A Winter's Tea: A Short Story

A short story.

Soch sat smugly on her cabin's special grey cushioned chair. A gush of wind shivered through a partially open window.

"I'm freezing in this cold that only seeks to strangle. I freeze and my world freezes too."

She paced quickly - pulling on her closed fists out from her sweater's pocket - and reached out to the window. As she shut the windows close, she fashioned a deliberate pause to observe the world outside her own. The forest. Quite a few silver oaks outside bowed, not to, but against the wind.

"It isn't difficult to imagine spirits not just gliding around but also moving about the flora around them as they groove to their own whims."

This instant her cat meowed. It had to - not just wanted - to say something in a language that communicated - at least with humans - through unspoken inference and sentiment.

Soch turned around. A surreal entry into her cat's eyes made it known. Or, at least vaguely inferred from. But truly felt.

Soch retreated into her often-sheltered mental back-room.

"I can only imagine spirits. But what if I'm unable to perceive the mystical haunting that's quietly seeking attention? What if I am turning a blind eye to the unseen wafts of air - the winds of change? What if... they want to be seen?"

She turned back to the scene outside the window, outside her world. There lay a railway track a good few metres away from the forest's dry but dense foliage, closer to her well-lit cabin, her home. Soch's imagined spirits or the mystical haunting had perhaps bound the forest's life together, even in the dead harshness of winter.

The silver oaks seemed to be pointing in the direction of the trains which would ride the almost weary tracks bandaged round the hillock.

Soch, drawing herself out of her inherent pensiveness, walked backed to her seat of comfort.

"Oh my cabin! My world!"

On a cosy circular wooden mantelpiece, lay a cup of a beverage she always relished; her cherished tea, unique to her geography, her part of the world. Also there was her laptop that repetitively buzzed with notifications. It buzzed for attention to messages but was oblivious to what the messages meant themselves. On the same table, toward the far left, lay a jar of crushed herbs and dried tea leaves, just in case she wanted to gulp down some more. Efficient.

What more was needed in such times when nature's punitive command grew stronger through the insidious advance of winter? Unless one thought for more...

"Ugh. Too many unnecessary notifications. Being an article writer additionally, occasionally contributing to the news through written reports from my part of the world, it is frustrating when the world 'occasionally' is taken a little too seriously. I want more work!"

Turning to her cat, she said, "Why don't you try something and get me some work? It has been long since that News Agency down this hill, at its foot, has contacted me or even shared with me something I may put my hands and brain to."

Her cat meowed softly. It had already done its part.

It was five minutes to one. The Sun shone warmer. But not warm enough to cool the winter's punishing temperament. It was too cold anyway. Like the quick chime of an SMS, it struck Soch that...

And, it had arrived. Soch could spot the familiar deer of the forest through her window. It stood waiting patiently at a safe distance from her cabin.

"It has come for water. Again."

She rushed through the tasks of filling the metal bowl with water, the bowl she had kept reserved for this uninvited daily guest.

As she allowed it to drink from the bowl, she thought, "In the lap of nature, in the forest's abundant growth, amidst tree trunks competing for light, there should be a natural reservoir. Why does this creature have to meander its way all throughout and come to this lonely cabin outside for a bowl of water? I do remember coming across a pond in my previous visit. But that was years ago. I need to get back quickly. What if a message has been dropped by the agency? I'll have some writing to do."

Both the creatures went their ways. One of nature and the other of culture.

The supposed spirits still held the oaks bent facing the west, parallel to the narrow track.

After having entered her cabin, her eyes fell on a saddening sight. On the sill of another window on the other side of the room was a flower pot. The periwinkle she had been attending to for so long had wilted quite before time.

Perhaps, the act of providing water, or more importantly, how it's provided, elicits similar responses across the realm of nature.

While Soch had sold herself to her periwinkle, a piercing screech echoed. Though, it was still faint. It sounded like that of a heavy topple. But this was heard only by the dwellers of the surrounding villages. Soch was absorbed in her own thought. In her world.

As she comforted herself on her cushioned chair, she realised that the News Agency had emailed to her something on her laptop. The document mailed had multiple short video clippings that captured a toppled train. She was expected to collect more information and draft a report within two hours.

With untempered enthusiasm and frequent sips of tea, she began writing.

She thought, "With diluted emotional attachment it is intellectually pleasing to capture such incidents. It's obviously a completely different scenario if one's emotionally involved. You can't capture it in factual prose then. But, what matters above all, is the revenue generation. Take any violence with normalcy. Don't attempt to change. Who will then report such everyday terror?"

But a sense of unease now unsettled her. The clipping was a recording of...

It now overwhelmed her. She ran. Outside her world, was a world shaken.

A regular passenger train lay toppled. Cries and shrieks seemed deliberately loud as though everyone wanted to turn deaf. No one wanted to hear the pain. Crowds of people from nearby towns and villages had gathered. Newsmen were seen slowly arriving, eager for new content. Another crowd had gathered around something that was initially not visible, but later sent Soch into tearless shock. It was the deer in a pool of blood.

The 'unseen wafts of air' that held together the forest, blew harder than before. It seemed that they wanted to avenge the death of a family member. It started to pour heavily. It was the forest's expression of condemnatory grief. The locals were mostly either seen recording videos or calling for help.

Amongst all the havoc, one stood lifelessly still. Not because there was nothing to mourn over but because mortal expression could not suffice it.

"Me? Me."

One hot-headed local approached her looking at a badge on her sweater.

"So, you are the forest guard! Ms. Akarm Soch. You are the forest guard, Ms. Soch! This was a dangerous negligence of responsibility! For what has this station has been appointed to you? To stand and remain a mute spectator when a wild creature gets harmed, people are injured, a train gets toppled right outside your cabin!"

As dozens of like-opinionated individuals and other reporters began to encircle her, she pushed past them, and ran. Not out of fear but of the unbearable weight of moral guilt. She ran deep into the jungle to become one with the world outside.

As always, with the passage of time, things settled. At least temporarily. Someone else was appointed the forest guard for this region. In, what had once been Soch's dear cabin, a man now lived.

He sat down on the same cushioned chair and on the same wooden mantelpiece lay a jar of crushed herbs and dried tea leaves, just in case he wanted to gulp down some more tea. Efficient.

His eyes turned to the window. And he felt it wasn't difficult to imagine spirits gliding about the forest.

He suddenly felt uneasy. It was as though he was being stared at. From the forest.

"What if I'm unable to perceive the mystical haunting that's quietly seeking attention? What if the 'unseen wafts of air'... want to be seen?"

His laptop on the mantelpiece buzzed for attention to messages but was oblivious to what the messages meant themselves.

As he sipped his tea, in his world, Soch, from the forest, saw. But she wanted to be seen.

Gaurav Chandra Tuli