Sardharo, a tale is told of a woman from Vikasar, who was once a deer in a past life.
The human and non-human here are not separate. In the past, shepherds played borindo and chang (jaw harp) — instruments of wind and earth — believing their vibrations aided digestion and calmed the herd. Now, we find them carrying portable speakers, playing auto-tuned Bhojpuri-Sindhi music that echoes strangely across the open landscape.
Still, there is knowledge here. We watched herders communicate with camels through sound — distinct vocal calls that make them follow, pause, turn. A language shaped by generations. And among Rajput families, we heard stories about deer — the most sacred of creatures in their eyes. In Sardharo, a tale is told of a woman who was once a deer in a past life. To harm a deer is more than a crime — it’s a betrayal of the land’s spirit.
Nearby, in the Rann of Kutch, flamingos still arrive by the hundreds to feed in the salt lakes. Other birds, once common, are now rare on this side of the border. Conservation has fared better across the border in Gujarat, India — a truth we must learn from.
And still, despite all this change, the land remembers. The shapes of the hills and the open, golden stretches below recall a prehistoric savannah — a landscape older than history, pulsing with memory. This isn’t just a record of species. It is a living story of kinship, memory, and what it means to truly be awake to the world.
Written by Pakkhee (Areesha Khuwaja), Producer @ Lahooti
Photographed by Dileep Permar of Karoonjhar Photography
[1/5/2025 | Bhodesar, Nagarparkar]
