A Story of Lions

The blackness of the East African sky gradually turned to

shades of blue and gray as a soft breeze started to push and pull
at the tall grasses of the savanna. Nearby under a large beobob
tree slept a pride of lions. The approaching sunrise caused a
large male to stir and stretch his huge forelegs. Suddenly,
something came crashing through the brush startling the
serenity of the pride, awaking the pride. Into the clearing bound
a young lion, looking tired and disheveled, fresh blood staining
his fur.

"You've been to the village again, haven't you?" his mother

asked softly, not wanting to wake the others.

"You know I have," the young lion responded.

"It's wrong," she said. “There’s no need for it."

"Please," he said, “let's not go through all that again."

"We'll talk in the morning," she said.

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An hour later a sliver of sun inched its way above the horizon,
ushering in another hot day on the East African savanna. Two
cubs had already started their usual morning games, while
nearby an old lion yawned and swatted at some flies that were
starting to buzz about his head. Suddenly, he was interrupted by
the mother lion.

"I must speak with you, it's about my son Radis," she said.
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“He persists in these senseless killings."

"I heard him come in this morning. I'll have a talk with him,"
the old lion said.

"You've talked to him before, it doesn't do any good."

"What would you want me to do then, get a little rough?"

"No, no," she said, “he’d just leave the pride."

"I think we should have a Pridal meeting today," he said.

The mother lion turned and walked away, and as the old lion
enjoyed his morning sun, the females of the pride prepared
themselves for the daily hunt.

By now the sun had burnt off the morning haze and by the
time the female lions left, the temperature was rising rapidly.

Hunting had been good in recent times, large herds of zebra

and antelope were in great abundance. Even warthogs could be
found if the lions failed at more prized game. None of the lions
could imagine a better life, all of the lions were content. That is,
except for one.

Two hours later the females returned. One of them carried a

dead warthog in her mouth. The old male approached the trio.

"It's been another bountiful harvest," I see. With that he tore

open the warthog's bloated belly with his sharp teeth and
started to devour the prized organs. Within a few minutes he
was full and while the other members of the pride finished off
the prize, he rested lazily under the beobob tree. Finally, after
the lowliest lion had finished pulling off the last piece of meat
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from the last bone, the large black-maned leader rose and called
attention to the members of the pride. They came and sat
around him; cubs, yearlings, mothers, and fathers.

"I have called this meeting with the hope we can discuss some
very important matters." They all looked at him in admiration.
He had been their leader for many years and his many battle
scars were a testimony to his bravery.

"I think you know what I'm talking about," he looked in the
direction of the young yearling which had caused so much
confusion earlier that day.

"It concerns Radis and how he spends his nights." Radis was
now the attention of the entire pride.

The old male continued, “As you know, Radis has taken up a
new activity, a game if you will. It seems this young brave lion
has decided to spend his nights killing and terrorizing the
villagers. You know, of course, he doesn't bother to eat this
meat -- it's just a game to him. Maybe we should let him speak."
With that the large beast looked directly at Radis, who by now
was starting to feel the heat of this verbal barrage. He was
sitting alone at the edge of the clearing, all eyes upon him.

"First of all," the young lion stuttered, "it's nothing new to

harvest villagers. Why, I have heard stories from the past about
daily trips to the village just for that purpose."

"That was when we needed them our survival," the old lion
said, "we now have an abundance of other game. We killed out
of necessity, not for fun."

"Hunting has been a lion tradition since the beginning of time,"

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the young lion argued. "It's our natural right."

"We hunt to stay alive," his mother chimed in, "if you like
killing so much why don't you come with us during the day when
we hunt the zebra and the gazelle?"

"Why don't you hunt the giraffe if you want some excitement,"
another female joined in, "have you ever been kicked in the
head by a giraffe? That will give you a little excitement." The
other females nodded.

"Hunting the villager is exciting," exclaimed Radis, "it is not all

that easy. You are hunting them on their own ground."

Some of the females laughed, "How can you call killing

helpless villagers a sport," one asked, "they are uncunning,
helpless creatures against our jaws and claws."

"That's what most lions think that haven't hunted them, but in
the village they have the advantage. They post guards at the
entrances and sound alarms at the slightest noise. They attack
in large groups with rocks and spears."

"I still claim it isn't the same as dodging the hoof of a giraffe,"
one female exclaimed.

"There are others reasons for hunting them as well," the young
lion said, "their numbers are growing and they must be thinned
if they are to remain healthy. A continual harvesting is
necessary for their own good. What's more, eating villagers with
the food supply here."

"Fiddlesticks," one female said, "you ate more warthog today

than anyone."
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The old lion then added, "There is no evidence that the

villages must be, .... uh, .... what did you say, ... , harvested in
order to remain viable? That’s a strange word. They always
have done a fine job in the past without our, uh, harvesting."

On and on the argument went, the young lion insisting that

hunting villagers was a measure of skill and cunning, while the
others disagreed. Finally, the old lion spoke.

"I will not make a steadfast rule to disallow hunting of

villagers, but hope that you will outlive this activity." With that
he lay down on the soft grass from which the cue was taken for
the meeting to adjourn.

