The Milkweed Community

Throw it in the most derelict corner of the town, in the most utterly impoverished conditions you can find where few plants have managed to barely sprout, and the Giant Milkweed will grow forth royally. From right within a landfill, or beside the stench of an open sewer, through the dilapidated ruins of broken brick and concrete, amidst the blue-metal stones by railway tracks or from a crevice on a compound wall, there are a few places Milkweed is unwilling to rise from. Its grit and versatility are quite remarkable to note, yet it survives not by propagating itself rapaciously, dominating over all the other vegetation. It is no Prosopis, even though its hardy. The Milkweed instead exists in abundance together with all the other plants, never seeking to take over the land for itself. It co-habits and thrives.

The latex which flows through the milkweed’s veins is well known to be highly poisonous, but that’s only to our stomachs and to cattle and other grazing mammals. A number of creatures have adapted to feed exclusively on this plant and live off it. And as a bonus they render themselves unpalatable to their predators as well. The caterpillars of the Plain tiger butterfly, clad in Zebra stripes, almost solely feed on milkweeds, leaf, stem, flower and all, and hence go untouched by birds. I am sure that the main reason for this butterfly being amongst our most common ones is due to the widespread abundance of its host plant. Moreover the plant’s perennial nature allows this insect to breed and be seen throughout the year. Unlike the caterpillar which strips leaves neatly, a Weevil, the innocuous color of bleached wilting leaves, can be found on this plant boring cheese-holes.

Plain tiger's caterpillar feeding on Milkweed.

Its sap gives the milkweed another line of defense apart from making it poisonous. Several are the times while playing cricket in the streets, have I jumped into a clump of Milkweeds, in a feat of heroic fielding. And on being smeared with its milk all over my body, I won’t forget how on those days I itched and scratched myself blue. But the inflammatory property of milkweed latex is used traditionally in rural Tamil Nadu, to apply on skin and ease the removal lodged-in thorns.

As we enter June-July, the summer is climbing down its peak and the Giant Milkweeds begin growing their seed pods. They are shaped just like eyeballs in their orbits and I am tempted to draw on them pupils using glow paint. I am guessing that it’s Tamil name Erukkan, which translates to bull’s eye, refers to this resemblance. When the seed pods mature they split open with the Sun’s heat and from the mouth of each follicle flat brown seeds drift into the air, carried by glistening white silken strands of hair. Wind and fate are twin siblings. And to allow oneself be carried by either one without a shard of resistance, undaunted by the uncertainty of each gust and letting go, letting be is among the loftiest ideals an entity can reach. I hear these little seeds whispering to the wind “carry me to wherever you may go, however far away and foreign and I will grow”.  Red Milkweed bugs now congregate just at the openings of these pods to catch the outgoing seeds, their most favorite part of the plant. When I think of Summer I think of ripe mangoes, of tall heaps of tender coconuts and succulent palm fruits. I think of long afternoon naps and of the dry hot air making whole landscapes quiver. I think of limes, fish, chilies, garlic and other pickled condiments on large white cloths being dried on the terraces. And I think of countless white milkweed seeds floating in the atmosphere, appearing and disappearing in intense sunrays, like those obscure filaments we see drifting within our eyes. At these times of the year I keep my balcony doors shut at home, especially at lunch as only a slight breeze would be enough to garnish all the dishes on the table with milkweed hair.

Milkweed bugs gathering on bursting seed pods.

In the city, the soil seems like a dead substance mixed with all manner of filth. But I am reminded each year of all the worlds I overlook, all the realities I name, label and forget about when the nymphs of the Painted Grasshoppers crawl out from the mud. They crawl up from beneath the discarded plastic heaps, from beneath cement rubble, stone and tar, from under the faeces of man, dog and cattle. Their overwintering eggs have been hatched by Southwest monsoon showers, almost a whole year after they have been laid and buried by the parent grasshoppers. These nymphs emerge in their hundreds and climb on to the closest Milkweed plants to which their feeding loyalties exclusively lie with. But their presence goes largely unnoticed due to their speckled and dirty green complexion. They start taking on the younger and tender leaves first, competing with the Plain tiger caterpillars and you can see them grow by the day. If you grab one from a leaf, it will shoot at your hand, extra refined poisons it has accumulated from the plant, from squirters all along its back, a liquid so noxious and nauseating that you will never want to smell it a second time. But inspite of this, now and then I do see a Warbler or a Bulbul hover by a milkweed and take away a nymph. A poison by definition only begins its work when ingested. So I recommend that you wash your hands well after your investigations with these critters.

Mating Painted grasshoppers on a Milkweed leaf

In the weeks to follow the nymphs begin to develop wings and grow into grasshoppers. This new creature, in stark incongruity with its juvenile form, looks like something out of a Children’s coloring book.  It is now dressed in gaudy green stripes, deep red wing tips and glaring alternations of blue and yellow on its head and limbs. It becomes the most conspicuous and catchy creature you can find around. These blaring colours are warning boards to hungry birds, cautioning them to take a chunk out of their toxin laden bodies at their own grave risk. But why does the grasshopper choose to blend with the leaves during its younger stages? Is it because it accumulates the plant’s poisons over time and only as an adult is its toxicity formidable? Or is it that its colours also serve to attract mates? Or could it be that since now it has wings it can be showy as well and manage to fly away in the face of real danger?  Perhaps it’s a mix of these reasons and more. But even an adult grasshopper takes precautions when it decides to take out a thick fully grown milkweed leaf. It first walks to its petiole near the stem and gnaws on it a bit and waits till some of the toxic milk spills out of its veins. Only then does it come over to the leaf and begin to nibble on it.

The flowers of the Giant Milkweed are subtly purple, the color you can rest your eyes on. They hold manifold symmetries within their star shaped petals and elicit more and more fascination when you look into one as you twirl it between your fingers. Its fragrance is not meant to entice our senses but to specifically woo Carpenter bees. For these bees, Milkweed flowers are their among their most coveted flowers. Its extraordinary to think that the deadly plant, the touch of whose sap can cause cataracts in any creature’s eyes and a teaspoon-full can kill a goat, has its sweet and nectarine aspect too, accessible to only a few creatures which help it pollinate and procreate. Ants, flies and a handful of butterflies come to these flowers as well. So do Sunbirds and White-eyes and few other birds which are fond of nectar. But the most allegiant to this flower is the Carpenter bee which lugs itself from stigma to stigma; its wings humming a monotone, barely able carry its clumsy body dangling below. And as it decides and settles on a flower it is blown away by passing vehicles and knocked over by the wind many a time. When it finally lands on a flower it tumbles and slides on the petals before it can crawl up and get a grip to draw in the nectar.

Carpenter bee comes visiting.

Soon we would have fought our wars, fired our missiles, poisoned our rivers and brought about our hasty demise, on our long tryst in seeking absolute power over our own species and the planet. And along with the debris and the bombshells, our bones and skulls will litter the land and its layers beneath, as our only legacy. But probably for those who are content with the few comforts they have and are grateful for the little space they have been blessed with on Earth, for those who coexist as a way of life, like a Milkweed community, may live here a bit longer or leave behind a better story for the future. 

-M.Yuvan