According to ancient Indian mythology, the cosmos is divided into seven concentric islands, which are separated by the seven encircling oceans, each double the size of the preceding one. And situated in the centre of this concentric scheme is
Jambudvipa—where ordinary human beings live.
Although there are different interpretations as to what land area exactly
constitutes Jambudvipa, it is generally understood that it refers to the Indian peninsular. [According to the
Great Chronical, Emperor Ashoka's emisary to Sri Lanka, who introduced Buddhism to
Thambrapanni (ancient Sri Lanka) in the 3rd century B.C., mentioned to the Sri Lankan King, Devanampiyatissa, that he is from Jambudvipa—referring to the Indian mainland.]
Jambudvipa literally means, "the island of Jambul fruits."
Jambul is scientifically known as
Syzygium cumini, and belongs to the botanical family, Myrtaceae. It is an evergreen tree that grows to a height of around 25 metres. This tree is native to Indian subcontinent, including Sri Lanka; and South East Asia. One of its common English names Java plum is derived from its presence in South East Asia; it probably reached there through colonial channels.
In Sri Lanka,
Syzygium cumini goes by the name,
Maadan (මාදන්/මාදං) in Sinhala.
According to my observations, June-July marks the peak flowering season for
Maadan in Sri Lanka, with August-September being the peak fruiting season. I was able to experience both these seasonal specials during my visits to the dry zone this year.
In early July, while guiding some guests in the dry zone, I had a lot of time "to kill," especially in the mornings. This was because they preferred to take the mornings easy. Luckily for me, the
Maadang were bursting in flower
. So I chose to hang around these amazing dry zone trees, hoping to photograph the "rush hour" traffic in the morning. One slight hitch, however, was the flowers were about 15-25m high up from the ground—a bit too high up for my liking.
I ideally wanted to reach upto a level so that I have the flowers more or less at eye level. As some of you may unhesitatingly concede, I am not quite the arboreal type.
I have long progressed on my evolutionary path.
What I needed was a tall building next to few of the these flowering trees. After a bit of searching, I found the perfect spot in the hotel we stayed—Heritance Kandalama—at level 5! The photographic essay that follows is a testament to my strategy, planning and execution. And silliness, not enjoying the lie-ins.
Butterflies were the biggest shareholders profitting from the blooming business. This Common Rose
Pachliopta aristolochiae was slow and graceful in its movements.
There was definitely an air of confidence to the way it carried itself. And there are reasons for this.
The caterpillar of this
butterfly feeds on the poisonous vines in the genus
Aristolochia. So the winged adult too is packed with
poison as result. This is distasteful for predators, and they escape predation because of this. Common to such "nasty" butterflies is the slow and confident demeanour. Which is a way of advertising their potent nature—giving predators enough time to observe clearly to avoid them.
Sri Lanka Birdwing
Troides darsius—Sri Lanka's national butterfly, and the largest, with a wing span of around 7 inches—looked to own the air. It rarely stopped on one flower cluster for long. Instead, it preferred to patrol its wider territory, keeping its options open. The caterpillars of Sri Lanka Birdwings too feed on the same vines as above, and the body of the winged adult is similarly packed with poisons. Their wing-shiver behaviour while feeding was a mesmerizing sight, but posed a mild challenge for photography.
Common (Indian) Crow
Euploea core asela were the most numerous in the scene.
It was bullied by the supersized Sri Lanka Birdwing—which
bulldozed its way like a Jonah Lomu.
Coming in small but steady numbers to this drinking party were Blue Tiger
Tirumala limniace. Slow and confident, this species too have poisonous body juices, and is left alone by birds, and predators that usually feed on flying insects.
Several birds came to feed on the insects drawn to the flowers. This Asian Paradise Flycatcher female was one of them that vied for my attention. It was successful it hunting a few "yellows"—butterflies that were less dangerous.
A well-endowed mate of its, sporting a tail plus tailstreamers measuring easily over a foot, showed up briefly. It didn't appear as bold as the female, and disappeared quickly. Or else, I wasn't fast enough.
This Pale-billed Flowerpecker was not too elusive, and obliged, presenting all 7cms of it.
A couple of mammalian visitors too crashed the party. One of them was this Grizzled Giant Squirrel
Ratufa macroura dandolena. It chose to ignore me, and fed the flower buds at close quarters. With a head and body length of 33–40cm and a tail length of 35–41cm, this is squirrel features high on the menu of several birds of prey in the forest, most notably that of the Black Eagle.
When heard at close range, the alarm calls of Grizzled Giant Squirrel (explained by Dr. Eben Goodale as a "blood-curdling scream"), uttered typically after sighting larger eagles that soar above the forest canopy, features third on my list of
jungle noises that send a chill down my spine. The second in this is the breeding call of Spot-bellied Eagle Owl (උලමා)—especially when heard close, with this call piercing through the jungle soundscape at pitch darkness. The first in this list is the trumpetting of Asian Elephant, when it takes you by surprise at close quarters. This also features in another more personal list, but I digress too much now.
Continuing on with mammals, a troop of the endemic
Toque Macaque
Macaca sinica passed through without taking much interest of the bustling activity around it.
Maadan fruit season brings about great scope for social bonding in some quarters in Sri Lanka.
Here are some participants of the last FOGSL trip raiding a tree at Ritigala, with gay abandon, during our
last trip.
I think
Syzygium cumini fully deserves the recognition as
a keystone species.