The City Heroes (3 page)

It was the rainy season and the forest creatures were rather sad because it had rained hard for weeks. There was thunder in the air, and the constant flash of lightning frightened the animals, for they thought the sounds were gunshots from hunters who had come to kill them, or capture them in nets and sell them to zoos in the cities and towns. So, the lions could not leave their dens, the rabbits had a quiet time in their warrens, monkeys hid under the shade of giant leaves; and the ants remained calm inside their anthills.

This particular evening the weather was very cold, and no one knew if it would rain or not. The clouds wandered across the sky, and the stars had disappeared from their corridors. Indeed, it would be difficult to bet that it wouldn't rain tonight!

To say the least, it would have been better if the creatures never existed, because the forest was no bed of roses. In the midst of their frustration, some ants were having a feast on a table. The meal was good, but painfully, it was the last food in their storage. That meant that they must either go out to forage, or face untold hardship in the days to come. As they ate silently at the table, they suddenly smelled something even more scrumptious than the meal already on their table, and they could not wait to have it! There was a dead animal in the forest, and it would be a good meal for whomever found it.

As nature sometimes favors its own, the gentle breeze carried the smell to the anthill. The ants liked it. Philip, one of the ants, stopped swallowing. He raised his head and sniffed five or six times. “Can you smell anything unusual?” he asked as he exchanged glances with the others.

Bojo, Fred and Paul raised their heads and looked about. Bojo smiled and replied, “It smells nice. Initially, I thought it was the aroma of our meal.”

There was a little opening in the wall. Fred, who was chewing noisily, faced the source of the aroma. “Friends, I think the smell is from there!” he told the other ants, pointing at the wall. They had no choice but to stare at the cracked wall, for no doubt the smell was from there. However, they ignored the smell for the moment and faced the meal on the table as if their very survival depended upon how much they ate at present.

As they ate silently under the shadow of bad weather, Philip cleared his throat. He tapped Bojo on the shoulder and asked, “What do we do now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“This is not the best of times. So we should better watch and pray because the days are evil,” Bojo suggested. He lowered his head and continued to eat.

“Don't be ridiculous!” Philip retorted angrily. “I hope you know that this meal on the table is the last meal we may have for some time!”

Bojo straightened his chin and exchanged a glance with Philip. “Don't get me wrong, Philip. Our hands are tied. Apart from the bad weather, the humans are not helping matters,” he replied with a voice that was as soft as a whisper.

“What do the humans have to do with this?” Philip asked and sat up.

Bojo cleared his throat and said, “There is a constant overflow of the dam at the other side of the forest. And I think the humans channel that water to the forest to reduce the damage the flood would cause them. And if I am not mistaken, the rainy season is when the dam always overflows. So it is not safe to venture into the forest now. Though it is a beautiful thing to live in luxury and have food on your table at the snap of a finger, I cannot risk my life!” After his oratory, he coughed a bit and frowned, as if he'd fallen from a tree.

“Bojo, you have a point, but Philip is right,” Fred cut in. “We can take the risk if we dare. But if you are afraid of dying, then stay behind.”

Paul, one of the ants that had been calm as the still water, now spoke: “Neither the dam nor the bad weather is an excuse for us to die of hunger! The farmer that observes the weather may never sow his seeds. How many times have we snatched victory from the obvious jaws of defeat?” He looked at everyone at the table. “As far as I'm concerned, the meal in the forest is more important than any obstacle out there. If it is God's will, we will survive and return to the anthill safely.”

Bojo took a deep breath. He cast a glance at Paul and they both smiled. “You have all spoken well. Preparing for a rainy day is not building castles in the air. I will die in battle. Of that I'm certain. I just hope we can finish the meal on our table before we move.”

“Yes, by the time we are finished with our meal, surviving the forest will be the least of our worries, because food gives strength,” Philip replied with a smile.

Once the meal was eaten, Philip and the other ants prepared to storm the forest. One after the other, they set off in file behind Philip who seemed to be optimistic that they would find the dead creature and would not return to the anthill empty handed. Yet, only time would tell. The night was as dead as a doornail. And it was not the best time to venture into the woods, except for extreme reasons. After walking along winding paths for a long time, always facing in the direction of the smell, the ants finally found the dead creature, which was an antelope behind a tree. But misfortune waited amidst the boughs and leaves.

It was determined that the antelope must have died from bullet wounds at the hands of people who hunt animals for food. Philip and his friends had a good sniff around to make sure that no one was lurking. After determining that there was nothing to fear in the woods, they heaved a sigh of relief, for it was time to get down to work. One after the other, the ants bit a large chunk of meat off and made their way in single file along the bush paths back to the anthill.

As soon as they got to the anthill, Bojo rushed to Philip and said, “Phil, we need more hands.”

“So what do you suggest?” Philip asked and crossed his arm over his body.

“We have ants that are now robust due to months of inactivity; getting them involved in this work will certainly put them in shape.”

