Its wings beat in futility. Its body turned this way and that but did not leave the side of the road.
A whole murder had assembled, all cawing away and occasionally pecking at the stricken crow at random.
Morning walkers on their way back home wondered—were the other crows trying to save its life or its agony?
Nobody stopped to investigate or to interfere.
The crow was still. Looked very dead.
Just a few other crows hung around on walls and trees.
An elderly woman clad in religious ochre walked past the crow with her assistant. She stopped after a few steps and told her assistant something.
The assistant dug into her basket and came up with a water bottle. She solemnly walked the few steps back to the crow. Going near the crow, she opened the bottle and gently, ritually, sprinkled a few drops on the crow.
The crow suddenly flapped its wings, turned a full circle and lay on its back with its beak open.
The startled assistant ran back towards the woman in ochre. She motioned her to close the bottle. They walked away hastily, stuffing the bottle back into the basket.
The crow remained motionless.
A man with a bag under his arm took a good look at the crow as he walked past. Then he stopped, came back and stood gazing at the crow for a minute.
He took a small bottle out of the bag, unscrewed the cap and poured some water on the crow.
The crow suddenly fluttered back to life, did some crazy moves on the ground, wings flapping furiously and again ended up looking at the sky, beak open.
The man hurried away without looking back, bottle in hand, bag still open.
You stand the best chance of getting some water from a human when you are quietly dying or when they think you are freshly dead.
Not before, not after.
If you seriously want the water, lie still and play dead, even if you are not (yet).
Get too excited and they will take the water away.