The Pot Maker
Ever since Sentila became old enough to accompany her mother to the fields and forests, she began to dream of becoming a pot maker like her mother and grandmother. However Arenla, her mother, wanted her to become a weaver. On days when she managed to stay at home while her parents went to the fields, Sentila approached expert potters to learn the skill. They were at first amused by the little girl’s insistence as they thought that she would soon outgrow her childish passion for the craft.
Sentila did not disclose her fascination with pot making at home as she had overheard a conversation between her parents one night. Her mother was complaining about Sentila’s indifference to weaving. She said, “I shall not teach her pot making as it has brought no joy to me and only a pittance for my troubles. The riverbank, where the grey and red clay required for making pots is found, is sixteen kilometres from here. I need to climb down a sheer drop to the riverbank and my back aches from carrying the heavy load uphill all the way to the village. Pounding the stubborn clay inside bamboo cylinders to soften it, is also tedious. So many times, I’ve dropped the mould out of sheer exhaustion and have had to start all over again. It takes months to bring out a batch of pots after so much labour. And the reward? A few rupees. But if Sentila learns weaving, she can make much more money besides providing enough cloth for the family. Weaving is outgrow: to lose interest in something as one grows older indifference: lack of interest in something pittance: a small amount of money received as income pounding: repeated beating tedious: tiring not messy like pot making and can be done indoors in all seasons. Also, the time spent on weaving one shawl is much less and the return is handsome.” Sentila continued her visits to watch the potters at work. She saw how the clay was mixed with water and pounded, how careful they were when they pushed their left hand into a lump of the softened clay and how deftly they rotated the lump as they started giving shape to the rotating clay with a spatula held in the right hand. The regular tap, tap of the spatula on the clay was music to her ears as she watched in fascination the pot emerging out of a shapeless lump right in front of her eyes. After two or three days, the pots would be given a final touch up to retain the required shape and to test the consistency. Only then would the pots be taken out to dry in the sun before being loaded on to a kiln in a uniform pattern on a bed of hay and dried bamboo and covered with another layer of the same materials, and then the kiln would be fired. One had to tend the fire carefully as over firing or under firing would ruin the entire batch.
Arenla heard of her daughter’s visits but pretended to be ignorant of them. By late afternoon, Sentila had to return home quickly, so that when her mother came back from the fields, she would be there. Gradually, Sentila’s visits became a topic of village gossip. People wondered why Arenla was refusing to teach the skill to her daughter. They were worried that if all pot makers followed suit, then there would be no expert potters to take their place. One day, Sentila’s father, Mesoba was summoned by the village council and asked to explain why Arenla was refusing to pass on the skill to her daughter. He replied in a humble tone, “Uncles and elder brothers, Arenla has never said that she will not teach our daughter pot making; it is only that we wanted her to grow stronger after her illness. You will soon see Sentila making the best pots in the village.” After listening to Mesoba’s explanation, the elders decided to let him go, cautioning him to remind Arenla that it was her duty to teach her daughter the skill that was handed down from generation to generation. They also told him that skills such as pot making, which not only catered to the needs of the people but also symbolised the tradition and history of the people, did not ‘belong’ to any individual. And experts were obliged to pass on their skills not only to their own children but also to anyone who wished to learn. Mesoba went home and discussed the matter with Arenla. tend: take care of followed suit: did the same thing as somebody else has just done
Gifts of Grace: Honouring Our Vocations
I hear Bharat celebrating, the varied vocations
I hear;
Those of craftsperson, each one celebrating their
craft, woven with colours and myriad hues.
The artisans with lutes, each hailing varied
emotions and celebrating dreams, echoing in
the streets.
The carpenters celebrating; they create anything
out of wood with mathematical precision,
The electricians humming; they get ready for work,
work with cables and wires to brighten our lives, The boatmen gathering their nets from the shore, sailing, and singing while at work, return to tell the tales of life at sea, The shoemakers affirming the quality of their work, for the feet that walk, dance, run, jump, return home. The delicious singing of the cook, or the rhythm of designer, mason, each celebrating what belongs to them and to none else, The voice of their vocation is the voice of their identity. I hear Bharat celebrating, the varied voices I hear!
Anonymous