Why the butterfly couldn’t fly

This, I swore would not happen again. And so, we guarded the next caterpillar we reared like rottweilers. At first it resembled a bird dropping – to discourage birds from picking it up (you do not feed your babies or yourself with droppings!) before gradually turning a handsome green – as green as the curry leaves it munched.

Then one night the assassin reappeared. My attendant and his two children came running up to inform me that there was some strange creature sitting next to the caterpillar container, which was out in the balcony. And yes, it looked as evil and dangerous as any assassin. It was brown as the table it was on, flattish and carunculated, with an oval body and long neck, long antennae like feelers and armed with a hypodermic needle! On the branch of a tree, it would simply vanish. I checked it up: it was a stink bug (aka shield bug), harmless to us until you tangled with it, but regarded as a pest by agriculturists as the tribe had an eclectic diet of fruit, vegetables and crops.

Stink bugs are largely vegetarian, they use their hypodermics to pierce the stalks of young plants, and fruit to suck up their life juices. But there are predatory ones too that relish caterpillars among other insects. We had caught our villain virtually red-handed.

Instead of opening up with a hail of automatic gunfire – in the manner of the US National Guard – we picked it up and let it out into the night where it flew into the nearby areca palm outside. Then we brought the precious caterpillar indoors.

Perhaps, overwhelmed by its narrow escape we spoiled it thoroughly: stuffing its container with curry leaves and watching the scattered frass (its droppings) with satisfaction as it pigged it out. It was largely a night-time diner, preferring to spend the day lying along the midrib of the leaves or stems, pretending it wasn’t there. It grew fat and green and healthy as it continued its gastronomic binge. And then it began curling up – rather like prawns do when overcooked. It’s eating days were done and it kept still, looking it has to be said rather unhappy.

Again, one evening my attendant and his family came running up, the entire household was now deeply invested in the fate of this little creature. The caterpillar had begun convulsing – jerking around as it tried to shed its skin – it looked like it had an attack of epilepsy – violently shaking its head from side to side. It was of course, trying to spin the hammock from which it could hang – but alas, we had stuffed the jar so full of leaves, it couldn’t find suitable anchor points. Angrily, it heaved once more and promptly fell on to the table. The children gasped.

We threw out the curry leaves and put in a nest of dry twigs and gently put it amongst them. Again, too many, as it kept falling off, until we finally lodged it between two forked twigs where it seemed to find some peace and remained still. When I had picked it up, I was surprised at how tough the exterior of the pupa was.

The wait began again. Inside I knew (and hoped) a small miracle was taking place. Its fat caterpillar cells – that do not subdivide but just get larger as the creature goes on its gastronomic orgy – were now given orders to break down to form a nourishing smoothie or soup. Its authentic butterfly cells, which had been ordered to lie dormant until this point were now given the command to dine off this nourishing concoction and develop into the various parts of the butterfly – the eyes, wings, legs and proboscis. I knew, that when it emerged its first task would be to crawl up onto a suitable twig from which it could hang down its wings to dry: blood would pass through the veins, stretching the wings and then stiffening them.

The butterfly emerged early on the ninth morning. But alas, the twigs it had been lying on had proved to be too flimsy – and it had crashed onto the table, crumpling its left wing. It was spinning in small circles on the table. We tried propping it up on the twigs again to no avail. This Common Mormon lady would never fly. An hour later, I released her into the heliconia below and wished her well.