.
Monsoon showers have flooded crystal clear forest streams.
Raindrops glisten on the leaves of Laburnum trees. Tall as giants.
Kissing the great, grey sky.
Gentle forest trails snake down like little rivers. The forest floor is a mulch of leaves and flowers caked in mud. The only piece of dry land is where the forest ends and the city begins.
Up on the branches of an evergreen tree rests Layla. Camouflaged in the foliage.
It has been a while since her last meal - a black-naped hare. More like a snack than a meal, to be fair.
A cool breeze carries the sound of temple bells clanging somewhere not so far away.
There are shrines in the forest. The city folk call it a park.
They try to prune the forest and spruce it up, erect neat little walls and define its limits. But the forest has a mind of its own.
Simal trees stretch their arms out with wild abandon. Orange flowers and prickly shrubs sprout bang in the middle of tourist trails. Flying foxes feast on ripe, garden grown mangoes. Blue Mormon butterflies collide headlong into glass windows. Black Wood spiders weave giant webs willy nilly. And more and more frequently, leopards prowl in someone’s backyard.
The people of the forest worship Waghoba - the big cat deity. In these frontiers, the leopard rules. It is common knowledge.
As the shadows of the Palash trees grow long and a hush descends in this magical city forest, it’s time for Layla to hunt.
The pied crested cuckoo and the whistling thrush have called it a day.
They huddle in their nests, their wet wings cradling their bodies to stay warm.
Drip, drip, drip, drips the rain.
Thunder rumbles. Another downpour is coming.
Layla must hunt before that.
A hundred thousand people live at the fringes of this forest.
A growing city spreads its tentacles, eating into square feet of jungle land inch by inch by inch.
Once when Layla was only a cub, a rumbling stomach led her to the thatched roof of a forest hovel. There was a big fat mouse scurrying about. Plotting to steal kitchen leftovers. Hunger dancing in its own belly.
Oh, it was so fat. Not as tasty as a chicken. Or a feral dog. That would keep Layla full for days. But it was good for a quick snack.
Layla had pounced to catch the mouse and crashed through the flimsy roof into the house.
A woman was cooking food for her family.
She shrieked.
Alerted by her screams, the family came rushing in.
Lucky for Layla, she was faster than all of them.
She darted out of the hovel.
Phew! Was that an adventure.
Layla didn’t like meeting people.
Or even other animals for that matter.
But one morning, she’d heard a raspy cough and growl. It sounded like another leopard. Then all of a sudden, there he was. Right in front of her. The colour of a blazing sun, gorgeous black rosettes spread all over his body.
Did he track her down by her smell? She had marked her territory, alright.
Why had he lingered into her area?
He was beautiful.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘Leo. And You?
‘I’m Layla….Do you like fish, Leo?’ she added, making awkward small talk.
‘Will you catch one for me?’ he asked.
‘Smooth’, Layla thought to herself.
‘I’ll think about it.’ she said out loud.
She circled around him, flicking her tail.
It brushed against his face.
Leo seemed to like it.
They spent all their days together, hanging out in the caves near the rugged stony outcrop, overlooking the lakes.
Hundred moons later, three cubs were born. Layla’s first cubs.
She hid them in a rocky den. Leo left soon after. He was there to defend his territory from rival males, but it was Layla who would have to care for the little ones.
Then the sacred Cannonball tree cradled two seasons of orange, pink and scarlet flowers. The cubs grew up and went their own way. Leo left too. He liked his own company far too much. Just like her.
Layla was alone once again. Like she had always been. She enjoyed the freedom to walk any trail, hunt as she liked. It was an easier life.
The game in the forest had dwindled. Deer, jackal, rabbits, nowhere as plenty as before, Layla’s mother used to say. Layla hadn’t known a time of abundance.
For her, a hunt meant the occasional fat pig picked up from the garbage dump nearing the housing society that sat at the east end of the forest. Or catching a mutt from the packs that roamed the streets outside.
In the city, rumours swirled about leopards preying on children and adults.
Sometimes, people walked near the forest blaring music on their phones. Disturbing the hush of the jungle. Making frogs forget the precise tune of the call that would attract a mate. The noise was supposed to scare away the leopards.
The stories about leopards hunting people weren’t untrue. These accidents happened. But they were rare.
Today, the forest floor hasn’t served Layla a meal yet.
She has to go out into the city limits.
Hunger gnaws her belly.
She walks to the edge of the forest where the trees grow thin. She prowls in the unkempt bushes beyond the walls of Sunrise Society. A pack of dogs roam here, she’s seen them before.
Layla climbs the compound’s wall and waits.
There it is. One black dog. Half asleep.
Legs crouched, muscles taut, she pounces on the dog’s neck.
It lets out a stomach curling howl.
Two watchmen come running, blowing their whistles, making a deafening noise, beating their sticks, screaming.
Within seconds, everything changes.
A crowd of people appear out of nowhere, brandishing sticks and pelting stones, ready to kill Layla.
There is an ear-piercing uproar.
Layla’s heart thumps in her chest.
Fear crawls up her spine.
She drops the dog and bares her teeth to scare them away.
She is so scared.
And yet, she can feel a strange rage rising, a tingling sensation spreading like a slow fire through her body.
She needs to protect herself.
Many leopards like Layla had been killed by scared mobs.
Would she make it back to the forest alive?