Samrudhdi Kerkar
After a long and weary day, I reached home late. I could not wait to wash my tired face and headed towards the washroom. Just as I was about to turn on the tap, I noticed something strange in the mirror, a colossal black shadow looming behind me, like a crooked blotch visible only in reflection.
Before I realised what it was, my eyes widened and I gasped with surprise and an unfamiliar fear. I turned, and it suddenly made sense. I was standing amidst a swarm of honeybees, entering one by one through the window. I ran outside and latched the door, still wondering how such a large cluster could appear inside the house in just one day. I could hardly believe my eyes, but I had to.
I shut all the other windows and began thinking of how to send the bees away, as they were very close to my room. At that moment, I remembered someone whose home I had once visited with my baba to witness a unique practice of honey farming.
His name is Anant Melekar. He lives in the lush green village of Shel Melavli and has a unique interest in taming bees.
I called him for help. He asked me to send a picture so he could identify the species and advised me not to turn on the lights, as it could disturb them. Though hesitant, I opened the door again. The cluster had grown even larger, layers of bees settling over one another, forming a dense mass like the beginnings of a hive.
When I sent him the picture, he confirmed that no hive had been built yet. These were honeybees resting temporarily, searching for a place to build their new home. The species was Apis cerana indica, locally known as Satpodem or Sathodem. He explained that summer is peak swarming season.
Bees are beautifully organised, almost like a living society where every individual has a role. In species like Apis cerana indica, a colony functions as a superorganism, behaving as a single living entity rather than just a group of individuals.
There are three main types of bees: the queen, the only fertile female who lays eggs; the workers, sterile females who handle everything from foraging and cleaning to building and defence; and the drones, whose sole role is to mate with the queen. Even the workers progress through stages, beginning with cleaning and feeding larvae, then building and guarding, and finally foraging for nectar and pollen.
Together, these roles sustain the colony as one continuous whole. A bee lives for only about 40 days, yet as a collective they work tirelessly, storing honey not just for themselves but for future generations. It is perhaps one of the finest examples of unity and selfless teamwork that humans can learn from.
There is one harsh reality: two queens cannot coexist in the same hive. One must leave with a group of workers to form a new colony. Perhaps one such queen had chosen our home, if only for a while.
We were advised to keep the lights off until he arrived. As we waited, fear slowly turned into curiosity. I found myself wanting to witness the rescue.
After some time, two people arrived carrying a large box. Dressed in protective jackets, gloves and mesh masks, they moved calmly towards the swarm in near darkness. We huddled together, watching with a mix of awe and apprehension as they gently lifted the bees from the wall and placed them into the box, as if it were routine.
As he worked, he spoke about these remarkable creatures. Apis cerana indica is widely used in Goan apiaries because it is docile and adapts well to bee boxes. It is also an important pollinator for coconut. Such a small creature, yet so vital.
He spoke warmly of how the bees had chosen our home, as though they sensed they would be safe here, in a place where they would be cared for rather than harmed. His words softened something within me.
When the wall was finally clear, I felt a quiet sadness for the bees, displaced from what they had begun to claim as home. But as he left, Anant Melekar kaka reassured us that they would be safe at his farm. “You can come anytime,” he said, “if you want to see your bees.” Your bees. Something shifted.
The same bees that had filled me with unease now felt strangely like mine. It felt as though I was letting something go. The wall stood empty again. The unexpected guests had left. Yet they had left something behind too, a faint trace of wax like a memory, and a gentler way of seeing bees, not with fear, but with kindness.
