Motivational Stories

The Mountain That Moved

There once was a village at the base of a great and great mountain - the villagers called it Bhagirath because of an old tale about a man who once moved the heavens with his own power - and this mountain had stood there for centuries, its shadow long and cold over the valley - so dark and so cold that the sun could not penetrate it, the crops were cut back - so deep that the village was cut off from the outside world.

Every child in the village heard the exact same words.

“The mountain will never move.”

It was a fact no one challenged, and a fact everyone came to accept—except for the child with eyes too full of dreams, Aarav.

But Aarav was an offender. While the rest of them played around in the fields, he sat on the rooftop of his little house looking at the mountain and whispering, "One day you'll let the light in. "

People laughed. “Grow old boy, ” they said. “You can’t move a mountain. ”

But Aarav was not trying to move it with force. He was trying to understand. So he looked at the soil, what was the wind’s pattern, where the water was coming from, and as he got older, he would dig for the soil, build little channels so that rainwater carries away more easily, plant trees on the slopes for protecting the soil.

Years passed by. Aarav became a young man. His hands were blistered, his back hurt and still - he worked. No one.

Some pitied him. Most ignored him. A few mocked him openly.

But Aarav never spoke in anger. Just looked happy and kept dangling.

One night a terrible storm came. Thunder roared. Lightning ripped through the sky. And on the mountain where Aarav had planted trees and drawn paths there was something incredible happen -- A landslide. The earth slipped, rocks tumbling, and in the morning light a portion of the mountain had moved.

Now a small hole, the first ever in history, opened into the distance to reveal the valley beyond. Then out of this hole came golden, pure light - for the first time in living memory - into the heart of the village.

The elders looked in longing silence. The children ran naked to the ridge, in their sun lotion, laughing and crying. The people who had mocked Aarav once, came to him with tears in their eyes.

But Aarav?

Standing at the edge of the dream, face facing the sun, whispering slyly,

“You know? Even the tallest mountain moves when you think it 's enough to dig. .

Moral:

Dreams are not matter of how big the obstacles are, but of your character that will.

However even if no one believes in you we can only have one heart which has purpose to change everything.

Mountains do not move at the same time. They do move one shovel, one step, one choice at a time.

The Broken Cup

On a rainy Tuesday morning in a quiet village nestled between two misty hills of Himachal, lived a humble potter named Lokesh. He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t rich. But his hands — rough, stained with clay — could turn dust into stories.

Lokesh ran a small pottery shop at the edge of the village bazaar. The shelves were lined with earthen bowls, diyas, chai cups, and vases with hand-painted borders. People came from nearby towns like Palampur and Dharamshala just to admire his work. But on the topmost shelf, half-hidden behind perfect pieces, sat a single broken cup. Its handle was gone. A thin crack ran across its rim like a silent scar.

No one ever asked about it. Most assumed it was a mistake — something he forgot to throw away.

But Lokesh hadn’t forgotten.

Years ago, when he had just started learning pottery, every local market had rejected him. His creations were uneven, his glazes too thick or too thin. The cups wobbled, the plates chipped. Lokesh doubted himself. One night, after his tenth failed attempt at making a balanced cup, he hurled it at the floor in frustration. It shattered.

But when he bent down to clean the mess, something changed. He didn’t see failure. He saw a challenge.

Instead of throwing it away, he gathered the pieces and carefully glued them together. Then, he painted the crack with golden paint he had bought once during a trip to Jaipur — inspired by the Japanese art of kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold to show that flaws are a part of the story, not the end of it.

That broken cup became his first real teacher.

From that day on, Lokesh stopped chasing perfection. He began to love the flaws — both in the clay and in himself. Slowly, his work began to reflect soul. People didn’t just see pottery. They felt something — comfort, warmth, nostalgia.

One afternoon, a little girl stepped into his shop, drenched in the monsoon rain, holding a half-torn teddy bear. She looked up at the shelves and pointed to the broken cup.

“Why is that one hiding?” she asked.

Lokesh smiled. “Because most people don’t want things that are broken.”

She blinked and said, “But I like it. It looks brave.”

That stayed with him.

The next morning, he placed the broken cup at the front of his display. Next to it, he put a wooden sign carved by hand:

“We’re all a little cracked. That’s how the light gets in.”

Years passed. Lokesh’s shop became more than a place to buy pottery. It became a sanctuary. Strangers shared their stories — of loss, love, healing. Some brought him broken vases, others brought broken hearts. He fixed both.

He never threw away a broken piece again.

So if you ever feel shattered, if the world makes you question your worth, remember Lokesh’s cup.

You don’t have to be perfect.

You just have to be real.

And real things?
They’re the ones that stay.

Contact Pratap's Diary Team

Let’s Talk

We really would like to know what you think, hear what you have to say or anything really to say hello! You got something to share, a question in your mind, or a feeling you want to express it with words, then do not wait, do it. This is the space that is constructed atop the connection and your voice belongs to it.

Reach out anytime. We’re listening.