The Boy and the Bird (Revised 2-12-06)

Once there was a boy, five or maybe six years old, he liked to do the things that young boys do. He climbed in trees, kicked a football around with his friends, and swam in the river when there was enough water in it, after the late summer rains. For this boy, Samir, lived in India, up on the high Deccan plateau where the summers are hot and dry until the monsoon rains fall in rivers from the sky. But when he wasn’t playing these boys games he would sit and watch the birds as they flew and soared and played upon the invisible airs. Sometimes he would imitate their wing movements and run about the dusty yard of his house pretending he was a bird, flying carefree and wild in the sky.
One day after he had ‘been’ a soaring eagle and finally settled on the ground to rest he looked up to see a bird watching him from atop the roof of the house, a glossy black crow had its dark thoughtful eye upon him.
“Hello bird.” Samir said with a smile. “Did you see me flying ?”
It was just a flippant remark for although the crow seemed to be paying attention to him, it was more likely that it was eying some scrap of food on the ground by his feet.
It shook its head with a ruffling of feathers.
“You are too heavy to fly boy.” The crow answered.
Samir looked all about himself to see who was playing this trick upon him, birds did not speak. He ran up to the corner of the house and looked around it expecting to find one of his friends in the little passageway, but there was no one. He went back out into the yard scratching his head and looked back up at the crow as it sat on the roof.
“What are you looking for ?” The crow asked him.
“I…I thought that someone was tricking me.” Samir confessed.
“Birds do not trick or lie boy.” The crow told him and once more fixed him with its dark eye. “You are too heavy to fly.”
“But I could still learn how to fly, couldn’t I ?” Samir asked it plaintively.
The crow tipped its head on one side and then the other, looking him up and down with each eye in turn. Then spreading its wings it lifted into the hot air with a couple of lazy beats and came gliding down to land in a little flurry of dust at his feet. Folding its wings it began strutting slowly around Samir as he stared at it in wonder, and a little fear. As it finished its silent circuit it tipped its head to one side again, looked him up with its left eye then tipped its head over and looked him down with its right eye. Then it blinked at him.
“Yes boy, I believe that you could learn. Do you want to fly ?”
“More than anything in the whole world.” Samir said breathlessly.
“Then I shall ask my friends to show you how and you must practise every day without fail. Then, when you are no longer too heavy, you will fly boy.” The crow said in its crackling voice.
It blinked once more, spread its nightblack wings and flapped heavily away into the bright blue sky.

Samir was ecstatic, the bird had promised him that one day he would fly ! He was about to run inside and tell his parents the fantastic news when a pair of swallows swooped low over him. Screaming out their joy of flying as they cleaved the hot air with their sharp wings, it seemed to Samir that they were calling out to him as they flew back and forth ‘watch us, watch us’. Samir was so entranced by their agility that he forgot about telling his parent’s his wonderful news as he watched them raptly. He moved his arms as they moved their wings, twisted and turned as they twisted and turned, racing back and forth until he was exhausted and the swallows made a final low swoop before vanishing up into the cloudless sky.
Samir marvelled at how many different birds there were, for each day brought another bird to demonstrate its unique flying skills to him. Some days it was a lone bird, like a hawk or kite other days two or three, occasionally whole flocks would whirl and wheel overhead in a dance of flight so complex it defied any mere human to emulate them, but Samir dared to try.
When his bird friends went away Samir still enjoyed playing with the other boys in the village, climbing, swimming and playing football, then one day he fell over for no reason. He thought that he had tripped, picked himself up, dusted himself down, and continued on with the game making nothing of his tumble. Afterwards he sat in the shade of a grove of khair trees resting his back against the single sandanan tree that perfumed the air with its delicate fragrance. Protected from the blazing brilliance of the sun Samir diligently watched the birds, today a dozen vultures as they wheeled endlessly on the hot rising air. Samir studied them minutely as they moved their wingtip feathers to catch a little breeze and effortlessly move this way and that. He held his arms out for ages moving his fingers just a little, trying to feel those high soaring airs that the vultures rode so smoothly. He wished that he was up there in the blue, floating above the ground with them.
“One day I will fly.” He murmured to himself and for a fleeting moment he felt the air move under his fingertips, a tingle so faint he almost missed it. “I will fly.” He repeated ecstatically.

