India! Come to find giant ants (and a guy to forge some papers), stay for the man eating tigers.
It turns out my guy in Bangkok is doing time in a Singapore prison for eating durian on the subway one too many times, so I boomed for Kolkata. Oh, Kolkata! (doesn't have the same ring, does it?) While I was at it, I figured I should take a look at the legendary, enormous, gold-hoarding monster ants known as myrmekes.
Greek sailors named them ‘myrmekes’ after ants, because they’re giant ants. They range in size from dogs to bears and guarded a hill of gold. India doesn’t fuck with dragons. Greek historian Herodotus told of furry, fox-sized ants that would dig up gold while making their burrows, which the villagers would later collect.
In search, I left Kolkata heading southeast through Sundarban National Park. I hired a boat to take me down the winding waterways of the park and toward the Bay of Bengal. If the legend came from sailors, the coast seemed like a good place to look. After an uneventful start, the pilot spotted a tiger, then several tigers pacing alongside the boat as it drifted. The pilot started screaming about ‘buggin’ out’ and how if he died in an evil place, his soul wouldn’t make it to heaven. I offered him a handful of xannies, which he accepted and cooled out.
Now folks, I tend to get so involved hunting down some bullshit monsters, that a few real fucking ones escape my wheelhouse. One of these goddamn hell beasts jumps onto the boat and chomps the pilot on the crown and drags his screaming meat into the jungle. That was about an hour ago. I’ve unloaded a clip into one of them but it’s still on the deck, clawing its bloody mass toward me by inches. I know my mom doesn’t read these things, but if anyone knows Angela Llewellyn, in Bellevue Washington tell her her son Gary died as he always dreamed he would; in mortal combat with an apex predator. And that if anyone named ‘Chisel’ calls, tell him ‘it’s under the mulch in the shed.’