Story Time: Where did the notebook go?
His heart filled with hope and fear simultaneously as he stared at the hands of the junk shop man who was searching for something among all the other rough, unwanted stuff scattered here and there in the old rusty shop. After one more try, the man finally told him that the notebook he was searching for wasn’t there.
Atif’s hope sank and fear enveloped him completely. It was Saturday evening and a sheet of darkness was approaching fast to cover the sky. Atif was sent here by their housemaid.
Saturday started like a normal day and everything was going fine until the afternoon. At four o’clock, he started collecting his books, notebooks and stationery items to leave for the coaching centre and prepare for his maths assessment scheduled on Monday. Saturdays were generally off days, but when there was a test or exam, the students were called for extra classes. He realised that notebook number one was missing. When he asked his mother about it, she questioned him right back to know where he had kept it.
“On the brown cupboard, mum, where my books of the previous years are kept.”
“Oh, really! I don’t think you can find it now,” mum nodded regretfully. “I gave all those books to the maid because I thought you didn’t need them anymore. She must have sold them to the junk man by now. Let me ask her whether she has those books or not.”
Mum seemed disappointed after talking to the maid, “She has sold them to the junk man who owns a shop in the next street. Go to him and ask for your notebook.”
Atif’s face turned white. “Mum! I’ll be late for the coaching centre and my teacher will get angry. I already have a solid reason to be scolded as the missing notebook contained three chapters of maths work and I have to revise them for the assessment.”
“It’s not your fault, honey. You go and ask the junk man while I’m going to call your teacher. Hope she’ll understand the problem.”
And now, after being unable to find the notebook with the junk man, Atif was about to weep. “Uncle, can you please try to recall where it could be? Did anyone buy some old papers from you recently, some vendor or someone else?”
And now, after being unable to find the notebook with the junk man, Atif was about to weep. “Uncle, can you please try to recall where it could be? Did anyone buy some old papers from you recently, some vendor or someone else?”
“Oh yes, I just remembered. Nadeem, who sells potato chips at the corner of this street, did buy a thick silver-covered notebook from me with some other stuff. Go and ask him. Maybe it is still safe with him.”
Atif hurried to the chips seller. He was pouring freshly sliced and spiced potatoes into the hot simmering oil and the mouth-watering aroma was spreading all around.
After listening to Atif, he said, “The silver-covered notebook you are talking about was taken by my youngest son. He wanted to make paper boats from its neat smooth sheets.”
“Oh no!” Atif almost cried. “It contains very precious notes and I do need them today. I have my maths assessment on Monday. Please tell me where you live, uncle. I will go and meet your son.”
“Nearby, in the next street,” the chips seller guided him about the location of his house. It was getting dark. So Atif first went to his home to brief his mother about what had happened so far and to take permission to go to the chips seller’s house.
A woman, with a very kind look on her face, opened the door. After finding out the purpose of his visit, she let Atif to her six-year-old son, who was lying in a bed because of fever.
When asked about the book, he replied, “Mamma I don’t have that book now. The day I went with you to aunty’s home, she took the book from me and gave me this one.” He took a colourful magazine out from under his pillow and showed them.
Atif’s heart started pounding, but still he asked in an even tone, “Which aunty is he talking about? Can I meet her?”
“He’s talking about Samina baji, in whose house I work as a maid,” replied. She saw that the boy’s eyes were filled with tears now, so she quickly added, “Don’t worry dear. Come with me. We’ll go and fetch your notebook from their place.” She requested her neighbour to stay with the boy and left for Samina baji’s house.
When they reached there, it was quite dark. The lights of the house were off. “It seems they are not at home. Which day of the week is it by the way?”
“It’s Saturday,” he replied as disappointment took over, wiping out the slightest hopes of finding the notebook.
“Oh! This is the reason Samina baji is not home. She visits her mother every Saturday.”
“How can I contact her then? Aunty please do something,” Atif pleaded.
“Okay, I will call her to ask when she is returning home,” she assured him and started dialling a number on her old cell phone.
She told Samina baji the whole story and handed the phone to Atif.
A charming voice at the other end said, “Dear child, don’t worry. Your notebook is safe with me. I saw that new notebook in Haroon’s hands and being, a maths teacher myself, realised it was not a useless book. The dates on it were of the past two months and this was not the end of the term either, when most of the students sell their old books to junk men. So I kept it with me hoping it can be returned to the owner. There was a name and phone number jotted down on it and I was planning to call to see if I can contact the owner.”
“Oh God, thank you, so much!” he uttered with a sigh of relief, then addressing Ms Samina he said, “I can’t thank you enough, aunty, but the house is locked. How can I get it?”
“Rest assured, boy! I’ll send my son with the keys. He will reach there in half an hour and give you your notebook.”
After almost 20 minutes, a young man stopped his bike near them. He cheerfully greeted them, unlocked the door and went inside to fetch the notebook. Atif’s eyes welled with emotions when he got his hands on his notebook. He hugged it tight with love, and thanked Ms Samina’s son.
He thanked Allah, the Almighty, once again and promised to never be negligent towards his important possessions again. This whole episode taught him to always keep things in their proper place.
Published in Dawn, Young World July 22nd, 2017