The Tale of Whispering Woods and the New Scribe🦊📜
- MediaFx
- Oct 10
- 4 min read
In the heart of the land called Whispering Woods, many creatures lived under the shade of tall trees, beside the flowing Silver‑Stream, in harmony. There was the council of Elders — Owl, Tortoise, Deer, and a few others — who met by the Great Banyan each fortnight to decide matters of the forest: rules about water sharing, fruit orchards, paths, safety from storms, and more.
One fine monsoon morning, a new figure arrived in Whispering Woods. He introduced himself as Rinko the Red Fox, dressed in silvery scarves, carrying a quill and a scroll case. He said he had been appointed by the “High Realm” (beyond the hills) as the Special Scribe & Advisor to the forest’s Deputy Elder, meaning he’d assist in writing decisions, recording meetings, and offering counsel. 🦊✍️
The animals murmured. “Who is this fox? We never asked for an advisor!” they whispered.
But the Deputy Elder, Daro the Deer, welcomed him with polite bows. He said, “Rinko, you shall help me turn our deliberations into official decrees, ensure nothing is lost or mis‑recorded, and bring fresh ideas.”
Rinko bowed elegantly. “I am honored. I will also carry your requests whenever you wish to speak to the High Realm.” The High Realm was distant, mysterious, rarely interacting with Whispering Woods, but it held power.
From day one, Rinko began inserting himself into meetings. At first, he just sat quietly, copying notes. But gradually he started offering suggestions: “Maybe deer should get extra water if they carry messages,” “Maybe the bird choir’s nesting ground needs special protection,” “Should the squirrels pay a token fruit share for using the acorn alley?” Some of these ideas sounded reasonable; others felt odd.
Among the animals, there was a mischievous group: Chiku the Squirrel, Mira the Parrot, and Jaga the Rabbit. They liked to test new rules and see how far power could stretch. They watched Rinko carefully.
One day at a meeting under the Banyan, Daro the Deer rose and said, “Friends, we will adopt a new rule: each species will contribute one fruit per family per season to maintain the Meeting Circle clearing. The Scribe Rinko will collect and distribute these fruits, to ensure fairness.”Rinko nodded eagerly, eyes shining.
The rule passed. The first month, Rinko collected, but delay after delay, no distribution. Pigeons got extra, squirrels got little, and some species waited a long time. When questioned, Rinko said, “I will send your complaints to the High Realm. Be patient, I’m preparing the proper report.”Some animals grumbled.
Then, one evening, Chiku the Squirrel crept to the clearing and saw Rinko in his scroll tent, cooking sweet berry jam using some of the collected fruits. “Aha!” Chiku gasped quietly. She told Mira and Jaga.
Next morning, the three confronted the council. “We saw the Scribe using our contributions for his jam,” Chiku declared. Rinko at first denied, but the jam jar on his desk gave him away. The crowd gasped.
Daro the Deer was embarrassed. He confronted Rinko: “Why did you misuse the contributions? You are here to serve, not to profit!” Rinko stammered, “I—I only meant to preserve some for emergencies. The rest will be distributed soon.”
But more evidence emerged: letters that Rinko had sent to the High Realm contained subtle phrases praising himself, exaggerating his role, and asking for more privileges. The animals realized he was slowly positioning himself far beyond his rightful station.
Mira the Parrot flew high and read aloud one such line: “As the indispensable Scribe, I have streamlined the decisions and proved my worth; surely the High Realm would appoint me higher next season.”
The forest’s trust cracked.
A crisis then struck: late rains caused Silver‑Stream to shrink, and water was scarce. When animals asked to access stored reserves, Rinko again delayed, citing “High Realm permissions pending.” The Elders saw this was untenable.
In the grand meeting, the Elders decided:
Rinko would be demoted: he would remain only a recorder, not advisor.
All fruits collected would be returned (minus fair share for maintenance) by sunset.
A new rule: any appointed aide must be vetted by all species, not just by one Elder.
A transparency council would be formed—one representative from each species to watch the accounts.
Rinko, realizing his schemes were over, quietly packed his scrolls and left at dusk, muttering that perhaps another forest would welcome him. The forest breathed a collective sigh of relief. 🌿
Afterwards, the Meeting Circle ran more smoothly, with each species more alert and each Elder more humble. They learned: power placed without trust will topple, and any outsider—even “well‑dressed”—can mislead if not watched.
Twist and Surprise
Just as things seemed to settle, one night, the Great Owl discovered a small scroll stuck under the Banyan root. It bore Rinko’s handwriting, with just one line: “The High Realm watches. I shall return when you forget your folly.” The animals shivered, reminding themselves that vigilance must not lapse.
The Moral 🪶
Always require accountability and transparency in appointments — even if someone seems capable.
Power unchecked invites misuse.
Trust must be earned, not assumed.
Communities should have a voice in who leads or advises them.
Real‑World Inspiration & Message
This story mirrors a recent event: the appointment of a young IAS officer as Officer on Special Duty (OSD) to a high political figure in Andhra Pradesh. mediafx.coIn real life, such appointments generate conversations about power, oversight, influence, and who really holds sway. My story doesn’t name any person or event, but uses animals and forest politics to reflect similar dynamics.
Message to readers:Don’t blindly accept advisors or aides just because they carry fancy titles. Societies—big or small—must insist on checks, balances, and participation. Only then will authority serve the many, not the few.
If you like, I can draw deeper parallels with multiple news stories or craft a sequel! Do you want me to expand or adapt it?
