“Wow,” was all Mowgli could say.
“C’mon,” the old bear said as he put a hairy arm around his companion. “Who needs a Man-village when you got this, huh?”
Yeah, who needs it? thought Mowgli.
As they set off down the mountain path together, Mowgli couldn’t help smiling.
THE DAY WRAPPED the Jungle in its bright yellow arms.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy, and pillars of light as tall and strong as elephants were warming the leaves on the ground where Mowgli wrestled with his siblings. Raksha looked at her brood with tenderness. They were so young. So small. So innocent.
But before she knew it, Mowgli was gone. He was running away from the others and back into the mouth of the cave. But this mouth had teeth—rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth—and it rumbled like the purr of a cat.
Almost in slow motion, the cave mouth began to close around her man-cub. Raksha tried to run, tried to reach her baby, tried to stop the inevitable….
Ami. Ami. Ami.
Raksha woke with a start. It was late in the evening and she had fallen asleep in her cave, but Gray was pawing at her nervously and calling to her.
“Ami, wake up.”
Raksha shot up, eyes instinctively scanning the cave for her cubs. They were gone.
She burst out of the den and found she was the only wolf outside. Where were her brothers and sisters? Where was the rest of the pack?
Then she saw them, or she saw their eyes at least—peering fearfully out of their caves. They were trembling, afraid to come out. But why?
She slowly approached Council Rock, worried about what she might see but needing to see it nonetheless, needing to find her cubs.
And there, where Akela should have been, where their leader had once sat, was the loathsome figure of Shere Khan. He was spread out languorously, as if he truly belonged there, as if the throne were already his. Raksha’s heart caught in her throat, but it was not the sight of the tiger that affected her as much as seeing her litter of cubs crawling all over him. They rolled off his back. They pawed at his whiskers. One pounced repeatedly at his casually undulating tail. They were in their enemy’s grasp…and enjoying it.
Horrified, Raksha slowly, carefully moved closer. The screeching cry of a vulture protecting its prey called her attention to the rotting carcass of a young buck lying nearby. More cackling screams drew her eyes up to the trees, where dozens of the hideous scavengers, harbingers of doom, waited impatiently for Shere Khan to make his next kill.
Raksha stopped a good ten paces from the tiger, afraid to move any closer. Gray cowered behind her, his head poking out from under her belly, his tiny tail tucked up tight between his legs.
“Pups,” she called. “It is time to go.” But the little ones were caught up in their play and didn’t heed their mother.
“Oh, did we wake you?” Shere Khan drawled. “My apologies.”
“Finish the story, Shere Khan!” cried one of the cubs.
“Of course. The children do love their stories. Now, let’s see,” the mighty cat said, pausing to pick a morsel of buck meat from between his teeth with a finely sharpened claw. “Where was I?”
“The cuckoo bird!” another shouted.
“Ah, yes,” Shere Khan said. “The cuckoo bird is too clever to waste time raising its young. Instead, it sneaks its eggs into the nests of simpler, less sensible birds. So when they hatch, the mothers mistake them for their own.”
He paused his story as one of the larger pups playfully batted his paw at Shere Khan’s tongue, reaching into the tiger’s open mouth. Raksha instinctively held her breath until the cub moved on.
“And do you know what happens to their own chicks?” Shere Khan asked the group.
“What?” the pups all cried as one.
“They starve and die from neglect,” Shere Khan said simply. Then he turned, directing his gaze at Raksha. “All because a mother loved a chick that wasn’t her own.”
Raksha smarted. His threat was clear, but she refused to show fear. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits.
“Time for sleep,” she called to her young. “Come on, now.”
Shere Khan stared into her eyes for a long moment, then, almost as an afterthought, motioned for the cubs to move along. Bouncing like newborns, they scampered back to their cave, Gray hurrying after them.
“They’re so adorable.” Shere Khan smiled. “I could just eat them up.”
Raksha stood her ground, refusing to avert her eyes as she demanded, “Why are you doing this?”
“You know why,” he said simply, running his tongue across the white tuft of hair on his chin to remove the last taste of buck blood.
