The Mist

Creative Writing Competition 2012 India
CODE	548
SETTING	Forest
OBJECT	Overcoat
THEME	A Strange Day/Night

The wind making its way from the dense pine forest was making a sad eerie sound. The cry of dogs was making the night scary. The owls hooting somewhere in the jungle, the fluttering of bat wings, howling of jackals and then for a few minute everything became dumb silent, to start again. Even the whisper of silence was driving me crazy. And as if that was not enough, the creaky sound of wooden flooring outside, as if someone was nervously walking in the verandah, was making the environment frightening.

Suddenly I was craving for the comfort of the city sound that has earned a name of noise pollution.

I pulled the blanket over my head and tightly shut my eyes, but in vain.

It was my first posting and my first night in this beautiful cottage surrounded by forest. I arrived here in the morning. The same cottage that had amazed me by its location and sheer beauty then was scaring me to death now.

“I should have asked Ma to come with me,” I thought. “But for how long she could accompany me? Being a forest officer, I will have to spend many nights in various lonely cottages, sometimes surrounded by dense forests like this one. I’ll have to get at ease with this life.” I tried to soothe my nerves.

Though very tired, I could not sleep the whole night.

The first light of sun spreading slowly over the hills gave me the courage to leave the bed. Though it was still early, I opened the door. The breathtaking view unfolded before me. The huge garden of my cottage was engulfed in mist. The garden was bustling with life when I reached here yesterday. It was silently waiting for its visitors- birds, butterflies, bees and children of the caretaker who lived in the quarters behind the cottage. The hilltops were basking in the morning sun. The foothills were struggling to push away the mist to welcome it.

I sat there right on the verandah stairs. The scary night had changed to a pleasant morning. The trees, the birds, the slowly descending warmth of the sun, the gurgle of mountain stream, my surrounding-everything seemed to be welcoming me.

I was engrossed in the beauty around me. Suddenly from nowhere in the mist I saw a silhouette approaching towards me. From a distance the stranger called, “Salam Memsaab.”

“Namaste”, I reciprocated his greetings. “Thank God the attendant came”, I thought. I was waiting for someone to come so that I can ask for a cup of hot ginger tea.

As it came near, the dim figure became clearer. Though not very old, but the man was looking very weak and frail. His overcoat was wet. In fact water was dripping from it. His trousers had patches all over. The gumboot that he wore made a squeaky sound as he walked towards me. He stood before me. A chill ran down my bones.

“Salam Memsaab, I’m Ramsingh, the caretaker of that guest-house over the hills,” he pointed towards the hill.

“Namaste! How are you Ramsingh ji?”

“Must have come with some request. First day of my job and it will begin with it. I will have to wait for my tea also,” I thought.

“From where are you coming? You are all wet.” I asked.

“The weather here is very strange memsaab. Sometimes even the fog makes you wet.” He answered while sitting there before me on the ground.

“Memsaab, I have come to meet you. I want to say something to you. I need your help.” Without wasting a second he said.

“Ok! I’ll listen to you. You first go to Shamsher Singh’s quarter, wake him up, borrow his clothes and change into a dry one. Else you will fall sick. Then ask him to make a nice cup of ginger tea for us. We will then talk.” I suggested.

“Memsaab I don’t have that much time. Don’t bother for me. Nothing can happen to me now.” It was a flat, emotionless response from him.

There was a certain authority in his voice. I was taken aback. The chilling piercing wind of December was making me shiver even after the layers of warm cloth complete with an overcoat and shawl. Here this man was sitting very comfortably in wet clothes and overcoat, untouched by the weather.

Without waiting for my reply he took out a photograph from the pocket of his overcoat to show me. I took the photograph from him. It was the photograph of a beautiful girl, all decked up in the traditional mountain clothes. Her beauty was mesmerizing. Fair complexion, large blue-green eyes and a captivating smile.

“Is she your daughter?” I asked.

“Yes, my daughter Lali.”

Before I could say anything else, he spoke.

“Memsaab, though poor but I was a very happy man. There were only three of us in my family, my wife, my daughter Lali and me. I earned enough for my family. Besides my salary, we had a small piece of land which my wife took care of. Lali was our life. She was the most beautiful girl in our whole village.”

