The Oarsman

by Zubin Mathai

To most animals this was a deep and wide gully, but to the ants this canyon was a wonder of wonders. It was large enough for trees to stake out claims and for boulders to lord over worshiping shrubs. The grasses here were not the pale and dry ones the worker was used to. Instead, many were green, little curls of color, standing huddled in clumps and whispering to each other the joys of water. In the center of the canyon, was the source of all this life: a stream trickling through.

  The petal seemed excited for the moisture, and it picked its hints out of the air and became an even more vibrant shade of pink. Even the sun seemed to bow down at the petal’s brilliance, and the ant teared up at her responsibility, of having to carry such preciousness.

  On the canyon floor, the winds picked up, excited and churned up by that little stream. The soldier liked the wind, for it took her mind off the pain in her belly, and so she could focus on the threats around. She scanned the canyon floor, memorizing the positions of rocks and bushes, escape routes and hiding spots. She looked up and tried to spot the wasp again, and knew in her gut it was the same one from before. Her poor eyesight only returned an arc of blue above, and she could not see the wasp near the top of the canyon, struggling to fly against the wind.

  The lion was still laying on its boulder, and it took a break from staring at the deer dancing up above to look at the ants and flapping petal. At one point, the petal surrendered to the wind and began to lift into the sky like a giant sail. The worker held on with the conviction of a life, her jaws clamped tightly enough to lift her up with the petal. For a few seconds, the lion giggled as it saw the tiny ant twirl a few inches above the ground, and then it saw the soldier run over and grab her friend, struggling to bring her down to safety.

  All this for a little petal, thought the lion, as it continued to watch the worker, knowing she was pouring as much love into protecting that petal as the lion himself poured into watching that poor deer over the last year.

  The lion jumped down and bounded over to the ants, using his giant body to shield some of the wind. “Little ants,” said the lion, “if you want to get to the other side of the canyon, I will escort you and keep you safe.”

  As the ants pressed on, the lion paused to look up canyon wall again, tracing it up top to where the deer still pranced in the wind beyond its edge. The deer was far enough away, that the lion could only see its head, its smile and joy-filled eyes.

  “If you want to come with us, then do so,” said the worker, “but you must let the deer go, knowing he is being held by the wind up there, held as safely in its arms as a mother holding a child.”

  The worker’s voice, amplified through the vibrating petal, came to the lion louder than any of his roars, and so he turned away from the deer for the last time.

  Another wind came to lift the petal and worker up into the air, and the lion’s paws were too big to bring them down without injuring them. The soldier ran up the lion’s leg, tickling the beast, and then jumped off to grab the worker and petal and bring them safely to the ground. Once they touched down, the worker saw her friend painted with a pink sheen by the petal. The soldier nodded, being stoic as always, but the worker smiled, knowing she could not stay angry at her friend forever.

  “Welcome to paradise!” came a garbled voice from behind.

  The trio spun to see a fat little squirrel on top of a rock, with its cheeks stuffed beyond reason. It was surrounded by piles of seeds and bits of flowers, a hoarded treasure, and it threw its arms over and pulled everything closer when it saw the strangers staring. It spat out the food from its mouth, realizing its words were not clear, and spoke again.

  “Welcome to paradise!” it shouted. “Don’t worry, the winds are easier to handle as you get away from the walls.”

  As it spoke, the squirrel’s chubby cheeks flapped. It laughed and hopped over piles of food, stuffing bites into its mouth in between each of its words. “The grass here is green, the trees are happy, birds sing as loud at night as during the day, for here there is water. This stream has come back to life, after so many months gone, to paint its wetness across this thirsty canvas. Here there is peace for everyone. Here there is food for-”

  The squirrel suddenly disappeared in two sickening crunches, snapped from thin air and the rock by the lion that had quietly snuck over. The lion chewed a bit and then gulped down, licking his lips with a satiated sigh.

  “Sorry,” said the lion, turning to lap up some seeds from the rock, “I am a lion, can’t help it.”

  Past a conferring cluster of trees, the trio emerged to finally see the stream they had been smelling and hearing. It babbled through proudly, turning dirt into mud, making nearby stones glisten, and drawing in close all the canyon animals coming to celebrate life trickling through.

