I am a black ant, just like the many others you might have seen or ignored before. But this is not my story.
It was way back in the gathering months, when the sun was hotter and trees were in full bloom. I first came across Magnus while I was on my usual trip for food. Magnus was a formidable looking caterpillar, the kind which we ants are warned to stay away from. You see, we are a snack for some of these caterpillar-kind, and before we can make out if they are the dangerous ones or not, we are eaten up; so the best thing to do is to steer clear of them all.
I was curious of the spikes all over his body and would go a little closer to him than my kin, but Magnus would ignore me. On my many trips back and forth, I could see that he had hardly shifted, he just nibbled leaves now and then, as he pleased. We started exchanging greetings, him- between his bites or contemplations, me- on my way, to and fro.
It was fun to hear his slow, deep voice, making quips on everything- ‘here you go again! How much do you guys eat in winter!’
‘It’s a good thing that I’ve to feed only myself.’
‘Guess what! I’ve to stay fed and healthy and away from predators, just to molt away into a flitting butterfly!’
‘Sure I want to fly, who wouldn’t want to see what is out there, up and beyond these trees. But the downside is that I’m going to have to molt into a flimsy butterfly!’
He made it quite clear that he liked how he was and if he could, he would try to stop turning into a butterfly. He had checked with the other caterpillars too, the ones that happened to come to dine on the branch or stem that he was on. Most of them hardly lifted their heads up from their food. Those who did, said that they couldn’t wait to fly.
Magnus said that he then met a wise one. He knew that this one was wise because he used such fancy words. The exact words were- ‘Metamorphosis is just another day of your life. Accept it and you will embrace your cocoon in ease; until then take one leaf at a time.’
Magnus said that he had felt a change in him after that meeting. Either that or his next molting was due. He ate all summer and stayed under leaves or stalks so that no bird would eye his now plump body. And, as it is with caterpillars, the time had come for the final molt.
Magnus must be pretty proud to know that though he couldn’t stop his transformation, he hadn’t turned into a ‘flitting’ butterfly, as he called it; he was now a magnificent moth.
(Note to reader- the ‘magnificent’ moth that the ant told you about, was what we humans call – Cecropia moth.
It was truly magnificent!)
