The Crow

Once upon a time
A crow sat
On a Banyan tree branch

It saw an earthen pot
In a distant desert

Perching on its edge
It saw clear water
At the bottom

But it found no way
To drink.
Then it dropped
Little words into it.
And up gushed blood.

The crow drank it
Till its thirst was quenched
Then off it flew
Ananda, the crow.

© Thachom Poyil Rajeevan

Commentary:

This is an old nursery story. In the poem it is blood, not water, that gushes up. This makes the difference. There is also a reference to a Buddhist story about a monk by the name of Ananda who, tired of wandering through deserts and meeting a lower caste girl, pleads with her to give some water. She, hesitant because of her untouchability, gives him water inspired by his thought provoking gospels. She finally falls in love with the monk, but he leaves without reciprocating, saying he has already denounced the material world of passions and desires. The girl remains in utter despair and follows suit. The downcast girl reminds one of an earthen pot and the crow, a cunning man (the monk), who manipulates her for satiation of his ethereal hunger and deserts her after its fulfilment, preaching on values and salvation.

Thachom Poyil Rajeevan
Bonfire contributor