by Zubin Mathai
It was an especially beautiful sunrise. The sun found its way through the trees, trying extra hard to reach through leaves and across small hills to kiss the worker standing on a rock. She had been staring silently at the lake, but when the warmth brushed her back she turned to it and smiled up at the gold. Leaves woke with wriggles and dropped their dew, and mist rolled away from the forest to find other spots to sleep.
The worker sighed out along her body and felt free. Stillness had been keeping her company, painting lightness on her soul as she stood out here each morning. Not only had the foe that had been dogging her been vanquished, but she had found the home she had been aching for for weeks.
“There you are, new friend.”
The worker turned to see the soldier, the same perfect specimen that had greeted her one week ago by the mound of pebbles and twigs. The worker didn’t say a word, for she wasn’t done letting the sun greet her with its morning joy.
“Another day begins for our brave sister in her new home,” said the soldier.
The worker noted, as the soldier spoke, that she didn’t once turn to nod to the sun. “What will you do today?” asked the soldier. “Do you want to be a worker or a soldier; or do you just want to take the rest you have earned?”
“I rest just before the sun rises, and in the afternoon when the waters are set to brilliance,” said the worker. “You should try it too. Those are such precious moments in these woods.”
The soldier only smiled, and while it was perhaps half a friendly one and half a humoring one, the worker focused on the friendly half and smiled back.
“When can I see the queen?” asked the worker.
“She sent word that perhaps tomorrow or the day after,” said the soldier. “She is busy running the colony, worried about the wasp that killed a few of our sisters, but she passes on her warmest greetings. She told me to take care of you and make sure you had everything you needed.”
“That wasp was acting alone. It is now dead, and I know no others of its kind will come this way.”
“How do you know that?” asked the soldier.
The worker only turned back to the lake, watching mist fade from the water and wind-stirred ripples fan out. She offered more of her smile and silence, and no explanation as to why her statement was true, nor how she would bet her life on it.
That day, the sun would not leave the worker alone, finding and keeping her warm wherever she went. By mid-morning, she was happy in her work, picking up leaves with the colony’s line of workers. These new sisters did not tease her, even when she lost focus and let her antenna lead her around in absent-minded circles.
At one of those times, when she left an arcing trail through the dirt, she heard the other workers whispering. She turned, hoping they might be teasing her, playfully mocking her lone antenna or the scars across her body. Instead, the others only backed up an inch and stopped their talking.
When one of the ants saw the worker staring, she stepped forward and bowed her head. “Sorry for whispering behind your back, new sister. We are still just in awe of you. My sisters were telling me that, not only did you kill a wasp, but that you supposedly saw a red-dotted spider and were not terrified.”
“Your left leg,” said the worker, pointing at the little ant before her, “no, not that one, the middle one on your left side. It is a little crooked. Maybe we can call you peg-leg.”
The worker exaggerated a laugh, hoping others would join in. When the line of ants only answered with wide-eyed staring, the worker drooped her antenna, letting it float down deflated. “And…” she said, “what would you sisters call me, with my scars and sad antenna?”
“We don’t do nicknames here,” was all the other ant responded, with a sheepish smile.
That afternoon, the worker found time away from colony life to head to the lake and sit on a stone by its shore. She turned around and found the sun through the trees, measuring its angle with two of her legs. She knew it would only be minutes before the lake was set on fire, so she inched forward to find her reflection.
I am a bit uglier, she thought, as she rubbed the scars around her now-blind eye that the wasp had gifted her with. For a moment her reflection was caught in a ripple, and her distorted face reminded her of her friend, the soldier she had grown up with and who had given her life for hers.
I wish you were here, said the worker, using the quiet inner voice that the man of the cabin had taught her. I finally found a home. You would be so proud. Maybe you would even crack a smile and run and play with me. They are very nice in this colony, even if they are a bit dry and humorless — even worse than you!
The worker chuckled at her waving reflection and memories of her friend, before continuing, They feed me and care for me and fawn over me too much. They think I am something special, after hearing about all my adventures. Just wait until I tell them about you, about your courage and strength, about your sacrifice and friendship.
The next day the worker was asked the same question at sunrise by her new soldier friend. What role did she want to play today, worker or soldier? The entire colony by now knew she was special and was the only ant in their midst to be given such an honored choice. No other worker here would ever dare to dream of being a soldier, and vice versa.
“Soldier,” said the worker. “I suppose I could try being a soldier today.”
