CHHAVA: The prince of the Jungle

The days passed, but the cub did not forget.

He trained his ears to catch the faintest sounds, his nose to recognize scents even when the wind tried to hide them.

Every hunt, every encounter, he watched how the jungle moved—how fear spread, how power shifted.

And beneath it all, the unseen presence of the hyenas lingered, like whispers in the dark.

They were patient.

So he would be too.

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One afternoon, while the sun burned high in the sky, his mother led them to the river. It was a place of life and danger, where prey and predator alike came to drink.

The cub crouched in the undergrowth, observing.

A herd of deer gathered at the water's edge, their ears twitching, their eyes flickering with caution.

But something else caught his attention.

A bull elephant stood on the other side of the river, half-submerged, its great tusks gleaming.

The cub had seen elephants before, but never this close. Never like this.

The giant moved with slow, deliberate steps, unbothered by the dangers around it.

It had no reason to fear.

It was strength.

It was power.

The cub found himself unable to look away.

He had been chasing the idea of strength since the day he opened his eyes in this life. He had wanted to be the hunter, the ruler, the king.

But the elephant was something different.

It did not need to hunt. It did not need to fight.

And yet, even the jungle itself seemed to bow to its presence.

The cub narrowed his eyes.

Perhaps strength was not just about killing.

Perhaps there was something more.