CHHAVA: The prince of the Jungle

The cub crouched low, ears pricked forward.

The elephant did not acknowledge him.

It did not acknowledge anything.

The great beast stood half-submerged in the river, letting the water lap against its massive legs. Occasionally, it flicked its trunk, sending ripples across the surface.

It was not afraid.

Not cautious.

Not concerned with hunters, prey, or survival.

The cub had spent his new life learning the ways of the jungle—chasing, fighting, surviving. Every creature he had encountered had either run, fought, or hid.

But the elephant did none of these things.

It simply *was.*

The cub's gaze traveled to the deep scars etched along its thick hide—old wounds, memories of battles fought long ago. Yet the elephant carried them with indifference.

He exhaled.

He had once thought strength was about teeth and claws. About speed and precision. About victory.

But here stood a creature that held power in stillness.

A ruler without fear.

A force without cruelty.

The cub felt something shift inside him.

A question.

Would he ever become *that* kind of strong?

Or was he doomed to be like the rest—forever chasing, forever hunting?

The river flowed, the jungle whispered, and the elephant remained.

Unmoved.

Unchallenged.

Unbreakable.

Night draped itself over the jungle as the cub lay awake, the image of the elephant still vivid in his mind. The gentle murmur of the river and the soft rustling of leaves served as a quiet symphony—a stark contrast to the brutal lessons of survival he'd been learning. In that stillness, the cub's thoughts drifted inward.

He had spent his days chasing the raw thrill of the hunt, each kill affirming his place in this wild realm. Every scar on his flesh, every drop of blood shed, had been a testament to the jungle's harsh decree: only the strong survive. Yet tonight, as he recalled the elephant's silent majesty, a question stirred deep within him. What was strength, truly?

In the calm of the riverbank, the elephant had embodied a power beyond physical might. It did not need to chase or conquer; it simply was. There was an unspoken dignity in its slow, deliberate movements—a strength derived not from violence but from an inner resilience and acceptance of life's burdens. The cub's mind, a repository of both fierce instincts and the lingering echoes of his human past, began to wonder if there existed another way to be strong.

He remembered fragments of his former life—a man who had relentlessly pursued power through ruthless ambition and calculated decisions. The victories had been fleeting, the accolades empty, and the cost, heartbreakingly high. In that life, strength had been measured by the conquests in boardrooms and the silent betrayals behind closed doors. Now, confronted with the unyielding laws of the jungle, he questioned whether true power lay solely in the violent clashes of nature, or if it could also be found in the quiet persistence of simply being.

These reflections stirred a warmth in him that contrasted sharply with the cold, hard necessity of survival. For the first time, the cub considered that his journey might not be dictated only by instinct and hunger for dominance. Perhaps he could forge a new path—a way to reconcile the fierce predator he was becoming with the thoughtful man he once had been. There was a promise in that possibility, a quiet hope that strength could be both gentle and formidable.

Yet, even as the notion of a different kind of power took root in his heart, the distant echo of mocking laughter reminded him that the jungle's reality was unyielding. The hyenas, with their insidious presence and deceptive mirth, lurked on the fringes, ever-ready to exploit any hint of vulnerability. Their silent threat wove itself into his thoughts, a counterpoint to the calm strength of the elephant.

Under the pale glow of the moon, the cub closed his eyes and made a silent vow. He would learn from every encounter—the fierce battles and the quiet moments alike. He would strive to embody a strength that was not merely measured by the force of his claws or the speed of his leap, but by the wisdom to balance instinct with reflection. In that deep, contemplative silence, the cub resolved that his future would be defined not just by the savagery of the hunt, but by the quiet dignity of understanding who he was meant to be.