ANTS
By Dr. Nayani Krishnakumari
Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi.
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Ants are small. They are very small compared to the mighty human beings. Yet the strength of
human beings is useless compared to the strength of the ants. They would crunch our bodies
into tiny bits ruthlessly and drag them into their abodes. There is that kind of brutality in the
redness of those ants. The power of animosity is latent in their communal spirit which could
shatter the smugness of human beings. As long as one is in a state of deluge there is no
stopping to their attacks.
Murali is 38-years old. He was watching the ants as they moved in a row methodically. He
was struggling to keep his eyelids open to watch them. A thin veil spread in front of his eyes.
Each ant turned into one thousand ants and looked like a huge expanse of the ocean. His
body quivered at the thought that these ants could turn into waves and drown him. What if
these ants surround him, maul his muscles into small bits and drag the pieces into their
anthills. The fear made his palms turn cold like snow.
In front of him, a white bottle of cheap arrack, shining bright, was sitting on the table. The
glow of the battle scared him. He heard loud sounds and felt warm fumes coming out of his
ears. His heart could not accept the pleasure the body was enjoying the liquor. It was
riveting. His heart was heavy as if grappling with meaningless matters. Why he had to
continue to live in such a state of confusion was beyond his comprehension.
Murali exerted himself to keep his eyelids open and look at the ants. The table in front of him
looked like two tables. Around the table, on the floor bits of omelet and green pepper
scattered all over and made a mess. The red ants were trying to drag one of the omelette
pieces. The ants besieged a piece of omelet and covered it completely, looking like a ball of
pins. The piece, being dragged by the ants, was looking like a puppet in the hands of fate.
Murali could not focus. His brain was filled with the thoughts of his past.
Murali has earned the reputation as a smart student during his college years. He was at the
top of his class in all the subjects and extra-curricular activities. He was a happy young man,
always laughing and making others laugh. At home, his brother’s children used to behave
properly in his presence. His sister-n-law would say, “There is chinnaayana,” to keep the
children in line. His older brother, Balaram, loved him very much and believed that Murali was
born to save the family’s reputation.
Whenever Murali visited his brother’s place, he took the children to the shallow well outside
the village and gave them swimming lessons. Or else, he would be busy changing light bulbs,
fixing ceiling fans, broken radios and such things in the entire neighborhood. Or, he would get
the children together and help them with their studies. When chinnaayana was around, even
the hardest math problem was solved in a snap by the children. They feared him to a point,
they would not ask his permission even they had to go to the bathroom.
Murali became tense. He wondered, “Am I the same Murali? I am living like a frog in a well.
People and situations are attacking me like ants and I am giving in. They are mashing me into
bits and pieces and dragging me into their holes. I must fight back. I must,” and he kept
beating himself up. The entire world around him was rocking like a swing. It was laughing at
him in a roar and swinging briskly.
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Murali earned his degree in veterinary science and a job fell into lap right away. He started
his life as a veterinary doctor in a religious town on the banks of a river, away from the city.
That pious town which offered solace for millions of people directed him to seek a different
way of life. Well, maybe not. Poor thing. What did the town do? Not even the god could help
him. The God was there lying motionless for centuries. He did nothing. But the people who
pushed Murali around were different. Compared to himself, they were mean, like these ants.
Murali’s body quivered in a state of stupor. The neon bulb above, which was spilling baby
smiles until now, started turning gray.
A series of episodes went through his mind like in a movie.
Through the folds of that dim light, Nilayya, tall and dark, burst into a big laughter. His teeth
were white but underneath that whiteness, Murali could clearly see the shades of his
crookedness.
Murali said, addressing the thin air in front of him, “You, Nilayya, you brought me to this
condition. You are small like these ants. Yet, when ants like you team up, even the strongest
serpent has to surrender. I surrendered to you, I mean it. I threw myself at the feet of these
tiny ants.”
Sangayya stood in front of Murali, “Am I not here, sir? You remembered Nilayya. What about
me?” Sangayya also was laughing. He was laughing displaying his red-stained teeth. His
eyes, filled with red streaks, looked frightening like a cluster of red ants. Arrack dishes and
other things were hovering around him. Murali was shivering. He was filled with repulsion and
panic and could not hold himself straight. He felt like he would fall down, if he tried to stand
up. “I am being attacked by all these mean people. They are chewing me up. I must shake
them off. How? How?”
