Rajat Bhatia 1 The air in the Satpura forest had always felt like a living thing—dense, watchful, sacred. But this morning, Kabir Solanki sensed something else: silence that felt tampered with. The usual melody of drongos and parakeets had been replaced by the low, uneasy whisper of a forest holding its breath. Riding his forest department-issued motorbike along a narrow dirt path cloaked in early mist, Kabir scanned the sal and teak trees with a practiced eye. He had served in these jungles for nearly five years since leaving the army, but he’d never seen this particular route—just beyond Jamni…