In a quiet village by the Ganges,
There lived a potter named Arvind.
His hands shaped the finest clay,
Crafting pots so smooth and strong that people from distant towns came to buy them.
Yet,
Despite his skill,
Arvind was never satisfied.
My pots are good,
He often thought,
But they could be better.
One day he heard of a great master potter who lived in the mountains.
People said his pots were so perfect that they never cracked,
Even after years of use.
Determined to learn from him,
Arvind left his home and journeyed north.
After weeks of travel,
He found the master,
A frail old man sitting by a river,
Shaping clay with effortless grace.
Master,
Arvind said bowing,
I have come to learn your secret.
The old potter smiled.
Very well,
Sit by the river and watch.
For days,
Arvind observed.
He saw the master collect clay,
Knead it,
Shape it,
And fire it in the kiln.
But nothing seemed different from what he already knew.
Frustrated,
He finally asked,
What is the secret?
I see nothing new.
The master pointed to the river.
Tell me,
Arvind,
What do you see?
Arvind frowned,
Water flowing.
And what happens when the river meets a rock?
It flows around it.
And if a man tries to hold it in his hands,
It slips through.
The master chuckled.
That is the secret,
My boy.
You try too hard.
You force the clay.
You fight its nature.
But just like the river,
True mastery comes when you let things flow.
Let the clay move as it wishes,
And it will shape itself.
Arvind returned home and tried again.
This time,
He did not fight the clay.
He let his hands move with it,
Not against it.
And for the first time,
His pots did not just hold water.
They held something deeper.
Years later,
People spoke of a potter in the village whose work was perfect.
And when they asked Arvind for his secret,
He would only smile and say,
Like the river,
Let things flow and all will fall into place.
