The web of life in drylands

Dry deciduous and scrub forests may look barren, but teem with unique biodiversity

The word forest often conjures up lush, evergreen canopies — dense, misty greens cloaked in perpetual foliage. We have been conditioned to equate greenery with vitality, while dryness is seen as barrenness. It is no wonder, then, that dry deciduous and scrub forests receive far less public affection and conservation attention than their evergreen cousins.

But these subdued landscapes hold a secret. If you are looking to witness nature’s theatre of seasonal transformation — in colour, texture and rhythm — these dry forests are where the real action unfolds.

A few weeks ago, I found myself walking a quiet trail in one such patch in central Karnataka. Two natural spectacles caught my eye and stirred something deeper in me.

The first was a short tree, barely ten feet tall, dressed in small, elliptical green leaves and guarded by sharp stipular spines. Its fruits — Ferrari red and the size of large lemons — drooped low amidst the small, elliptical green leaf-like tiny pomegranate bombs. This was Capparis divaricata, commonly known as the spreading caper.

Its soft, custard apple-like pulp is likely savoured by four-horned antelope, blackbuck, chital, and sambar, in places where their habitats intersect. Its leaves nourish butterflies — crimson tip, white-orange tip and yellow-orange tip. Even the critically endangered great Indian bustard (GIB) has been known to feed on it.

The winged fruits

As I moved on, a taller tree pulled me to a stop. Towering and vibrant, it stood alone in full splendour. Against the quiet greens of the monsoon-kissed forest, this tree blazed — not with fire, but with a cascade of beetroot-hued seed pods. They fluttered like delicate paper lanterns strung up for a festival. This was Terminalia elliptica — the Indian laurel. Modest in fame, but magnificent in its seasonal flourish.

These fruit pods, shaped like tiny whirligigs, had a rubbery texture and a deep blush that appeared hand-painted. Each fruit pod bore five wings, resembling the fins of a rocket. They erupted in flamboyant clusters, giving the tree a festive allure.

Indian laurel with winged fruits.

Often mistaken for flowers by the untrained eye, these are, in fact, winged fruits, evolved not merely for beauty but for purpose. When the time is right, the papery wings act as parachutes, helping the seeds tucked neatly within drift away on wind currents, nature's elegant way of dispersal and a quiet marvel of evolutionary engineering.

In these dry forests, trees aren’t always towering giants, but their seasonal colours are small botanical miracles. Nature seems to have painted a perfect palette here.

My work in wildlife conservation has taken me to many such forests over the years, and time and again, these trees have taught me that they are not passive beings merely photosynthesising to convert carbon dioxide into oxygen for our benefit. They are life-givers, community builders, and season indicators —the cornerstones of ecosystems. In these drier landscapes, they serve as nature's timekeepers, heralding the changing seasons with quiet splendour.

Post monsoon charm

Post monsoon, this forest will be sun-hammered and parched for the rest of the year. Yet even in those harsher months, the trees don’t fall silent. Between January and March, Butea monosperma sets fire to the canopy with its riot of orange and vermilion flowers — earning the name flame of the forest.

The colour of this flower is so striking that the Royal Horticultural Society named the shade Indian Orange. For most of the year, the flame of the forest looks unremarkable. But in peak summer, it transforms into a lifeline for the ecosystem. Its nectar draws countless birds, making it a keystone species. In return, these feathered visitors carry pollen from tree to tree.

Month after month, the dry forest changes its costumes — orange to yellow, white to red. It is a quiet spectacle, often unnoticed, but no less magnificent than the green rainforests.

So the next time you find yourself on a dry forest path and a splash of colour catches your eye, pause. Look again. You might be in the presence of a tree that celebrates life with its own subtle fireworks — shaped by wind, sun, rain, and thousands of years of evolution.