Thirsty Crow

On a hot summer afternoon, when the sun blazed fiercely in the sky and the land below lay parched and dry, a weary crow flew over the countryside. His feathers ruffled in the dry wind, his wings heavy with exhaustion, and his throat burned with thirst. For hours he had been searching for water, but every river, every pond, every puddle seemed to have dried up under the scorching heat.

“I must find water,” the crow thought desperately. “I cannot fly much longer without it.”

His sharp eyes scanned the ground below as he glided over fields, forests, and empty village roads. The world seemed deserted, as even animals and people hid from the merciless sun. Just when the crow thought he could fly no more, something caught his eye: the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off something below. With renewed hope, the crow swooped down to investigate.

There, beneath a withering tree, stood an old clay pot. The crow’s heart leapt with joy. Perhaps this pot held the water he so desperately needed. He hopped onto the rim of the pot and peered inside. To his dismay, he saw that there was indeed some water at the bottom, but it was far too low for his beak to reach.

The crow’s heart sank. He tried to tilt the pot, but it was too heavy. He dipped his head in, stretched his neck, even tried to push the pot over with his body, but nothing worked. Frustrated and weak, the crow sat down beside the pot.

“I have come all this way,” he murmured to himself. “There must be a way.”

As he rested, the crow's sharp eyes noticed something lying nearby: small round pebbles scattered around the pot. Suddenly, an idea lit up in his mind like a spark in the dark. He remembered how sometimes when he bathed in ponds, the water level would rise when stones were thrown in.

“Of course!” the crow exclaimed. “If I drop these pebbles into the pot, the water will rise!”

Without wasting another moment, the crow picked up the first pebble in his beak and dropped it carefully into the pot. The small stone splashed into the water with a satisfying plop. Encouraged, the crow picked another stone, then another, dropping each one with steady determination. Bit by bit, the water level began to rise.

The crow’s tired wings and dry throat no longer mattered. He was driven by hope. Sweat dripped from his feathers, and his legs trembled with effort, but he did not give up. Each pebble brought the water closer to the top, closer to his reach.

After what felt like a lifetime, the water finally reached the brim of the pot. The crow let out a joyful caw, his eyes shining with triumph. He dipped his beak into the cool water and drank deeply, quenching his thirst at last. The sweet relief filled his whole body, giving him new strength.

The crow stood on the rim of the pot for a while, gazing at the golden sunlight filtering through the trees. He felt proud, not only because he had survived but because he had used his mind to overcome the challenge.

Before flying away, the crow looked back at the pot and the pile of stones beside it. “It is not always strength that wins,” he thought. “Sometimes, cleverness and perseverance matter even more.”

With that, the crow spread his wings and soared into the sky, leaving behind a story that would be told for generations.

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Moral of the Story:

“Where there is a will, there is a way.”

Intelligence, patience, and determination can help overcome even the toughest challenges.