“Yes, your daughter is indeed very beautiful,” I interrupted.

But he didn’t take notice of my comment. He continued with the emotionless narration of his story in the same monotonous tone.

“You know memsaab; the daughters’ grow very fast. My Lali too grew very fast. Time just flew away with her around. Though she had turned fifteen, but for us she was still a little girl, our baby. She was very good at her studies. She wanted to study and become a big officer like you. Unlike the tradition common in our village, I didn’t marry her. I wanted her to study and fulfill her dream. Apart from her studies, she helped her mother in various chores. My Lali was an innocent, bubbly girl, full of life.”

“During summer, lots of tourists used to visit this place. Even our guest house was full. I was very busy attending the guests. Like every day, that day too, Lali went to collect firewood from the forest. But she had not returned from the forest. I was unaware. After finishing my work, I went home. My wife was walking up and down outside the house in desperation. The moment her eyes fell on me, she started crying – Lali has not returned from the forest yet.”

It had been raining the whole evening. I tried to calm her down. “Don’t worry she will come back. It was raining. She must have taken shelter somewhere. Now since the rain has stopped, she will come back.”

“But an untold fear gripped me. I went out in search of her. Madly I searched for her the whole night, but in vain. In the morning with the help of villagers, I found Lali in the forest. The salwar-kurta she was wearing was torn. Someone had made my little daughter dirty. There were scratch marks all over her delicate body. Her eyes were wide opened as if she was waiting for me the whole night. Her tears had dried. She must have cried while calling me for help. But I am such a wretched father; I didn’t reach there on time to help my Lali. She was lying there still, lifeless and I couldn’t do anything to save her. She had already left us, devastated.”

I had tears in my eyes but his were dry.

“Did you go to police and lodged your complain? Did they find the culprit who did such a heinous crime?” I asked.

“I went to the police. But they were too busy to even lodge the case of a poor man. I tried memsaab. I went to the police station every day. I asked all the Saabs coming to the guest house to help me, but nothing happened. My wife couldn’t recover from the shock of our daughter’s death. She too died three months after Lali’s death.”

“They both have gone. They will not come back. But I want to get justice for Lali. If I would have known who had tortured my Lali, I would have killed him. I would have happily died after that. I know my Lali’s soul will rest in peace only after her culprits will get punished. Or else she will roam here in the forest calling me for help.”

“Can you help me memsaab? I can’t sleep in the night. I hear Lali’s cry and scream for help. I hear my wife begging me to find the culprits and punish them. Please help me…” He looked at me with his pleading eyes and folded hands.

“Sure I will help you. I will call the police inspector today itself and will get your complaint lodged. Then let’s see how we can find the culprits. I will see that Lali gets the justice. Her culprits will definitely get punished.  Now you go and change your clothes. Bring two cups of tea also.”

Satisfied with my assurance he got up to go. Water was still dripping from his overcoat.

I was really feeling very sorry for Ramsingh. How much the poor suffer! Even to get the complaint registered, they run from pillars to posts without any result. Two lives are lost! And so much of apathy from the affluent? Are their sufferings so valueless?

Shamsher Singh came with the tea.

“Keep it here.” I pointed him to put down the tray besides me on the stair.

“Have you given Ramsingh ji dry clothes to change?”

Instead of a reply, Shamsher gave me a shock look.

“Go and see if he has changed, send him here and bring a cup of tea for him also.”

Looking puzzled Shamsher Singh asked me: “Madam you just said you want to meet Ramsingh ji? You have sent him to change his wet clothes.”

“Yes, Ramsingh, the caretaker of the forest guest house. He was all drenched. So I asked him to borrow dry clothes from you and change.”

He didn’t move.

“What happened? Why are you looking so shocked?”

“Madam, Ramsingh ji died about a year ago. He committed suicide by jumping into a mountain stream.”

Shamsher’s response jolted me. Shocked I looked down into my lap. The wet photo of a beautiful smiling girl was staring at me, with hope in her blue-green eyes.

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