Sein & Zeya: Spirit-hood

“Sein Yazana.”

An unfamiliar voice, deep and melodic, filled the air.

“…”

The girl spun around, wondering who was calling her. Behind her stood a tall, willowy man. His presence was far too close for comfort.

Seriously! I did not need a close-up view of his nasal hair, she thought, reflexively taking a step back to distance herself.

With caution, she peered up to meet his gaze. What struck her was his striking features: an elegant nose, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. He was regal and refined, his smile kind yet unreadable.

The saying, “A golden papaya may still be rotten inside,” flitted through her mind. She studied him closely, seeking to discern friend from foe.

Despite his youthful and handsome appearance, his eyes told a different tale. Within them lay wisdom and experience only gained from a life well-lived.

However, beneath it all, she sensed something more, a quiet, unshakable melancholy that lingered, deep and unresolved.

“Sein Yazana?” the man repeated, his head tilting slightly.

Sein snapped out of her thoughts and responded, “Yes, my lord.”

She bowed her head as a gesture of respectful greeting. Her eyes landed on his feet.

What extravagant shoes! she noted.

Her instinct to address him with formality had been correct. He was obviously of royal or noble lineage, dressed in traditional attire: a long, silk-woven sarong, an ornate collarless jacket, and jewel-encrusted boots that could trigger shoe envy. In one hand, he held a sandalwood fan with a handle carved from jade.

Who dresses like this anymore? Sein mused.

Even the King had adopted the modern style.

“So young. And so fair,” the man observed, sighing a little to himself.

A gentle breeze stirred, causing his sumptuous sarong to sway briefly. Sein hesitated, not entirely sure whether it was a compliment.

She responded nevertheless, “My lord is too generous and kind with his words.”

He chuckled, waving her comment off with his fan, emitting the gentle scent of sandalwood into the air.

“No, no, no. You are far too young and far too fair to be at the end. That simply will not do. You must carry on. Indeed, you must persist, ensuring the playing field remains fair.”

Sein was desperately trying to recall the etiquette required when addressing people of importance.

“I… ur…,” she mumbled. “Sein does not understand, my lord.”

At least she remembered that, when in doubt, it was best to refer to herself in the third person and avoid addressing the other person as ‘you’.

He flicked the fan shut; his intricately embroidered sleeve caught the light, glinting and sparkling as the tiny jewels reflected it.

“Allow me to make this known,” the man proclaimed, “I am granting you spirit-hood.”

He lightly cleared his throat and continued, “You shall be Spirit of Cloth.”

She saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Isn’t there a spirit for that already? Sein wondered.

She never paid much attention to her elders when they spoke of spirits. She was aware of the three supreme spirits as there were numerous temples built on their behalf. And it was generally believed that many spirits existed in the world.

“Forgive me, did my lord say Spirit of Cloth?” Sein asked, brows furrowed.

“Correct.”

“Cloth?”

“What is it you do not understand? Spirit of Cloth. Fabric. Material. Textile.”

The man paused, thinking for a moment, a slender finger resting on his sharp chin.

“What is it called in the mortal realm these days? I may be a little out of touch.”

“Pardon me, my lord. It is still called cloth. Sein wishes to be absolutely clear.”

Wait, he’s telling me I’m a spirit. A spirit? she pondered.

It seemed too ludicrous to be true.

“Are you absolutely clear now?”

He reached out and patted her shoulder with his slender hand.

“Yes, my lord.” Sein nodded, though still a little baffled.

How could she be a spirit? Why, of all things, cloth? And what did he mean by playing field?

He beamed another dazzling grin, leaned forward a little as though to share a secret.

“Might I suggest, as Spirit of Cloth, perhaps you should start with your own attire.”

“…”

Sein raised an eyebrow as she questioned herself: What’s he alluding to?

Then realisation struck, causing her cheeks to flush. She was wearing her house clothes: a long, simple teal skirt and a cream-coloured embroidered blouse. They were made from the finest cotton and silk fabric, tailored to fit her perfectly.

