I am sitting on the terrace of my house. A fly starts annoying me. I end up by giving it a good whack, and it falls on the floor. It is not dead, but it is badly hurt. It is as good as dead. Feeling a bit guilty, I whack it again, this time with my sandal. Its head comes off, but it keeps trying to get up. Tiny ants that live in the terrace wall immediately spot the dying fly. They come out in numbers. First they carry the head to their nest. The twitching body follows at a clip. The fly is now gone, but I am left in a quandary. What is the moral of this story?