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July, but there was still no sign of rain. Clouds crossed the sky but they only made the heat hotter. I was thirsty. But what could a crow like me do on a day like this? There was no water anywhere. The wells were dry and there were no waterholes. I would have to fly miles and miles to reach anywhere in this heat unless I get to a town.

Crows know that, in times like this, to go where men live is best. They put things by when things are plenty for days when they are scarce. So I flew towards the nearest town over a dry and barren land. When I reached there, it was noon. The streets were empty. The doors were barred. The cisterns and horse-troughs were dry. There was no water anywhere. Except in a small bottle on a pushcart at the street corner. I thanked heaven for that.

But I had thanked too early. How was I going to get the water in the bottle unless I could get my beak in? My beak was too fat and neck of the bottle, too narrow. So, as usual, I went to Grandpa for advice. A doddering old crow he was, but he had seen the world. And, often, had useful things to say. Sure enough, he had a way. Go and get pebbles from the riverbed, he said, and drop them in. When they fill the bottle, the water will come up to the brim for pebbles and water can't be in the same place, This he'd learnt from his old man. And his old man had learnt it from an old Greek crow called Ar-crow-medes .

That was great! I didn't even wait to thank him. Off] went to the riverbed where pebbles there were in all shapes and sizes. Pebbles are tricky things for crows to carry. They slip out or slide in. So I had to carry them carefully, piece by piece. On a day like this, it was not easy to do. I panted and sweated and the colour of my wings started to run. And I grew thirstier each time. So, on my last flight, I thought I would carry two together. But that wasn't easy to do either for one would always slip away Still, I made an effort and carried two some distance. But, as luck would have it, plop went one on the glass roof of the greenhouse. And clitter-clatter went the glass. Not a great loss to me. But, with a shudder came the thought that I could break my bottle, too, with such a pebble. And Grandpa's trick may not work.

That made me mad. I flew helter-skelter. Until, suddenly, I noticed the poster over the bus stop. To think that it had been there all the time and I, like a fool, had never lifted my head 10 see it. If men can drink through straws, then so can crows. If they are clever. Straws were plenty in the haystacks. I drew a few out, clipped and cleaned them. And used them the way men do. I don't blame Grandpa, though. He was nice in his own way. But each age has its own bag of tricks.