When Bakriti was a beautiful little girl of seven she sat in the shade of a stall in the marketplace while her mother sold clay bowls and jugs and drinking cups. Far down and up the busy way she could see the famous statue of Zeus. She overheard men talking about the gods of the sun and the rain and the sky. She looked up and saw nothing but clouds drifting across the sun, with clear blue sky between.
When Bakriti and her mother went home in the late afternoon a big storm arose and threw down large drops of water. Bakriti’s mother said that Zeus must be weeping. Bakriti held out her cupped hand, caught a few drops, and raised them to her lips. These “tears” had no taste of salt, like her own tears. Bakriti was angry. her mother and those men had lied.
Once home, Bakriti took some wet clay and made a little figure of a man. Then she threw it on the hard dirt floor and stomped on it. “Bakriti, what are you doing?” inquired her mother. “I am smashing Zeus into nothing!”
“Hush, my child. Someone might hear you!”
“But not Zeus. He can’t hear anything!”