Khumta: Prince of Paradise

Chapter One

Moonlight streamed from its celestial source and traveled through a thin sheet of passing clouds to dance over the Indian jungle below. The morning song of the native birds died with the sun, giving way to the nightly chorus of insects and frogs. What light touched the foliage below the canopy turned the leaves emerald green. Pythons draped their long bodies over the lower branches, flicking out their tongues to find their next prey.

Leaves rustled frantically at the edge of a small stream. An animal squealed in pain, then fell silent. Something growled, and with a stomach twisting CRUNCH, the animal stopped breathing for good.

The growl came from a gigantic tiger. Ten feet long, with dark orange fur and stripes as black as flint, Khumta the Bengal tiger exuded a truly royal aura. His large paws, stained with fresh blood, hid his lethal claws. Clamped within his vice-like jaws, his kill, a wild boar, dangled limply and lifelessly onto the leaf dusted earth. The tiger's pale gold, almost ghostly white eyes scanned the thick underbrush for anyone who might try to steal his kill. The blood spattered on his muzzle hid most of the ugly scars which disfigured his otherwise perfect coat.

Khumta pulled the corpse a little ways away from the stream before dropping it back on the ground. He chuffed at a nearby bush, and three small cubs trotted out from beneath the leaves. All three looked like their father, with one being a bit larger than the other two.

"Rrhata*!" the cubs mewled. "Rrhata!"

Khumta chuffed at them again and started ripping the boar apart. The cubs' mouths began watering as the smell of meat wafted towards them. They soon climbed up on the corpse and tore at the flesh, eating as much as they could. Khumta quickly joined his offspring in the meal. He tugged at a piece of muscle and tore off a sizeable chunk.

Meals like this came few and far between. Khumta hunted as often as he could, but often, whenever he hunted, he usually let his cubs get the best meat. At this point, he cared more for his young than himself.

Abhay, the oldest and largest cub, took after Khumta the most. He had his father's muscle and pale eyes, as well as his voice. Khumta could hear the deep thrumming coming out in his son's voice.

Isha, his only daughter, strongly resembled her mother. Her mother's fur had been paler, and her stripes more slender, like vines with leaves sprouting from their tendrils. She, too, had Khumta's eyes. She had both a mischievous playfulness and the might of her dad, a troublesome combination.

Jayanta was the runt of his litter, but that didn't mean he was weak. He was fast, easily able to dodge Abhay's pouncing attempts, and because of his size, he harbored sympathy for smaller creatures. He was an almost exact copy of his mother, right down to the dark amber eyes.

Khumta adored all of his cubs equally. He foresaw something great in all of them, knowing that, with enough time and effort, he could - and would - train them to become very strong tigers.

He wished that they could've lived with their mother for longer.

For any male tiger, it was very unusual to help with rearing cubs. But raising cubs without the mother? That was unheard of. No male tiger ever did that.

But when Khumta recognized his scent of the litter, heard their plaintive cries from beneath the thicket... he just couldn't abandon them like that.

That was how he ended up here, guarding his territory with three cubs, no mate, and a constant search for prey always on his mind.

"Rrhata," Abhay said, "what kind of animal is this?"

"It's good that you're curious," Khumta replied. "It's a boar, a male pig. Boars are hard to kill if you don't take them by surprise first."