“Not just any tiger. Shere Khan.”
“Shere Khan’s hunting him?” Baloo said breathlessly.
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Baloo said.
He watched the shrinking silhouette of Mowgli disappear over the top of the hill, into the rising sun.
“But you know him. If you send that boy to the Man-village, they’ll ruin him.”
Bagheera didn’t respond.
“We should send him back to the wolf pack,” Baloo suggested. “Who’s their alpha? Akela, he can protect him.”
“Akela is dead,” Bagheera said sadly.
“What?”
“Shere Khan killed him. And he will stop at nothing until he has this boy. Nothing. The only way we save him is if he goes to that Man-village.”
Baloo had no response, staring up at the spot where Mowgli once had been.
Bagheera lowered his head. He was desperate. And Baloo could see it in his dark face and tired eyes.
“Please, Baloo. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”
FOR THE FIRST TIME in his entire life, Baloo was at a loss for words.
Outside the cave, Mowgli placed his tools back on their hooks and began to adjust his harness as Baloo shuffled up hesitantly.
“Hey—hey kid,” Baloo said, stammering.
“Hey, Baloo?” Mowgli started quietly. “That pit. The one the elephant calf fell in. Was that a man trap? Did men make that on purpose?”
Mowgli couldn’t fathom why anyone, man or beast, would make something so awful. So cruel.
“I don’t know, kid. Maybe. Probably. They’ve done it before.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mowgli said, an anger in his voice that Baloo hadn’t heard before. “Then I want nothing to do with man.”
Baloo was silent for a moment. He didn’t know how to respond to that. Especially because of what he was about to do.
“So, hey, that was pretty cool,” he finally said. “What you did back there.”
“Bagheera didn’t think so,” Mowgli said tersely.
“No, I talked to him. He was impressed.”
“He was?” Mowgli asked quickly. He could barely hide his excitement as he looked in the bear’s eyes to see if he spoke the truth.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, the elephants, they don’t talk to anyone. That was—wow.”
Mowgli grinned as he finished up with the harness and tossed it back on its hook. Baloo said he had impressed Bagheera. Wow.
“And listen,” Baloo continued awkwardly, “I know this maybe isn’t what you really wanna hear…but I think Bagheera’s right.”
“What do you mean?” Mowgli asked. “Right about what?”
“Well, let’s face it,” Baloo said, turning away so he wouldn’t have to look at the boy. “You don’t belong here.”
His words hit Mowgli like a paw across the face.
“You’re a man. Right? And—and you’re growing up. Who knows? You might like it in that Man-village.”
“Wait, what are you talking about? We’re partners.”
“I know, kid. I know. But the truth is you just don’t fit in here.”
Mowgli felt like the ground he stood on had suddenly collapsed beneath him, his insides swirling as if he were falling.
“This is no home for a man,” Baloo continued. “It’s not your place. The Man-village is where you belong. See?”
Mowgli stared at the bear in disbelief. What happened to being a team? What happened to staying together? The man-cub felt like he was being attacked from all sides. He could take only so many jabs and pokes before he crumbled and fell like a honeycomb.
And suddenly, Mowgli realized what had happened. He felt the pressure of welling tears behind his eyes.
“Bagheera made you say it, didn’t he? Didn’t he?”
“Kid,” was all Baloo could say.
Mowgli’s mind was spinning. How had Baloo turned against him so quickly? He was the one who had said that Mowgli could be who he wanted to be. That it was his song to sing. That it was up to him. But Baloo had lied. He was just as bad as the rest of them.
Mowgli’s heart broke, cutting his words into pieces.
“Just—stay away from me. I thought you were my friend.”
Baloo turned to reach for the man-cub, but it was too late.
Unable to stop the tears from falling, Mowgli ran from his lean-to into the thick of the Jungle, away from his home, away from his friend, away from everything.
A TWITCHY JACKAL darted nervously down the path.
He was in a hurry but not at all eager to get where he was going. One rarely looked forward to an audience with Shere Khan.
