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Journalism of Courage
It all started when my sister tried to rescue a black ant (a little smaller and slimmer than the large black ants you get in Delhi especially during the monsoon) from drowning in the swimming pool. She scooped it up and placed it on the edge of the pool where it lay on its back and very feebly moved one leg. I took one look and knew there were slim chances for its survival.
The black ants here in Goa seemed less robust than the ones I rescued from the pool in Delhi, which would swim vigorously and saunter off (sometimes back into the pool!) none the worse for the experience. Anyway, my sister tried everything, breathing gently on it (in lieu of mouth-to-mouth), placing it in the sun to ward off hypothermia and gently offering a finger for it to hold on to so that she could put it back on its legs. It would stagger slightly and promptly turn turtle again, even falling into a crevasse between the path slabs from which it had to be rescued again, which was not easy. All this proved too much and the ant soon gave up and died.
Minutes later, a tiny ant, probably a scout – came hurrying up (probably one twentieth the weight of the larger one), took a quick look, grabbed one leg and began hauling the giant backwards, rather like a tug pushing back a Jumbo jet, but recklessly fast. Other little ants soon came scurrying up and soon a team was on the job, except that they didn’t seem to know where they were going because they were heading straight back towards the pool. Several little fellows kept running up and down beside the haulers as if shouting instructions.
Fascinated, we watched. The team and its cargo reached the edge of the pool and some of the little fellows went over, clinging on to the overhang. For a few tense cliffhanger moments their cargo dangled too before being hauled back to safety. They trundled on towards one corner of the pool and then again approached the edge. Then, we realised that the entrance to their colony was under a gap between two corner slabs of the path beneath the overhang. So, again, the huge dead ant was slung in a cliffhanger position, while from the dark entrance other little fellows waiting for it grabbed it and hauled it into the hole in the blink of an eye. One moment, it was there the next, gone! And all the little fellows scurrying hither and thither vanished too.
The next morning we were back in the pool and fished out three more dead black ants and placed them around 10 to 15 feet or so, of the entrance to the colony. Sure enough, the corpses were discovered in moments and the same haulage process took place. Later, I read that ants apparently have a sense of smell four to five times better than that of dogs, and can sniff out a dead (or dying) creature from many meters away. It needs to be downwind of them, or else, if there is a crosswind, they will tack back and forth as they home it to it. But if it is upwind of them they may miss it altogether, passing within centimeters of it without detecting it because their eyes are not all that good.
Okay, we thought, they must be pretty sick of dead-ants, so how about a change in menu? First I fished out a chunky dead bluebottle and put it out, again, a fair distance away from the colony entrance and waited. It was astonishing how quickly it was discovered. At first there seems to be no order or method in the way the little ants approach the task at hand, running helter-skelter and hither-thither at top speed. One begins the tug act and is soon joined by others and further reinforcements and backup arrives as they near home. There was always much drama (which needed to be put to suitable music!) as they shoved their victim over the edge, where it dangled precariously, while those at the entrance reached out to grab it so it didn’t land up in the pool. The bluebottle was decidedly larger and heavier than the ants, so it took a fair amount of ant-power to haul it in safely.
We followed this up with what appeared to be a pretty hefty and juicy looking termite, a kind of jumbo ant burger. And sure enough they swarmed enthusiastically all over it and hauled it back, over and under the edge and snug into their den. Wow, we thought, the ant kitchen inside must be pretty busy processing all this fresh food. And we were not the only ones putting food on their table. Other independent hunters and foragers were bringing in their own finds as well.
Then I found what looked like a small black bee, with wings et al. Dead; but big as a whale as far as the tiny ants were concerned. They swarmed around it and decided to take up the challenge. So off they went with it, dragging it over to the edge. We watched with bated breath. It was at the very edge, then over and then… Disaster! The bee (or whatever it was) was just too heavy.
Amidst presumably much shouting and cursing, the ants lost their grip and the insect toppled straight into the pool accompanied by several valiant little fellows who refused to let go. We tried to rescue as many of the brave-hearts we could but alas, several didn’t make it and became martyrs to the cause of a missed magnificent Sunday buffet!