She made the rounds with a small troop of ants, with her new soldier friend leading the way as the sergeant. Before they set out, the others said they would be patrolling far, so the worker should pack a leaf for food and drink extra rations of water. The worker was excited and all along their march, she kept asking if they would be going even further still.
She was happy to step over twigs and pebbles, race up hills (even though no one raced with her), and for each section, she continued to ask how much longer they’d walk. Would they make it all the way to interesting spots like the marshy lands? When the soldiers began circling back, only focused on their silent march, the worker realized that for these ants and herself, the definition of far was very different.
“These are the rounds we make every day,” said the soldier. “We march in this circle, round and round, for hours on end. The last few days have been particularly tense, because of that wasp that you killed. We kept our eyes peeled for it, and now we watch for any others that might come and attack us.”
“Don’t you ever feel adventurous?” asked the worker. “I understand wanting to keep the colony safe, but what about walking in zig-zags instead of a circle? What about going to visit the man of the cabin, or maybe coming out here at night and finding a spot where fireflies light up the sky?”
The soldier only stared blankly at her, not knowing what most of the words in her sentences meant.
Days came and went, and the worker was happy, but she did find herself sneaking out more often. She would creep quietly to the water or would walk in circles wider than any of the soldiers. One afternoon she sat by the lake, waiting for the sun to set it afire, when she surprised herself by sighing out. She looked around, making sure no one was there, and then sighed out again, this time a bit louder.
She looked inside, curious of this feeling of peace that seemed to have invaded, and wondered when it had arrived. It definitely was not there before she got to this colony, but why, she thought, was it there now, when she was away from her new sisters and all by herself.
When the lake caught the sun and flung it around the forest, turning everything to gold, the worker stood and spun slowly. The peace inside her seemed to be over there on that rock too, and even on that dried bit of leaf all crumbled beside her. It was in the trees and moss, and in the amber rays seeking out every last space.
She remembered the lesson the man of the cabin had spoken to her, how we are all already at peace, already filled with God, and that nothing needs to be added to feel it. That pristine glow is our core, perhaps our soul, but certainly the foundation on top everything else is built. The worker started giggling, for she caught
glimpse that God was home, home was peace, and they didn’t need to be traveled to to be found.
Stepping up to the lake, she was ready to stare down at her reflection, wondering how it would look with the sun so brightly shining. Before she could, however, she was pulled roughly back. She spun, and her new soldier friend was standing there with a terrified look on her face.
“Friend!” the soldier yelled out, “Ants can’t swim. Don’t get so close to the water!”
The worker only laughed at the absurdity of the warning, throwing her head back and laughing and laughing. She saw it so plainly, that her laugh was a space of comfort inside, was home, was the place where God lived too.
Standing with a frown and two legs crossed, wondering what had gotten into this new sister, the soldier waited for the odd display to die down. When the worker finally quieted, wiping what the soldier swore was water from her eyes, the soldier spoke up. “The queen,” she said, “has time now to see you.”
This was the first time the worker was brought down to the bottom levels of the colony’s nest. The deeper she went the more the bustle died down, until on the lowest level only large soldiers shuffled through the dark corridors. She was led by her new friend to the royal chamber, past a row of sternly staring guards, and right up to the queen herself.
The queen sat on her dirt throne, half in the shadows, and something about the way she held herself, so still and proud, so quietly regal, caused the worker to re-adopt a little fear. Out of instinct, she jumped behind the soldier and stole tiny glances. When the queen leaned forward and the shadows left, the worker smiled at her own shyness, how it seemed to not be so stubborn anymore, and she stepped back out.
“Come a little closer,” said the queen, and the worker walked forward.
“You are the little one I have been hearing about,” said the queen with a smile, studying the worker from head to feet. “I’ve heard you’ve had quite the adventure, having come all the way from the drought-stricken lands. I’ve heard of animals and winds, of friends you’ve lost, of giant ants at night sucking nectar from the ground, and even of this relentless wasp that you finally defeated.”
The worker stayed silent for a moment. Hearing those adventures of hers out loud, they sounded like they belonged to another ant.
“How are you liking our colony?”
The worker stepped closer to the queen. “I am enjoying my time here,” she said, marveling at how no fear was felt. “I am thankful for you allowing me to stay and for all the sisters here being so welcoming.”
“Indeed,” said the queen, “but I also hear that you sneak out quite often to be by yourself.”
