I
They dumped her under the tree with the red ants. Every pore in her ravaged body screamed in agony at the contemplation of what the ants might do to her. She imagined them devouring her, more persistent, devious than the uniformed men who had dragged her away.
II
There were many myths and stories about the tree. She had heard them from Amma too – the lines on her face deepening as she narrated one of her tales. The ants were immortal, she had once said, folding her hands as if in supplication to the tiny crawling red creatures that often crowded the forest. Their little red bodies formed a vicious canopy over the dried brown trunk, creeping up the long sinewy branches to cover the green leaves. The tree then became inaccessible, almost untouchable.