“He’s gone,” Raksha assured the tiger. “That’s what you wanted.”
“Is that what I wanted?” Shere Khan rose to his feet. “He won’t be gone forever. Mark my words. Sooner or later, they all come back, and they all become the same thing,” he explained, his words hanging in the air like poison. He walked away, knowing full well that every eye in the wolf pack was on him.
“And by then you’ll be begging me to save you.”
THE BEE SAW something strange in front of its home.
It was a floating beast that moved like an animal but had the appearance of a tree. It moved along a vine like a monkey but clawed at their honey like the mighty bear. It held a sharpened branch as long as the snake and as sharp as a panther claw. It was unlike any animal the bee had ever seen.
Mowgli hung from a harness he had designed himself, suspended on a lengthy rope he had woven from the plentiful vines in the area. As the bees investigated his presence, they were thwarted by the hide of protective leaves covering his body; this time, he had fashioned a barrier between his skin and the bees’ stingers. He thrust his spear forward, breaking off a large piece of honeycomb. Before it could fall to the ground far below, he speared it and slipped it into a woven pouch slung across his back.
This could actually work, Mowgli thought, allowing himself a small smile as he balanced on the end of a rope that passed through a pulley at the cliff top and then dropped to the Jungle floor below.
“Tell him to go down to the second mark,” Mowgli called to the giant squirrel, who had been enlisted to help with the honey retrieval process.
“Okay, it’s your funeral,” the squirrel chirped. He skittered down the rope toward the tree where Baloo lay lounging in the shade, enjoying a plethora of berries laid out across his ample belly. Around his midsection was the other end of the crudely fashioned rope, using Baloo’s considerable weight as an anchor to balance Mowgli on the other end.
Beside Baloo three curious parties watched the proceedings.
“He looks like a four-legged banyan tree,” noted the pangolin as he licked a few stray ants from his claw.
“Why does he wear leaves when he could eat leaves?” the pygmy hog asked, confused. The hornbill honked in agreement. It was all very perplexing.
“Hey, Baloo,” the squirrel called. “Second mark.”
“Ooh, ooh, watch this,” the pangolin called to the others. “The tiny squirrel barks and the mighty bear moves.”
With a sigh of discontent, Baloo made what he felt was a considerable effort to rise to his feet, spilling most of his afternoon snack.
“See? I told you,” the pangolin chittered. “I told you!”
With surprising speed, Baloo whirled around, baring his claws and teeth at the unwelcome spectators, a thunderous roar climbing out of his throat to blow back their fur and feathers.
Instantly, they were gone, the hornbill taking flight, the pygmy hog darting into the undergrowth, and the pangolin rolling into a ball, praying that his thick scales would protect him. Even the giant squirrel flattened his body against the nearest tree, frozen in self-preservation mode.
Baloo harrumphed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He lumbered closer to the cliff, the rope around his midsection remaining taut as Mowgli’s weight pulled it forward. Baloo sauntered p
ast several clearly defined lines drawn in the dirt, with little regard for how far he had gone.
High above, Mowgli was lowered slowly down the cliff side to the next patch of honeycombs, only to drop right past it. The boy reached out, but soon he was too low even to touch the target with his spear.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Mowgli yelled down. “No, Baloo. I said the second mark!”
“What’s he saying?” Baloo asked.
“The second mark!” Mowgli yelled.
“I can’t hear him,” Baloo said, turning to the giant squirrel. “Tell him I can’t hear him.”
The squirrel hustled back up the fifty feet of vine to Mowgli.
“Hey, Man-cub. He can’t hear you.”
“I know he can’t hear me,” Mowgli huffed, exasperated. “That’s what you’re supposed to be for.”
“Second mark!” Mowgli yelled down again.
“What?” Baloo asked.
“Second mark!” Mowgli screamed.
Reluctantly, Baloo hefted his furry behind off the Jungle floor once again, searching the dirt for whatever Mowgli meant by the “second mark” and wondering exactly when he had signed on for all this physical exertion.
