For the first time in its life, the duck was addressed by her color, it was never in her wildest thought that it was grey, but it delighted her. “At least I am now different and more esteemed than the other two.”
From that day on, the farmer saved food for the duck, believing deep down in his heart that this Grey duck gave him vigor and power. Days passed and the astounded being began a new habit of throwing gold coins at its flat legs, because he was told by Hek that she duplicated his money by some hidden powers. The lavish thoughts conquered his uneducated head and blinded his unrefined eyes to the silliness of his actions. The Grey duck did not comprehend anything, but it loved the way by which it was treated, and dared to grow fonder of her status between the farmers by that time. Its reputation grew in the town like fire in a wooden house. All this took place while the other two ducks were living their common routine, and they never wondered once what this duck was doing out of the pond.
At the time of the regular immigration, the Grey duck refused to accompany the other two, and it told them queer things about being “Grey” and “distinct.” They thought it was pointless to busy their small minds with the reluctant duck’s unexpected resolution, thus they traveled by themselves and they left it behind. One of the two ducks observed that the duck who was “supposed” to be their sister was treated in a majestic way, which activated her envy. During their voyage they talked about their friend’s awkward behavior and how shamefully it abused their reputation as ducks.
In a neighboring village, provoked by jealousy, the other duck attempted to try her luck. When she spotted a farmer in the field, she paced deliberately out of the lake and cleaned her feathers in a twisted way in order to catch his sight. The weary farmer was alarmed when he noticed the duck. He was astonished of how pure and angelic the duck appeared to be. He let his plow fall out of his hardened palm and walked slowly toward the duck, stepping over the green fruits of his faithful land. “Look Mar, this White Duck is Angelic. I was sure that one day I would be awarded by something to atone for my toil. And here is my prize!”
Like the other peasant, the farmer showered the White duck with gifts, food, and money, thinking that this will bring him power, money and status. The name "White" made the young duck over the moon.
In spite of her wise and sane views about the other two reckless ducks, the third one felt it unbearable to pursue her trip by herself. Day by day, boredom replaced faith inside the duck’s heart. The image of her two friends enjoying their lives filled her mind with thoughts. “Why not?” she finally thought.
The final duck moved to the next village and started showing off like the other ducks, and fortunately it was equally accepted. They referred to it as “the Black duck.”
Villages sang with joy to their ducks, everyone respected the boundaries of their duck’s reputation and never commented on any other duck of different color, for why should they attack others’ views? It was none of their business.
Days passed and everyone was happy and contented about their ducks. The control of the ducks grew and grew. Money had their pictures stamped on it, clothes had their portraits drawn on them, and some claimed they were able to understand and share the Ducks' words of wisdom and prophecies. A society of Black, White and Grey ducks came to light.
All was well, until a single incident changed the fate of the three villages forever. One man from the land of the White duck planted palm trees around his land obeying the words that were said as an advice to him by the White duck at the tongue of the interpreter. On the other side of the land, one follower of the Grey duck was ordered when he consulted the Grey duck, to cut all the long trees around his farm to let wind pass. A big fight grew between the laborers of the two farms.
And for the first time the question of "which Duck was the best?" was raised. This question was never ever asked before; everyone loved and respected his or her duck, but never criticized the others’ duck, or questioned the credibility of the ducks.
Small fights grew to be larger fights, and then they became seeds of war between the three villages. Everyone wanted to show that one's duck was the most authentic and wanted others to believe so. Wars and destruction filled the faithful villages. Many evil schemes and monstrous plots were made to get rid of the enemy’s ducks, but farmers and villagers courageously defended their ducks.
The three ducks ran to the lake through the long-forgotten paths that they knew by heart. Unexpectedly, led by the same paths, the three ducks met, but were now different because of their colors. Before they talk or even ask any questions, they swam swiftly to flee from the smoke of the war. They passed a great waterfall and the falling waters cleaned the colors that were added to their normal feathers by faithful believers. Now, side by side they forgot about what happened and they swam as if nothing had changed. They were now equal. They forgot about the villages and about the wars, but they did not know that they were never forgotten. And now, new generations who have never seen them, were still fighting, fueled by pictures and icons that were set by their fathers and ancestors. The ducks traveled to a far lake, and their memory held nothing about any village or anyone. Yet, they did not know that some villages lived according to their long-left-but-never-forgotten clans.
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