The twin suns were just peeping into view as Vrinda left the village with her gathering baskets. The sky had turned a buttery yellow by the time she passed through the fields and traveled some distance into the wastes. She was apprenticed to Kavi, the village Siddhar, and her job was to gather the medicinal herbs, flowers and berries and then help him prepare the medicines. When she had started with him sixteen seasons ago, he had been tall and sinewy with skin the color of coleus bark and his long black hair hung in two glossy curtains along his beaked nose. Kavi spent many hours meditating on the villagers symptoms and asking for Suvan’s blessing. He was usually so exhausted by dining time that she would often have to help him undress and ease him down onto his cot. His appetite had waned and he was becoming thin and frail. The now ashy skin hung down where once he was heavily muscled and he tied his tangled gray hair back into a tail which seldom became acquainted with his comb. Suvan would probably take him within the next few seasons as there was no cure for old age. She would be Siddhar when he passed over and she has already selected a young girl, Sashi, to be her apprentice. The girl was only five, but already was picking and tasting plants when she played. Her mother would give her over willingly as a Siddhar has the highest standing of anyone in a village and also because she was practical and had six other daughters to marry off. The village contained over four hundred people and there was too much work for one Siddhar, but tradition allowed only one per village. Kavi would have to put a ban on building soon and encourage newly married couples to leave here and pioneer out further west.

Image Credit: Julian Robinson

Vrinda spotted the makarand hive ahead and quickened her pace. She needed to harvest some of the jelly today to soothe Kavi’s aching joints. She stopped abruptly as a milling hoard of half meter larva blindly blocked the path into the hive. No, not another hive collapse! That makes three just on this end of the village. She carefully stepped around the struggling larva and cautiously entered the hive. It was empty but for a few pale stragglers who were desperately trying to stay with the brood. There was no sign of any adult makarands and no bodies lying around. She broke most of the intact egg sacks and carefully collected the indigo jelly into the bladders she carried. They would never hatch without the adults and she didn’t want to waste the precious medicine. It was helpful for many ailments, but especially for those babies who choose to enter the world too early. She was able to feed the jelly to babies so small that they could curl into the palm of her hand. Without it, they died within days. Lalan was expecting again and three of her last five pregnancies had ended badly. Her body couldn’t hold a baby for long and it was always a struggle to save the little ones born alive. The makarand jelly was their best and only hope.

The villagers usually rejoiced when a hive was naturally abandoned as they were then allowed to saw the hives into small blocks. It was their main building material in a land where there were no trees and the rock along the river banks was so hard that it couldn’t be broken apart by any of their tools. The soil was just a fine dust that would pack together when wet, but as soon as it dried, it reverted back to a powder. Plant fibers were fine for making cloth, but did not hold up during the rainy season.

An adult makarand were about a meter-long with a light blue thorax. The long oval abdomen came in many colors, shading from dark blue to leafy green. They had one pair of short leathery wings which could get them off the ground in short bursts, but usually they ran about on their thin six legs. Three delicate antennas waved about their compact little heads which were adorned with two gigantic translucent eye membranes. They usually roamed about at night and stayed within the hive walls during the suns-light hours. When they outgrew a hive, they moved their entire brood into a more fertile area a several hundred meters away and rebuilt; abandoning the old hive to the foraging animals and humans in the area. They never ever abandoned their young! Not until this season anyway. These poor doomed larva would quickly dry up under the suns heat and they would all be dead and desiccated by day’s end.

Vrinda took a pinch of red wax from a small pouch hung around her neck and stuck it to the hive wall. She pressed her thumb firmly into the wax. The hive could now be officially dismantled. To cut into a living hive– one without the official sigil– condemned the offender and his family to living in a grass hut for seven seasons and they would have to stack all the blocks they owned in the village common as payment for the loss to the village. The elderly and infirm got first choice of the blocks and then young couples took divided up the remainder. The makarand would not stay in a damaged hive and would travel for long distances to separate themselves from it which often resulted in a high death rate. Sometimes the brood did not survive the journey and that would effectively signal the death of the hive. Makarands only mated once in their lifespan and the killing of one was taboo. A dead adult could be harvested as it had many useful parts, but purposely killing one resulted in permanent banishment from the village. This had never happened in her lifetime and even the smallest children knew how important the insects were to the village’s survival.

