A crack appeared in the center of the riverbed. A single drop of water, perfectly round, rose up like a pearl. Then another. Then a trickle. Then a stream.
The youngest child, a girl named Pooja, whispered, “Did she wake it?” Zavadi Vahini Stories
The children fell silent. The river, their silver mother, had been shrinking for three summers. Now it was little more than a muddy thread. A crack appeared in the center of the riverbed