THE THIRSTY CROW

By
Aditya D Dave
Once upon a time there was a crow, sitting on a blank canvas. With bedraggled feathers and
bloodshot eyes, he wasnt what one would call a looker nor what one would call a hero, but he is all
we have and he shall have to do. For now.
I am so thirsty, he thought
Against all appearances he was of a philosophical bent of mind, so he also thought, Why am I
thirsty?
Of course, the answer was that he was he was effing high wasnt he? But he did not realize this, oh
no no. He searched the dark depths of his soul but found no answer. He was on the verge of
concluding, I am thirsty, therefore I am, when all thought left his mind, fried by mental
firecrackers.
He started again:
Why am I so thirsty?
Why am I?
What am I?
What?
What?
What?
What?
Considerably shaken by these worldly ponderings he decided to seek the answer without rather than
within and to his amazement, saw an earthen pot.
This is a pot and I am on pot and God, that has made me thirsty! he thought. This is a fable and
so I am sure there is water in that pot. Sweet sweet relief awaits me.
But look at him, too lazy or maybe too high to move. Look at him battle with himself, trying to lift
one wing, one leg, one eyelid and fail every time. All he can do is absorb heat, with hundred percent
efficiency, and think twisted thoughts.
Suddenly another crow flew into the picture. His muscles were well toned, his body was covered in a
healthy layer of sweat.
I want some water because I have flown ten thousand miles! he announced.
A frequent flier! thought our crow, looking at him with ill concealed jealousy. These frequent
fliers get points and whatnot that they can redeem for goodies, you know.
Aah, thought the hardworking crow, there is some water in this pot. I cannot reach it with my
beak though, it is too deep down.
Hmm, what do I do? I know! I will redeem some of my frequent flier miles for a pile of pebbles!
So there appeared a pile of pebbles next to the crow and he started toiling. He lifted one pebble at a
time and carefully dropped it into the pot. Every pebble raised the water level by a small margin. It
would take a hundred for the water to reach the top.
If only Id had the same opportunities as this guy, I would not be so wasted, thought our hero.
The divide between the rich and the poor
However his social commentary was cut short by a whooshing sound.
Its a bird!
Its a plane!
It is Supercrow! announced the third crow. Our wasted hero looked at him with beak agape.
The hardworker was too busy to take notice.
If he had, however, he would have seen a dashing example of their species. The third crows
plumage was sleek and coloured in the most fashionable glistening black, his beak curved at the end
just rightly to suggest an ironic expression, his eyes pools of mystery.
But wait; there is no place for a third crow!
Yes, I agree. Sadly, our story has been hijacked.
You see, he had flown in from a neighboring fable where hed gotten tired of being underrated.
Always the storytellers coloured him stupid and he had to respond to the foxs flattery, drop the roti,
go hungry; the routine.
He was clever alright, hed show them! Hed show them all!
Supercrow, thought our hero. Along with: So thirsty. So thirsty.
The hardworker had no time for this nonsense. Hed already gotten fifty pebbles in and he could
already taste the sweet water. He shouldnt have ignored the newcomer.
The third crow looked at the situation and gave a short laugh. He was in mood for some fun. He
picked up a pebble and flew over to the pot. In one stab he smashed a hole at the bottom and drank
all the water that poured out from it.
My hard earned water! screamed the hardworker, in agony.
My unearned water, thought our hero.
So long, suckers, cried the third crow and flew out of the fable once more.
Moral? There is no moral, you cant expect it from every single retelling! Maybe next time.
Look, already the shattered remains of the pot join themselves to their mother and the hardworker
disappears. In a voice more gravelly than mine, in an accent I cant quite place, our hero, forever
trapped in this drought stricken place thinks:
I am so thirsty.
Whether he is of a philosophical bend of mind or not is for the next narrator to decide.