Sentila grows up watching her mother Arenla and grandmother practise the traditional craft of pot making. From an early age, she dreams of becoming a pot maker herself. Arenla, however, wants her daughter to learn weaving instead.

Arenla’s resistance is practical rather than cruel. She knows how physically demanding pottery is. The grey and red clay has to be collected from a riverbank about sixteen kilometres away, carried uphill, soaked, pounded inside bamboo cylinders, shaped carefully, dried and then fired correctly. Months of labour bring only a small income. Weaving, in her view, is cleaner, can be done indoors in every season and gives a better financial return.

Sentila does not abandon her dream. Whenever possible, she secretly visits the village’s expert potters and watches every stage of their work. She is fascinated by the movement of their hands, the rhythm of the spatula and the transformation of a shapeless lump of clay into a useful and beautiful pot.

Her regular visits become village gossip. The village council summons her father, Mesoba, and reminds him that a traditional skill which serves the community and carries its history does not belong to one person alone. An expert has a responsibility to pass such knowledge to the next generation and to willing learners.

Arenla eventually begins teaching Sentila. The girl quickly learns to collect and prepare the clay, but shaping the pot proves difficult. For almost a year she repeatedly fails in her mother’s presence, becoming tense, ashamed and frustrated.

The turning point comes after Sentila begins staying in a girls’ dormitory supervised by Onula, a kind middle-aged widow. Onula notices that Sentila’s main problem is not a lack of talent but excessive tension. She calmly demonstrates the technique, encourages the girl and helps her produce a good pot. When the mouth of the pot is imperfect, Onula advises Sentila to observe Arenla’s hand movements and rhythm carefully.

During the next pot-making session, Sentila watches her mother closely. Later, on a bright sunny day, Arenla completes a batch and then leaves the work shed, saying that she has a headache and backache. Left alone, Sentila begins working. Soon her movements become coordinated and confident. She finds a natural rhythm and makes pot after pot with remarkable skill, finishing only one pot short of her mother’s tally.

Her triumph immediately turns tragic. Sentila goes inside and finds Arenla lying on the floor, no longer breathing. After Arenla’s death, Onula enters the shed and sees two neat rows of newly made pots. She cannot distinguish one batch from the other. She understands that Sentila has finally inherited the skill of her mother and ancestors.