The Story, Half Told
Many drops drizzled into the hole in the tree trunk
Rain poured, lashing down with a roar
Flowing down the tree barks, like tiny rivers.
The mother crow kept patting her chick’s head, softly.
The rain beat on clothing and bedding
The chick began to caw, having never seen rain before.
Lightning drew a silver streak across the pitch-black sky.
The chick felt cold and nestled closer to its mother.
The adjacent coconut palm swayed fiercely
In a gleeful Devil’s dance and threw dry spathes haywire.
A huge peal of thunder split the sky in all directions.
As if charged, a tall tree burst into a shower of leaves!
Road transformed into a river, carrying all in its wake
Pulled climbing plants, tore down roofs
And gushed along the ground.
Tiny ants hurried to crawl into holes.
Broken branches of bo and banyan cut the power supply
Intense darkness descended to rule the place.
A pointed flame on the pedestal lamp burned bright
The tiny muram shielded, heightening its glow.
Wind and rain broke branches en-route
Crashed down and destroyed homes everywhere.
People cried out imploring to their praised deity,
‘O Yaman is here, we neither have house nor crop!’
Around the dead tree an eternal dance of destruction
But look inside the hole in the dead trunk, peace prevails.
Listen to the mother crow start to narrate the half-told story
Of Lord Siva lovingly feeding the piglets!
