Did you forget my water? (part 1)
Sunday musings from the rivers edge
As I have said in other posts, it is a blessed rarity to find a true teacher of life. This is an adaptation of a story I heard many years ago about a student who was so fortunate as to not only find his teacher, but to spend valuable years in deep learning and study. Yet even after many years, he asked a question that showed he didn’t really get it, and needed a more dramatic lesson.
This story pops up for me during times of difficulty or when I am counseling another in their time of challenge. Of course, it is deeply symbolic and never really happened... or so we will believe!
I’m breaking this post into two parts: this one with the story, and next week I will reflect on some deeper meanings that are subtly hidden within it.
He had studied with the master for many years, and he was fortunate to be one of his only students. They spent many hours in silent meditation and had progressed to the point where few words were needed. Yet the quiet ache of a man still wanting something more remained. Perhaps he began his years as a student when he was too young and had never really experienced all of the ups and downs life so generously (and ruthlessly) provides. Perhaps he just wasn’t as wise as he thought he was.
Time passed. The teacher didn’t say much. His teachings came in silence, in the way he stirred tea or gazed into a sunrise. Yet the student’s unspoken question remained.
It was a big question that he probably should have been wise enough not to ask. Yet of course he did. Otherwise, this would not be a story!
As they were drinking their morning chai, the student finally blurted out, “Master, how can I understand what maya is since I have never really experienced it?”
The teacher didn’t answer. He simply nodded toward the river and said, “I am thirsty. Please bring me some water.”
The student bowed and went, always happy and full of love to serve his master.
The day was warm. He walked through soft dust and rustling trees until he reached the water’s edge. Just as he bent to fill the pot, he looked up and saw what he never expected to see.
She was on the opposite shore washing clothes. Strands of hair fell across her cheek. Her dark eyes flashed with life force. Her face was perfect. The student was instantly entranced!
He hadn’t expected her to look up. But she did. And in that one meeting of their eyes, all of reality changed, and all thought of retrieving the water for his master evaporated.
They stared into each other’s eyes, the way young people besotted with each other will always do. Finally, the student managed to awkwardly croak out a few words, for he had never spoken before to a beautiful woman.
“May I help you carry your clothes?”
She accepted, and the student crossed the river and carefully picked up the clean clothing. They walked in silence on the path to her father’s house, shoulders almost touching.
Of course, the father was happy to see such a fine young man interested in his daughter, for it was her time of life to marry and leave his house. So he invited the young man to stay for dinner. There was laughter and lively conversation. He stayed for dinner that night, then next, and the next.
He began to work for her father, first doing odd jobs, then as he learned the trade, more important work ensued. Months passed, and one evening, he asked her father for permission to marry his daughter. They were both overjoyed when the father said. “Of course!”
He was good with business, and better with people. He had an innate understanding of trade and how to make a business grow. He knew how to watch the weather, how to stock the right things, and how to listen. The one shop the father started became five, then more shops in neighboring villages. Wealth flowed, and they had children.
Many years passed.
He built a large home with whitewashed walls, a shaded veranda with a fountain, and a stone path lined with marigolds. His fame became known across the region as a fair trader who always found a way to make all involved prosper. People came to him for advice, which he readily gave. Some came to him for help, also freely given to those in need.
Their wealth grew, but so did his generosity. He felt content. Full of the good feelings that success and family life brought.
He was happy.
Then one season, the rains came with a ferocity that was only remembered in the stories of the elders, who heard it from their elders.
There was a fierce flood, unlike any before. The river turned wild and overflowed its banks. Soon, the water reached the village. Markets drowned. Homes collapsed and were washed away. His own caravan and all his shops were swept away. In horror, he saw his wife and all of his children captured by the river and taken to their doom. Then the flood claimed him and washed him into the center of the river.
Fortunately, the course of the river deposited him on its bank. He was devastated, heartbroken, for he had lost everything. He bent over, wailing in grief. Finally, he looked up and saw an empty clay pot on the ground right next to him.
Then he heard a voice he had forgotten, the voice of his beloved teacher.
“Did you forget my water?” were the only words that needed to be spoken.
Thank you for reading.
If something in these words stirred something in you, I’d love to hear it. These conversations matter more than ever. You can reply here, or simply hit the “like” button and sit with what came up. Either way, may the soft voice within you be a little easier to hear today.
If you are so moved, you can make a one-time contribution for an amount of your choosing to help support this writing.
Way to leave me hanging on a cliffhanger! Luckily, part 2 is out so I don't need to wait :)