The boy filled up the pot till its brim. He had to go back home before the sandstorm hit the desolate well. The water level was slowly reducing and summer was fast approaching. He carefully placed the pot on his head, not letting even a drop swivel out. And walked slowly towards his home. His mother’s lullaby returned to his lips, and he waded through the sand dune humming the easy tune. A few moments and twenty steps later, with the flapping of wings came a Crow. Water was a treasure to every being, flying or otherwise.
He stopped in his step for a second. The crow was thirsty. Maybe he could probably pour it a little stream from his pot and resume his walk. He pondered for some time, and put down his pot. The Crow didn’t move, and continued cawing. The boy cupped his right hand and tilted the pot with his left. And poured a little water into his hand. He extended his hand to the Crow, but the Crow remained unmoved.
Days led to months, and every morning the boy met the same Crow. It didn’t want water, though it was thirsty. It didn’t want peanuts or grains, as an alternative. Just called out to him, and kept on cawing till he reached home. He was sad at first, then upset, later on enraged and finally indifferent. But the nagging was undeniable. He decided he had to end it. He had to find a solution.
He went back to the well, with the first light. With the pot and its moistened brim that is. And after a few moments at the well, he started walking back to his hut a kilometre away. As he reached the spot of trouble, he slowed down and stopped for a second. And his cawing friend arrived on time. This time however he didn’t offer it anything. Not water nor sympathies. He listened silently and in one swift motion, lifted the pot up and smashed it on the crow. The crow fell silent. The cawing couldn’t be heard again.
But the blind boy waited in silence, and then it struck him. Like a bolt from the skies. He had, in a fit of rage, lost his only pot. He never saw, but how could he not see? How was he so blind. He sat on the sand clueless , helpless and crying.

A few miles away from him and a few thoughts behind the dead crow, lay an Oasis. Full of life and water. The crow would never fly back to its nest again. It had failed in its life to make the blind boy.. See.


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