Philip spoke softly, “You are right. I have also given it thought. But I still have a feeling of caution for the forest. So, I want to control the risk. To do so, it would be advisable to venture into the forest with fewer ants.”

Bojo pondered his words and said, “Well, your approach is a wise one. Let's see how things pan out at the end of the day.”

Without wasting time, Bojo and Philip joined the other ants at the door and faded into the night to continue the task where they had left it. They worked as if there was no tomorrow. After five trips in the midst of the silent night, they were finally greeted by a sad tale. As the ants mounted the antelope to grab what they could carry to their camp, they were alerted by a sound that was like a rushing wind. “What is that?” Philip enquired. He raised his head and looked about.

“I don't know,” Bojo said. “But it's like a rushing wind!”

“Wind? You must be joking, Bojo. We would have been swept off our feet by now,” Paul told the others and giggled.

Fred heaved. “It means no harm. It is one of those things that hide in the shadows of a dark night. Let us forget about it and continue our business,” he said.

“I disagree. We must find out what is lurking. Or we might as well bid the world farewell,” Philip suggested. He jumped down from the dead creature and raced forward to check what had caused the commotion. Philip had covered only a short distance when he saw floodwaters cutting through the forest and advancing towards them. It was a dreadful sight to behold! He gasped and choked. The ant turned and faced back to their camp shouting at the top of his voice, “The dam is overflowing! Run for your lives!”

Even knowing how difficult it was to survive such a peril, Bojo, Fred and Paul did not make the best use of their legs to the anthill. They might be caught in the flood and perish before help would come. In desperation, they climbed one of the mango trees. But Phillip's six legs betrayed him as he tripped and fell three times. Before he could make it to a tree, the flood had swept him off his feet. He was carried away. Bojo and the other ants had no choice but to remain on the tree until the break of daylight.

By morning, a new day had come and the forest was as bright as the rising sun. Every living thing was awake to face whatever the day might serve. The birds sang aloud, whistling tunes as if a musical band were performing in a village square. Even as the birds swooped from trees to snatch a bit of breakfast, the beautiful tune was never altered. As the sparrows made the best out of the morning, Bojo and the other ants hid behind giant leaves to make sure they were not seen.

Eventually, they quietly climbed down from the tree. Before the other ants could think what to do, Bojo began walking briskly toward the anthill.

“STOP!” Fred ran after him and asked, “Where are you going?” He placed his hand on Bojo's shoulder.

Bojo frowned. “Where do you think?” he answered with a question.

“That is the way to the anthill,” Fred replied, pointing in the direction Bojo had faced.

“Yes,” Bojo shrugged, “I know it is the way to the anthill. What is wrong?”

Fred was not happy with the reply. He shook his head and looked straight into Bojo's eyes. “Something is wrong,” he said. “We must find Philip—whether he is dead or alive!”

Bojo hissed. “Count me out. I won't risk my life for nothing!” he said and turned to go.

Fred became furious. He grabbed Bojo by the neck and pinned him to a tree. “Bojo! This is all about brotherly love. Philip is lost. And for all you know, it could have been any of us. You must join us to find him!”

“You cannot force me against my wishes, Fred.” He tried to shrug him off but Fred's grip was firm. Not ready to be lured into further adventures, Bojo hit Fred on the face and they began to exchange blows from one end of the forest to the other. Bojo's blows were like a knife piercing a chicken as he descended on his fellow ant. It was only a matter of time before advantage shifted to one side. Fred lost his balance. His legs betrayed him after a blow landed on his neck. Before he could regain his footing, Bojo had pounced on him. With blows coming down upon Fred like a fierce night rain, Paul rushed to separate the friends. He grabbed Bojo from behind and pulled him towards himself. “STOP THIS, BOJO!” he yelled, “Fighting will lead us nowhere. Fred is right! We must find Philip before it is too late.”

Breathing like a terrified lizard, Paul moved nearer his friend on the forest floor. He held out his hand and helped Fred rise to his feet.

But before their legs could carry them to their destination, a sparrow emerged from the trees and swoop down at Bojo. The bird would have had its way were it not for Fred who shielded them with oak leaves. Missing its target, the sparrow flew round the tree for a while before disappearing into the forest to find its daily bread elsewhere. Happy that the enemy had gone, Bojo took a deep breath and pushed the leaf aside. He fell on Fred and gave him a thousand embraces. “Sorry for the pain I caused you. You have just saved my life. Now I know what you mean by brotherly love,” he said.

Fred placed the sad times on the doorstep of the past and smiled. “What are we friends for? We should do what is right and not what we like!”

“Your words are humbling,” Paul cleared his throat and told Fred. He placed his hand on his shoulder, “We must find Philip whether he is dead or alive.”

Fred nodded. “If we search the forest and do not find him, then I will have a clear conscience. If he is dead, our creator will not hold us accountable for it,” he told his friends. He moved towards the hill where the flood had gathered below. Bojo and Paul had no choice but to join in the search.