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.
"Touch it," the lion's voice said again.
Anmol looked from the lion's wise, ancient eyes to the glowing stamp on the pillar. He was terrified, but he also felt a strange pull, like a magnet was drawing him closer, like the object was calling him.
"You… you can talk," Anmol finally whispered. The words sounded weak and silly in the huge, room.
The lion took another step forward. It didn't move like a predator, but like a teacher, calm and sure of itself. "Yes, Anmol and now for the first time you are truly listening."
Every part of him wanted to turn and run, to scramble back to the world he knew. But the pull from the stamp was stronger. He slowly reached out his hand, his trembling fingers brushing against the cool, ancient metal.
The moment he made contact, the stamp floated up from the pillar. Before he could snatch his hand back, it shot forward and pressed itself onto the center of his chest. A warm, tingling feeling spread through his whole body. He looked down and gasped. The glowing symbol, made of many animal shapes, was now attached to his chest.
"It's stuck on my chest!" he yelled, his voice tight with panic. He clawed at the edges of the stamp, trying to pry it off, but it wouldn't move. "It's not coming out!"
The warm feeling grew stronger, and the glowing walls of the room began to blur. "I can't... I can't see right."
"Calm down," the lion's deep voice filled his mind, clear and steady. "The stamp has chosen you, Anmol."
Anmol pointed a shaky finger at the stamp on his chest. "The stamp? It chose me? Why? Will this thing stay on my chest forever?"
The lion was close now, and Anmol could feel a comforting warmth coming from its huge body. "No," the lion explained. "You can see it whenever you want. Otherwise, it will disappear."
Disappear? Anmol thought, focusing on the word with all his might.
As soon as he had the thought, the stamp faded, vanishing completely. Anmol looked down and saw his t-shirt, but right in the middle, there was now a tear where the stamp had been.
He stared at the torn cloth. "My t-shirt got torn because of this."
"The stamp stuck to your chest and tore the cloth," the lion said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
"So every time the stamp appears, it's going to tear my clothes?" Anmol asked.
The lion seemed to let out a soft chuckle. "No," it said patiently. "That was the first time, the bonding. From now on, the stamp will appear under your clothes."
"Who… what are you?" Anmol asked, finally finding a bit of courage.
"I am the protector of this place and stamp" the lion answered. "My name is Simhavyagrah. And this," he nodded toward Anmol's chest, "is the Animal Stamp."
"The Stamp called for a host. It called for you."
"Me? Why me?" Anmol felt that panic rising again. "I'm just a photographer! I take pictures of animals, I don't… I can't be a protector and host of some animal stamp!"
"Is that all you do?" Simhavyagrah's voice was soft, but his words were sharp. "You do not just take their pictures, Anmol. You wait for them. You learn their habits. You move with respect. You see the fear in a deer's eyes, the pride in a tiger's walk, the joy in a langur's leap. You have spent your life trying to understand their silent language."
As if on cue, a tiny sound came from the high ceiling. A small bat, woken by their voices, began to flutter in panicked circles. Anmol had always heard the clicks of bats, but now, he heard something else entirely.
Lost… light… strange warmth… fear… who are they? Big… warm… so much noise…
The thoughts were not words, but a rush of feelings and pictures that flooded his mind. He stumbled back, holding his head. "What is that? I can… I can understand the language of animals!"
"That is the language of the bat," Simhavyagrah said calmly. "Do not fight it. Listen. Understand."
Anmol forced himself to be still and focus on the tiny creature's thoughts. He felt its confusion and fear. Without thinking, a calm feeling formed in his own mind, and he sent it upwards like a soft whisper. It's okay. We won't harm you. Be at peace.
The bat's frantic flying instantly slowed. It circled one more time, its thoughts now filled with curiosity instead of fear. Warm… safe? No threat. With a final, soft click, it flew back to a crack in the ceiling and was gone.
Anmol stared, his mouth open. The huge importance of what had just happened hit him like a wave. This was real.
"The Stamp holds the life force, the prana, of all animals," Simhavyagrah continued. "It gives you their powers. The speed of a cheetah, the sight of an eagle, the strength of an elephant & more. You can understand their speech, and they, yours. But these are gifts that must be earned. Power without control is a storm without direction."
Anmol looked at his own hands, then back at the lion. "You have to teach me."
"That is why you are here," Simhavyagrah nodded. "Your training begins now. The first lesson is the one you have just learned. Listen. The jungle you thought you knew is gone. A new one, full of a million voices, is waiting for you."
Simhavyagrah's golden eyes seemed to look right through Anmol, seeing the protector he could become.
"But listening is only the first step," the lion's voice continued in his mind. "You have heard their spirits. You must learn to channel their power."
Anmol looked from his own hands back to the Simhavyagrah, his face a mix of fear and determination. He gave a firm nod, ready for whatever came next.
"Good," Simhavyagrah's thought filled his head. "Let us begin with speed. There are dangers in this world that you cannot fight, but you must be able to outrun. Sit. Clear your mind of everything but the feeling of the wind on your face and the ground flying beneath your feet."
Anmol did as he was told. He sat on the cool, sandy floor of the ancient room, closed his eyes, and got ready to learn. The world outside, his family, his old life—it all faded away. The only things that mattered now were the voice of his teacher and the power waiting to be unlocked.
[To be continued…]
Support me: vanshbosssrahate@oksbi (UPI ID)
Author: Vansh Rahate
Editor: Vansh Rahate
Story by: Vansh Rahate
Under: Alaukika Studios