Sangayya is the arrack shop owner in that town, and the sixth sense for Nilayya. It is
customary in that town to auction the arrack shop each year. Whoever bids the highest will
have control over the shop for one year and take care of the business. Sangayya always bids
the highest. He is of heavy build, dark-skinned, and has thick lips and thick eyebrows. He
looked scary. If he were cast in the role of an ancient Dravidian king, he would certainly steal
the audience. The arrack shop has stone slabs and a high-raised cement bench. When he sat
on the cement bench and carried on his arrack business, selling huge pots of arrack, he would
look like a king short of wearing a crown.
Sangayya, in addition to arrack business, also had a herd of cows. Since milk and arrack are
equally welcome in our country, Sangayya fared well in both the businesses. Anytime one of
his cows was afflicted with some disease or other, Murali was the Lord Krishna Himself as far
as Sangayya was concerned. Murali has that magic touch in his hand. Whenever somebody
brought a sick animal to him, he would not stop debating whether the owner was rich or
poor. His only concern was the welfare of the animal. If one could read the animal language,
one could read in their eyes, “Murali is my mother, my birth mother,” no doubt in that.
In Murali’s mind, Sangayya was ready to break down as he said, “For that very reason, you
are like a god to me. I listened to Nilayya and believed that drinking was good for your
health. I was the reason you’ve taken to drinking. I ruined you completely.”
“Well. How can I blame you? You did not tell me to get addicted to the arrack bottle. I got
myself into this mess. No, Sangayya, actually, Nilayya joined hands with that Sher Khan and
dragged me into this muck.” Murali’s body was losing control but the mind was still sharp. The
thoughts of past were hovering in his head, all mixed up and baffling, with no sign of taking
any logical form.
Normally, the veterinary doctor has an additional responsibility, besides treating the animals.
That is in regard to the animals brought to the slaughterhouse. The veterinary doctor needs
to certify which one could be slaughtered and which one is not. Without Murali’s stamp of
approval, the animals were not eligible for human consumption. It is in that context, Sher
Khan entered into Muali’s life. The animal nature that is part of his name is also evident in his
lifestyle. As far as he is concerned the entire world is a huge slaughterhouse. In that world
the people whom he did not like are the animals. And the people whom he liked are the
clever persons who would turn the first category people into pieces of meat and make money
for themselves.
Khan understood money very well. Money is like the blood that a tiger relishes when she
bites into the neck of a goat. Money is the thing that furnishes the several amenities, warmly,
solidly, and strongly until one got sick of it. The humans would do anything to obtain that sick
feeling. In order to accomplish his goal, he viewed the world as a goat on the butcher block,
waiting to be chopped by his butcher knife. But his tiger nature did not touch Murali.
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One day Sher Khan brought some animals. Murali examined them and said, “Who handed
them down to you? These animals are not good for humans.”
“What can we do, babu! Nowadays even we humans don’t have enough to eat. No surprise
the animals got sick, what else would you expect of them? You go ahead and approve them. I
will make sure you will get something out of it.”
Murali was ticked off. He could not make out whether Sher Khan was preaching him or telling
him. “What do you mean? What are you thinking? Am I working for the government or you? I
am the one to decide whether the animal is fit for butchering or not. You can butcher and sell
only after I say so.”
Sher Khan was stunned for a split second. So, now, after all these years this person was man
enough to challenge him! His ego started out in his heart and jumped to his throat but Sher
Khan stifled it right there. He begged Murali with a very sad expression on his face and both
palms clasped. But Murali was stubborn. He was the kind of a man that would keep arguing
even when he knew he was wrong. There is no saying what to expect of him, when he was
not in the wrong. As a result, the lifespan of the animals that came to the slaughterhouse
was extended for the day. That is when the consolidated strength of the ants came into play.
Did you ever watch the ants move methodically in rows and in a straight line? One ant first
comes from the opposite direction and taps on the noses of the rest, one after another, in
the row and thereby passing on the word. That’s it. All the ants together put the command
into action. They all, together, attack the bug, overtake him and carry them to their anthill.
