The Kosi river ran fat and brown past the edge of the village, and Ravi sat on its bank kicking his heels, thoroughly cross. He had been trying all morning to make his mind go quiet, the way Nani had taught him, and it simply would not.

"I tried to stop all my thoughts at once," he complained when Nani came to sit beside him, her sari tucked up out of the mud. "I squeezed my eyes shut and ordered every single thought to STOP. And it got worse! More thoughts came, not fewer. It's hopeless."

Nani did not answer right away. She picked up an empty clay pot that lay nearby and held it out toward the rushing river.

"Ravi," she said, "fill this pot with the river. But — catch the whole river at once. All of it. Go on."

Ravi laughed despite himself. "Nani, that's silly. Nobody can hold a whole river. It would just knock the pot out of my hands."

"Then how," she asked, "does anyone ever get water from a river?"

He thought. "You... dip the pot in. Slowly. You let a little come in at a time."

Nani smiled and dipped the pot into the shallows at the edge. The water swirled in gently, little by little, until the pot sat full and calm in her hands, the river's roar still rushing past untouched a few feet away.

"Your mind is the river," she said. "You will never stop it all at once — you will only get knocked over trying. So don't. Be patient with it, the way you are patient dipping a pot. Slowly, slowly, let it grow calm. One quiet breath. Then another. Hold steady, and don't scold yourself when a thought rushes by — just keep dipping."

She handed him the full, still pot. Ravi looked down. Inside it, the wild river had become a small circle of perfectly calm water, and in that calm he could see the sky, and a passing bird, and his own quiet face.

"Now," said Nani softly, "let your mind rest in that calm place inside you. And once it's resting there — don't go looking for anything else. Just stay. That stillness is enough. That stillness is you."