The Crane and the Crab

The first fish to listen to the crane left the pond and never came back.

No one noticed. The dry season that year was unusually harsh. The mud at the bottom of the pond cracked into plates, and the cracks wound across it like a dry, curling map. The water sank until it barely covered the backs of the fish. For several days in a row, a long-legged crane stood quietly on the bank, one leg tucked up, eyes half closed. It looked as gentle as an ascetic at his devotions. Watching that stillness, the fish felt at ease, and not one of them thought to look closer.

This is a very old Buddhist tale. It belongs to a collection of Buddhist scriptures known as the Khuddaka Nikaya, and its name is the Jataka of the Crane and the Crab. The Jataka tales are Buddhist stories about the earlier lives of the Buddha.

Then one day the crane spoke, in a sorrowful voice, as if its heart ached with pity. The pond was about to dry out to the bottom, the crane said, and every fish in it would die. It knew of a large pond deep in the forest, full of cool water all year round. If the fish wished, it would carry them over, one at a time. The new place was far roomier and far safer.

The fish stirred and argued among themselves. Who could simply trust a crane to carry them off? They chose the biggest fish of the shoal to go with the crane and see whether the story was true. The crane held that fish in its beak and flew a long way off. It let the fish down into a clear green pond that stretched wide in every direction. Then it picked the fish up again, flew back, and set it down in exactly the same spot. With shining eyes, the big fish told everyone that the other pond was lovelier than anything in a dream.

After that, no one doubted the crane anymore.

The first fish went. Then the second fish. Then the third. Each time, the crane bent down, lifted a fish in its beak, and flapped away out of sight behind the trees along the bank. Each time, it came back alone, its beak still damp, and stood quietly in the same old spot, waiting for the next fish to swim close. None of them asked why the crane stayed away so long. None of them noticed that not a single fish had ever swum back to bring news to the friends left behind.

The pond kept emptying. Not of water, but of fish.

In the mud in one corner of the pond lay a crab, perfectly still, its bulging eyes following the crane without a moment's pause. This crab had never been quick to trust anyone. It had never seen a creature so kind that asked nothing in return. So it quietly counted its friends as they dwindled, one by one, until one afternoon it was the only one left in the whole wide pond.

The crane turned toward the crab, its voice as soft as ever. Now only the crab was left, the crane said. It should not stay behind and dry out. The crane would take it to the new pond, to join the fish who had gone before.

The crab pretended to be overjoyed. It agreed, but it pointed out that it had no wings and would never fit neatly in the crane's beak. Better, the crab said, to ride along clinging to the crane's neck. Its claws were very strong and would hold on far more firmly.

The crane thought to itself that a crab's claws, however strong, were nothing to fear. It nodded at once, without a trace of suspicion.

The crab climbed onto the crane's back. Its eight legs held tight, and its two claws wrapped around the crane's neck like a necklace. The crane flapped its wings and rose into the air. But it did not fly toward the big forest pond it had promised. Instead it glided straight to a familiar tree by the bank.

From high above, the crab looked down. At the foot of that tree lay a patch of ground gone white, scattered with tiny fish bones, bleaching like seashells in the afternoon sun.

The crab understood everything. It tightened its claws around the crane's neck, squeezing harder and harder, not loosening by a hair. The crane jolted in fright and thrashed in midair, its wings tipping this way and that. The tighter the claws closed, the sharper the pain in the crane's neck, and the harder each breath became.

The crane knew at once that it had met someone even cleverer than itself. With all its strength it swooped low, then lower still, heading straight for the water below.

Only when its claws touched the cool water did the crab ease its grip. It let go and dropped into the pond with a plop. It sank quickly into the familiar mud, safe once more in its own home.

The crane stood unsteadily on the bank for a long while, the marks of the claws still pressed into its neck. Then it hurried into the air and flew far away, not daring to look back. From that day on, no one ever saw that long-legged crane around those ponds again.

The bank where the crane used to stand each morning is empty now. There is no more hurried beating of wings, no more tall, gangly shadow. Down in the soft mud, the crab lies still, its two claws folded, breathing easily, living out its own peaceful days.