Our prehistoric ancestors were brave. Small bands of them stepped out of their caves into the wilderness to hunt, armed with only wooden spears, clubs, and roughly sharpened stones. They hunted no ordinary creatures—they stalked megafauna—menacing monsters several times their size and several hundred times their weight. Dangerous beasts which could kill with a sideways sweep of a tail, the stomp of a foot or the chomp of a fearsome jaw. Their skeletons leave us wide-eyed and open-mouthed. We break into a cold sweat on cushioned sofas in secure homes in gated societies as we watch AI-generated images of these creatures. But our ancestors were not deterred. They hunted so well they drove many megafauna to extinction – the moa, the aurochs, woolly mammoths, giant sloth…..the list is a long one.

The dawn of civilisation

Then we became civilised. We discovered metals and fire. We gained in stature, the animals grew smaller. But they were still wild, ferocious and unpredictable. There were lions, tigers and panthers which could turn man-eaters; bears that could maul, elephants that could wreak havoc over entire hamlets. Crocodiles lurked in the rivers, sharks in the oceans, poisonous snakes in the trees. So we set out to rid the world of these dangerous beasts. In large hunting parties, carrying spears and arrows—lethal weapons of iron, bronze, and alloys we had forged.

And finally, we invented firearms! Armed with guns and rifles, clad in protective gear, we shot down the wild boars and the bisons; the lions and the tigers, the rhinos and the elephants.

We eliminated some. Many survived, despite our trigger-happy ways.

Enlightenment

That was because we gained enlightenment. We realized that the fearsome beasts in the forests were not our real enemies. The danger was much closer. The rats that plagued us, the mosquitos that sucked our blood, the cattle that spread anthrax, the dogs that spread rabies. Those were the dangerous creatures. And they were there to stay. With us.

And yet, they weren’t really the killers. They were mere vehicles. The virulent beasts were smaller, much smaller. Microbes. Unseen by our naked eyes. We needed to build special instruments to even spot them. We peered through our microscopes and discovered them—first in dozens, then in hundreds, and then in numbers so vast we’re still enumerating them. And they were everywhere. Around us, on us, inside us.

There were those that waited, barely alive, till they entered our bodies. Then they sprang to life—feeding, replicating, assembling, invading. We were their hosts, and they sucked us dry. And lifeless.

We aimed our magic bullets at them. Only a handful were exterminated. Most survived. And many emerged stronger.

What’s next?

So what’s the point of the story, you may ask? Did you notice? As we evolve, the beasts that pose a threat to our lives and limbs grow ever smaller, come closer and remain increasingly undefeated.

As the ancients have said, perhaps the enemy lies within.