The Endangered Olive Ridley Turtle

© Jeyanthi Manokaran
Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed. —Gandhi

Tutu turns towards the cluster of turtle eggs buried on the beach.
“I got here first!” squeals Aveek the fisher boy, digging in a fury as if for gold.
“MY eggs!” Shourav yanks him away.
Tutu dashes to the sandy mound where Olive’s eggs are buried, picks up a fallen palm leaf and rushes between the fighting boys.
“These are Olive’s eggs!” she repeats in a high pitched voice.
“Who’s Olive?” demands Aveek shoving her out of the way.
“My turtle. She was in the fishing net and I saved her.”
“Olive the Turtle? Ha! Ha!”

“I helped her nest. Did YOU watch her dig this pit for her eggs? Did YOU save
her from that vicious eagle that attacked? It had sharp talons. I took this palm leaf and
whacked it hard when it swooped down upon my turtle. You didn't save her! I did. Olive is MY turtle. These are MY eggs.”

“Well we’ll just share them then. Fifty-fifty. We’re friends, aren’t we? Hyuk! Hyuk!” grins Aveek.
“Good idea,” agrees Shourav giving him a hard back slap, “next time we find some eggs, we’ll share them with you too.”
“Sir! Help!” Tutu pleads with the village elder passing by, “They're stealing my turtle’s eggs.”
"Go away boys! And don’t you dare trouble her again!” scolds the village elder who is Pa’s friend.
The boys turn away with a backward glance. They sprint along calling to each other with nasty remarks about Olive the Turtle.
“Oh! Thank you, thank you, kind Sir!” Tutu quickly covers the eggs and the tell- tale turtle tracks leading to the beach.
“Those boys have nothing better to do,” mutters the village elder. “Child,
isn’t it time for you to help your Pa with the catch and Ma with the sorting?”
“Yes, Sir,” Tutu is too busy turning the sand and covering the precious clutch of eggs.

The village elder greets her Pa as he comes by to chat.
"Why didn’t you come to help me fish? This is crazy, Tutu!”
Pa can’t believe she plans to guard the eggs until they hatch. Hands on hips, he glowers down at Tutu who sits beside the sandy mound.
“But Pa, someone will steal the eggs and I want to save the baby turtles,” Tutu wrings her hands, digs her toes in the sand and stares at her precious mound.
“You’re our one and only child. You’re better ‘n all the boys in the village. No rugged fisher boy can throw the net the way you do! You have style. You have talent. You were born to be a fisher girl. God made you that way. That’s why I spent all my energy training you.” brags Pa.
“As soon as they hatch, I’ll fish with you and help Ma sort the catch.”
“Now, you better be good an’ ready to go fishing before dawn.”
Ma walks up, bone weary after sorting and selling her catch. She , throws down her empty basket to sit beside them. Quick as an eagle, Pa enlists her support. Ma is shocked.

“Child, are you out of your mind? These eggs will take two months to hatch. You
will NOT sleep here,”
“But Pa sleeps near his boat to guard it!” argues Tutu.
“Okay,” Pa gives in just a little. “I’ll sleep out here between the boat and the eggs
instead and guard both together.”
“Ma, will you guard them while I go fishing with Pa?” Tutu begs.
“Okay, silly child,” complains Ma. “Next month is the arribada and thousands of female
turtles will anyway return to nest here.”
The village elder, walks away with a smile.
“Maybe they’re right. Hatch quickly – baby turtles!” Tutu follows Ma to the hut.

At dawn, the next day, with a quick backward glance at the mound, Tutu
speeds to the wooden catamaran Pa pushes into the sea.
“Wait for me, Pa!” Surf on their skin, they row away. Tutu tastes the salt in the wave as she casts the fishing net with a powerful swing of her arm. Seagulls screech, sunrise kisses the rolling waves while they watch and wait.
Hours roll by. Tutu’s stomach rumbles. “Oh for some delicious fish! Some Mackerel would be good,” drools Tutu and tugs at her end of the fishing net. It seems heavy already. She can’t believe it. She looks down into the dark waters with a suspicious frown and tugs again. Heart thumping, she catches her breath, “Gosh! Pa! H-help me pull this up!”
“That was quick!” says Pa, the salt air is laden with excitement.
“Yay! I did it!” squeals Tutu hauling in the heavy net with Pa’s help. "My first bumper catch!”
Tossed by the sea, washed by the waves, their catamaran heads to Ma waiting at the beach. Tutu’s clear voice mingles with Pa’s deeper one while they row back with a steady rhythm chanting their boat song.
“You’re the best!” Ma hugs Tutu. Pa ruffles her hair.
“Ma, let’s sort the fish!” Tutu can’t wait for the next fishing trip at dawn. And the next. And the next. Two months fly by.

Tutu runs towards the mound every day. Today is different. There’s a song in the air as she sees tiny flipper marks that show baby turtle tracks leading to the beach. Wait! Something is moving there. Tutu speeds up to the tiny turtle making its way to the water. She blows a kiss on its shiny shell as it disappears into the waves.
“Olive’s babies! They've hatched!” she whispers. Braid dancing, skirt flying, Tutu skips along the beach her eyes glued to the waves that carry her last baby turtle. “Please return, Baby Olive!”
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catamaran -small,light wooden fishing boat designed almost flat for waves to drain off
Note - The endangered Olive Ridley Turtle can grow up to 75 cm (2.5 feet) in length and is wonderfully adapted to life in the ocean, with front and rear evolved into flippers for swimming. the four limbs have 2 claws. The light, streamlined shell has a carapace thinner than other turtles, is olive colored and heartshaped. The male's tail extends past the carapace while the female's does not.
Sea turtles nest only at night and artificial lighting on beaches confuses the time of day. The female pulls herself all the way to the dry sand using her front flippers and carves a bottle shaped burrow where she lays 100 leathery round eggs like white ping pong balls. She covers them carefully and buries the pit and within an hour, struggles back to the ocean leaving behind a "tell-tale" trail in the sand. Now the young have to fend for themselves.
The predictable manner of laying her eggs, and her defenselessness on land, makes her vulnerable to hunters. Because of a homing instinct the turtles return to the beach where they were born.