n chilly December nights, nestled in the crook of a beloved elder’s shoulder, breath held, mesmerised by the lofty tale of a fairy’s rescue or a djinn’s escape, many have grown to become fond readers or storytellers. Some others were disillusioned by the imaginary world never found. Whatever the case, stories have always served multiple purposes. From escape to literary development; from fun to serious reflection, stories have always worked as tools of preservation of literary, linguistic and cultural heritage.

Before there was writing, there was storytelling.

This means that before humans were exposed to books, penned and printed tales, they shared narratives, orally. Storytelling traditions have existed since time immemorial. These very traditions served as the basis of some of the most recognisable volumes of literature. Dastaan-i-Amir Hamza, a canonical text of the Indian subcontinent, for instance, was once an ever-evolving amalgam of tales told, retold and reimagined by storytellers across the subcontinent. Living, breathing, the tales travelled with their tellers. Originating in the Arabian Peninsula and Persia, they travelled far and reached the people of the day.

Once, they were mere words; now they hold shape, hard-backed covers and pages upon pages.

Much is known about the evolution of the dastaan from orally narrated tales to the ten-volume, sanitised—in other words, child-friendly—version that emerged from Dr Mariam Zia’s mother’s wooden chest when she was a child. This early reading later led to her PhD thesis, which was the first book-length study of the English translation of the Indo-Persian classic.

Zia, however, is not the only one who grew up with references to a story, centuries old. In many households, all overstuffed bags became known as zanbil and mischievous children, Amr. The characters, places once only heard or read about, became part of everyday conversation and collective memory.

As stories move from oral tradition to written text, they also undergo other transformations. Musharraf Ali Farooqi, translator and author, has been central to reintroducing classical narratives to modern audiences, particularly through children’s literature. His work centres on the idea that children’s literature need not be didactic, and that children can hold complex ideas if told in a meaningful, entertaining way.

Farooqi, when describing storytelling, often uses the concept of the story tree. The idea behind a story tree is that every narrative branches out of older roots. Hence, no one story exists in isolation. Patterns and sequences encountered in dastaan, Farooqi suggests, are also found in some of Sindhi folk tales.

Similarly, the many stories of good vs evil emerging from different parts of the world often converge thematically. Every story, written or not, remains connected to a shared narrative lineage.

This idea of the story tree also reshapes how we understand children’s literature. Rather than simplified or diminished versions of adult narratives, stories for younger audiences become new branches—accessible, yet deeply rooted in tradition. Through careful adaptation, Farooqi demonstrates that young readers can engage with complex narrative worlds without losing their richness, ensuring that storytelling remains both relevant and resilient. As Intezar Hussain observed: stories are not mere entertainment; they are a canon of civilisational memory and societal consciousness. Making stories, even those meant for children, more than the written word.

Farooqi’s StoryKit Programme has tried to reintroduce storytelling as a participatory practice among children. By doing so, he remains true to his literary ethos that children are not passive consumers of literature, stories or books. They can actively engage, imagine and reimage characters and ideas, furthering what is understood as an ever-branching story tree.

Perhaps, it is best to invite an understanding of literature beyond the written word and printed pages. Books, though essential to the preservation of literary-linguistic traditions, represent only a small part of a much broader and diverse storytelling tradition.

To celebrate books without acknowledging the oral and cultural roots from which they emerge is to overlook the very foundations of literature.

It is time to expand and celebrate stories in all forms. Spoken, written, illustrated—every story and every book is a reminder of a larger story tree, shaped by countless voices across time. When the written word is combined with images and performance, it no longer remains a fixed artefact but an evolving form of literature that can adapt to audiences.

The writer is a staff member.