"Rama, please see why the fire isn't burning in the stove?" Shanta said in a stern voice.
"Amma, the wood is wet," Rama replied softly.
"If it's wet, dry it! You've been saying the same thing all morning—the wood is wet, the flour is finished, there's no oil..."
Shanta said irritably, "Money doesn't grow on trees, go ask your neighbor for some oil."
Rama quietly picked up the pot and went to her neighbor's house. A pang of guilt filled her heart. They'd been married for ten years, but the burden of poverty hadn't lifted. Her husband, Ramu, was once hardworking, but an injury he suffered in the fields three years ago had changed everything. Now he couldn't work much. The little he did wasn't enough to cover the household expenses or feed the children.
"Take this, daughter-in-law, and keep this half a bowl of oil," said her neighbor, Kamala. "By the way, I heard your Ramu's leg still hasn't healed?"
"No, Didi, the doctor said it'll take some time," Rama said and wiped her eyes.
When she got home, she quickly made rotis. The children were sitting hungry—Mohan (7 years old) and little Gungun (4 years old).
There was only salt with the roti, yet Mohan smiled and said, "Mom, today was fun. The roti turned out perfectly round."
Rama laughed—she knew her son was just saying it to appease her.
When Ramu returned home in the evening, he was tired and sad.
"Did you find any work?" Rama asked.
"No, I was turned down everywhere. Everyone says what work can a lame man do?"
Ramu sat down, leaning against the wall.
Rama gently squeezed his shoulder, "Don't worry, if God wills, something good will happen."
But when had the good times ever come?
The house only had a broken cot, an old tin cupboard, and a roof that leaked every rain.
The next morning, Rama went out to collect clay. She sometimes made small clay lamps to sell during festivals. But this time, Diwali was far away, and there wasn't even enough money for food.
She was digging clay when the village school teacher passed by.
"Hey Rama, what are you doing?"
"Just making lamps, Master. Maybe I'll sell some."
The teacher looked at her for a while and said, "You make beautiful lamps. If you want, you can teach the school children how to work with clay. It'll even earn you a few rupees every month."
Rama couldn't believe her ears.
"Really, Master?"
"Yes, they're starting a craftsmanship class at school next week. Should I enroll you?"
"Yes, of course!"
A ray of hope shone in her eyes.
Slowly, Rama began teaching the children how to make clay toys and lamps. The lamps she made were now selling in the village shops. She saved a little money to repair a small corner of her house. She also saved some money for Ramu's treatment.
One day, Ramu said,"Rama, you have now become the Lakshmi of our house."
Rama smiled,"I am not Lakshmi, I am just your companion."
On Diwali day, Rama's lamps were burning in every house in the village.
Light emanated from every house, but the lamp in Rama's house shone the brightest.
Mohan said,"Mom, look! The lamp in our house looks the most beautiful."
Rama stroked her son's head, "Yes, son, because this is a clay lamp—the same clay from which we have shaped our destiny."
Tears welled up in Ramu's eyes.
He said, "I never imagined that the clay we trampled underfoot would become the greatest strength in our lives."
Rama looked up at the sky—it seemed as if the stars were smiling.
Lesson : -
No matter how dire the circumstances,
if courage and hard work are combined—
even a small earthen lamp
can turn darkness into light.
Read more : -
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