“And the cup he brings, though it burns your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with his own tears.” –Well of the Ages
In her water lily garden Queen Ariana enjoyed the brisk afternoon with several of her ladies; they were talking about the great Well that was under construction beyond the palace walls. The conversation turned to pottery and whether or not it had earned a place there.
Lady Lila: Surely we must keep the best recipes for our finest clay in that hallowed place.
Lady Niroo: Yes, and the effects of the firing temperatures on the brittleness of the pots would be important too.
As she spoke, Lila’s sister Beata cane into the garden; her skirts were drawn up around some bulk object she was holding.
Beata: Are you still talking pottery?
Ariana: Yes, my child. I trust you have brought us something new and are not just showing off your fertility. (Gentle laughter all around)
Beata curtsied and as she did so she pulled two narrow necked jugs from her skirt: one in each hand.
Beata: Look at these my queen.
And she held them forth. All the ladies stood dumbfounded (even the Queen, though she was seated). Not only were the jugs identical, they were perfectly symmetrical and perfectly round. Ariana reached out and took one of them. She turned it round in her hands and felt its smooth surface; she peered down the narrow neck as if she could see into the dark bulbous interior. It was a perfect pot and like none she had ever seen before: round, smooth and uniform in every way. Such a thing should not be possible even by the most skillful of potters. And yet here was not one such pot, but two.
Ariana: Where did you get these Beata?
Beata: Come my Queen and you shall see. It is not far.
The Queen and her six ladies swept their way out of the garden and down the back corridors of the palace into the streets on the north side of the palace grounds. Beata led the group through the quickly parting crowd to a short dead end street. She stopped before a low wooden door.
Beata: My Queen, Siru son of Saba lives here and he made these pots. I learned do his skill only last week and had him make these for you to see. Few have seen his pots and those that have do not yet recognize them for what they are. He is expecting you.
Ariana: Let us go in.
Siru was in the back courtyard sitting at a small round table. His hands kneaded a lump of clay and his arms, to the elbows, matched the pale brown of the clay. He bowed, but did not rise to his feet or drop to the ground. All of Waterside knew the queen frowned upon such behavior outside of court.
Ariana: Sir, I have seen your pots and am impressed with your skill. Not once, but twice it is evident. How was this magic wrought?
Siru smiled and as he continued to work the clay on the table he told his story.
Siru: My Queen and ruler, I am a potter by trade and have worked with the earth all my life. Not only do I make vessels for merchants and families of Waterside, I do from time to time make toys for children who live on my tiny street. My granddaughter, she is 8, my Queen and a good child, was celebrating in the spring and I wanted to make her a small top for spinning in the Moon game. I’m sure you know the game; it is as old as Waterside itself. Well, I could not get the balance right for little Biju’s top no matter how hard I tried. It would not spin fast or long. So I thought and thought and in a flash it came to me. I took a lump of wet clay and wrapped it around a sharp stick. Then I fashioned it to something close to what I wanted and spun it upon my table while I gently smoothed its edges. With practice I got very good and Biju’s top now wins with every good spin. From there it was just a short step to small pots and plates for my family, but I needed a way to keep the clay spinning while my hands could work the clay. My secret is this small table.
Siru stopped talking and pointed to the small round table before him. It had a single leg that was impaled in a large stone wheel that was perched just off the tile courtyard. Siru kicked the wheel and the table began to spin. He kicked it again and again and the table spun faster and faster. As his feet keep the wheel spinning his hands went to work on the clay and soon a perfectly round bowl took shape.
Ariana stared in amazement. It was magic; practical magic, but magic none-the-less. It would turn clay into gold. The slow to build hand made pots of the past were obsolete. Identical pots could be made quickly and easily. Uniform sizes make storage and transportation simpler and more efficient. She saw it all now. T’lur Pa could sell pots to the whole world, at least for a while. Such a secret would not stay a secret forever; she knew that. The small table was the key and that could be improved…
And so it was that the people of the green reeds invented the potter’s wheel and made pots for all the known world until, as is with most great ideas, others figured it out too, or bribed a potter, or took one out for a few too many beers. But for many years it was the round pots and jars and plates and cups of T’lur Pa that carried the goods of world from port to port, from market to market and from hearth to table.