  Deer stood and drank, rabbits gathered in groups to wiggle their noses, and raccoons washed fruit next to each other. There were a few coyotes scattered about, but they were the loners, not caring to smile at anyone but their own kind. They came to bend down and drink, keeping their eyes focused on all the tasty prey nearby. Insects were also aplenty here, with bees hovering and flies come to land and lick all equally.

  High up above, having won out against the wind further back, the wasp with the injured wing had made it closer to the stream. It ignored all the animals, even the other bugs crawling and flying everywhere, and was only focused on the two ants. As it landed on a branch of a nearby tree, it rubbed the crack in its wing and built up its rage.

  Here the winds had turned to breezes, strong but not impassable, and so the wasp planned and readied its attack. It knew it would need to come in from the other side, away from that lion that was shadowing its targets, and away from any of the insect-eating animals congregated in this spot.

  When it had its plan, it jumped up and churned its wings to action, hovering for a moment and then readying to dive. Before it could shoot forward, however, it was surrounded by four wasps much larger and healthier looking than it. They closed in, forcing the wasp back, through the branches of a tree and then towards another tree further back, where a nest swarming with wasps was awaiting.

  On the ground, the lion, soldier, and worker all rushed forward to drink from the stream. The water was cool against all this heat, and its waters brought smiles down their throats and to their faces. The worker let her focus slip for just a moment, and an opportune breeze ran through to grab the petal.

  The worker cried out, and started to run yelling after the petal, creating such a fuss that animals nearby stopped their drinking to look. Seeing the little ant running oblivious towards two lizards drinking, the lion roared out for her to stop. When the ant showed no signs of slowing, the lion took off in chase. He bounded forward on the strongest legs of this entire collection of beasts, and quickly became a charging blur. The lion was so focused on catching up to the worker, that at first he did not notice the effect his run was having. Animals began to scatter. Raccoons darted up trees and rabbits flung themselves up to twist in the air before hopping away like mad. Even the brave coyotes, the larger males with their fierce, hardened stares, were backing up slowly. They were all reacting this way because here was an apex predator running full force.

  The lion caught up and grabbed the petal out of the air, tenderly grasping it between two sharp claws, and he then jumped atop a nearby boulder. For the animals still remaining, he threw his head back and let out a roar loud enough to send ripples across the stream. Lizards darted to cover, possums and moles jumped into holes, and even the lion’s cousin, a bobcat that had come to quench its thirst, cowered away with respect in its eyes.

  After a whole year of obsessing over that poor little deer, thought the lion, it feels good to be king once more.

  The wasp was brought before the queen of the nest, a large creature, with a fierce looking scowl and a huge body curled towards a formidable stinger. All the wasps of this colony were easily larger than the visitor, for they flew in this land of plenty, but this queen was a specimen beyond measure.


  “We normally do not take kindly to visitors,” said the queen, “for in our experience they either come here lost — in which case we send them on their way back — or they come here to start trouble.”

  The queen looked over the visitor, with its ripped wing that had barely healed, its beady eyes, and its body so slender. She wondered what, beyond the dryness and lack of food in the lands surrounding this canyon, could have made this wasp look so wasted.

  “What category do you fall into?” asked the queen.

  “I follow two enemies,” said the wasp.

  The queen nodded, now knowing the source of the rage in this visitor’s eyes. She knew that this was a wasp — like so many in the drought-stricken lands — that was feeding on grudges and battles to make up for the scarcity of food and water.

  “And what have the two wasps done to you?”

  The visitor stretched its wings and looked around, taking one step forward, and the soldiers surrounding the queen reacted by sending a wall of buzzing shooting outwards. The wasp stepped back and froze.

  “The two I follow are ants,” said the wasp.

  A little giggle could be heard from the back of the room, and the queen shot a stern glance in its direction. She sighed out and spoke to the visitor, trying on her friendliest voice.

