In the driest regions of the Thar desert of Rajasthan, lived a sharp young cub named Sher. He was heir to the Royal Lion pack and would one day take the throne. Unlike Simba and the rest of his peers, Sher was growing up to be a fierce, cut throat feline. One day on a hunting expedition, Sher’s eye caught a trio of leaping monkeys. Not interested in the tough, pungent meat of monkeys, he passed with a sigh. Aah…The Monkeys. “What a great band. What music, ya!”
Then a family of birds descended from perusing the skies. Eagles. Again non-edible, but another great band, Sher thought. He started humming Hotel California, when a pair of black scorpions crawled out of the sand. “If only I could see them live in concert!” Sher was a huge heavy metal fan. The Scorpions were his gods. He had all their posters up in his den.
Music! If Sher could have one wish, he would have his own band. Where he would be the star. He would do lead vocals, and have a huge entourage. Sher Khan, stadium shows! He would come out on a motor bike, and ride up from the crowds and then do a jump on stage. The flood lights would be going off and fire and sparks everywhere. Sher would tour the world. But he was stuck. In the desert. Hunting for jackals and chasing peacocks. He roared. His pain echoed through the windy plains. For all he could do was dream. [To be continued, Part 2]