Silently returning to the scene with the utmost caution, the hornbill, hog, and pangolin whispered among themselves.
“See?” the pangolin repeated. “He speaks and the bear obeys.”
“Maybe the bear feels bad for him, y’know, ’cause…” The pygmy hog’s voice trailed off.
“Because he knows the boy is sure to fall and die before the sun sets?” the pangolin asked.
“Yeah, that,” the hog grunted.
“Yes, that’s probably it,” the pangolin agreed.
Far above them, Mowgli rose back up until he was directly across from the massive honeycomb…and stopped. He rolled his eyes. Finally!
“There you go, kid,” Baloo called up. “That’s the one!” The bear inhaled deeply, his keen sense of smell alerting his stomach to the impending feast.
Mowgli gouged his spear into the thick yellow surface, splitting off a chunk as large as his head. He wrestled it into his pouch and raised the spear again.
“Perfect,” Baloo said, grinning. “Perfect. You set your mind to it, you can do anything. I told you you had potential.”
Baloo licked his lips. “Look at all that potential.”
After a few moments and multiple unnecessary observations by the scavengers, Baloo trotted eagerly toward the cliff face, the taut rope lowering Mowgli all the way to the Jungle floor.
“C’mere, you.” Baloo grinned, his arms spread wide in greeting. “You beautiful thing.” Reaching up, his huge padded paws moved right past Mowgli to the honey-filled bag on his back. Baloo was transfixed by the golden treasure, a glint in his eye. He seemed unable to restrain himself, as though he’d gone mad with hunger.
“Hey,” Mowgli snapped as he struggled to pull himself out of the harness without Baloo’s help. “What kind of crazy animal talks to his food? Are you getting the dewanee?”
“The only madness I’ve got is a madness for a meal. Come to Papa, my little morsels.” And with that, Baloo walked away with the honeycombs, forgetting that he was still connected to Mowgli. Half out of his harness, the man-cub quickly rose right back up the cliff side, dangling precariously.
“No, wait!” Mowgli cried, his limbs flailing wildly. “No, Baloo. Waaaait!”
A short distance away, the giant squirrel joined the other scavengers and made himself comfortable. He commented to the others under his breath.
“Pull up a log, fellas. This is just getting good.”
THE LAZY RIVER sighed as it drifted around every bend and over every boulder.
Once Baloo and Mowgli had stowed his climbing gear and added a good portion of the honeycomb to Baloo’s stash, the two had rewarded themselves with a late-night float.
With the man-cub lying on the downy pillow of the bear’s stomach, Baloo drifted downstream on his back, munching contentedly on handfuls of his new snack. To the bear, relaxation was an art, and Baloo was a particularly gifted artist. They passed beneath the horizontal limbs of an ever-growing banyan tree, listening to the gentle lapping of the river kissing the shore. The night was warm, the water was cool, and the honey was delicious.
“This is the life, partner,” Baloo said with a sigh.
“Yeah,” Mowgli agreed, stretching and yawning. “This is the life.”
“You got that right,” Baloo said between mouthfuls. The moonlight glistened on the lazily undulating water, making it twinkle like the starry sky above.
Mowgli hadn’t felt so at peace in a long, long time. Maybe ever. As he drifted past gentle waterfalls and under lush canopies, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe, at last, he had found where he belonged. The muscles in his neck and back, once as taut as Kaa’s coils, finally released their strangling hold, allowing him to truly let go and relax.
Beyond content, Baloo began to hum his familiar tune once again. But this time, Mowgli joined in.
“Forget about your worries and your strife,” they sang in unison.
But a sudden rustling in the brush brought their duet to an abrupt end. Mowgli bolted upright.
“Baloo,” he said, pointing. “Look.”
Quickly, Baloo rolled over into a fighting stance, motioning for the man-cub to get behind him. Slowly, cautiously, they pushed through the drifting water to the muddy bank where the sound seemed to come from.
“Show yourself,” Baloo growled, his laid-back attitude instantly pushed aside by an aggressive intensity.
The leaves rustled, then parted as Bagheera stepped forward. He was weak and tired and still smarting from recent wounds, but all Mowgli could see was his old friend and mentor.