  “My strange kin, you are new here, so I will explain our ways. Here we live in paradise, for there is water and food. We steal honey from the bees, but we do not kill them. They, in turn, pollinate the flowers and set off life in this canyon. We build our nest and raise our young, and some of us are taken by birds and smaller mammals, but we do not cause troubles; we do not rock the boat. Tell me, is one of the ants you follow a queen?”

  “No,” said the visitor.

  “Then there is no chance they would establish a colony here. It is true that ants could be trouble, for they are always disrupting. When they grow too many, they swarm and consume everything in their path, and some kinds even have built-in hatred for us.”

  The visiting wasp had a sickness inside. Just like the soldier ant was being eaten away by poison, this wasp was being eaten away by its rage. So it gathered its words and spun a tale, mixed in with pale truths, about the ants it chased. It spoke of a scarred and beaten soldier, one with too many lives, that had somehow survived all of the wasp’s attacks. That soldier was on the prowl for trouble; it was crazed, despising wasps for no reason, and would stop at nothing to enlist the closest ant colony to return and attack in full force.

  This queen had lived too long in paradise, and she had forgotten the ways of war and hatred, but her instincts were still there. She knew it was her duty to protect this nest at all costs. Even though she did not like this visitor, something about it was too desperate, she listened patiently to it plead its case.

  “I perhaps could lend you some soldiers,” said the queen, “If I did, how how many would you need?”

  The wasp smiled and then hid it, hoping the nearby soldiers could not see its satisfaction. It had this stupid queen right in the palm of its stinger. It knew it only needed one or two soldiers to mount a multi-pronged attack, but it held its tongue, knowing this fat and well-fed queen would keep on talking.

  “Okay,” said the queen, “I will lend you five soldiers. Since you know the ants and their tactics, my soldiers will be under your command until the mission is done. You are to shadow the ants while they are in this canyon. Do not harm or attack them while in this paradise. But, once the ants leave this place, you are free to do to them as you will.”

  The visiting wasp smiled, this time unashamedly, rubbing the wound on its wing and nodding. “Thank you, great queen of this great colony. Your kindness will be remembered.”

  Near the creek, the lion gently returned the petal to the appreciative worker. The lion saw a low-point in the creek, where a line of stones was peeking out and could be used to cross to the other side. When he mentioned it to the worker, she was still obsessed by the return of the petal, and the soldier had to tap on her head to get her attention. She finally looked up and nodded, thanking the lion for seeing the way, but more importantly, for returning the petal.

  They began heading towards the stones, with the soldier on point, keeping her lone eye scanning to make sure the way was clear for her friends. The lion brought up the rear, stepping as slowly as possible, head held high, relishing that the animals that had returned to drink were still fearful. Most did not make eye contact, and the ones that did bowed their heads with trembling respect.

  “Little ant,” said the lion to the worker, bringing his head down and whispering so that the animals around could not hear, “I like this place. I like it a lot. It makes me feel like a lion again, and it feels right. After I escort you two to the other side and then up to the eastern ledge beyond this canyon, I think I will return here to live happily.”

  The worker smiled up at the lion, happy for this giant friend’s return to the rightness of instincts, and she let the petal in her mouth twirl once to show it.

  For all his ferocity, with fangs and claws outclassing any that gathered here, the lion was terrified of the piddling amount of water when he reached the rocks. He could have jumped across with one powerful bound, but instead he waited for the ants to cross, and then tip-toed from stone to stone, making sure not even a drop of water would dare touch his paws.

  The other side of the creek had a different energy. It was wider and flatter, and as the winds brought more of the moisture in this direction, even greener. Animals here seemed quiet, not full of the life and noise of the other side. The ones that had gathered to drink by the water looked up in amazement at the sight of a lion, but they did not cower. The trio made their quiet way away from the water and further inland.

  “Why do you walk so slow,” asked the worker of her friend, the soldier.

  The soldier picked up her pace, fighting through the pain in her joints from the poison working through, and then spoke as nonchalantly as possible, “Oh, I was just mesmerized by all these animals, all this green.”

  Not even waiting for her friend’s response, the soldier looked up and scanned the sky, wondering if that wasp that would not give up was somewhere up there. The pain of keeping two secrets, that of the wasp and the poison eating her insides, was a lot for the soldier to bear, but she did, and she was proud to march through that pain, for that to her was honor.

