Sunday, July 19, 2015

Crow - the master and the horde of the mice

            One upon a time, in a small village, lived a crow. His nest was at the highest branch of the tallest tree in the village. The glossy black bird with a fan-shaped tail was the only bird that lived in that part of the village. Below the tree, hidden by the green grass and other shabby things, in a burrow underground was a nest of mice. There were forty to fifty mice in that horde, comprising of all sorts - young and old, fat and skinny.
            The horde of the mice worked together, foraged together and lived their tiny lives. The only problem and threat was the big, bad bird on the tree. There were many dreadful stories about the misery that the crow had brought onto that horde. The oldest mouse often told them the stories when they gather in their burrow. He told them how once a young and enthusiastic mouse, who was out to carry the oak seeds lying on the ground to the burrow, was snatched by the crow and carried him so high up in the air that when the bird dropped him, he was dead before he touched the ground. Another time, it caught the fattest mouse of them all on the ground, played with it by pulling the tail around for about an hour and when the poor mouse was totally exhausted, the crow pierced the mouse, which was still alive, with its sharp, black bill and ate it.

              The crow was so dreadful that the mice dared not do anything to attract the crow and face the misery. They were not able to step out of their burrow to forage food easily. The fate was ill on them. The elder mice had many meetings about what to do. Someone suggested that they should change their burrow, but finding such a nest and then shifting to it with all the new-borns was a pain. Also the crow would be watching them all the time for any tiny chance. Then a wise mouse said, "Folks, neither we have the strength to fight him nor we have the ability to escape his wrath. Let's meet him, flatter him and make him happy. We shall sing to praise him, we shall sing his heroics. We shall name him our protector and call him The Master. This is the only way to escape his mighty claws and deadly bill".

            So they decided and did. All the mice, young and old alike, came out of the burrow, gathered in the grass, and sang together
“Master, Master - the mighty crow,
May your feathers forever grow!
The ruler of sky and of us down below,
Let your mercy always flow"

             The trick worked; the crow with an impression of the ruler of the sky, came down. He said to them, ”You, little rodents, don't be afraid of me. I am the mighty but merciful too. Sing my songs out and loud, let the stories of your master spread all over place. I shall not touch any of you till the songs last. The day you stop singing, apocalypse will be upon the burrow".

                Year on year since that day, they had been singing songs of the crow. Outside the hole of the burrow they even had banners and flags with the praises of the crow written on it. 

          Generations passed, the crow has grown old. The songs are still being sung by the horde. 

The crow is waiting to for the songs to cease, he hasn't had a mouse for lunch in a very long time. 

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