Morning in the flower garden, and Piku the ant is all business. A big crumb of bread on his shoulder, he darts about on six legs — up this marigold stalk, over that hibiscus leaf, criss-crossing the whole garden. Chest puffed out, Piku says — “Who's as quick as me? I'll circle the whole garden before the morning's out!”
On a leaf, a little caterpillar was inching along — one fold… another fold. Piku doubled over laughing — “Oh my, so slow! I dash wherever I please, and you can't even cross a single leaf!” The caterpillar looked up and said softly — “What's the hurry, brother? Everyone has their own time.”
A few days later. Slowly, slowly the caterpillar climbed a thin bamboo twig. Then it wrapped and folded itself into a little shell — quiet, still, hanging from the branch. All it said, in a drowsy voice, was — “Let me rest a while… we'll meet when the time comes.”
That afternoon Piku wandered by and saw the shell. He burst out giggling — “Oh dear, once you were slow, now you're stuck dangling for good! Poor thing!” A soft voice floated out from inside — “We'll meet when the time comes, brother.” For a moment something niggled in Piku's chest — then he shrugged and dashed off again.
Night fell over the garden. The flowers had drifted to sleep, and even the crickets had hushed. Under a moon round as a plate, the little shell hung all alone — silent, still. Here and there, fireflies blinked on and off. Inside, a quiet waiting went on… a little more waiting… Do you know what was happening in there?
The first light of dawn broke through. The dew-wet shell began, ever so slowly, to split — and out came a little creature with two damp, crumpled wings. Bit by bit it opened them, drying them in the sun — red, orange, gold! Amazed, it whispered — “These wings… are they really mine?”
Wings spread in the golden light, the butterfly floated up — flutter, flutter! Below, Piku stared open-mouthed, his six legs stuck fast to the ground. Circling once overhead, the butterfly smiled — “Goodbye, brother Piku! You race across the garden — today the sky is my road. Didn't I tell you? Everyone's time comes.”
Drifting over the marigolds and hibiscus, the butterfly melted into the far sky. Piku puffed out his chest no more — he just watched, quiet, something going soft inside him. From that day on, whenever he met someone small, Piku remembered — everyone's time comes, so never think anyone too little.