Bhayankar the lion hunted across Panchvan from sunrise to sunset. He chased animals even when he was not hungry, and soon the forest paths were empty.
At a meeting beneath the banyan tree, Gajaraj Elephant made an offer. “If one animal comes to your den each day, will you stop hunting the rest?”
Bhayankar liked meals that delivered themselves. “One animal before noon,” he agreed. “If anyone is late, I hunt again.”
For many unhappy days, the animals drew lots. Then the lot fell to Chintu Rabbit.
His grandmother Buddhimati held his paws. “You are small,” she whispered, “so carry a large idea.”
On the path to the lion’s den, Chintu stopped beside an ancient stone well. The water below was dark and still. When he leaned over, another rabbit leaned towards him. When he coughed, the well coughed back.
Chintu’s ears rose. He finally had his large idea.
He waited until the sun was high before reaching Bhayankar.
“Late!” roared the lion. “And hardly a mouthful!”
Chintu bowed. “Six rabbits left together, Your Majesty. Another lion stopped us. He ate five and said he was the real king of Panchvan.”
Bhayankar’s mane bristled. “Show me!”
Chintu led him to the well. “He hides in a stone fort below.”
The lion peered over the rim. A lion glared from the water. When Bhayankar bared his teeth, so did his rival.
“Come out!” he thundered.
The well threw the roar back twice as loud.
Bhayankar sprang onto the rim. Chintu scrambled behind a rock.
“This forest is mine!”
“Mine… mine… mine…” answered the echo.
With one furious leap, Bhayankar plunged at the lion in the water. There was a great splash, a broken reflection and then silence.
Chintu waited. A wet paw appeared on the stones, so he rolled a fallen branch across the well. Bhayankar grabbed it, but his claws slipped from the smooth wood. The dark water closed over his black mane.
Chintu ran to the banyan tree.
“The lion has fought himself,” he announced, panting, “and lost.”
The animals approached the well carefully. When they understood, Bandru Monkey shouted first. Birds burst into song. Deer raced across the open meadow, and Gajaraj sprayed a silver fountain over Chintu.
Buddhimati wiped river water from her grandson’s nose. “You found a very large idea.”
Chintu grinned. From the old well came one last soft reply:
“Idea… idea… idea…”