The Crow Chronicles by Ranjit Lal

Author:Ranjit Lal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

PART IV

1

The Morning After

Phuljari, the flamboyant white-breasted kingfisher and good friend of Achaanak, cackled impatiently as he waited for his morning newspaper.

Did-He-Do-It? was normally delivered just before the dawn chorus commenced—it was part of Titiri’s clever marketing strategy. The sleep-fogged birds would scan the headlines blearily and rapidly come awake for Titiri always ensured that there was some large can of worms opened up all over the front page. It gave the birds something to chorus about, and that way, most of the birds in the park began their day by talking about his newspaper. Which was good for business.

This morning, however, the sun was well up and Did-He-Do-It? had still not been delivered. The dawn chorus arose reluctantly, a sleepy muttering grumble as birds everywhere groped about irritably for their papers. This was something unprecedented and quite outrageous. Titiri was certainly not a popular editor that morning.

None of the birds knew, of course, that poor Titiri was not even an editor that morning . . .

Phuljari cackled impatiently again and flew around the Forest Lodge estate where he resided, thinking that perhaps a new delivery bird had misdelivered his paper. But there was no sign of it anywhere. Exasperated, he flew off towards the dead tree nearby where he knew Shona, the golden-backed woodpecker, came for his breakfast every morning.

Sure enough, Shona was corkscrewing his way around the gnarled trunk, his back gleaming dully like a bar of bullion, his scarlet crest like a bottlebrush bloom. He would tap a sharp tattoo on the flaking bark, cock his head to one side, an amused sparkle in his eyes, and rapidly pick off the grubs that scurried from cover.

It was quite a delicious con-game!

Phuljari arrived like a short-circuited spark.

‘Hello, Shona! I say, did you get your copy of Did-He-Do-It? this morning? Mine hasn’t been delivered as yet!’

Shona hitched himself upright and stuck his head around the trunk.

‘Hello, Phuljari! That’s funny, my copy hasn’t been delivered either. And I asked Gulabi Mooch the red-whiskered bulbul, and he said that he hadn’t got his copy either.’

‘Obviously Titiri’s had some problem at the press. But really, it is very annoying. I can’t wake up properly without the paper.’

Shona drummed a tattoo in sympathy. Just then Tooiram Totaram crashed erratically into the tree.

‘Good heavensh, what are you two doing here gosshiping away ash though nothing has happened! Haven’t you heard the newsh?’ he said shrilly.

‘Now what?’ asked Phuljari sceptically.

‘That fellow—whatsh hish name—Kala Latooka, last night he went to Python Point with hish crownies, you know why?’

Phuljari shook his head.

‘No? He went to Python Point to do, to do black magic!’

Tooiram paused to hiccup indelicately.

‘Yesh. Black magic rituals. He turned himshelf into a huge roc made out of shilver, and carried away six Kala Latwars in his talons. Jusht like that. And hish crownies turned into black ptero . . . ptero- dactyls! They ranshacked Stinky Tops and killed the Prime Minister and Billa and Budhboo. No one knows what they did to Baadshah—maybe they

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