A winter morning. Someone had dropped a steamed pitha on the way home from the village fair! The crow picked it up — ah, still warm, still steaming! Pitha in her beak, she flew up to a banyan branch. “Now I'll enjoy this properly,” she thought.
Along came a fox. One whiff of warm pitha and he stopped dead. He looked up — pitha, right there in the crow's beak! The fox's mouth watered. “There's a way,” he said to himself. “The magic of sweet words!”
The fox sat under the tree and called up — “O brother Crow! Your feathers — like black diamonds! And that voice? They say even the cuckoo bows to you. Won't you sing me one song, brother?” The crow's chest puffed right up.
The crow couldn't hold back. She threw her head up and sang — “Caw-aa-aa!” And down dropped the pitha — plop! The fox snatched it right up. “Thank you, brother! The pitha is the price of the song!” Laughing, he settled at the foot of the tree to enjoy it slowly.
At first the crow wanted to cry. But then? Then she thought. And thought… and thought… until her eyes began to sparkle! She flew down and said — “My, Brother Fox, what a clever mind! Everyone says your singing voice is even sweeter than your words. Surely that can't be true?”
The fox's tail puffed up with pride. “Not true, you say? Then listen!” He opened his mouth and began — “Hukka huaa-aa-aa!” Down went the pitha! The crow swooped, snatched it, and rose into the sky. The fox stood gaping — and then burst out laughing at himself.
The crow came back. She broke the pitha and gave the fox half — “Here, brother. Sweet words fooled us both!” In the last light of the sun, the two shared the warm pitha together. Now you tell me — who was the truly clever one that day?