In the morning he
was awakened by a loud commotion nearby. Five or six crows were
noisily attacking a pariah kite, who held in his beak a morsel of
fish, snatched no doubt from some garbage heap. Wherever the kite
flew, the crows followed, swooping down upon him, striking him in
mid-air, allowing him no possibility of peacefully enjoying his
prize. The crows grew in number, and suddenly the kite dropped the
fish. Immediately, the crows dove after it, fighting fiercely among
themselves. The kite flew to Ajay's tree and perched next to him,
dropped it! jay exclaimed.
just dropped it!
said that. Of course I dropped it. It's only a scrap of fish. It's
Ajay sighed deeply.
I wish it were that easy, he said and let his head
hang. The darkness of his midnight resolve swept over him, and he
pictured his body crashing into the ground, lying broken and
lifeless on some empty field. So much for
Ajay the Flyer, Ajay the Trophy winner, Ajay the Monk, Ajay the
This, Ajay the That! he thought with sorrow. All
crashed, gone As he brooded over that limp, solitary
body, he saw in his mind several pariah vultures circle over it,
land near it, and hop awkwardly toward it. He cried out, Keep
away! And then quite suddenly the words of the kite, who
still sat calmly next to him, struck through his mind like a bolt of
lightning: It's not me! The
scene of his imagination became for an indelible second brilliantly
illuminated the pitiful white and brown rags of his body, the huge,
ungainly vultures closing in on it to tear it with their beaks, and
he himself looking on, sitting beside the kite, untouched. It's
not me! he said aloud with something like joy.