“Bagheera!” he cried, splashing out of the water to throw his arms around the old cat’s neck, burrowing his face into his thick black hide.
“Are you all right?” Bagheera asked. He pawed the man-cub, searching for scars or signs of a struggle.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” Mowgli laughed, his unbridled energy causing him to dance from foot to foot. “I can’t believe you found me. I was so worried about you.”
“It was not easy,” Bagheera said, the monumental journey finally catching up with him. He sank down by the water’s edge and lapped wearily at the pool.
“Hey, I want you to meet my friend,” Mowgli said. “This is Baloo.”
Baloo slowly stepped out of the water.
“Hello, Bagheera.”
“Oh, right! You two know each other!” Mowgli cried happily.
“I was so worried about you,” Mowgli continued, his words tumbling out faster than figs from a shaken tree. “I didn’t know what happened to you. I got lost and I was alone and then I met Baloo and he saved me from a big snake and now we’re working together!”
“Really?” Bagheera said in mock wonder. “That’s a new wrinkle. I was not aware that sloth bears worked.”
“Oh, is that one of your Rules of the Jungle?” Baloo threw back. “Fascinating. No one can fill an afternoon like Bagheera talking about the rules.”
Mowgli noticed something in their tones; the bear and the panther didn’t seem to like each other very much.
“Thank you for watching him,” allowed Bagheera. “Come, Man-cub. Let’s be on our way.”
“But, Bagheera, Baloo’s my new pack now,” pleaded Mowgli. “I wanna stay here.”
“Yessiree,” Baloo sang, lifting a giggling Mowgli up onto his shoulder. “And if I may say so, that’s a real talented cub we’ve got here.”
“You mean man-cub,” Bagheera growled, his patience wearing thin.
“Yeah. Cub. Man-cub. Mowgli. Whatever he is, he’s great.”
“I take it you know where a man-cub belongs.”
“The Man-village, right?” Mowgli interrupted. He wanted to cut off the old cat before he could get any further. “I thought that, too. But I can be a man here, right, Baloo? Here, take a look. Come che
ck it out!”
Bagheera watched as Mowgli eagerly bolted back across the river, splashing loud enough for any predator within two hundred strides to hear him.
“Mowgli!” Bagheera called, but the boy had already disappeared through the brush on the opposite bank. The mighty cat sighed with fatigue. After so many moons of searching, Bagheera had finally found the man-cub, and he was already running off.
So once again, Bagheera ran after Mowgli.
MOWGLI CHARGED across the Jungle, weaving like a kite, hardly touching the ground with his feet.
He knew he could convince Bagheera. He had to. If he could just show him how far he’d come, all the things he’d accomplished, Bagheera would have to let him stay.
The silent cat followed close behind, up the winding embankment toward Baloo’s cave.
“Hey!” called the pygmy hog as Mowgli ran past.
“Hi, Man-cub!” The pangolin waved. He was holding one end of a makeshift leash fashioned from vines, with the pygmy hog at the other end. The pygmy hog was happily being led through the forest tethered to another scavenger. Clearly, Mowgli’s presence had made a profound impact in that part of the Jungle.
“Hey, guys,” Mowgli called back without hesitating. The smaller animals’ curious arrangement didn’t seem out of place to the man-cub, but Bagheera was momentarily thrown off his stride, staring in wonderment at the bizarre relationship. What had the man-cub been up to while under that bear’s influence?
“We going climbing later?” the pangolin called after Mowgli, but the boy was already out of earshot. The pangolin turned to the pygmy hog. “Because it’s my turn to go up.”
“Oh, no, you went up last time,” the pygmy hog said. “It’s my turn to fly.”
“Oh, yeah, right. A flying pig. Dream on,” the pangolin replied.
Bagheera caught up to Mowgli.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” Mowgli asked.
“Why would I be mad?” Bagheera responded, already suspicious.
“’Cause you’re always mad when I do stuff, but you gotta promise not to be mad this time. And then no breaking that promise, right?”
The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack Page 7