  With the winds bringing life from the creek, in this spot trees erupted from the ground, bushes exploded in fullness, and wildflowers of yellows, reds, and purples bloomed their shouts to the sky. Animals lay around with full bellies and thirst quenched to laze away the heat of the afternoon.

  A double-line of birds, robins, jays, and small hawks, formed an avenue in front of the trio, and they took the clue and began marching down its middle. The lion took the lead, stepping carefully between the birds, and the two ants followed behind. The ants looked up to these towering birds on each side, with their round, feathered bellies, and their beaks overflowing with wads of insects ready to be swallowed.

  “Why do you look so scared, little ant,” asked a blue jay of the worker. The bird had swallowed the worms it had been holding and licked pieces of them from its beak. “Even if any of us were to eat you two little ants, you should be happy. You feed us; we feed the foxes; they feed the lynxes, and everyone should be happy in this wonderful canyon. Right?”

  Like a flash of lightening, half the birds took off with a flurry of wings and the rest closed in to surround the ants. The lion spun at the noise of flapping, but it was too late. He was also surrounded, for a group of coyotes had charged in from behind the trees to circle him. They bared their fangs and growled, shoving their paws into the dirt and tensing their muscles, showing the sum of their power.

  The lion knew he could take perhaps one or two of these beasts, but not a group of ten. He retracted his claws, un-tensed his muscles, and brought his lips up and over his fangs. Then he slowly bowed his head to the very species that had bee
n doing the same to him just minutes earlier.

  The trio was brought to a grassy clearing, surrounded by huge boulders to one side and towering eucalyptus trees to the other. At the clearing’s center, on top of a boulder so huge that it put the smaller trees to shame, lay a black bear of fantastic proportions. It lay curled, with its snout against paws lined with claws the size of the lion’s head. Even though its eyes were open, it did not move, as if these visitors could not hold its interest just yet.

  Only when the coyotes and birds brought the bugs and lion to the base of the boulder did the bear lift its head and smile down at them.

  “Welcome to my land,” it said, with a voice that rumbled the ground. “I see you have met my guards and subjects. The other side of the creek thinks they are paradise, but they know nothing, for they have not seen a kingdom like mine.”

  The bear-king rose to its paws and towered over the visitors, eclipsing the sun and parting the winds. It had to squint to see the ants, and saw a little splash of pink, but it was really interested in the lion. Though the lion bowed its head and averted its gaze, its relaxed stance betrayed its fearlessness. The king did not like that at all.

  “Why do you three pass through my kingdom?” asked the bear.

  When none of the three responded, a nearby coyote guard reached out and slapped the lion. The lion spun and roared, bringing his head and giant fangs right up to to the coyote’s face. Instinct rippled through the crowd of animals gathered. First, the coyote shrieked and jumped back, and then the other guards and animals took a step back too.

  The bear king was impressed. It had never seen a lion up close, and had never seen such a carnivore flex its muscles. When it saw that its guards had not closed their ranks again, the bear stood up on its hind legs and let out a roar so loud that it echoed through the canyon for a full minute. Loose rocks seemed to shake from the canyon walls, and the worker swore she saw a cloud above evaporate in fear.

  The animals around feared their king, but it was a different fear than to the lion, and the bear saw it. It saw how the coyotes stepped forward again with eyes down, and how the rabbits calmly hopped up to re-form their obedient line. This was not a fear powered by instinct, but one only dusted with duty and respect.

  An example needed to be made.

  The bear leapt down from its boulder with a blur of rippling fat and landed with an earth-shaking thud. He raised a giant paw and smashed it into the side of a coyote, sending it hurtling through the air. When the coyote fell to the grass, it was already dead, and the nearby animals swarmed. Coyotes ran in to feast, and flies and worms raced in for scraps. Hawks dipped between the flurry to grab pieces of flesh, and even raccoons and other small omnivores happily chose meat in that instance.

  Looking at the lion, the bear waited for a reaction, and was enraged when it saw none.

  “I will ask again,” said the bear, glaring at the lion, “why do you three pass through my kingdom?”