But the jackal had information he knew Shere Khan was looking for. Information that might prove quite valuable. Information about the man-cub.
Word traveled fast in the Jungle, and the jackal knew he must be fleet of foot if he was to reach Shere Khan with the news first. And he must be first if he wanted to receive any reward.
Perhaps the leftovers of a recently felled bison would be his. Or he might be given the bones of a wild pig, not yet picked clean by the powerful tiger. He had even heard that Shere Khan sometimes visited the Man-village to kill cattle. Certainly, even an animal as big and powerful as Shere Khan couldn’t devour an entire cow before it went bad. And whatever was left could be bestowed on helpful, informative jackal.
The jackal left the well-worn path and cut through the underbrush to a hidden clearing he normally stayed far away from. Every animal in the Jungle knew the location of Shere Khan’s lair. And few were foolish enough to venture there purposely.
“Excuse me, oh great Shere Khan,” the jackal said meekly, bowing his head and averting his eyes as he entered the clearing.
“A visitor?” Shere Khan asked, mild amusement in his voice as he looked up from the latest in a long string of midday naps. “I so rarely get visitors these days.”
“I’m sorry to intrude, Mighty One,” the jackal continued, “but I have news that you will want to hear.”
“News? What news could a mangy scavenger such as you have that would be of interest to me? Perhaps if you stepped closer I might find a better use for you.” Shere Khan licked his lips and the jackal felt a shudder run down his spine like a trickle of cold river water.
“It’s about the man-cub,” the jackal spat out before Shere Khan could do something rash.
The tiger stood. The jackal had his full attention.
“Speak,” Shere Khan said sternly. “If you have information, out with it.”
“He—he is here,” the jackal stuttered, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. He could not bear to look into the tiger’s sparkling amber eyes.
“Here?” Shere Khan roared.
“Not here exactly,” the jackal corrected himself, “but still in the Jungle. He has not joined a Man-village. He was seen several days’ walk from here. He was seen with an elephant pack.”
“With elephants?” Shere Khan mused. “How unusual.”
“And useful?” the jackal asked hopefully.
“Ahhh.” Shere Khan nodded, moving slowly toward his visitor. “You hoped to trade this rumor for something to fill your belly, is that it?”
“Yes, Your Greatness.” The jackal bowed. “If it pleases you, most powerful Shere Khan.”
“Well, if pleasing me is what you seek,” the tiger said with a smile, “then I can assure you that you won’t be disappointed.”
The tiger leapt at the jackal, and in a flash of blood and terror, Shere Khan was very pleased. For all tigers with full mouths and full bellies are happy tigers, indeed.
MOWGLI WAS ALONE in the Jungle.
He sat, legs swinging free, high in the wide spreading branches of a peepal tree, where no panther or bear would find him. He picked at the light gray bark absentmindedly, his feet dangling in open air. His head was too full of other thoughts to do much else.
It seemed that everywhere he went, someone was trying to tell him what to do and where to go. No one seemed to
want him—no one but the tiger, and he just wanted to fill his belly.
Mowgli felt angry and betrayed and lonely all at the same time, like a bird pushed out of the nest and told never to come back. Maybe he didn’t truly belong anywhere. Not with the wolves. Not with Baloo. Certainly not with man. If no one wanted him, if he was just a thorn in everyone’s paw, maybe he was better off alone.
He picked a fig off the tree and threw it angrily at the tree trunk. It hit with a hollow thunk…followed immediately by a second thunk. That was odd.
Mowgli picked a second fig, threw it, and once again heard the sound of two figs hitting the trunk. He looked around, and on a branch above and behind him was a monkey. The monkey seemed friendly, and truthfully, Mowgli was just happy to have the company.
“Oh, hey,” Mowgli said. The man-cub turned back to his figs and threw another one. But this time he saw a second fig join his in its path to the trunk. Mowgli twirled around and saw the monkey pick up another fig, hopping lightly from foot to foot, eager to throw again. The little guy was copying him.
