Dawn breaks over the seashore. Splash-hush, splash-hush — the waves roll in and leave little shells on the wet sand. A fishing boat bobs far out, and coconut palms line the shore. Out of a burrow in the sand comes Mother Crab — and right behind her, her little one, Chimti.
Chimti scampered off to gather shells. Tuk-tuk-tuk — tilted, sideways, scritch-scratch across the wet sand! Forward? Ha — his body kept sliding to the side! Mother watched quietly. And little by little, her two eye-stalks went stiff and straight.
Mother came right over. “Chhi chhi, Chimti! What kind of walk is that? Walk straight ahead, will you! What will everyone say?” Chimti froze. The noon sun blazed overhead; the wet sand glittered. “But Ma,” he mumbled, “I *am* walking straight!”
Chimti thought for a moment, then came close. “Okay, Ma — you show me once! However you walk, I'll walk exactly the same way. Promise!” A cloud slid over the sun. The whole shore seemed to hold its breath and wait.
Mother puffed up her chest. “Watch, Chimti — straight, like thi—” and her body slid sideways! She tried again — tuk tuk — sideways again! Harder now, claws held high, once more — sideways every single time! Even her long shadow went scuttling sideways along with her. Tell me — can a crab ever really walk straight?
Mother stopped. The sky had turned dusk-pink, and even the waves had gone soft. She looked down at her own legs — one by one — every single one bent to the side. Slowly, her claws came down. Chimti crept over without a word and stood pressed against her side.
Mother burst out laughing. “Silly me! I was teaching you something I can't even do myself. From now on, I'll show you first — deal?” Chimti danced his little claws with joy. And side by side, leaving two wiggly trails in the moonlit sand, mother and child went on their way — tuk tuk, tuk tuk.