Miss Ratna’s bag was ancient—its fabric frayed, its straps barely holding on. But to the students of Vidya Niketan School, it was legendary. It held magical secrets.
How else could one explain how the weakest students in her class suddenly became achievers?
How had Ganesh, who couldn’t speak without stuttering, let alone carry a tune, sung a Lata Mangeshkar’s song so beautifully on Independence Day that even the principal got emotional? How had Shrini, who once believed algebra was an alien conspiracy, suddenly scored a perfect 100 in mathematics?
The students whispered among themselves, glancing at Miss Ratna’s bag with awe and terror.
“It’s the chits,” they murmured. “She pulls out a chit, and boom—magic.”
It wasn’t always like this.
Miss Ratna noticed everything—the small disappointments, the quiet sighs, the way some students shrank when asked a question. She never scolded or pointed out failures, but she saw them all.
She had seen Shrini grip her pencil in frustration during math class, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route. When called upon, she mumbled or pretended to search for a pen in her bag, anything to avoid answering. After every test, she would glance at her paper, sigh, and shove it into her folder.
One afternoon, as Shrini sat staring blankly at a confusing algebra problem, Miss Ratna reached into her magical bag.
“Shrini,” she said, “today, we’re going to do magic.”
From the depths of her bag, she pulled out... a handful of matchsticks.
The class giggled. Magic? With matchsticks?
Undeterred, Miss Ratna arranged them into patterns. “Here’s the trick,” she said. “Math is just a puzzle. See this?” She rearranged the matchsticks, turning ‘x + x + x’ into ‘3x’ before Shrini’s eyes. “It’s not about numbers, it’s about patterns.”
Shrini hesitated, then slowly picked up a matchstick. With Miss Ratna’s guidance, she solved her first equation—not by memorizing formulas, but by seeing numbers as a puzzle.
Something clicked.
Over the weeks, Miss Ratna turned multiplication into patterns, fractions into shapes, and algebra into matchstick magic. Shrini, once terrified of math, found herself looking forward to math class just to find the next magical thing coming out of Miss Ratna’s bag. And when the next test results arrived, she stared at the paper, wide-eyed. 100%.
She ran to Miss Ratna, her voice trembling, “Ma’am, I… I did it.”
Miss Ratna simply smiled. “You always could, Shrini.”
Not just Shrini—Miss Ratna had been watching Arun too. A human tornado, he couldn’t sit still for five minutes. Most teachers scolded him, frustrated by his endless energy.
One day, she pulled out a chit and declared, “Arun will become the school’s chess champion.”
The class erupted in laughter. Chess? Arun couldn’t even sit through a game!
But when he opened the chit, it was blank.
Confused, he looked at Miss Ratna. “Ma’am… there’s nothing on it.”
She chuckled. “Then it means you already know what to do.”
Skeptical but curious, Arun started playing chess. At first, just to prove Miss Ratna wrong. But soon, he was hooked. The same energy that made him restless became his biggest strength—his quick thinking, and his ability to see patterns. Months later, he stood victorious at the inter-school chess championship, gripping his trophy.
“I don’t know what’s crazier,” he muttered, staring at it. “Me winning this or enjoying it?”
Maya loved colors but hid her drawings like state secrets. Once, she submitted a sketch for a class competition. The other entries were neat sunsets, flowers, and pretty houses. Hers? Abstract, bold, different. The judges had stared, confused. The snickers from her classmates haunted her. She never entered again.
One day, Miss Ratna pulled a chit from her bag. “Maya will paint the school’s annual mural.”
Maya’s face drained of color. Me? But what if I mess up?
Miss Ratna handed her the chit. Another blank slip.
Maya frowned. “Ma’am, there’s nothing—”
Miss Ratna leaned in. “Then it means you already know.”
Maya sighed. The woman was impossible.
That night, she picked up her brush. At first, hesitation made her strokes clumsy. But as the hours passed, fear faded. When the mural was unveiled, students gasped, teachers applauded, and even the principal (who had narrowly avoided a paint accident) looked impressed.
Maya beamed. “Okay, maybe she is magic.”
Not everyone was convinced.
Mrs. Gupta, the strictest teacher in school, had been watching with suspicion. Miracles? Nonsense. Hard work was the only real magic.
And Miss Ratna’s bag? It had to contain something—secret notes, cheat sheets, a highly classified manual titled How to Make Struggling Students Shine Overnight.
One afternoon, when Miss Ratna was called to the principal’s office, Mrs. Gupta seized her chance. She darted into the empty classroom, grabbed the bag, and overturned its contents onto the desk.
A flood of chits fluttered down.
Mrs. Gupta’s heart pounded as she grabbed one. Blank. She snatched another. And another. All blank.
Her brows furrowed. Was this a prank?
The door creaked.
Mrs. Gupta spun around. Miss Ratna stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
“Looking for something, Mrs. Gupta?”
Mrs. Gupta, still gripping a chit, stammered, “They’re… they’re all blank!”
Miss Ratna strolled in, picked up a chit, and held it as if it contained the universe’s greatest secret. Then, in a calm voice, she read aloud:
“Mrs. Gupta will now realize that belief is the most powerful magic of all.”
Mrs. Gupta nearly dropped the chit.
Her gaze shifted to the classroom walls—Shrini’s 100-mark test paper proudly displayed, Arun’s chess trophy gleaming on a shelf, Maya’s mural alive with color.
Suddenly, she saw it.
It had never been about tricks. It was about showing them what they already had inside them.
Miss Ratna chuckled. “The magic was never in the bag, Mrs. Gupta. It was in their minds. I made them believe they could, and so, they did.”
Outside, the school bell rang. Students rushed past, their laughter filling the halls.
Shrini, once timid, walked with confidence. Arun, once restless, now calculated every move. Maya, once fearful, stood proud beside her mural.
Miss Ratna gently gathered the empty chits, slung her bag over her shoulder, and turned to leave. But before stepping out, she paused and said,
“Sometimes, all a child needs… is someone who believes in them.”
Then, with her bag of invisible dreams, she walked away—her magic lingering in every heart she had touched.
"A teacher’s true magic isn’t in lessons or books—it’s in seeing the unseen, hearing the unspoken, and
Believing in a child before they believe in themselves."