The rainy season had left everything a shining green, a colour so bright it almost hurt Anmol's eyes. The air was full of the smell of wet earth, blooming jasmine flowers, and something wilder, something untamed. Anmol, who was eighteen years old and thin like a vine, moved through the thick bushes as quietly and smoothly as a forest animal. His camera, a strong, well-used DSLR, was hanging comfortably over his shoulder, its lens cap off, always ready.
Ever since he was a small boy, barely able to hold a toy camera. While other kids chased cricket balls, he chased butterflies, lizards, and the quick shadows of deer in the local forest. His parents, both teachers, had supported his passion, seeing how it helped their active son become calm and focused. Now, that passion had become his job. Anmol wasn't just a boy with a camera; he was Anmol, the wildlife photographer, known by people nearby for his patience and his almost magical skill for capturing the spirit of an animal.
Today, he was deep inside the Tadoba-Andhari Tiger Reserve, a place he knew very well. He was tracking a certain family of tigers, hoping to get a photo of the new cubs. The morning light, coming through the thick leaves and branches above, painted changing patterns on the ground. The jungle was alive with quiet sounds – the rustle of leaves, the faraway call of a peacock, the busy hum of insects. Anmol heard it all, not just with his ears, but with a deep feeling inside him.
He stopped near a small stream and used his hands to drink the cool, clear water. As he stood up, he saw a quick movement, not in the bushes, but higher up, on a high, rocky place. He stopped breathing for a second.
It was a lion.
But it was not just any lion. Anmol had seen lions before, in other parks and in movies. This one was different. Its mane was a deep, dark gold, almost like bronze metal, which stood out against its yellowish-brown fur. Its eyes had a wise old look, a depth that seemed to look right inside him.
Anmol slowly and carefully brought his camera up, but the lion ran away.
Anmol didn't wait. He knew it was risky to leave a clear path, but a deep feeling he couldn't ignore was guiding him. He followed, moving as silently as he could. He looked at the ground for paw prints, broken twigs, or any sign of the amazing animal. The jungle got thicker and the light grew darker as he went deeper, leaving the common paths of the park behind.
He followed the faint trail.
Finally, the trees started to get thinner, and he came to an open area with a huge, mossy group of rocks in the middle. Tucked away in the shadows at its bottom was the entrance to a cave, almost covered by thick vines.
Anmol's heart beat faster; he was sure this was the place. He crept closer, his camera now held tightly in his hand, not to take photos, but just to hold onto. He saw the faint marks of large paws leading right into the darkness.
He took a deep breath. This was bigger than anything he had ever thought of. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small dart gun, the kind used to make hurt animals sleep. It was unlikely he'd need it, but if this lion was hurt somehow, it could be useful. His hand shook a little as he loaded a dart. This felt less like saving an animal and more like an adventure into something new and strange.
He stepped inside the cave. The air suddenly felt colder and thicker, and it smelt like damp rock and a little like metal. It was completely dark, except for the small light from his headlamp. He walked carefully, and his boots made a crunching sound on the loose rocks. The cave twisted and turned, and Anmol felt a strange feeling, as if the rock around him was breathing.
Suddenly, the ground under him broke.
It wasn't a small crack. It was a loud, breaking sound, like the earth itself was tearing open. Anmol barely had time to shout before he fell down, trying to grab onto something. His dart gun flew out of his hand. He tumbled, scraping against rough rock, before landing with a painful thud on a soft, sandy floor.
For a moment, he lay there, then he pushed himself up. He was in a huge chamber. The air here was very still, with no wind at all, yet it was filled with a quiet energy you could almost feel. The walls had a soft light glowing from inside them, showing Sanskrit carvings he couldn't understand.
In the very centre of the room, coming up from the sandy floor, was a single pillar made of rough stone. And on top of it, shining and almost moving in the still air, was an object.
It was a symbol, carved with many details, like a mix of different animal parts. It glowed with a soft, golden light. It was wonderful.
"Anmol."
The voice was deep and strong, and it came from right behind him. Anmol turned around, his eyes wide.
Standing in the shadows at the edge of the room, its golden eyes looking at him, was the lion. The same lion.
Without thinking, he reached for the dart gun he'd dropped. He pointed it at the lion, but his aim was shaky.
The lion let out a deep, low sound, almost like a laugh. "That will do nothing to me, little human." It took a slow, careful step forward, its huge paws sinking a little into the sand. "Touch that stamp, Anmol."
Anmol stared and could not say a word. A talking lion. In a secret room under the ground. His mind, which was trained to watch and record things, had trouble understanding what was happening because it seemed impossible. He shook with fear.
[To be continued…]
Support me: vanshbosssrahate@oksbi (UPI ID)
Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios