Bumbulum grew up a sad little panda, always teased and prodded, all because he was a bit gassy sometimes. At least that’s how he saw it. His was the only perspective he could glean, so it was all that mattered. He would stay far away from all creatures with olfactory senses, and out of respect for his solitude and privacy, others, in his mind, agreed to stay away from him. It was settled and so it was.

His days were filled with the consumption of delicious leaves and juicy sprouts of the abundant bamboo that grew as far as the eye could see. Just chewing and sitting and farting. It was a good life, content and blissful. For many years this existence proved to be satisfying and gratifying. Until one day it wasn’t.

He would often hum out loud while he chewed. Sometimes the hums elevated to ahh’s or ohh’s, and those eventually begot what he would call songs. He had become a singer, and he loved it. His high-pitched careening could be heard for miles around. Clusters of birds would take to the sky, honoring him and his song. The deer and the wolf would run from his brilliance, adding their own screams to the melody.

His songs were the most beautiful thing any creature could hear. It was his duty to share. He was nearing a crescendo of one of his favorite ballads, one day, when something very odd occurred. His beautiful angelic voice cracked. Like a stone splashing in a pond, sending out ripples of the event, his voice ripped and undulated, his songs became garbled and abstractified. It was all very horrible. Bumbulum was sad again.

He still chewed on his lovely greens, but he no longer lounged. The jealousy of the forest inhabitants was reaching a crisis. His once legendary voice was mutating, but into what, he could not imagine. He still hummed, but only to himself. And of course he was still farting. That never went away. It was his true and constant friend, his voice from down below.

His days were now filled with strolling and exploring, with resonant humming and robust flatulations. It was, perhaps, a season or two wherein his humming seemed to mellow out. His constant vocal vibrations had successfully transformed his unique sound. He was no longer a celestial soprano, or even an alto.

His legs grew strong from the onward pursuit. His back lengthened and straightened. His shoulders widened and bulked. The black spots around his eyes and ears darkened and spread. He had grown into a beautiful beast, with a song to match that resonated on multiple frequencies and harmonics.

Creatures of the forest now cowered before his majesty, beyond mere jealousy. He was a god among the petty peasants. But he had no interest in such things. He had outgrown this forest, so he kept walking, occasionally swinging in the swaying bamboo. This place belonged to a different Bumbulum. The new and improved Bumbulum moved on to find his next solitary adventure.