However, it was not something to be seen in public, especially by someone of importance. How shameful. Why had she not listened to her mother, who was always telling her to dress as a lady should?

“Sein, do not go outside wearing your house clothes,” was something she heard a thousand times and ignored. Thank goodness, at least, she was wearing shoes rather than slippers.

Feeling a dryness in her throat, Sein remained silent and smiled weakly, while the man continued.

“There are certain standards we spirits must adhere to. After all, we are descended from the ranks of royalty and nobility. You may possess the purest of hearts, granting prayers with boundless generosity, but do not forget, mortals are creatures of perception. They will judge you, not by your virtues, but by the way you present yourself.”

“Yes, my lord.” Sein bowed her head, hiding her embarrassment. “Sein totally understands.”

“Consider it this way,” he continued to point out. “Who among us would desire their carved likeness or statue to reflect anything but their finest form? You, fortunately, are graced with the face of a true goddess. Indeed, it would be wise to embrace this and dress accordingly, particularly as Spirit of Cloth. If you wish to inspire devotion, it is not enough to merely act the part; one must embody it entirely, in both presence and appearance.”

Now Sein felt as though she were a child again, enduring another lecture from her mother on the finer points of etiquette.

“Sein understands, my lord,” she responded in an apologetic tone.

“Excellent, is there anything you wish to ask?”

Her mind was a hive of thoughts, buzzing with numerous questions. However, Sein was a good judge of character and she could gather that despite the calm demeanour of the spirit standing before her, he would not tolerate an onslaught of inquiries.

She simply asked, “Why has Sein been chosen to be a spirit?”

“Why? A good question.” The man paused, choosing his words carefully. “In fact, you should rather ask, who?”

He took a deep breath as if calming himself before he continued, “I shall say that you have the favour of a supreme spirit because someone of significance…,” he trailed off, nodding to himself before revealing, “Someone of importance thinks highly of you.”

Someone of importance thinks highly of me!

Sein was flabbergasted. She could not think of anyone who would fit that bill. Come to think of it, she could not recall anyone specifically. There was a feeling of a loving family, her mother and father, but beyond that, her memory was fuzzy. Every time her mind tried to grab a wisp of the past, it was being elusive.

“You are free to do as you wish.” The man gave a quick head bow, his eyes a little sly.

“Much appreciated, my lord,” Sein said, biting back the questions that wanted to spill out.

When she peered up again from her head bow, he was gone. She had intended to ask one last question, but it was too late. She had never even learnt his name.

Am I dreaming? Sein questioned.

No, she felt awake. In fact, she felt as if she had woken from a restorative sleep; the best sleep of her life.

Her body felt relaxed: light and fluid without any twinges of discomfort. Her mind was calm, clear and centred. Her thoughts were grounded; not a drop of rain or wind to disrupt the surface of the tranquil waters.

Sein wandered through the forest, comforted by the blanket of contentment. Feeling one with the earth, time flowed swiftly. She saw nature’s never-ending dance as flowers flaunted their brilliance, grass flowed like waves in the wind, rivers meandered seductively through the land, and mountains stood proud against the ever-changing sky.

Within a single breath, seasons came and went as she continued to drift peacefully. Before she realised, four years had passed.

One day she became aware of the myriad of creatures sharing her forest. With wonder and amusement, she watched peafowls shimmer in the dappled sunlight, muntjacs silently tiptoe between ancient roots, and dragonflies flit playfully in the breeze.

Her attention then shifted to the people in a small village nestled at the forest’s edge. She observed the villagers going about their daily lives. Though their existence seemed simple, taking care of their families, growing crops and crafting tools, their days were full of joy and laughter as children played along the dirt road, friends chatted over a cup of tea, and elders told stories of the past.

Something flickered in her consciousness as she watched the lives unfold before her.

Who am I?

The question came softly at first. Then others followed, louder, harder to ignore.

Why am I a spirit?

How did I die?

But it was the final question that pressed on her most, the one that surfaced unexpectedly from the depths of her heart.

Who was he?