For Sarus, hope glides over drying waters of Dhanauri wetland

For years, birders and activists have demanded that Dhanauri be officially notified as a wetland under Indian law—something that, astonishingly, still hasn’t happened. They also want it declared a Ramsar site under the international convention that provides legal protection to wetlands critical to biodiversity. But caught in bureaucratic limbo, Dhanauri’s status remains unclear

The Dhanauri wetland lay subdued under the amber haze of early evening, its once-teeming waters now reduced to scattered pools glinting faintly beneath a sky tinged with the orange of the setting sun. The usual symphony of bird calls had dwindled to a quiet murmur, as if the wetland itself had grown weary of being ignored.

Discovered around 2014 by a group of birders, the site isn’t a classic wetland ringed by forests or fed by rivers. (Arvind Yadav/HT PHOTO)

Into this fading light stepped Anand Arya, 78, a seasoned birder long credited with discovering this very wetland. Though retired from active birding and advocacy for nearly five years, the alarming news of Dhanauri’s decline had stirred something deep within him. When Hindustan Times asked him to visit the site once more, he agreed—not out of obligation, but out of love. He wanted to see for himself what had become of the sanctuary he once championed.

An hour passed in silence. Then, just as the light softened into gold, a long, throaty call rang out from the distance. It was faint, but unmistakable to a trained ear. Arya stopped. “That’s Sarus,” he said without hesitation, eyes scanning the horizon. The call repeated, slightly closer now.

“Oh, come out now. Don’t make us wait. It’s just me,” he called softly, with the gentle familiarity of someone greeting an old friend.

Half an hour later, they arrived. A pair of Sarus cranes—tall, stately, with slow, deliberate wingbeats—glided in and landed near a shallow pool. In the next few minutes, more followed. Soon, at least four pairs stood scattered across the wetland, their red heads stark against the dull greens and browns of the land.

For a place thought to be falling silent, the moment felt almost defiant. “This wetland isn’t gone yet,” Arya said quietly, his gaze fixed on the birds. The Sarus had returned. And for now, so had Dhanauri.

Just two weeks earlier, the wetland on the south of Greater Noida had all but dried up, causing alarm among birders and conservationists across Delhi-NCR. Social media threads filled with images of cracked earth and abandoned nests. But a week of rain and an urgent intervention—reopening a vital irrigation channel—brought water back, and with it, a tentative pulse of life.

For years, birders and activists have demanded that Dhanauri be officially notified as a wetland under Indian law—something that, astonishingly, still hasn’t happened. They also want it declared a Ramsar site under the international convention that provides legal protection to wetlands critical to biodiversity. But caught in bureaucratic limbo, Dhanauri’s status remains unclear.

The Sarus crane, listed as “vulnerable” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), is the tallest flying bird in the world. India is home to the world’s largest population of Sarus cranes, most of them in Uttar Pradesh, where the bird is also the state symbol. But its habitat is shrinking—threatened by expanding agriculture, urbanisation, and water mismanagement.

At Dhanauri, these dangers have become acute.

Discovered around 2014 by a group of birders, the site isn’t a classic wetland ringed by forests or fed by rivers. It began as a depression among wheat fields where runoff water lingered, creating a shallow marsh. That accidental geography proved perfect for the Sarus. At its peak, birders reported over 150 Sarus cranes gathered here—possibly the highest number seen together anywhere in India.

Nikhil Devasar, one of the organisers of Delhi-NCR’s annual Big Bird Day, said the region has long been a delight for birdwatchers but is now visibly degraded. “This is where the Sarus belt begins, stretching from Dhanauri into western Uttar Pradesh,” he said. “They need shallow water to build nests. Letting it dry completely is catastrophic.”

The decline, however, isn’t entirely natural. A key water channel that fed the wetland was recently blocked—allegedly to divert water elsewhere. Birders say this pattern repeats: water is withheld during summers and restored only after outcry. In this case, pressure from conservationists pushed the irrigation department to reopen the sluices.

“It is common for wetlands to dry up in the summer, but this one cannot be allowed to dry completely,” Arya said. “It is a Sarus nesting site. They need water, even shallow water, throughout the year.”

The push to protect Dhanauri gained urgency in 2011 when the Yamuna Expressway Industrial Development Authority (Yeida) proposed a highway that would cut through the wetland. After protests, the alignment was shifted, but the road still runs dangerously close. Development pressures have not relented.

“We stopped the worst-case scenario,” said Devasar. “But threats remain. Water hyacinth is spreading. Fields and buildings are closing in. The wetland is shrinking.”

Arya has sent a report to the Union environment ministry, urging Ramsar recognition. The forest department ratified his recommendation and pegged the core wetland at 25 hectares—though environmentalists say the full ecological zone, including buffers, spans more than 40 hectares.

Under the Ramsar Convention—signed in 1971—a wetland can qualify for international protection if it meets at least one of several ecological criteria. Dhanauri, advocates say, meets at least three. It supports vulnerable species like the Sarus crane, Black-necked stork, and Painted stork. It regularly hosts over 20,000 water birds, and it is believed to support more than 1% of the global Sarus population.

Globally, IUCN estimates the Sarus crane population at around 15,000. Birders say they have counted more than 150 at Dhanauri in a single outing—clear evidence, they argue, that this site is critical.

After the sluices reopened on May 1, birders returned. What they saw offered hope.

Veteran birder Suryaprakash spent over two hours that day and counted 40 Painted storks, two dozen Woolly-necked storks, eight Black-necked storks, and five Sarus cranes. “There were also ibises, spoonbills, egrets, even larks and prinias,” he said. “This place still supports rich birdlife. But how long will that last without protection?”

Both he and Arya believe that beyond formal designations, Dhanauri needs year-round water and a barrier against urban sprawl. But legal protection would give it a fighting chance.

Some lessons may be drawn from Uttar Pradesh, where the Sarus Protection Society was set up during the Etawah airport construction in 2013. Partnering with the Wildlife Trust of India and Tata Trusts, the state supported “Sarus Mitra” groups—volunteers trained to protect nests and monitor cranes. Through these efforts, the Sarus population rose from 12,000 in 2013 to 15,000 by 2018.

Could that model work for Dhanauri?

“Absolutely,” said Suryaprakash. “But first, it must be recognised for what it is: a sanctuary—not just for birds, but for what remains of Delhi-NCR’s wetland ecosystem.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cranes stood silhouetted against the sky, their tall bodies reflected faintly in the water. In that moment, the wetland felt unmissably alive—but precariously so. Whether Dhanauri survives may depend less on rainfall, and more on how urgently the state acts to protect what is left.

For the Sarus, time is running out.