The days turned and Samir found that he was falling over more often when he was rushing about in the football games. Now the other boys didn’t want him in their team for he was a useless player forever stumbling. They called him names and wouldn’t let him play out on the dusty lot with them. Then one day as Samir waited hopefully to see if they would allow him play one of the older boys stalked over to him and stared haughtily down at him.
“Clear off cripple !” He sneered and made as if to push him over.
Samir took a step backwards and lost his balance to tumble onto his back. All the other boys laughed and catcalled.
“Cripple, cripple can’t stand up !”
They might have done worse but the sky suddenly darkened and as they looked up a huge sable shape blotted out the sun and came down on them with angry beats of its great black wings, they fled in terror.
Samir sat up to see a familiar glossy black crow watching him with its dark eyes.
“Hello bird.” He smiled.
“Boy, why do you waste your time on these worthless pursuits ?” It croaked.
“I…” Samir began but the crow shook out its feathers angrily.
“If you play in the dust then you shall crawl in the dust boy.” It warned him.
“Fly with me boy.” It called and Samir got unsteadily to his feet.
“But I cannot run.” He said miserably.
“Do I fly with my feet ?” The crow questioned as it took flight and circled above him.
Samir smiled up at it and his arms emulated the crow’s wings, flying even as he stood quite still.

His condition worsened until he would unaccountably tumble even when he was just walking, and his legs were feeling odd, leaden, almost as though they were somehow slightly detached from the rest of him. Climbing in the trees became difficult, he just couldn’t get his legs to do what he wanted them to and he complained of this to his parents. They fussed over him and called in a doctor who prodded him, listened to his heart, checked his blood pressure. Afterwards he spoke quietly with Samir’s parents and went away. He returned the following week to repeat his examination, make notes and went away again to return with medicines that he thought might help the boy.
Samir was not worried by the doctor’s visits, he was far too busy learning the art of flight and now he could feel that tingling in his fingers much more often as he copied the wing movements of his feathered tutors. He felt sure that this was a sign of his growing skill, and he could imagine feathers where his fingers were, spread wide, ready to catch the air and carry him high into the blue sky.
Yet as his ‘flying’ improved Samir found that he could not climb in the trees at all for his legs were too weak, and he had to use sticks to walk for his balance had deserted him. Yet these adversities did not dishearten Samir, for now he had more time to devote to his obsession with flying. Everyday he would watch for the birds and everyday birds great or small would come and fly just for him, so that he could fly with them with ever greater confidence.
Nearly six months after Samir had last spoken to the crow he could no longer walk and even his arms were growing too heavy for him to move them much at all. His parents would sit him in a special chair that held him upright, out under the khair tree in the yard and he would watch his friends, the birds, for hours on end. His arms would flap, rise and fall as he followed their flight, but each new day he could raise them less and less until he could only lift his hands, then only his fingers, just a little.

His parents silently watched him and wept for their little Samir, once so vibrant and healthy he was now little more than skin and bone and he was getting weaker with each passing day as the wasting disease got ever worse. The doctor could offer them no comfort; no medicine would halt this condition nor time heal. Soon he would die.
The priest came from the temple to see Samir more often than the doctor visited, and he spoke to him about the birds and Samir’s attempts to fly. Sometimes he would sit silently beside him and watch while the boy and the birds went through their dance of flight together and marveled at the perfection of their performance. When Samir grew too weary to copy the bird’s flights the priest would read passages of the Baghavad Gita to him. One day, as he came back into the house, he heard the flap of wings and looked back to see that a big black crow had just settled on the ground in front of Samir and was looking up at the boy. Samir’s mother was standing by the door at that moment and seeing the bird she worried that it was going to attack her sick child. As she made to go outside and scare it off the priest raised a gentle hand.
“Wait, the crow means no harm to Samir.” He said softly.
“Hello bird.” Samir said slowly as he recognised the glossy black crow.
“My friends say that you have practised hard boy. They think that you are ready to fly. Are you ready to fly boy ?” The crow asked him in its scratchy, kindly voice.
“Yes, but I feel so heavy. Am I still too heavy to fly ?” Samir asked it in a hoarse whisper, for even speaking was now an effort for him.
The crow tilted its head onto one side and then the other as it scrutinised him closely.
“No boy, you are not too heavy to fly now. Come fly with me.” It cawed gently.
The priest saw Samir’s fingers flutter very slightly, and then fall still.
Samir’s mother caught her breath and her hand went to her mouth as she beheld that final tiny motion just before his head lolled forward.
“Samir !” She cried out in anguish and rushed out into the yard. “Samir !”
Looking beyond the boy’s still form the priest saw two crows take startled flight. One big and glossy black, the other smaller and still having a brownish hue to its plumage, a fledgling. They rose smoothly up above the yard and circled overhead as Samir’s mother cradled her dead son’s body and wailed forlornly, unconsolably. The sickness had claimed her son and her heart felt like it must shatter into a million pieces such was her pain, she had no eyes for the two birds, her son was dead.
But the priest was not sad, indeed he was watching the two birds as they rose ever higher calling happily to each other, calling to the world of their joy of flight. He smiled at that wonderful sight and uttered a blessing upon their dwindling shapes, for the cycle of life had turned and Samir had flown.