  Seeking to diffuse the situation, the lion crouched in the dirt, making himself as small as possible, and spoke in as soft a voice as his throat could muster. “My bear friend-”

  “My highness!” roared out the bear.

  “My highness,” said the lion, “I am escorting this little worker ant, for she is special, and she has a special mission. She seeks to bring this petal to the winds beyond this canyon, for it is showing her the way to a new home.”

  When no reaction came from the bear, the lion continued.

  “This ant is a marvel. I have never seen one so tiny have a heart and drive so big. She can speak to us animals — all our species — as easily as she can to insects. She can see and hear like animals too, and I’ve witnessed her whisper back to the wind.”

  The bear turned to look at the little ant spoken so highly of. The soldier ant beside seemed nothing special, scarred and missing an eye, and even though it brought the worker behind to protect her, the bear could easily suck it up with a misplaced inhale. The worker seemed uninteresting too, so insignificant, but the petal in her mouth was captivating. It was pink, unlike all the wildflowers of red, yellow and purple that grew here. It was also bright enough to reflect some of its color into that bowing lion’s eyes.

  “I will let you three pass,” said the king, and the lion sighed out held-tension and rose slightly. “But, as payment I want that petal.”

  The worker yelled out a defiant no, but her voice came out too lightly for any of these large animals to hear. The lion looked up and could see a smugness across the bear’s face, and it also saw once more its size. It was easily twice the heft of the lion, and while its jaws were no match, its claws, funneled by muscles rippling along massive legs, could easily tear the lion to shreds.

  Having only a second to react, the lion chose his course. He smashed his front paws into the dirt near the ants and dug in deep, grabbing mud and pebbles — and hopefully two ants — and threw the pile onto his back. He then leapt up onto the huge throne boulder and leapt beyond, over nearby shrubs and saplings, and began running away with all his strength and speed.

  When the lion heard the bear behind him laughing, he stopped and spun around. The bear had the petal resting on his snout and two robins had landed to show two writhing ants in their beaks. Falling to the ground in a pile, surrendering to the dirt and moment, the lion did not move when coyote guards came to surround him. He did nothing, even though he could have killed one or two, when they brought him to a tight circle of trees and forced him inside. The ants were brought in and dropped to the ground, as thorny weeds were moved to close the gaps and guards encircled the stockade.

  The three prisoners could see the bear climb back atop his rock and lie on his back, making the petal flutter above his nose with each of his out-breaths. He yelled with his commanding voice, even as he continued to play mesmerized with the petal, “In my kingdom, we have games to keep the animals entertained, games to the death. Tomorrow, crowds can gather to have fun, and we will let the spiders have a go against the ants, and maybe ten coyotes can go up against that weak and feeble lion.”

  Night descended and pushed stars into the sky. Animals quieted down until the only noise was the distant creak rippling against stone and sand. At first, the guarding coyotes were focused, facing inward and staring wide-eyed at the lion. Soon, however, as the hours turned dark and the air cool, one by one the coyotes lay down to sleep.

  When the last one stopped stirring, the lion pushed out his claws and reached as quietly as he could through the branches keeping them prisoner. He managed to snag a few of the thorn bushes and lifted them up and away, tangling them in the tree so that an escape route was cleared. He then turned to the ants and nodded silently to them.

  The lion stepped through first, and his eyesight was just as good in this blackness as during the day, so he stepped over sleeping coyotes with barely a sound. The soldier wanted to exit next, but she was scared, for her eyesight out her single eye was no match for the night. Holding up one leg for her to take, the worker smiled and led her friend out of the prison. She led the soldier around the dust being swirled by the snoring coyotes, and then to where the lion was awaiting them.

  When they were finally far enough away, behind some boulders and near the edge of the eastern canyon wall, the lion felt safe enough to whisper. “I think we should leave this place. We need to find a way up this wall and out of this canyon.”

  The soldier nodded in agreement, but the worker said nothing. Even when the lion and soldier stepped forward, she stayed still.

  “You know I cannot leave without the petal.”

