The story that follows is an ancient one. So old that there remains no other material artefact from that era, except for it. Passed along the longest lineage of generations, it has been kept as a secret closely guarded. The possessors of this story have been meek wise men, who knew the power it contained. Rumoured to have its origin in the most ancient of civilisations, many still believe it to be a myth.
In a land afar, there lived a potter. He lived in a hut at the edge of the village and subsisted himself by selling the pots he made. The joy of creating something from nothing, this joy of creation, was all the contentment in life he needed and he lived on.
It was a hobby of his to make toys and show-pieces for his own merry in his spare hours. On a workless day, with hours to spare, he thought of making something quite big. He piled a mound of clay and started carving. He began with no pre-conceived picture in his mind and let his hands and his mind play to their tune while his eyes kept silent. He immersed self into the task. He carved and drilled and smoothened and pinched the mound, as his intuition took him. And by eve when he finished and his sub-conscious artistic stupor reverted to conscious, he was stuck dumb by his own doing.
Stood in front was the most remarkable think his eyes had ever happened to gaze upon. He had morphed the pile of clay into the statue of a woman, more beautiful than one that had ever been born and possibly would. The very instant he fell in love.
All day long and all night hence, all he could ever think about was the woman he had made. He would wake up early and finish the days due of pots, have them sold in the nearby market. With the bronze he would get in return, he would buy bread, butter and milk. He would return home e-arly by eve, dine and then spend all the rest of his time looking at the statue in a dreamy stupor.
And then when sleep really came, there came dream too. And the statue sprinkled alive in the dream. She came to life. He courted her. She fell in love too and they made a lovely couple. Home, children and pets, he lived a life so much he cherished. Then with the break dawn, he woke from the dream and began his rituals anew.
As time slipped by, the dreams he lived became more and more significant. They almost attained the proportions of reality and the reality started fading into a dream. He lived with his love, fathered children and grazed his cattle’s, while dreamt of making pottery, having them sold and buying his supper.
He lived thus, content, lone, fulfilled, till when one day the Almighty appeared before him. He appeared at night when the potter was asleep, dreaming his happy reality. God shook him awake, rousing him from his wonderful reality, the dream. The potter regained his senses and was wonderstruck to see the God, with anguish and fazzle streaked over his poise.
The God was on his nerves. He said, “How on earth can you live this deception! What you live is a lie. A farce. You live a dream that exists not, while the reality that I so pain-stakingly conjured, you have reduced to a dream. You need to amend.”
The potter remained completely unmoved. He said in reply, “The world we live is yet another deception. What wrong have I done in choosing which deception to believe.”
But the God was quick to reply, “I have made things with a purpose. You have conjured a world of your own and you live in it. If each person does so, each lives in a world separate. No one connects. No society is formed. No civilisation exists. And in the far-sight no life exists too. You never attract a woman and you never mate. The race of mankind ends with one dreamy generation”.
The potter thought for a while. He restrained from speaking till God’s breathe quietened. Once there was repose, he spoke, “So what? Human’s as we know come to not exist, but then so what. How should it change things! Life isn’t created with a purpose. I wasn’t born with a reason. No one is. We find a reason for our-self. A reason which we give to self for existing, and pursue it as an aim. There existed a niche in the society that I filled, the one of a potter, and I still fill it. I do not cause the society to stumble. I just believe else as reality and the society a dream that I still sustain. Moreover, like I proposed of each giving self a reason, I gave me to live to dream as the reason to live.”
God interposed, “But what if each man…”
The potter continued, “Each man won’t. There exists an inherent randomness in the universe. As am a part of it, so are my ideas, my ideals and my notions. And they are subject to these rules of randomness as well. What I believe, what I choose, not all will. The world as we know, the life as you know, shall remain to exist, in spite of me.”
The God did not speak a while. Then he asked, “As you do exist, why not leave a mark on reality?” Potter spoke in reply, “I do! I do that in my reality, what you consider a dream.”
God thought, “What he says, fits. His arguments seem to make so perfect a sense. Couldn’t he be right! Could he be right. Maybe he indeed gets to choose what’s real as well…” and with a startle he enquires, “How come a potter as you are be so versed with the philosophies of life?”
The potter beamed a smile. He came to the God, hugged him and said, “How wouldn’t I! Well because am the God who created you. Am your God.”