Several weeks passed, during which time the young yearling

made his nightly raids of the village. There was continual
bickering between him and his mother, but life went on pretty
much the same. In fact, the young lion had become so adept at
picking off stray villagers they decided to pack up and move
camp to another location. The reality of a man-killing lion in the
area was too much to bear. And so it was that one night when
the young lion came upon the village, he found only a deserted
camp.

The next day he told his story to the pride and boasted about
how he had driven off the villagers in an epic battle. The young
males of the pride gathered around as he told and retold his
tale.

One day a storm rolled across the savanna. Torrents of rain

inundated the parched soil and billows of water rolled and
tumbled through the dry creek beds. The lions were not
bothered by the rains, but the flash flooding caused a nearby
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earthen damn to break and drain their favorite watering hole.

The dam was built by the villagers to keep the water level of a
small lake high enough to last through the dry season. This
time, however, there were no villagers to repair the dam and so
when the dry season arrived the watering hole dried up.

The lake was also used by zebra, antelope, warthog, animals the
lions hunted, who left in search of water. It was now the lions
realized how important the villagers had been to their existence.
The old lion called for a Pridal meeting in an attempt to solve
their problem. Congregating the members of the pride around
him, he spoke.

"Fellow lions, we have a grave situation. We are without food

or water. The zebras, giraffes, antelopes, and warthogs, they
have all gone to new areas. Our watering holes are almost
dry."

"Let's follow the herds," the young yearling said.

"It's not that easy," the old lion said, “zebra and antelopes are
nomads, they can go where they like. We however, are
territorial. We cannot infringe on the territory of another pride."
One of the small lion cubs started to cry.

"Here, here," his mother said, "don't worry, we'll make out."

"It's your fault Radis," one of the females said, "you had to kill
the villagers. How big and brave do you feel now?"

"Don't you know there's a place for everything, even the

villagers," another one said.

Finally, the old lion interrupted, “This won't help anything,

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whether we like it or not we will have to move on if we are to

survive." The small lion cub started to cry again.

"In the morning we'll head south," the old lion said. With those
words they all laid down to rest themselves for the long journey.

For several days the lions crisscrossed the savanna, always on

the lookout for water, or for a lingering zebra or antelope, too
weak to keep up with the herd. But none was to be found and
the lions were beginning to die of thirst and starvation. When it
seemed as if all was lost, the lions came upon land that was
green and lush. Their problems were over, this would be their
new home. But the laws of nature are not so simple. The pride
was attacked by other prides whose territory they had violated.
The intruders, too weak to fight, were killed. A few of the
stronger ones, including the old leader and the young yearling
escaped, but the mother lion was not so lucky.

The remainder of the pride roamed aimlessly across the

savanna, continually being mauled by other prides. They too
would allow no intruders into their territory. Finally, the pride
had shrunk to two; the old lion and Radis. Finally, the old lion
could go no farther. As his head lie on the hard ground, he
spoke to the young yearling.

"Listen," he said, "you must, ... ." He didn't finish. He closed

his eyes for the last time. The young yearling stood motionless.
He was now alone.

Weeks passed as the sole straggler wandered aimless across

the savanna. He was only a skeleton of his former self, flies and
open sores incrusting his once flowing mane.

Finally, the young lion could go no farther. As he lay on the

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ground, he could feel the warmth of his mother next to him. He

could hear the soft sounds of the wind as it rustled through the
beobob tree. Then, he heard a sound that startled him from
semi-consciousness. It was the roar of a lion followed a scream
of a man. Without hesitation, the young yearling sprang up and
bound in the direction of the screams. Just as a man-eating lion
was about to devour an old man, the yearling lunged and
clamped his jaws around the neck of the man-eater. The man
scurried away as the two lions fought in a battle to the end. The
yearling, his energy ebbing, fought savagely and time and time
again broke loose from his opponent's deadly grip. Then, in a
final effort the yearling closed his jaws around the throat of the
man-eater and refused to release his hold.

The yearling did not move long after the man-eater had
breathed his last breath. Finally, the young lion staggered to his
feet. Flesh from his hind quarters was ripped from his body and
entrails from his underside were hanging from a large gaping
hole.

Just as the lion rose to his feet, sounds could be heard coming
through the tall brush. The old man, given moment's reprieve,
had run to the village to seek help and had returned with the
villagers to destroy the man-killers. They approached the
clearing where the lone battered beast was standing. They
gasped in disbelief. The lion looked up at them, he wanted to tell
them.

"Look, it's the man-killer!" someone said.

"There's the scar, it's him," another said, “kill him before he
gets away. With that the villagers started to hurl rocks and
spears at the poor creature. The young lion made an effort to
run, only to stumble and fall. Stones bounced off him, battering
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him into semi-consciousness. He felt a tingling sensation on his

neck the same sensation he felt under the beobob tree when his
mother licked him as a cub. His mother had come to protect
him now. The young lion could feel no more.

The villagers gathered around the battered carcass.

Finally, the villager elder spoke, "Look at those pitiful eyes. It’s
almost like he was trying to tell us something."

"Are you kidding," a young warrior said, "the only thing he was
trying to do is sink those teeth in your neck. When are we going
to learn? We've got to start killing those beasts."

Others nodded their heads.

- the end -