Down in jungleland: Kiss Me, Princess!

Apart from the fun (and gross) factor, frogs and toads are very important indicators of the state of the environment — particularly, the state of our water bodies. Their skin is permeable and they breathe through it. Toxins, chemicals, fertilisers, and all the other muck that we dump into the water, dissolve and play havoc with the health of these sensitive-skinned amphibians, leading to illness, deformity and death. One third of all species of frogs and toads are currently threatened, and we’ve killed off at least 120 species since the 1980s.

With their low glamour quotient, they’re not a hot subject for research, and, so, new species are still being discovered (as many as 80 in India in recent years) by their few devoted researchers. They turned up some 265 million years ago and spread across all the continents except Antarctica, preferring hot, tropical areas, where it was moist and rainy. The number of species has been variously given as between 4,800 and just over 6,480, and they may live high up in the tree-tops or deep underground — and anywhere in between.

There are no scientific differences between frogs and toads, except that frogs prefer to live in and around water bodies and in humid environments, and toads are terrestrial, like it drier and have “warts”. They’re usually omnivorous, with a leaning towards being carnivorous, whipping out their coiled tongues in a flash at insects, fish and small mammals and gulping them down. While they’re not exactly armed to the teeth, they have powerful leg muscles which propel them out of harm’s way quickly, and having a permeable skin enables some of them to secrete toxins onto their skin, keeping predators at a respectful distance. The most famous of these are, of course, the virulently coloured arrow-poison or poison-dart frogs of south and central America, some of which have enough poison on their skin to bring down 10,000 mice or two bull elephants or 10 men! The native Indians tipped their arrows with these toxins, which, interestingly enough, originate in plants. The plants are eaten by centipedes, ticks and mites, which, in turn, are eaten by the frogs and the poison is passed on. While some frogs use vivid colours to warn predators, others wear camouflage fatigues, and some can even change colours chameleon-like. And they have a lot of predators — birds, small animals and us — with our love for frogs’ legs. (Harvesting methods were appalling: the frogs were caught, legs hacked off and kept, and the legless creature flung back into the water.)

When times get tough, these versatile creatures either hibernate or aestivate for as long as it takes. They can slow down their metabolism remarkably, and, being cold-blooded helps, because energy is not required to keep the body warm. In freezing conditions, high concentrations of glucose protect their vital organs. In hot, dry conditions, the frogs and toads bury themselves deep and retain the moisture in their skins and remain comatose. But come the right season — for instance, the monsoons in India — and the frogs are suddenly (and literally) head over heels in love.

One monsoon several years ago, I attended what can only be described as the bullfrog equivalent of Woodstock, on the Delhi Ridge. A depression in the ground had filled with rain water and here, perhaps, 250-300 great golden bullfrogs were having the orgy of their lives. The girls were having a rough ride as these fat bumptious rowdies literally leapt on them and smothered them, one on top of the other. Several of the ladies simply skittered away as fast as they could, only to be relentlessly pursued, or kicked out heftily at them. Other males sat around inflating and deflating their steel blue cheek pouches as they croaked away to glory. Apparently, the deeper the baritone, the better the girls like it, and every species has its own signature croak.

One mystifying observation I’ve made — also at the Ridge — is the sudden appearance of what I call “froglets”, tiny replica frogs, in black or dark brown, which hop frantically all over the place at around the monsoons. I still have to figure out where they come from and where they go.

With their charismatic smiles, it’s no wonder that frogs (and toads, to a lesser extent) have such a sunny place in children’s literature and the arts. There’s Kermit, of course, from the Muppet Show, and the Frog Prince, but my personal favourite among the clan has got to be good old Toad of Toad Hall, in Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows. Toady would be perfectly at home driving on our roads today!

And lest we think we’re too good for these lowly amphibians, watch a toad swim across a pond, and then watch someone do a breast stroke across a pool… I rest my case!

Ranjit Lal is an author, environmentalist and birdwatcher.