The Two Baskets

Rohan was a teenage boy who lived in a small village near the hills. He wasn’t very rich, but he worked hard every single day to take care of himself and his old mother. Every morning before sunrise, he would wake up, stretch his tired arms, and pick up a wooden pole with two bamboo baskets tied to each end.

He would walk down a narrow, dusty path to the river. The air was cool, and birds had just begun their morning songs. One basket was strong and perfect. It held water without losing a single drop. The other basket had a long crack running along its side.

Every day, Rohan filled both baskets with fresh river water and began his walk back home. By the time he reached the village, the perfect basket was still full. But the cracked one had lost nearly half its water along the way.

This went on for months.

The perfect basket grew proud. “I do my job perfectly,” it thought. “I bring back all the water. That cracked one is just extra weight. It makes Rohan work harder for no reason.”

The cracked basket felt ashamed. It noticed every drop it lost. It tried its best to hold the water, but the crack would not let it. It slowed down, it tilted carefully, but nothing worked.

Each morning, as the sun rose and painted the sky orange and pink, the cracked basket quietly watched. The soft breeze passed through its bamboo strips, and the dew that settled on it felt like tears.

“I am useless,” it thought. “Why was I even made like this?”