Translated from the original Marathi article ‘He paani ahe ho’, published in Shikshan Patrika, October 1936

One afternoon, a four-year-old girl was deeply absorbed at home in drawing with her pencil and paper. At first, the drawings appeared to be random scribbles. After making several such drawings, one picture seemed to have turned out according to her wish; her face reflected satisfaction and joy.

She took the picture to her mother and said, “Mother, you may think this is green grass, but it is water!” Her mother was amused, though others present did not understand the meaning of her words.

The mother explained, “Last month we traveled to Calcutta. Since the monsoon had just ended, small ponds could be seen everywhere. In some, the water was clear; in others, there were lotuses; and in many, green algae covered the surface. When we went to Dakshineshwar, there was such a pond covered entirely in green. The water was not visible at all. My daughter said, ‘Look, a field!’ I replied, ‘That is not a field, it is a pond.’ She insisted, ‘No, it is grass. It is a field.’ So I went to the edge of the pond and threw a small stone into it. The water splashed. Seeing this, she went around the pond and threw stones herself, confirming that it was not grass but indeed water. Today, after drawing for a long time, I believe she has finally drawn that pond to her satisfaction. She now explains to me that though it may look like grass, it is actually water.”

This explanation prompted some reflection. When children draw, they are often trying to clarify or express an idea to themselves. Had this girl been seated in school and asked to draw sticks, pencils, balls, or tops, would she have experienced the joy of recreating the scene she had observed? Would she have had the opportunity to recall and firmly establish through drawing the wondrous discovery that something appearing like grass could, in fact, be water?