The Sweet Weaver and his Friends

Chapter: 1 – The Weaver and the Ant

“Phew! Finished, at last!” Babui heaved a sigh of relief as he tied the last knot of his newly crafted nest. The exquisite piece of art weaved with at least fifty thousand strands of straw swung rhythmically with the palm leaf.
“It looks strong enough. Now I can go and look for some food. God! My stomach is growling already!” Babui said to himself.

Soon after, Babui flew down from the palm tree. The nest was at a safe distance, none would be able to reach there easily. The pond below looked as clear as a mirror. Babui glanced down at his reflection in the water. He dipped his feet in the cool ripples to wash them.


Ouch! The bird cried. A dead snail had touched his feet, causing a deep cut. He sat on a tiny pebble nearby. The soft rays of the morning sun soothed his tired wings. He drank a sip from the pond, combed his feathers with a sharp blade of grass. His little tummy kept ringing hunger alarms, but there was nothing edible in sight.


“Hey there, Babui

weaver bird

bhai

brother

how are you?” A small voice could be heard nearby. Startled, Babui turned around to find the owner of that voice.


“Hey, it’s me, look here.” There was a black ant on one of his feathers.

“Hello Pipra

ant

I’m good, and you?” Babui replied, the presence of his little friend made him smile.
“You don’t look so good, what happened?” Pipra did not like to see his cheerful best friend’s sad face.
“No, nothing, little one. How have you been?”
“Me? I’m good, eating a lot of sugar lately. Just a minute…”


Pipra returned with a few grains of rice and sugar on a thin mango leaf. “Yum! Thanks pal.” Babui pecked at the grains one by one and the monster growling in his stomach finally stopped.


Mrs. Pipra was busy guarding her eggs in their little ant-hole. She had been watching her husband and his bird friend chatting merrily. She could not resist the urge to join in. Babui could attract anyone with his pleasant personality and his sharp, yet sweet voice.



“Paddy juice, anyone?” Mrs. Pipra asked offering two little hay-bowls filled with a yellowish-golden liquid.
The sugar grains had made him thirsty, so Babui accepted the beverage gratefully. Pipra already knew the magic of his wife’s homemade juices; he gulped down the liquid within seconds.


“So, Babui bhai, isn’t this the nesting season for you weavers?” Pipra asked, cautiously nibbling at his friend’s wound. Ant saliva had certain antiseptic properties, strong enough to heal small injuries.


“Yes, already completed. I’m tired of the long trips, but that was worth it.” Babui informed.
“I must say, you do a fine job with those knots, Babui bhai.” Mrs. Pipra praised. “Now you only need a few fireflies to serve as a light source.”
“Yes, will call them soon, sister.” Babui answered, between sips of the paddy juice.


Both the ants always admired Babui’s weaving skills. The ants were well known for their hard working nature, but they could never create such a unique home. They already knew Babui used his small, but strong beak to tie all the knots. He could carry just one string with his mouth every time; so, he had to make consecutive trips to the farmer’s hay bale, just to collect enough strings for his nest.


“Farewell for now.” Babui waved a wing at his little friend as he took off towards the inviting monsoon sky.