The Crow and the Pitcher

In the middle of a scorching summer, a thirsty crow flew tirelessly over the countryside in search of water. The sun blazed overhead, and the earth cracked beneath the heat. Trees stood still, their leaves wilted, and rivers ran dry. The crow’s wings ached, and its throat burned.

After what felt like endless searching, the crow spotted a garden and glided down with hope. There, hidden among the flowers and stones, stood an old clay pitcher. Eagerly, the crow hopped over and peered inside. To its dismay, there was water—just a few inches—but it lay far below the rim, beyond the reach of its beak.

Frustrated but not defeated, the crow paced back and forth, thinking. Flying away now meant more thirst and likely no water elsewhere. Then, it spotted pebbles scattered nearby. An idea sparked in its clever mind. One by one, the crow picked up the pebbles and dropped them into the pitcher.

With each stone, the water level slowly rose.

Tired but determined, the crow continued—plop, plop, plop—until at last the water rose high enough. The crow dipped its beak in and drank deeply, its thirst quenched. It let out a satisfied caw and flapped its wings in triumph.

The crow’s cleverness had saved its life.

From that day on, the garden became a symbol of wisdom, and children were told the story of the crow who didn’t give up. The lesson was simple but timeless: where strength fails, intelligence prevails.