The forest had always been a lively place where you could hear the monkeys chatter, the birds chirp, and the symphony of the life of wild animals playing in the most melodious of voices. But that was when the land was uninterrupted.

One night, it all changed when humans cut through the undergrowth with rifles in their hands.

Then there was silence.

Taj: The Stolen King

Taj had ruled the jungle for more than a decade. He was a brave lion with a thick mane and a well-built muscular structure. Although he had proved his might and strength in the early years of his life by winning several battles, nothing prepared him for the day his power was to be nullified.

The poachers came at dusk, shadows slinking through the tall grass while the pride was resting. And all of a sudden came a low whizzing sound; he felt a sharp sting in his flank; and the world blurred.

When Taj woke up, the earth no longer smelled of sun and dust. His surroundings were not where he had spent his whole life; instead, the air was stale and smelled of iron and urine. And most shocking of everything, bars surrounded him—cold, unyielding, thick metallic bars.

Days passed, and he understood that he wasn’t going to be killed for his mane or bones, unlike many others of his kind. He had, instead, been taken for his presence.

He was destined to become a lion on display.

A few days after he was captured, he was moved to a French tycoon’s estate, where he would see foreign dignitaries sipping wine and marvelling at the “untamed beast.” He was placed in a vast enclosure, large enough to mimic the illusion of freedom but small enough to limit his movement.

The once dignified king of the jungle now witnessed people watching him from a distance, pointing at him, admiring his presence, and laughing. Now, he was not a ruler but a living trophy that symbolized power.

He would roar each night – not as a warning but to remember who he once was when he used to run free.

Azure: The Blue-bird with Clipped Wings

While Taj roamed freely on land, Azure had the skies.

The blue feathered beauty had never known cages, and her life was guided by the endless stretch of sky, her wings cutting through the air and her chirps filling it with sweet tunes.

But men had also found her silently and quickly, taking her roughly from her nest before her mother could return.

Her journey was suffocating, for they put her in a wooden crate with other exotic birds, their wings crushing against each other and their songs reducing to painful whimpers. She was smuggled across the border and traded in the underground markets for the elite.

There, she was bought by a woman with silk scarves and empty eyes.

And then, the creature of open blue skies was confined to a golden cage in a mansion where chandeliers sparkled like fallen stars. She was a quick learner and soon could speak some human words; she also learned how to bow her head on command and parade before guests to welcome them. Everyone praised her voice and admired her weather.

But at night, she whispered only one word: home.

And in her dreams, she flew freely.

Bobo: The Forgotten Orangutan

An orangutan with eyes sparkling with mischief and who had seen the jungle but as a playground knew life just as his mother had shown him, as a beautiful reality. He used to laugh and swing from branch to branch as his mother looked over from just a few trees away.

But humans did not laugh with him or even bear watching him happy.

They took him, wrapped his small body in a net, and mercilessly threw him in the back of a truck, his screams swallowed by the engine’s roar.

Nevertheless, you could say he was luckier than many others, for some of the captured animals who were too small, too old, or too frightened never even made it to their destination and died on the way. Their bodies were discarded like one throws away broken toys.

As for Bobo, he was sold to a roadside zoo, a place where glass separated the wild from the so-called civilized. Children pressed sticky hands against his cage, giggling as he banged his fists on the bars out of anxiety. “Silly monkey,” they would say.

Years passed; his fur lost its luster; his mother’s face became a distant blurred memory; and the jungle, a forgotten dream.

He learned that humans did not hear his cries, so he just stopped making them.

Mzee: The Unlucky Elephant

Now, not all animals were stolen to be displayed. Some were taken for their skins or tusks or other things humans valued more than life.

So was the case for Mzee, an old elephant with the wisdom of years and beautiful long tusks. He had walked the jungle for decades and led his herd through drought and plenty. But alas, men.

Men did not see the wisdom in his existence. They saw ivory.

The shot rang out in the quiet morning. When he fell, they buckled his knees, and as his eyelids became heavy and his senses started giving up, he could hear his herd’s cries echoing through the forest. But sadly, he could not run.

By the time the men reached him, his breath was ragged, and his heartbeat had reduced to a drum, slowing to complete silence.

They brought electronic saw machines and stole his tusks while he took his last breath.

And then, they left him to be cradled by the earth he once commanded.

Iskra: The Jaguar Queen who Fought

Iskra was a jaguar, a queen who had spent her life in the marshlands where her spotted coat blended with her surroundings. She killed but only to feed her young, and she fought but only to protect them.

It was a surprise to her that poachers knew no rules. They came for the cubs while they all were resting under a tree.

Iskra fought. She lashed out, digging her claws in flesh and snapping their bones with her teeth. But she was outnumbered.

And the final blow came—a rifle butt to her skull.

Her regret: she had lost the fight.

Her cubs were taken and sold to those who desired the exotic—pet collectors, illegal breeders, men who wore wealth like a second skin.

And Iskra?

She awoke in a concrete cage. A zoo.

Here, too, children pointed at her as if she were a thing to be viewed at a display; they whispered about her beauty and grace, but they did not see the scars beneath her fur and the pain hidden in her golden eyes.

And they definitely did not hear her heart, still beating with rage and waiting for vengeance.

The Loud Silence in the Dark

They weren’t stolen the same way; not all had met the same fate.

But still, they had been taken/

Taj still paced his artificial savanna, but his roars meant nothing in the foreign land.

Azure still sat in her golden prison, wailing at her clipped wings – clipped not by force but by the silent hands of luxury.

Bobo still stared through the glass, his reflection being the only reminder of where he once belonged.

Mzee lay beneath the sun; his bones were stripped clean by scavengers; his herd mourned his absence silently.

And Iskra still watched. Still waited.

She waited for the day the bars would break.

One day they would.

One day, the stolen voices would be heard again.

And when that day comes, the jungle and the marshland will welcome them all home.

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