The monsoon stirs the animal kingdom. Peacocks dance, fireflies light up the forest, and frogs croak with all their might to find a mate for the season. Ponds fill up, trees grow with renewed vigour, and the soil thirstily drinks up, releasing petrichor, as if in thanks.
Among the many creatures, big and small, that come alive at this time of year are the red velvet mites, the largest members of the mite family. For most of the year, Trombidium grandissimum reside under the surface, preferring the dark, cool confines of top soil to the warmth and light above. But come monsoon, they emerge for one principle reason: to mate. And this is where things start to get interesting.
Cover photo: Red velvet mites emerge from the ground only during the monsoon. Photo: James Niland
Males begin by identifying a location for what some scientists call a “love nest”. Once the spot has been identified, a male goes about creating his boudoir from fragments of bark, branch and leaves, adorned with drops of sperm. Next, he spins a trail to his nest so potential mates don’t lose their way, and when his house is finally complete, he waits patiently at the door for lady visitors to exhibit interest. When a female arrives, the male velvet mite breaks into dance, moving its legs and body from side to side. If his moves are moving enough, she enters his domain, picks up the small sacs of sperm, fertilizes her eggs, and moves on in a matter of minutes.
As with many fish and amphibians, fertilisation with red velvet mites is external so there is no copulation involved. But that doesn’t mean competition isn’t fierce. If a rival male stumbles upon a prepared nest, he will trash it completely, and deposit his own sperm over the nest.
This is a pity, because red velvet mites play a significant role in our ecosystem. During the larvae stage, the baby mites are parasitic and latch on to grasshoppers and other insects, keeping their numbers in check. As adults, they eat small spiders, and eggs and larvae of beetles, snails, and other wingless insects that are a bane to farmers.
So, if you do notice one of these furry creatures scrambling along in the monsoon, don’t swat it away: it’s probably a male, scavenging for bits and bobs to build the perfect love nest.