The Girl Who Spoke To The Forest

It’s 3:00 am. Sulyu’s eyes are wide open, sight fixed on the ceiling. A beep on her watch breaks her attention. She gets up clumsily and moves to the side, placing her bare feet on the cold surface. She drags herself towards the bathroom, puts her hands on the basin slab, and stares at the distorted reflection in the mirror. Stiff and cloddish, she grabs her toothbrush, squeezes the paste on the frayed bristles, and begins moving it back and forth over her teeth.

She moves to the quiet kitchen. Gripping the coffee jug by its handle, she tilts it over her favourite mug, with the quote “You Matter” printed on it. A thin stream of black coffee trickles down, filling a quarter of the mug. As the drink wades its way through her throat and down to her gut, a sigh escapes her lips, like a relief from a long battle.

A piercing headache, accompanied by a ringing in her ears, suddenly hits her senses. A feeling of trepidation fills her and makes her nauseous.

No sooner had she found her balance she swiftly put on her sneakers and her sweatshirt over the clothes she slept in. She makes sure everything is locked, tugging and yanking doors and windows to make sure they are firmly bolted. Once everything is secured to her satisfaction she leaves the house briskly.

Sulyu walks on the side of the pavement, her head covered by her oversized hoodie. She approaches the turn where the tarred road opens up to a deep forest. As she places her foot on the fresh green grass, a faint smile lights up her ashen face, as if the grass under her feet infused life back into her weary soul. Walking up to a distance, she stood before an old blue-pine tree that looked like it had lived to see millennia.

“Good morning,” Sulyu whispered. She held her breath. Slowly a low rumble later – with a crack, a snip, and a swoosh the old tree, Piisa, awoke.

“Good morning Sulyu,” Piisa replied, its deep gravelly voice sounding sombre.

Sulyu moves closer and plonks herself on the ground leaning back on Piisa’s trunk. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, filling up her lungs with the fresh dewy air. With her eyes closed shut she reaches out to the pine-strewn ground near her lap and runs her fingers through the grass and the soil underneath it. Her smile grows faint.

“I see that your golden root has grown dimmer.” 

“This morning, one of our own, an old one too, on the other side of the forest, was rooted out for another tarred road for those metal things to run on it. All we could do was shake our branches to pay tribute to the fallen. The golden root fades as we shrink in number. Kamoh, the Darkness, will reign once the root loses its glow.”

 It always amazed her that Piisa’s voice seemed almost projected into her head.

 “I know…”, Sulyu whimpers.

Piisa began regaling stories and secrets of a hundred years to cheer Sulyu with the other trees chiming in. It returns to the story from ancient Ziro, a crowd favourite amongst the critters and creatures here, about a man who hunted compulsively and took all he wanted without any reverence to the forest God, Moreh Uyi. Though Moreh Uyi was a name given by the locals, it was the forest that was alive. The man paid no heed to the warnings of the local priest about the consequences of his excess hunting and went on his quest to hunt creatures to satiate his thirst for mere sport.

One day, as he was returning home with a prized tortoise, his path had been obstructed by an old Kiira tree. “How did it get here?” he thought. Confused, he decided to go around it. As he came closer, the trees around the Kiira gradually began shaking their branches violently. Stunned by the sight, his body froze and his eyes widened, and just as he was about to make haste, the old Kiira came crashing down at him, smashing his body under its weight. Locals believed that Moreh Uyi had had its vengeance and to this day consider the Kiira tree holy. The story of the old Kiira tree who sacrificed itself to preserve the woods and its creatures, has been passed down from tree to sapling, bird to fledgling, and across the length and breadth of the forests in Ziro.

A beep on Sulyu’s watch interrupts them. It was time. Stretching her back and yawning deeply she rubs her eyes, scratches her head, and jumps up on her feet. Saying goodbye to the old tree, she slowly begins to stride to the town side.

The swish and the swoosh of the trees reduce to small indistinct sounds as Sulyu walks further away from the forest.

As she paces toward the town, she feels the grass beneath her feet turn gravelly, then solid and lifeless till she reaches the tarred road once again. A tear slowly makes its descent from her eye, of heartbreak, helplessness, and grief, at this vicious cycle of death and destruction, she has no control over. Sulyu pushes herself to move forward, till she steps into a white building – stark and sterile, in front of which a large hoarding reads “Ziro Mental Health Care Centre”.

She sits on one of the cold grey metal chairs in the foyer. Alone. Waiting for her turn.

Entering the room, the acrid antiseptic pervades her very senses. Before she could take a seat, she heard a voice say, “So.. How are you today? Have the trees had any news for you lately?” The Doctor inquires.

Noticing the leer in the doctor’s voice, she says, “Trees talk, Doctor… You don’t believe me, do you?”

In the distance, the trees violently sway their branches as another tree takes its fall.

The End.

*Sigh! This short story has been neglected, collecting cobwebs and dust since I wrote it in 2015. I worked on it sporadically before ultimately setting it aside, though it lingered in my mind for a long time. Then, one courageous day, I decided to submit it for a writing contest. My dear friend and skilled wordsmith, Pradipta B., helped me refine this story, for which I’m immensely grateful. However, the story failed to pass through. Naturally, I was disappointed, yet it served as a reminder to double my efforts in honing my craft. This world is filled with exceptionally talented writers whose works never fail to astonish me. Oh, how do they conjure such imaginative ideas?

I doubt I’ll ever be entirely satisfied with this piece, but I embrace its imperfections and here it is for you to read. Share your thoughts!