The worker sheepishly grinned, looking down at her feet and then back up at the queen. “Yes,” she said, “I think the adventures I’ve gone through have changed me a bit. I like to explore when I can.”
Some of the guards cocked their heads towards the worker, frowning in contrast to the faint smile seen half in shadow on the queen’s face. “I’ve heard that you’ve helped the workers and walked with the soldiers,” said the queen. “For a special ant like you — and know that I would do this for no other — I am giving you a choice. You were born a worker, but you helped kill a wasp, so you have earned the right to be a soldier if you want it. Tell me, now that you’ve settled in, what role will you permanently choose for your life here?”
“I have to choose only one?” asked the worker, turning to look at her new soldier friend and noticing that her head was bowed down in respectful aversion.
“We do have rules in this colony,” said the queen. “We do things for the greater good here. We play our roles and honor them. The workers bring in food and rear the young. The soldiers patrol the grounds and keep us safe.”
“Do you let ants, in their spare time, wander?” asked the worker. “Have you yourself left this nest, or have any ants seen all of the woods? There are precious spots out there at different times of the day, just aching to be seen. You may not know the word, my highness, but God is out there in abundance.”
This time it was easier to see, and the worker noticed that the queen’s smile rose a shade higher. The worker studied her face and saw something. As she sat upright on her throne, as still as the lake on fire, the worker saw that this queen had perhaps one of her six legs in something deeper, in that same quiet language spoken by nature, and that she somehow knew of the word God.
“To answer your question,” said the queen, “I do not let any ants stray too far. I do not let any ants go beyond the ocean.”
“Ocean?” asked the worker. She looked at her soldier friend and at the ring of guards, and none seemed to be reacting at all. “What ocean?”
“That body of water an hour’s walk to the south of this nest — that ocean.”
The worker scoffed, trying to stifle a laugh from erupting. “But, my highness, I respectfully have to say that that is not an ocean.”
“It is an ocean,” said the queen. “It is too big to see to the other shore. That, by definition, is an ocean.”
“But!” shouted the worker, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by two guards. Even the soldier reached out to try and calm her new friend. The queen waved them all back, letting the worker move closer.
“But I can see the other side,” said the worker more quietly. “I have come from that side. I have walked around most of that water, passing through the marshy lands, even through a hollowed-out tree. It is a lake. I have seen that lake set afire every afternoon by the sun, and have seen its bottom and sides. It is not even that big a lake.”
The queen frowned and looked at her guards and at the soldier, all with their heads bowed. When she was sure none of them were looking, she offered the worker the faintest of smiles beneath her scowl and then continued with a stern voice. “It is an ocean,” she said. “It defines our southern boundary, just like the hills define our northern ones. We do not venture beyond those points.”
The worker shook her head in disbelief, and she did not even have to blur her eyes for her daydreamed future to come. Perhaps she would be a worker, but every day would be identical, carrying leaves and moving dirt. Perhaps she would be a soldier, but all she would do would be deepening the ruts of that tired circle around the grounds. She thought of the man of the cabin, and the wonder he introduced her to, and she also thought of all the friends and adventures that had come her way over the past few weeks.
“I will ask you again,” said the queen, breaking the silence. “If you are to stay here, you will have to choose a role. Tell me what you want to be.”
The worker glanced at all the ants and chamber walls, and she frowned, suddenly not liking how much dank and darkness there was this deep underground. She focused on the ring of guards, and her new soldier friend, and did not like how their stillness was coming from the slivered edge of fear rather than connection.
“I think I may not stay here,” said the worker.
The guards kept their heads down, but the soldier looked up aghast.
“I think I have some unfinished business,” said the worker. “I just now thought of some friends I had made. There is a lonely man in a cabin on the other side of the lake. I don’t mind stopping by and saying hello.”
“And then?” asked the queen.
The worker paused to think. A frown began, as she mused about all the time wasted here, but then she let it go. “There is a lion trapped in a canyon he doesn’t want to be in. I will need another friend to help me save him.”
“Who is that?”
“A beetle,” said the worker. “If I can get to him in time, I think there is still a chance, for the one keeping him has sworn off killing.”
“And then?” asked the queen, and she leaned back to hide her expression fully in the shadows.
“Then,” said the worker, proudly looking towards the queen, “I think I’ll try a new role, new at least for an ant or a colony like yours, I think I will choose the role of explorer.”
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