  The lion and soldier pleaded with her, trying to convince her that there was too much danger in this canyon to stay any longer. The worker looked at the soldier and knew her friend would follow her no matter what, and so she turned to the lion, knowing he was the one she had to convince. For the first time in her short life, and without even the petal in her mouth, she unearthed an eloquence that had been aching to escape.

 
“You may not understand, my dear friend,” she said, walking over and stroking the paw of the lion with her tiny leg. “Lions may not be as social as ants. We ants crave a home, a sisterhood that we can belong to. That instinct is in every joint in our bodies, and it pumps every second one of our heartbeats. Without a home, a place to belong, we are just empty shells with legs, marching until we die. The drought-stricken lands up there, and this fractured canyon down here, have no ant colonies, and so my only hope to see the way is that petal.”

  The lion quietly lay down in the dirt beside his friend, bringing his head close so he could hear every last word. Tears came to the worker’s eyes, and even the lion’s eyes watered, for she spoke of the death of her colony, and the twisted, poisoned bodies of all her sisters. The worker spoke of the emptiness in her, the ache to fill it, and the preciousness of the petal, and how, so far, it had been the only thing out here in nature to whisper hope to her.

  When she finished speaking, the lion stood and then looked up to the sky for a few seconds of silence. Starlight washed over the moment, and the lion felt a stillness inside, just as pure as when he saw the deer prance and laugh in the winds above this canyon. He then turned to the little worker and smiled, giving over a faint nod.

  To the ants, it looked like the lion had no plan, but they followed him anyways. Their giant friend marched past the stockade and sleeping coyotes, over the grassy fields and right up to near the creek, where the bear lay snoring on his throned boulder. Letting out a roar loud enough to wake the fainter stars, the lion threw his head back, and the ants ran to cower under his body.

  With a start the bear awoke, and the petal that had been laying on its chest fluttered down to the base of the boulder. The bear stood and answered the lion’s roar with his own, and his shout boomed out to wake the coyotes and all his subjects. Animals scurried to the creek to find out why their king was yelling with more might than they had ever heard. The guards came running too, and were embarrassed that their three prisoners were free; they surrounded the lion, but none was brave enough to get too close.

  “Fine,” yelled out the bear, “if you cannot wait until tomorrow for the games, we will do it now. Let us have this entire pack of coyotes against this insolent lion!”

  Not a single coyote made the first move, for they all stared wide eyed at the size and claws of the specimen before them. The lion tensed his muscles and bared his fangs, and a couple of the coyotes backed up. Animals surrounding the scene began murmuring, and the king would have none of it.

  The bear jumped down from his boulder, almost crushing one of his guards in the process, and them stomped over to tower above the lion. He raised his giant paw, with its line of razor-edged claws, above the lion’s head and waited for the lion to look up with the fear he craved.

  The lion gazed back towards the west, to the faraway wall of the canyon, and wondered if his deer friend was still up there dancing. He then looked to the creek, filled with water that terrified him and could easily keep him prisoner, and missed the animals on that other side. He smiled when he finally turned to look at the little worker ant. Gathering his courage, the lion readied his words, and looked up to the king without a trace of fear.

  “I will give you something in exchange for that petal and freedom,” said the lion, and the bear became intrigued, lowering his paw a few inches.

  “What will you give me?” asked the bear, making sure to roar out his words, full force enough to remind his subjects who was their leader.

  “Give the petal to the ants and let them go, and I will stay in this kingdom of yours.”

  The bear frowned, not at all sure if he liked how this offer was shaping up.

  “I will be your servant,” continued the lion. “I will never roar out in this land of yours, never show my strength or act like a lion in front of any of these animals. I will bow down to these coyote guards, even to the rabbits and raccoons, so they can snicker at this predator who would never harm them, but most importantly, I will bow down before you when you pass. You will be my king, and I will be your obedient servant.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, but then the bear chuckled, rippling the fat along his jowls. He lowered his paw and smiled, already picturing the respect that would shower him from having conquered this lion. The bear then turned to his boulder, crouched and snorted out, sending the petal flying into the air and towards the ants. The worker grabbed it and drew it close to her.

  “Go, little bugs,” said the bear. “Go, before I change my mind.”

  fifteen

  War