It is a thick-billed crow that made me write this. I had become so used to the sight of them that they were so mundane to me. I never thought they will stir memories in a flurry to the point that I will feel such urge to type them away.
One of the first English stories that I learned as a kid in school was “The Thirsty Crow”, which was about a crow who managed to drink the water from a half-filled pot by pecking pebbles and putting it inside the pot until the water rose to the surface. Although this story tries to teach the kids values of perseverance and such, the first thing that hits you is the intelligence of that crow. They are intelligent enough to know when they can get their beak and claws on the food they want.
In my home-town Alappuzha, which is tucked between the waves of Arabian sea and the gentle laps of the backwaters, fish is an unavoidable element in people’s daily lives. Women cleaning fish and crows and cats lined up beside them vying for their share of discarded fish heads and intestines is a common sight back home. My gran did the same on one of my childhood days with me capering around her under the champak tree. That day’s catch was the special snake-head fish which we call varaal. Since this particular fish was a delicacy, gran took special care in cleaning the fish. Watching this ritual was a thick-billed crow from one of the branches of the tree. It quietly sat there, cocking its head at times, taking in the tough lady who was working on the fish, the dark little girl gambolling beside her in a white petticoat, and the clay vessel full of freshly cleaned fish. As was the custom before slicing the fish and making gentle slits on the flesh, gran had to rub the fish with salt crystals. So before going inside the house to get the salt crystals, she specifically told me “Watch out for that crow. It is plotting to get our fish. So you be alert and stand guard in front of the vessel”.
I was surprised to learn that the crow was plotting against us. How could it do that? So instead of paying attention to the fish, I paid attention to the crow perched above me. As soon as I raised my head in its direction, it flew down in one fell swoop and took a thick belly-piece and took off. I was so shaken by this defeat and was scared to tell my gran what had happened. Luckily, no one found out about the huge chunk of fish that the crow purloined from an innocent little girl. And I am sure, after twenty three years if I say this now to my gran, I will still be scolded for the loss of that precious piece of fish. So the crow observes, analyses the situation, bides its time, and makes the move.
My breakfasts in the hostel mess involve sitting at the farthest table overlooking the window and gazing at the orchard on the other side of the road. This is my favourite spot for a lot of reasons. Lately, a thick-billed crow has taken to coming inside the mess by flying through the window near my seat. Its primary target is the special waste bin kept for leftover eggs meant for the canine inhabitants of the hostel. In its eagerness to reach the destination, it flies directly above the students’ heads in its line of flight, sometimes at the risk of touching their heads with its talons. This usually causes the students to crouch down crying out in alarm. Since it has started becoming a daily affair, mess workers either close the windows as a pre-emptive measure or stand vigil watching out for the approach of the notorious corvid.
On one such day when the windows are wide open, the crow comes again and perches on the sill. All of us raise our heads in alarm and brace ourselves for the upcoming flight with worry etched vividly on our faces. The crow looks at all of us and waits for a moment. Then, instead of flying, it hops down to the floor from the windowsill and continues hopping on its legs until it reaches the egg basket. We could not help smiling at this imp of a bird who steals glances at our faces while skipping towards the food bin.
It is said that crows can remember faces. That they can distinguish between the faces of their foes and allies. I know an elderly lady who always feeds the crows before she eats her meals. When they see her outside the kitchen door, the crows flock around her and eat the food that she offers them. The motivation behind such an act is the belief that it is one’s ancestors’ spirits that take the shape of the thick-billed crows and visit them. It is ritualistic to offer food to the crows during funeral rites in order to appease the spirits of the ancestors.
Everyone craves for their home food. I think when the aroma of home-cooked food reaches the spirit world, the spirits become nostalgic and crave for the delicacies they used to have back home. When they cannot stand it any more, they take the shape of thick-billed crows and fly home-bound. Even I have wondered whether it is one of my ancestors coming to check on me when I see a thick-billed crow spending longer than usual on my balcony. But then, both of us crave for our food back home and have to take a home-bound flight.