The Lost Bag – A Lesson in Honesty and Redemption

The Lost Bag

BY: Ubaid

Kareem Bhai had lost his handbag. He had withdrawn eighty thousand rupees from the bank and stopped at a few places to meet friends. When he reached home, he realized the bag was gone. He called everyone he had met, but there was no clue.

The money didn’t trouble him as much as the documents inside did — a major export contract and vital business papers. If a clerk had lost it, Kareem Bhai would have accused him of theft or negligence. But this mistake was his own, and so he could be angry at no one but himself.

All night, he lay awake, tormented by thoughts of loss. The next morning, he decided to publish an ad in the newspaper — a twenty-thousand-rupee reward for whoever returned the bag. He canceled all meetings, telling his servant to say he was unwell.

A while later, the servant came hesitantly and said, “Sir, a man insists on meeting you. He says it’s something important — about your trust.”

“Trust? What trust?” Kareem Bhai muttered, puzzled. Then he said quickly, “Bring him in at once! Maybe he knows something about my bag.”

Moments later, a young man entered. “Are you Mr. Kareem?” he asked politely.

“Yes, yes, that’s me!”

“Did you lose something, sir?”

“My handbag — with eighty thousand rupees and important documents!” Kareem Bhai replied anxiously. Then realizing his rudeness, he added kindly, “Please sit down, my boy.”

The young man unwrapped a cloth bundle and handed him the bag. “Sir, this belongs to you. I found it near a car. I figured it must have fallen when you got out. Before anyone else could take it, I decided to find the owner. I had to open it only to look for an address.”

Kareem Bhai opened the bag, pulled out his papers, and kissed them with relief. Then he took out a bundle of ten thousand rupees and offered it to the young man. “You’ve saved me from disaster, my son. Please accept this gift—not as a reward, but as a token of my gratitude.”

The young man smiled modestly. “Sir, honesty is its own reward. I didn’t do this for money. If I hadn’t found you, I’d have handed it to the police.”

No matter how much Kareem Bhai insisted, the young man refused to accept any money. Deeply moved by his honesty, Kareem Bhai asked about his family. He learned his name was Nasir Hussain, a clerk in a private firm, living with his elderly parents.

Then Nasir shared something that struck Kareem Bhai’s heart.

“Sir, something similar once happened to my father,” Nasir began quietly. “When I was about ten, my father collected his pension and provident fund—twenty thousand rupees. He picked me up from school that day, proud because I had topped my class. On the way home, he stopped to buy sweets and groceries. But in his joy, he left the money bag in the rickshaw.

That money was meant for my sister’s wedding. We tried everything—searched the streets, went to the police—but never found the driver. My parents were heartbroken. It was their lifetime’s savings. But my father never cursed the man. He would always tell my mother, ‘Maybe that person needed the money more than we did. God will provide for us in another way.’

Eventually, my father sold our ancestral home to pay for my sister’s wedding. We moved into a rented house. I completed school and started working. When I found your bag, I thought of my father’s loss—and I knew I had to return it immediately.”

Kareem Bhai was silent for a long time. “Nasir,” he said finally, “your story has taught me a great lesson. You are an honest and noble young man. My company needs an accountant. I’d like you to take that position—not as a favor, but because we need people like you.”

A year passed. Nasir now worked as an accountant in Kareem Auto Company, earning sixty thousand rupees a month, with a company car to take him to and from work. His family’s life had changed completely.

One evening, Nasir took his father to see their old house. But the small house was gone—replaced by a beautiful two-story mansion. “It’s hopeless, Abba,” Nasir sighed. “We’ll never get our old home back.”

His father smiled gently. “Maybe God has planned something better for us. Be grateful for what we have.”

A few days later, Kareem Bhai visited Nasir’s house and met his father. After polite conversation, Kareem Bhai grew quiet and said softly, “Fifteen years ago, a rickshaw driver kept the money your husband lost. He used it to start a small workshop, which grew into a big factory. But he could never find peace. His conscience haunted him every day. He wants to return your money—with interest—and your old house too.”

Nasir’s father looked surprised. “You know that man?”

“Yes,” Kareem Bhai said with a trembling voice. “In fact, I am that man.”

The old man stared at him, speechless. Kareem Bhai continued, “It was me who took that money. I was poor back then, and Satan whispered that it was my destiny. I used that stolen money to start my workshop. Over time, I became wealthy, but guilt has followed me every moment. After meeting Nasir, I learned who he was—and I bought your old house to return it to you, rebuilt and beautiful. Here are the ownership papers.”

Tears rolled down the old man’s cheeks as he embraced Kareem Bhai. “You are truly a great man. Repentance and restitution are higher virtues than wealth. I forgive you, and may God forgive you too.”

Kareem Bhai wept openly. “There’s one more thing I wish for,” he said gently. “If you allow, I’d like my daughter to marry Nasir.”

The old man raised his hands toward the sky and said, “O Merciful Lord, whatever You do is for our good. We thank You for turning pain into blessings.”