Vrinda’s people needed the makarands. They not only provided the only good building material, but their jelly (wisely harvested) was the main ingredient in many of the medicines used in the village. The dried dung was mixed with tulasi and sprinkled on wounds to stop bleeding and the antennas were dried and used as needles to suture the cuts. They shed their skin five times a season and these were collected, ground into powder and used as a food supplement. Children were given the task of collecting the skins as it keep them busy and out of mischief. The village had no livestock and the only protein they got was from hunting large field rodents and occasionally one of the dust cats that roamed the wastes. The rigid back plate of a dead male was heated on a slow fire until it became translucent and then used as a window. Female plates were dried and then utilized as roof shingles. A house constructed entirely of makarand parts was a thing of beauty. The walls were subtly streaked with every color; the roofs sparkled in the suns light as did the multitude of small windows in each wall. Each family took great pride in their homes appearance and every blocks placement was agonized over for weeks. In this way they honored the sacrifice of the makarands.

The insects ate the village garbage and sewage; in fact, anything that the villagers couldn’t use was consumed by them. The fields had to be fenced so that the human fertilizer wouldn’t be consumed by the makarand. They scavenged the wastes for carcasses and kept the world clean. They would chew one mouthful for days and then regurgitate it onto the walls of their hives. This material was as varied in color and texture as the garbage they consumed. Fecal matter emerged purple while plant debris could be any shade of green, orange or yellow. The pinks and reds were created from the dead animals they consumed. Rarely a blue showed up in the blocks and the source remained a mystery. Each male makarand smoothed his vomit flat with his front legs and antennas so that each small finished area had a unique pattern pressed into it from the hairs adorning their individual leg segments. Some makarands would poke their hairs into the wet material leaving pockmarks while others would delicately brush their hairs in swirls or circles or lines. The females would vomit up the walls for the nursery and nurture their egg sacks until the larva emerged. Ancient Siddhars had studied the habits of the makarand and each successor passed on their knowledge to the villagers in the form of stories. All the surrounding villages also used the blocks as barter. The darker the color, the more visible the fiber or the more intricate the design, then the more valuable was the block.

Vrinda left the hive and continued on to collect the herbs she needed for today’s patients. She would inform Kavi of the dead hive after her chores were completed. She gathered some gnarled Kanchek bark, pale new leaves and the flattened pods. Some would go to treat little Yatin’s fever and the rest she would add to the pharmacy for later use. She scraped bark from the hivar-gandhi shrub to brew into a sweet tea and ease Daya, the fisherman’s stomach pains. She waded down into the marsh and collected some fleshy rhizomes to reduce the swelling of Pia’s arm. She uprooted a small garmar plant to help shrink old Abrah’s piles. She plucked some glossy green leaves from a chitrak scrub and secreted these in her tunic pocket. These she would brew into a tea for the pregnant Neela who did not want another baby. She carefully dug up several bhangra plants with her small shovel in order to get the roots. The roots and stems made a good tonic for respiratory ailments and freshly squeezed juice from the roots cured headaches. The big broad purple leaves would be their midday meal tomorrow. She could use the tiny, furry yellow leaves to make an ointment to rub on both the heads of that old, vain fool Rupak. He wanted desperately to please his new young wife. The old fool would probably drop dead from his exertions.

She gathered all morning and stopped at a small orchard just before going home to her midday meal. These bael shrubs belonged to Barid and she was allowed to harvest one shrub for the successful delivery of his new son, Yaj. She wandered among them, searching for the most productive one. Baels are thorny shrubs which produce sweet yellow-skinned quinces. These she would make into jam and pickles for her and Kiva. It was also useful for digestive disorders. The leaves would be brewed to make a tonic for general vitality and the thorns were used to poke lace holes in their tunics. She sampled several quinces until she found the one with sweetest pulp and then stripped the tree of its fruit. She carefully picked just enough leaves so as not to damage the shrub. She would be back; Barid and his wife Juhi already had eight children and did not look to be stopping anytime soon. Next year she would be back picking quinces from this tree again. She smiled as she turned towards home.

She hauled her heavy bags to the impressive house she shared with Kavi. They had the most blocks of any in the village as everyone needs the services of the Siddhar at least twice in their lives—at the beginning and at the end. The more valuable bricks, like the pale rose colored striped one and the veiny dark-orange one and the blue speckled one were mortared above the doorway. It was the first thing people saw when they came for help. A successful Siddhar is rich and shows it. A poor Siddhar is probably a poor healer.

