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The God of ClayLong ago, there was a village called Yangon. The villagers were hardworking and kind, but they suffered year after year from drought. They longed for a god to take pity on them and send rain. In the village lived a highly skilled potter named Atu. He was warm hearted and often shared his water jars with neighbors who had none. But he was only human, and there was only so much he could do. One year, the drought was worse than ever. The village elders gathered in worry. A young elder suggested, “Why don’t we make a Rain God and worship it day and night? Maybe Heaven will be moved and send us rain.” Everyone thought it made sense. But where could they find a god’s statue? Their eyes fell on Atu. At that moment, Atu had been repairing a neighbor’s leaking pot and was covered in mud from head to toe. In the glow of the setting sun, his focused expression looked almost sacred. “Look!” someone shouted. “Master Atu is shining with holy light he must be the savior Heaven sent us!” Before Atu could even react, the villagers surged forward and lifted him up. They didn’t use wood or stone. Instead, they took the village’s most precious resource wet, golden clay and packed it around him layer upon layer, shaping it until he looked like a huge, solemn clay idol. They placed garlands on him and named him The Golden Clay Deity. At first Atu was confused. But when he saw the desperate hope in their eyes, he didn’t resist. He stood on a raised platform at the village entrance like a statue, accepting their worship and offerings. The villagers believed that if the Golden Clay Deity showed his power, rain would surely come. A few days later, dark clouds rolled in and a heavy rain poured down. The village erupted with joy. They were convinced the Golden Clay Deity had worked a miracle. Their cheers shook the air. They bowed and prayed to the clay idol Atu inside and gave all the credit to “the god.” After the rain, their devotion only grew more intense. They no longer asked Atu to fix pots. Instead, they lined up to beg the Golden Clay Deity for all kinds of wishes: children, wealth, health. They painted more gold dust onto him and hung jewels on him, making the “god” look grander and grander, and heavier and heavier. Trapped inside the thick clay and jewelry, Atu could hardly move. He wanted to tell them, “Rain comes from nature. I’m just a potter.” But whenever he tried to speak, the villagers treated his words as *divine messages*, full of hidden meaning. They wrote them down and treasured them as sacred texts. One day, a wise traveler passing through saw this absurd scene. He shook his head and said to the villagers, “You aren’t worshiping a god. You’re worshiping an ordinary man you forced into a god’s shape. He’ll be crushed by your expectations.” The villagers were furious. They accused the traveler of insulting their deity and drove him away. To prove that the Golden Clay Deity could do anything, the villagers decided to hold a grand festival. During the ceremony, they would place the “god” into a kiln to “refine” him—proof that he was beyond death and decay. Inside the clay shell, Atu heard what they planned and was terrified. He fought with all his strength and screamed, “I’m Atu! I’m a potter! Let me out!” But the people outside either couldn’t hear him—or chose not to. In their hearts, the Golden Clay Deity had already risen above a mortal body. How could a god fear fire? The festival began. Flames roared. Wrapped in layer upon layer of clay and jewels, Atu had no way to escape. Under the intense heat, the clay around him hardened and cracked. When the fire finally died down, the villagers opened the kiln, full of anticipation. They expected a dazzling golden idol, untouched and eternal. Instead, they saw a blackened clay figure covered in fractures. A light breeze passed by, and the huge “Golden Clay Deity” collapsed like a sand tower, shattering into pieces. Among the broken shards lay Atu’s remains, burned into charcoal. The villagers stood frozen. They looked at the wreckage, then at one another. Some began to cry. Some began to curse. But more than anything, the village fell into silence.

The God of Clay

Long ago, there was a village called Yangon. The villagers were hardworking and kind, but they suffered year after year from drought. They longed for a god to take pity on them and send rain.
In the village lived a highly skilled potter named Atu. He was warm hearted and often shared his water jars with neighbors who had none. But he was only human, and there was only so much he could do.
One year, the drought was worse than ever. The village elders gathered in worry. A young elder suggested, “Why don’t we make a Rain God and worship it day and night? Maybe Heaven will be moved and send us rain.”
Everyone thought it made sense. But where could they find a god’s statue?
Their eyes fell on Atu.
At that moment, Atu had been repairing a neighbor’s leaking pot and was covered in mud from head to toe. In the glow of the setting sun, his focused expression looked almost sacred.
“Look!” someone shouted. “Master Atu is shining with holy light he must be the savior Heaven sent us!”
Before Atu could even react, the villagers surged forward and lifted him up. They didn’t use wood or stone. Instead, they took the village’s most precious resource wet, golden clay and packed it around him layer upon layer, shaping it until he looked like a huge, solemn clay idol. They placed garlands on him and named him The Golden Clay Deity.
At first Atu was confused. But when he saw the desperate hope in their eyes, he didn’t resist. He stood on a raised platform at the village entrance like a statue, accepting their worship and offerings. The villagers believed that if the Golden Clay Deity showed his power, rain would surely come.
A few days later, dark clouds rolled in and a heavy rain poured down.
The village erupted with joy. They were convinced the Golden Clay Deity had worked a miracle. Their cheers shook the air. They bowed and prayed to the clay idol Atu inside and gave all the credit to “the god.”
After the rain, their devotion only grew more intense. They no longer asked Atu to fix pots. Instead, they lined up to beg the Golden Clay Deity for all kinds of wishes: children, wealth, health. They painted more gold dust onto him and hung jewels on him, making the “god” look grander and grander, and heavier and heavier.
Trapped inside the thick clay and jewelry, Atu could hardly move. He wanted to tell them, “Rain comes from nature. I’m just a potter.” But whenever he tried to speak, the villagers treated his words as *divine messages*, full of hidden meaning. They wrote them down and treasured them as sacred texts.
One day, a wise traveler passing through saw this absurd scene. He shook his head and said to the villagers, “You aren’t worshiping a god. You’re worshiping an ordinary man you forced into a god’s shape. He’ll be crushed by your expectations.”
The villagers were furious. They accused the traveler of insulting their deity and drove him away.
To prove that the Golden Clay Deity could do anything, the villagers decided to hold a grand festival. During the ceremony, they would place the “god” into a kiln to “refine” him—proof that he was beyond death and decay.
Inside the clay shell, Atu heard what they planned and was terrified. He fought with all his strength and screamed, “I’m Atu! I’m a potter! Let me out!”
But the people outside either couldn’t hear him—or chose not to. In their hearts, the Golden Clay Deity had already risen above a mortal body. How could a god fear fire?
The festival began. Flames roared.
Wrapped in layer upon layer of clay and jewels, Atu had no way to escape. Under the intense heat, the clay around him hardened and cracked.
When the fire finally died down, the villagers opened the kiln, full of anticipation. They expected a dazzling golden idol, untouched and eternal.
Instead, they saw a blackened clay figure covered in fractures. A light breeze passed by, and the huge “Golden Clay Deity” collapsed like a sand tower, shattering into pieces.
Among the broken shards lay Atu’s remains, burned into charcoal.
The villagers stood frozen. They looked at the wreckage, then at one another. Some began to cry. Some began to curse. But more than anything, the village fell into silence.

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