By Kerwin Holmes, Jr.

A Short Introduction and Byword

The following is a fable that I have created. I first thought it up while pondering some of the silliness that we have discussed and critiqued in this, our humble corner. I remember that this occurred to me last year, really near the cusp of last year’s end, while I was at my parents’ home, visiting on holiday. I began to think of how silly society has become in denying truth, and doggedly going down “Progress’s street” without pausing to consider the cliff (or bridge– you readers will understand) that we are fast approaching.

I initially held out, as there is nothing particularly clever about thinking up a parable or a fable. The story that is told has already been told, but it is the dressings or the fabula* that differs from story to story. But we have all heard of the stories from the basic truth (for truth never does change) that lying is wrong, that we oughtn’t cry wolf, that we oughtn’t imagine ourselves higher or lower than we are, that we oughtn’t imagine that we have abilities beyond ourselves, that we must come to terms with our limitations and the identities that come within those limitations. The dressings of the stories may change, but the messages remain the same.

[*A fabula is the series of events that occur in a story. An excellent resource to learn more on this is Mieke Bal’s work Narratology.]

And it is no wonder, for God is the Master storyteller, and Jesus the Master revealed. It should not surprise us that the Master communicates to us so often in story-form. All of reality is God’s great story, and He pens and His Spirit sings such a wondrous tapestry of grace, tragedy, struggle, and ultimate triumph.

I also held out because I had heard somewhere that Muhammad, the founder of Islam, also told a story that was similar to my own. Now, until last night, I had not even ventured to look to see whether Muhammad had done this. I was in no rush to come to such a revelation after spending so much time pondering a form to put my lesson in. Indeed, a cursory review of stories just last night concerning lions as told by Muhammad yielded nothing in the vein of my present fable. And to my knowledge to this point of time, I have not seen nor read any fable similar to my own in terms of event and fashion, though, for the above reasons, I am sure that there already exist several stories that communicate the same truth. For truth is simply thinking God’s thoughts after Him, and the Master storyteller has no student who may surpass Him, nor any pretender or contender who may do likewise. Truth, alike as reality, is unavoidable. That little troll on life’s path that trumps and stumps vain progress.

This story was finally penned last night, even as I thought of the story last year on holiday. Without further delay: the fable.

THE LION IN THE FOREST

There once was a time in the forest when

a honey badger began to roar like the lion.

The other animals were puzzled, for they

knew where the lion was, and yet the roar

came from somewhere else

They approached the noise and saw the badger

making it, and began to coo and neigh and

bark and squawk, each one saying to one

another “Is this not the honey badger?

Does he roar like a lion? Where are his

relatives to correct him?”

The fox was the first to speak “Honey badger,

cease that roaring! You are not the lion, you

are a badger!” “Yes,” said the flamingo, “You

had better stop now before the lion comes

to the challenge.”

“The lion?” puffed the badger, “Who is he to me? I

am the king, the mighty one, of the forest now.”

“Stop such nonsense,” interrupted the father wolf. And

many more joined in to dissuade the badger,

but to no avail. They then ran to tell the lion,

for they knew where he was in the forest,

resting beneath the shade of his favorite tree

None dared to approach too closely,

but they spoke from a distance as

if from one voice: “Listen! The badger is

roaring like you and has taken your place! He

says that he, it is he, who is the lion now!”

The lion yawned, and tossed his mane to one side

with a shake of his great head, and he

said “What is that to me? I am the lion,

there is no other. Go and ask the lionesses,

go and ask the young cubs. Bear, you know,

and ostrich, you know.” He laid back down in

the shade, “Now let me rest.”

The animal cohort was stunned. They would have

protested had they not already considered the

contest forfeited, and not from fear of mauling.

They would have approached, but did not, and

not from fear of not having enough distance to

turn to run, but from their interest to

converse among themselves with how to address

their new master.

“Well, that wasn’t very lion-like,” said pangolin

“Nay, it was not,” said zebra

“He has lost it all,” said cheetah

And the animals dispersed to do this and that

Eventually, before evening, the lion’s stomach grumbled

and so he got up from under his favorite spot

and decided to go on a hunt

He stalked some gazelle and sprang forth,

striking one upon the hip and bringing it down

at the neck, and the gazelle had not even

been with the other animals earlier that day

And the lion feasted and chased away all other

predators and animals on the prowl

who came to taste it until his belly was

gorged

He had not even waited for the lionesses, such

was his hunger that day

He chased away the ravens, the crows, the wolves, even the

bears, who did not come with enough vigor, the hyenas, the

foxes, the honey badgers, and the eagles– even the

snakes

When the meal was done the lion walked away

and all of the forest had heard what had happened

They approached the leftover carcass of the gazelle

and were corrected

“No,” said the wolf, “the lion is still the lion.”

“Indeed,” said the fox. And then the scavengers ate the leftovers

And all of the animals went their own ways