Mowgli threw another fig and the monkey did the same. Mowgli tossed a fig into the air and so did the monkey. Mowgli flopped over the edge of the tree limb, hanging by his legs. The monkey followed suit.
“You’re funny, you know that?” Mowgli said, unable to suppress the hint of a smile breaking through his dark mood. As if sensing the man-cub’s mood change, the monkey edged closer, dropping down to sit on Mowgli’s branch only a few paces away.
Mowgli put his hands on his head and the monkey imitated the action, looking silly. Mowgli laughed. He stood on one leg and so did the monkey. It was so curious, so interesting, that Mowgli took no notice of the dozens of other creatures slowly closing in behind him.
Without warning, two hairy muscular arms dropped from the branches above him and scooped the man-cub up under his arms.
“Whoa! Hey!” Mowgli cried as he felt himself flying through the air with dozens of leering monkeys. One after the next lifted him, and passed him on. This was no game. The monkeys were stealing the man-cub.
Rising higher and higher through the dense foliage, Mowgli had never felt so vulnerable, so out of control. He flailed, trying to grab on to something, anything, but his hands grasped only air.
Above the treetops, higher than the teak or nimba or banyan grew, Mowgli was hurled into open air.
The world spun around him. The trees were up and the clouds were down. Then he was caught, and the whole process began again.
The monkeys were moving faster and Mowgli was growing truly scared. He was out of control and at the mercy of hundreds of screeching hairy creatures. His life was literally in their hands.
The panther was desperate.
Baloo and Bagheera had been tracking Mowgli ever since he had darted out of the cave, but they had never imagined anything like this. Looking up with alarm, they saw the trees filled with screeching monkeys and then glimpsed the man-cub’s small brown body plummeting from high above.
“Mowgli!” Bagheera cried, fearing he would see the boy killed before his very eyes. But far above, another monkey snatched the man-cub out of the air, lifting him higher before flipping him to the next set of hands.
“Mowgli, hold on!” Baloo yelled. “We’re coming!”
Instantly, the sky was filled with projectiles as the simian horde pelted Bagheera and Baloo with rocks and twigs, hurling anything that might slow the two down. The fierce black cat darted and dodged to avoid the missiles, but Baloo caught a sharp stone right to the nose.
“You blasted tree-dwelling bug eaters!” he yelled.
They quickly lost sight of Mowgli in the upper canopy. But they didn’t stop running. “There!” Bagheera cried as Mowgli’s body dropped through the canopy and into view once again. He put on an extra burst of speed, leaving Baloo behind but narrowing the gap between himself and Mowgli. He had to reach the man-cub before they disappeared from his view.
Suddenly, Bagheera saw they were nearing the edge of the tree line, approaching a sheer drop into a deep ravine only a few strides away. It was now or never. The panther leapt into the air.
For a moment, it was as if time stopped: Bagheera, in midair, reaching desperately for the man-cub; Mowgli spinning through the trees, mere feet, perhaps even inches, away, reaching back. The black fur of the panther’s paws brushed the tips of the man-cub’s dirty brown fingers…but could not take hold.
“Bagheera!” Mowgli cried, falling away from his protector as he was dragged down into the ravine by the army of screeching primates.
Bagheera landed in a pile, all legs and whipping tail, cursing himself as he attempted to catch his breath and watched his charge disappear in the foliage below. A moment later, Baloo appeared, huffing and puffing and visibly upset.
“Mowgli!” he cried. “Mowgliiii!” But the boy was gone.
“What was that?” Baloo wheezed, turning to Bagheera. “Why do they want the man-cub? Where are they taking him?”
“I think I might know,” Bagheera said, “but it is far from here and I cannot let you slow me down.” He started to walk away.
“Wait,” Baloo said. “All those monkeys, you’re gonna need help.”
“I am loathe to admit it, but you may be right,” Bagheera said impatiently. “But not from someone I cannot count on—who will disappear to eat or sleep or whatever else strikes his fancy when I need him the most. No, thank you. I am better off alone.”
“We were cubs!” Baloo yelled. “I was hungry. How was I to know you’d go and fall in the river?”
