A childhood tale

I was nine years old and the entire village had crowded around me. My father had been a very popular man and their tears were a tribute to his memory. The priest made me chant a lot of verses. Dressed in a white towel, I looked at my father's ashes impassively. My mother was somewhere inside but no one seemed to notice that. She, for all purposes was forgotten by the crowd. Their sympathies lay with me. Poor boy! At such a young age! A terrible tragedy! I heard all of this. I knew somehow (although I don't remember how) she was weeping and in a semi-conscious state in one of the rooms of the large house, with a servant girl for company.

Finally the rites were about to conclude. An offering was to be made to the crows. In Hinduism we believe that when the crows partake of the final offering, the dead soul is at peace. It was a tasty offering. A fistful of boiled rice, with banana pieces and payasam. It would, no doubt be a tempting morsel for any crow.

The air was filled with the cries of the ravens. They appeared on the trees. There were hundreds of them and their cawing filled the air. The priest made me lift the offering which was placed on a small banana leaf and made me place it in a clearing very close to the birds. He made me step aside and all of us waited for the crows to attack the tasty morsel. But something very weird was happening...not a single crow as much as lifted a wing! They just stayed on the branches, cawing. The crowd was worried. My oldest uncle immediately suggested that probably he needed to make the offering considering he was the eldest in the family. He walked upto the clearing and lifted the offering and placed it a little further away. Still, the crows kept watching. The priest suggested that probably the birds were scared of all of us and asked all of us to go back a little bit. And the crows continued watching. It was an eerie sight. All those crows waiting and watching.

Suddenly the priest had a brainwave, he asked for my mother. That is when a lot of people realised her absence. They hurriedly looked for her. Soon my mother came walking out, held by the maid, looking dishevelled weak. She walked upto the clearing and barely had the strength to bend and lift the offering and place it a foot away, when the crows started attacking. One - two - three...It was a frenzy. Within seconds the offering was history. We were stunned.

Even today this memory is so clearly etched in my mind. This tale, about the day when through some divine process, the crows taught my family a lovely lesson in humanity.