The Caterpillar's Home

As told by – a bush

The walking stick then invited a bush to narrate the next incidence. And what a tale it told. It goes as follows.

Once a very lucky fat green caterpillar was chosen to have an instant roof over its head by our busybody Purja. Whereas, it takes most living beings either years of planning or hard work to acquire a decent roof over their head, our green caterpillar was uncommonly lucky. Only, the said crawler was in total darkness about its good fortune and would not stand still for the necessary consultations regarding its requirements, likes, dislike and such details. Hence, our friend, its self appointed architect took it on himself to think like his rather confused client. Caterpillar’s restlessness, definitely a sign of unwanted suspicious nature in our friend’s opinion, made the architectural undertaking somewhat difficult but the challenge therein made it attractive to Purja, a sucker for weird challenges. The building material used was totally free and eco-friendly. A dismantled match box for walls, few tiny pebbles for a boundary wall, some grass for flooring and colored paper, twigs and leaves for the roof, were collected because of the free availability and with an eye at economic viability. Our friend wanted his caterpillar- house to be the best. After all, his reputation was at stake, amongst the caterpillar population, around the globe. He was well aware of the low intelligence and forgetfulness of his client. So very cleverly, he built the room around his first client while it was busy eating the new leaves on their mango tree. Balancing on a branch, he worked totally focused on this unique project. Lucky caterpillar’s uncooperative attitude made his work somewhat, tedious, but his single-minded devotion to the task at hand, finally bore result. The caterpillar was comfortably ensconced in a somewhat tacky enclosure of sorts.

“Well! The green crawler, apparently, had its own ideas because soon it crawled out, never to return. Our friend tried helping it back by pushing it in with a twig but the caterpillar was adamant. Purja felt cheated and hurt by this casual attitude to favors so selflessly given. The caterpillar community needed some lessons in politeness, he felt. He was not disheartened though. He was a born optimist. There were thousands of caterpillars, or at least a hundred at a glance in his garden, needing a roof over their head.” The bush rustled gently, waiting for the laughter to subside before continuing.

“ The poor caterpillar would have been scared to death, thinking the end of the world was near. How did Purja come up with such weird ideas? This must have kept him busy for a while.” Wondered the digital clock, scratching its dial.

“God only knows! He was busy, all right but his actions always had wider repercussions. You see he had some unique marketing strategies up his sleeves. As a promotional tactics, all the caterpillars were given gift of sugar crystals on a new green leaf along with fresh flowers as a house warming present along with their allotted apartments. But they kept abandoning these due to their dumbness or arrogance. Our friend finally gave up, when even repeated free transportation atop a piece of cardboard or a twig to the location failed to lure his caterpillar clients to stay within their lodgings.”

But all the sugar used as incentive invited uninvited guests, a line of ants and the homeless matchsticks scattered all over the kitchen floor did not go un-noticed either. The cook threw a fit.

“And they say, I put too much sugar in my tea? Scatter it around for all I care but at least leave me alone. Now, what am I going to do with the ants? They are all over my kitchen. I am sick and tired of sweeping and mopping again and again. This household is crazy. And look at the match- boxes? All broken to pieces by that meddler just for the caterpillars, mind-boggling isn’t it? Social work, Tcch! At my cost is what I don’t like. My old back is aching what with all the bending trying to collect the match sticks.” The cook could be heard lamenting to the dhobi. Just a few days back, he had bought an economy pack containing twelve match- boxes that now lay ruined. Dhobi, a great fan of Purja since this one boy made his life as a washer-man challengingly interesting, nodded half-heartedly between sips of hot tea and mouthfuls of Samosa. Cook was in habit of complaining un-necessarily, he felt.

The suspicious gardener, who saw multiple odd looking piles of pebbles, dismantled match- boxes, twigs and colored paper all over his garden threw even bigger, fit. He was sure that someone was indulging in voodoo to harm him. He hurled his turban on the ground and sat hunched holding his head in his hands. He thought hard, weighing the evidence. He was suffering from a bad case of heartburn since most of his prize blooms lay scattered amidst these piles. He was sure these too were being used to put spells on him.

“Sahib, I don’t want to die so young. Look at all those piles. Some one is trying to harm me. I will catch an evening train back to my village today itself. Please pay me my dues.” The scared gardener who had seen a lot of black magic in his village, requested Purja’s uncle. He wanted to be away and gone before the magic actually started blackening his life. Purja’s uncle, who was rather proud of his gardens and a strict disciplinarian, rounded the likely suspects for interrogation. Purja’s selfless endeavor at caterpillar upliftment won reluctant admiration and for a few moments the uncle forgot his garden. He lectured Purja at length, listing dos and don’ts of the garden and its resident’s world.

Eventually, everything was sorted out to the satisfaction of the cook and the gardener. The caterpillars retained their homeless status. And for once our friend, somewhat dazed by the intricately long monologue of his uncle, thought of other career options without sitting in the corner. He did not want to complicate his life un-necessarily.” Answered the bush, clarifying all doubts.