“Because you were supposed to be holding me! That was our agreement. I nearly drowned because you wanted a papaya!”
“Correction: a lot of papayas.”
“This is pointless,” Bagheera chuffed. “I’m leaving.”
“Now you listen to me,” Baloo said, moving right up into Bagheera’s face, snout to muzzle. It was a foolish thing for anyone to do, getting that close to an angry panther, but particularly foolish for someone whom the panther already disliked. Bagheera looked ready to take out his frustrations on the bear once and for all.
“I can’t change the past,” Baloo continued. “And I’m sorry for what I did. But if that boy is in danger, and I sure do think he is, then he’s gonna need both of us and there’s nothing you can say or do that’s gonna stop me.”
The two powerful creatures stared each other down for a moment longer, until, finally, Bagheera relented.
“Time we spend fighting is time we could be helping Mowgli,” the panther said. “If you mean what you say, then we must move. Even at full speed, I fear in my bones that we may be too late.”
THE MAN-CUB flew through the air.
Mowgli, as he was passed from one large monkey to another, as often upside down as right side up, quickly lost track of where he was or how far they had traveled. From hand to hand, from vine to vine, up the scowling face of a cliff, the primates carried their unwilling victim over miles of rugged landscape until they reached the land of the Bandar-log.
Mowgli truly feared no one in the Jungle—well, almost no one—a fact that Bagheera would assert was his fatal flaw. But even the man-cub felt a strange sickening feeling in his stomach surrounded by so many agitated creatures. He hoped they couldn’t smell the fear on him, but there was no way he could hide it from himself. He was scared.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he once again felt his feet on solid ground.
Mowgli turned to survey the area where he’d been dropped and froze in place as his eyes fell on the bizarre landscape. A mammoth structure rose before him, unlike anything he had ever seen in the Jungle. The graceful curves of the banyan trees and lush colors of the ivy were gone, replaced by the straight lines and right angles of something built of rock, and Mowgli was standing at its doorway.
It towered over him like a great stone mountain, steps and plateaus and arches all carved from its belly to allow passage through it. It was hard and cold and rigid, blottin
g out the sun like a mighty hill seen from the valley below. This place was an invader in the Jungle.
The langur monkeys urged the man-cub forward and he reluctantly stepped through the ancient stone arch, overgrown with moss and vines, and into the gaping darkness beyond.
The forest of stone closed in around the man-cub.
Mowgli moved slowly through shafts of light and shadow. He had no way of knowing what that ancient temple, long before abandoned by man, truly was, but he knew it was not a place he belonged; it was neither Jungle nor Man-village. So why had they taken him there?
Tall columns, like strong, straight tree trunks but composed of rock and granite, supported a massive canopy that cast the entire area in darkness. The floor beneath his feet was cut into a series of irregular blocks, each fitted precisely with the ones beside it to create what had once been a perfectly flat surface, now pushed apart by an intruding army of vines and roots. All of it was utterly unfamiliar to Mowgli, but that was not what concerned him. It was the eyes.
The darkness itself seemed to be alive and watching his every step, for in every corner of the structure, glowing eyes stared back at him. Behind each column, around every corner, from every possible perch, hundreds upon hundreds of monkeys looked down on him. One would dart forward, grunting aggressively, then skitter back. Then another would swing down, abrupt and threatening but taking pains never to get too close. A long-tailed shape would swing silently from one shadow to the next, its eyes glued to the man-cub.
He tried not to flinch or back away. He didn’t want to show the weakness he felt inside. Shaken, Mowgli kept walking.
At the far end of the colonnade, he reached towering stone steps, lit from above by a sun he could no longer see. He didn’t know where the endless stairs led, but it had to be better than where he was. Or so he hoped.
The crumbling stairs brought Mowgli into the center of an ancient civilization. Awe-inspiring ruins surrounded him. Massive vine-covered archways across from the remnants of giant statues of man and beast confused and astounded him. He’d never seen anything like it.
The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack Page 9