The first one that brought the news would not join this crowd. She assumes leadership and
keeps the rest of the ants in line. That is how Sher Khan acts precisely.
Nilayya and Sher Khan are good friends. Nilayya cannot go against Sher Khan’s will and
survive. Nobody can survive for that matter and Nilayya is worldly-wise. He shows unusual
humility in front of his superiors in order to get his job done and also he could be unusually
cruel when it comes to dealing with his inferiors. The knife in his hand is double-edged.
Nilayya works for Murali. Despite his job as a lab assistant, he was also running errands for
Murali. It is with that kind of service, Nilayya earned an enormous amount of trust from Murali.
The equality and social justice that the politicians lecture about are flowing in Murali blood. He
would walk around on the streets with his arm around Nilayya’s shoulder openly. His trust in
Nilayya took him a little too far. The clinic was filled with expensive medicines and medical
equipment. It was Murali’s responsibility to check the stock and sign off the register,
indicating the usage each day. Yet, if Nilayya brought the stock register, Murali would sign
without looking at the numbers. Sometimes he would even leave the keys with Nilayya.
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The bottles in front of Murali are empty. Numerous colors were floating in his head like the
fireflies and worrying him. He kept beating his head and talking to himself, “Nilayya, I must
give it you. You are really something. You ruined my record. He presented me to the public as
a criminal. You said it feels good and got me into this drinking habit. You tried even to
implicate me in the murder of Reddy. Poor Reddy!”
Nobody can understand the atrocities of Nilayya unless they knew Reddy’s story. In that
village, the hospital and the panchayat office were housed in the same building. The two
offices shared the same entrance. Reddy was surpanch of that village. We cannot say he
was like Rama simply because the first part of his name is Rama in Ramachandra Reddy. Rama
of the ancient times was knowledgeable in politics and when his stepmother told him to go to
the woods, he followed her order and took his wife and younger brother also. This Reddy on
the other hand is very well-versed in local politics. He has mastered the skills, like the moves
in the game of chess, necessary to keep his chair forever. For the same reason many people
in the village hated him. He also acquired some vengeful enemies who were knowingly or
unknowingly wanted his guts. One day somebody murdered Reddy while he was in his office.
The instrument that was used for that purpose was the scalpel from the veterinary hospital.
“Hey, Nilayya! Reddy would care for nothing except his chair. Whatever did he do to you? You,
rascal, how did the murderer get our scalpel? The scalpel is intended to cut the thick skin of
the animals. Human skin is no problem for it at al, right? Who is responsible for all this?”
Murali was shaking like a man possessed. He was losing control of himself. The liquor and the
thoughts of his past were buzzing through his head and baffling him. “When the Block
Development Officer came for inspection you played a game I could not believe. Was I really
responsible for all the lost medicines and the equipment? You got me into this habit of
drinking, forced me to borrow money, and stole my salary from my pocket while I was under
the influence of alcohol. You, you provoked him [Sher Khan] by telling that I was responsible
for his buffalo’s death. You told him that I was drunk and gave the wrong medication to the
buffalo, how could you? The buffalos are dumb animals and I treat them like my own life.”
Murali was choked. He was gasping for breath and shedding tears. He could barely hold
himself. He tried to get up from the chair and stand straight. His knee hit the table in front
him. In an attempt to stop himself from falling, he put his right foot to a side. In the process
his foot stepped on the crowd of ants that were dragging the omelet piece. So many tiny lives
got crushed softly under his foot! Suddenly he felt something—a sense of fear or goose
bumps—shot down his spine like a lightning. Murali’s brain shook off the numbness in a split
second like a dozing traveler jolted when a bus came to a screeching halt. Murali came to his
senses.
Murali lifted his foot and saw the ants flattened into a cardboard. He yelled, “Ho, Sher Khan,
Nilayya, Sangayya, you are all ants. Look at them. Take a good look at them. They are all
crushed under my foot and turned into chutney.” He burst into a big laugh. The entire house
exploded with his laughter.
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(This translation was based on the original Telugu story “Cheemalu” published in the
anthology, Katha mandaram compiled by Avula Jayapradadevi. Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh
Sahitya Academy, 1979.
Permission from the author is gratefully acknowledged. –Editor.)