Tamim and the Tablet of Light

In a remote mountain village called Darakshan, the stars were the brightest thing most children ever saw. Electricity flickered like a moody firefly, and the only screen they knew was the night sky. Schools had blackboards but no books, pencils but no pages to write on.

Tamim, a twelve-year-old with clever eyes and calloused hands, lived in a mud-brick house on the edge of the village. He helped his mother fetch water and herded goats with his father. But even as he worked, he dreamed. He dreamed of flying machines, underwater cities, and magical machines that answered questions—any question.

But dreaming had limits in Darakshan. The internet was a word they heard on the radio. Computers were rumors. Most villagers didn’t believe such things really existed.

One evening, the village’s quiet was broken by the arrival of a small jeep carrying a young man named Faheem. He wore dusty sneakers, glasses, and a backpack stuffed with cords, solar panels, and something wrapped in soft cloth.

“I’m a digital volunteer,” Faheem explained to the curious villagers. “I bring technology to forgotten places.”

He had come with a mission: to install a solar-powered tablet kiosk in the village school—one device, preloaded with videos, educational games, books, and lessons in every subject from math to music. The villagers were skeptical. One device for all the children? And what if it broke?

But Tamim’s heart raced the moment he saw it: a thin, glowing screen brighter than a hundred stars, filled with color and movement and sound. It was as if the universe had shrunk into a small, flat mirror.

Faheem smiled. “We call it the Tablet of Light. Because when there is no power, no library, no teacher—this little screen can still light up minds.”

Tamim couldn’t sleep that night. The next morning, he was the first at school, waiting at the door. Faheem showed the children how to use the tablet: how to tap, swipe, read stories, draw pictures, watch science experiments, and even listen to poems.

Tamim watched a video about the solar system. His mouth hung open when he saw the swirling rings of Saturn and the stormy eye of Jupiter. Then he watched a lesson on how windmills generate electricity and another on how bridges are built.

It was as if someone had peeled open the sky and let him see the gears behind the world.

From that day forward, Tamim spent every free moment with the tablet. He began teaching younger students how to use it. When the tablet’s screen cracked after a storm, Tamim carefully taped it and protected it with a piece of cloth from home.

One afternoon, Faheem returned to check on the device. He found Tamim showing another child how to draw on a virtual sketchpad.

“You’ve become its guardian,” Faheem said with a grin.

Tamim nodded. “This tablet,” he whispered, “shows us what’s possible.”

Faheem, deeply impressed, decided to gift Tamim something special: a small, rugged tablet of his own—solar-powered, durable, and filled with even more learning tools. On the back, Faheem had engraved the words:

“Let light live in your hands.”

Tamim’s life began to change. He taught himself how to code using beginner apps. He designed a mini project showing how to collect rainwater in tanks using gravity. He even sent a video message—through Faheem—to a classroom across the country, asking, “What does your school look like?”

They replied. For the first time, Tamim saw a library. A science lab. A school with lights.

And still, he didn’t envy them. Instead, he wrote back,

“We have mountains, goats, and now, the Tablet of Light. We are not far anymore.”

Years passed. Tamim’s curiosity turned into passion. He earned a scholarship to a city school where he studied engineering. When he returned to Darakshan, now grown, he didn’t come empty-handed.

He brought ten tablets. He brought solar kits, chargers, and books. And he brought a sign, which he nailed above the school door. It read:

“The Light You Share Grows Brighter.”

The children of Darakshan now gather every evening under the stars—not just to gaze upward, but to learn, to code, to read, and to dream bigger than ever before.

And somewhere in a drawer, Tamim still keeps that first glowing device—cracked, slow, worn by time—but sacred.

Because that was the day the stars came down to earth.

Moral: Access to knowledge can transform not just one life, but an entire village. A single spark, even in the darkest place, can light the path for many.