The bag of stories

A day without a story, is a day wasted.

That’s what Aarshi believed. She has been listening to stories since her birth. Yes, even when she couldn’t talk or understand. She would watch her mom talk, and while talking mom would raise her brows, move her hands, nod, smile, lower her voice to a whisper and suddenly go loud. Aarshi loved that so much. She could watch her do that for hours.

story telling

Every night Aarshi would listen to a story and she would not know the point when she would doze off. The story would then continue in her dreams.

On a clear moon night, her mother told her a story of a boy who wished to gift his granny  something really precious, unique and rare. He didn’t know what that could be. He spent hours thinking about an ideal gift. When he could not sleep at night, he went to his terrace and stared at the stars. Suddenly, a huge butterfly came flying and perched on the roof…..

Aarshi started snoring. Mom kissed her goodnight and switched off the lights.


In her dreams, Aarshi was the boy standing on his terrace gazing at the stars. The butterfly asked why he is not happy. The boy told the butterfly he wished to gift his granny the most magnificent thing in the world. But what could that be? The butterfly asked, “do you like the stars?” The boy said, “They are beautiful. I wish I could string them together and gift my granny a sparkling, twinkling necklace of stars.” And so it happened, the huge butterfly took the boy to the stars and he had the perfect gift for his granny.stars

“Take me back home” said the boy. “Right away” said the butterfly and they flew straight down towards his terrace. Suddenly, an evil witch came out of nowhere and cursed the butterfly for helping the boy steal the stars.


The butterfly became tiny, like any other butterfly. And down came Aarshi falling…falling….

There was thud. And mom came running to Aarshi’s room.

Aarshi gave a sheepish grin.

Such was Aarshi’s love for stories.

But all good things come to an end, right?

One night, as usual, Aarshi said, “mom, tell me a story?”

But pat came a reply, “No story today, Aarshi. Mamma’s bag of stories is empty.”

“Bag of stories? I never knew you took stories out of a …a bag?”

“Yes, I always did. Every storyteller has a bag of stories. And it is said, if you take out a story, you need to replace it with another story. Otherwise, the bag would soon be empty. But, I kept taking out stories from the bag. You never helped me replace it with another. So now, there are no more stories in the bag”, mom shrugged.


“But…but.. mom, how could I have helped?”

“When I tell you a story, you tell me another. I’ll put it into the bag. This way our bag would never be empty.”

“But I don’t know any?”

“I am sorry. Can’t help. You’ll have to sleep without a story now.” Mom left the room.

Aarshi never thought this day would come!

She would have to think of new stories to refill the bag.

Aarshi took out her diary. A beautiful golden diary her mom had gifted on her 6th birthday. Now is the time to put it to use.

Aarshi started thinking and writing stories. And to her surprise, she couldn’t stop!

Writing A Letter

Writing stories was fun, even better than listening to them.

Within a week, Aarshi had written, 15 short stories. Of fairies and witches; of grannys and nannys; of unicorns, dragons and dianosaurs; of animals and mermaids.

One morning, as usual, a story came to her mind, and Aarshi rushed to get her diary.

But hey!

Where’s the diary?

“I kept it safely in my shelf last night. Where did it go?”

Aarshi looked for it everywhere. But it was of no use.

4 days passed. It was Aarshi’s birthday.

At the strike of 12, Aarshi wished herself “Happy Birthday” and went to sleep. But there was something under her pillow.

A book!


My bag of stories by Aarshi.

And then came a voice from behind. “Happy Birthday, my little storyteller.”

Mom was smiling.

“You are now a bag of stories. Never let the stories in you come to an end. Keep refilling the bag.”

Aarshi gave a tight hug to mom. It was her 8th birthday, but the storyteller in her was just born.


“You are now a bag of stories. Never let the stories in you come to an end. Keep refilling the bag”

Aarshi gave a tight hug to mom. It was her 8th birthday, but the storyteller in her was just born.

Tagged , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: