The little world of honeybees

 It needs a lot of effort by the honeybees to hold onto the edges of water bucket and take sips of water to save their larvae in the comb. It’s a risky gambit, many tumble down and swim very hard to get back to safety. Many drown in the process. But they don’t mind it. They exist as a species, not as Mr Honey x or Miss Honey y. It’s a humongous survival game on the tiny stage portraying extraordinary interludes of life and hope among the assault by brutal bayonets of annihilation. They are just near the bigger bank of survival, the monsoons; just three or four more weeks of ferrying water in this killing heat. Then the monsoons would be roaring. A few stinging yellow wasps also visit the bucket. They carry an advantage as far as drawing water from the bucket is concerned. They are bigger in body and have larger legs, which allow them to land straightaway on the water surface like a seaplane.

The tree above the bucket is a place of active engagement these days. A babbler and tailorbird nests cause this shrieking squalor. Both of them are very proactive verbal fighters. A tailorbird is far smaller in size but punching far above their weight the little couple even outshouts the babbler pair. The little guys are staunchly stubborn. I have seen even the bullying babblers turn hesitant and patchy in their beaky bombardment, calling for a ceasefire which is very surprising. And when both these noisy nest-makers are silent for some strange reason, it looks as if pure and primitive strains of silence have dawned upon the little garden.