Kavi had warmed the fish soup and waited for her return. She sat down beside the low block table and ladled out a bowl for each of them. They discussed the various ailments of the villagers and compared diagnosis and treatment plans. When she was younger, she was very bad at determining what the proper herb for each symptom exhibited was and which combination of symptoms signified a whole body illness. For example, there were so many human ailments that resulted in stomach upset that it took years of practice to know which of the forty-six digestive herbs would give relief to a specific stomach. These days she and Kavi usually concurred and on the rare occasion when she thought differently then him, she would explain her thinking and he often would defer to her diagnosis. She felt secure that she was ready to be Siddhar when Suvan called Kavi home. He was a great Siddhar and a patient teacher.

She told him of the dead hive and he said he would meditate on it while she prepared her mornings collection. She went into the pharmacy and laid out the various leaves and roots and fruits. She cleaned off the dust and hung many to dry from the ceiling. Some she carefully stowed in pouches on the shelves. The majority of the quinces went into the floor storage to keep them cool. She cut up several and places them in fresh water bladders which she would move into the suns-light and let seep throughout the rest of the day. This took much time as a Siddhar must be very meticulous. A cure can so easily be turned into a poison. While you usually were trying to produce a cure, sometimes a poison was preferred. When she was no longer able to ease the pain of passing over, she would often help the dying along. A quick death is sometimes a blessing.

Kavi was still meditating, seated on the ground with his palms held up to heaven. He could stay in this position for hours. She left him to minister to their patients and did not return until well after dark. She ate a light meal sitting across from the still meditating Kavi and then went to her cot to sleep. When she awoke in the night, she could see by the firelight that he was still upright. She prayed that Suvan would answer him soon as he was an old, old man and needed his rest. Gods are very selfish and tend to be indifferent to all manner of human suffering. When the suns rose the next morning, Kiva was still patiently sitting in front of the hearth. He looked pale and exhausted; his body slumped forward and his hands resting on the dirt floor. She would break his meditation if this continued much longer. She fed the fire some small dry branches and started a fish bladder of grain to boil. She added basil, ikena and lemon grass seeds to the mixture. When it was ready, she sliced up several of the quince and arranged them on top of the porridge in the shape of the suns. The orange pulp was very pleasing to the eye and settling to the stomach. She held it in front of Kiva and gently blew the aromatics into his face. His eyes slowly focused and he gently smiled at her. He consumed the warm grain and savored the delicate flavor of the fresh quince. After he finished, he thanked her and stretched his weary shoulder and leg muscles. He went outside to relieve himself behind the house and then stood facing east, watching the suns travel through the yellow skies. He offered up prayers of gratitude to Suvan.

At midday, she rolled the bhangra leaves around a thick fish paste and placed it before Kavi. Afterwards they sat at together near the kitchen fire and he told her what Suvan had revealed to him in his meditations. Suvan said that the symbiosis between the makarands and the humans had been broken by men’s greed and the insects no longer cared to serve mankind. Kavi said he had seen a vision of the makurands slowly disappearing from this land and Vrinda guiding the village along a new path into a world without the many blessings of the insects. He told her how everything would slowly change and the people would drag their feet and complain every step of the way– as this was the nature of humans. As new blocks became scarce, rival villages would rage war on one another. It would be a bleak time and she must show great courage and great initiative. She must set every person in the village to think of new ways to construct buildings and the farmers would need to find new proteins and domesticate some of the wasteland animals. The world would move on and they would need to change with it or go the way of the makarand. He told her to hold a contest to see who could come up with the best idea, but advised against telling them of the coming demise of the makarands. People in despair can rarely solve problems as they are too wrapped up in their own misery. She would need to make the prize some of their own valuable blocks so that the villagers would take it seriously. He told her he was sorry that he would not be around to aid her as Suvan was taking him very soon, but that he had great confidence in her abilities.

He patted her affectionately on the head, gave her a blessing and went indoors to sleep. He never woke up. She buried him in the dust near the dead hive and every villager came to mourn his passing. She made many offerings to Suvan to make Kavi’s journey smooth in the afterworld. He had trained her well and she became known throughout the land as the Siddhar of the Great Change. She trained Sashi and she, too became a good Siddhar to the people. The villagers flourished under her care and found many new ways to better their village and then their world. Babies were born and the old died as is the natural course of things.

One day, not long after Vrinda passed into Suvan’s realm, the last lonely makarand died, unnoticed, in the remote wastes of the North and the world moved on.