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The Bull Elephant and the LionsBack to Daniel in UtahBy Daniel Lins - 2008-11-20
The Lions and the Elephant I once saw something as I trekked across the Savannahs of Africa, the likes of which I have never seen before. I had been traveling day and night, through lion territory – sleeping during the heat of the day in any shade I could find, and usually high in a tree away from predators. I carried only my hunting knife and a wooden spear I had hardened in a fire. One afternoon, when the sun had just begun its decent from high noon, I woke from a light sleep high up in the boughs of an Acacia tree to find a whole pride of lions resting in the shade of the tree. My heart leaped into my throat as I peered down at them. My first thought was that they were hunting me. But as my pounding pulse slowed, I realized that they hadn’t noticed me yet. It was providential for me, given the heat of the day and my substantial perspiration. They were so close that I could see their ears twitch and their tongues loll in the heat. There were about 12 – mostly lionesses, but a few young males with only half-sized manes. None of them looked up at me as I watched them intently, barely breathing for fear they’d notice me. They didn’t seem to be on the hunt, judging by their positions of recline and apparent lack of alertness. So I waited. Presently, I noticed an elephant in the distance, slowly making its way toward us. From my vantage point high in the tree, I could see it long before the lions saw or smelled it. To my surprise, it was marching directly toward us. There wasn’t much cover for miles around, and it must have been making for the shade of this tree as well. As it approached, I could see that it was a young bull male, whose tusks had just begun to angle forward. It was a regal animal – stately under the oppressive sun. I could tell the moment it first detected the presence of the lions. It stopped walking, raised its trunk to the breeze like one of those ancient good-luck figurines, and took in the air for a full minute. Then it altered its course and veered away from my tree; a little hurried, but for all the world appearing unafraid. My attention was quickly drawn back to the scene beneath me as one lioness rose onto her haunches and stared at the elephant moving away. Instantly, the whole pack came to full alert as every dark eye turned toward that prey. Hipbones and shoulder blades came into sharp relief as they rose to their feet: sobering testimony of the lean times this pack had seen. They left the shade of the Acacia tree as one, staying low and silent, fanning out into a rough line as they stalked the elephant together. Conflicting emotions played in me. I was dismayed to see such a fey dozen pursue such a noble beast, but at the same time glad the elephant had drawn their attention, so I could escape. The elephant broke into a run: long, jarring strides across the savannah, but fast. So much power in one of God’s gentle beasts.. Sheer force, indomitable in its momentum. Powerful enough to topple a building in a second. At full speed, the elephant turned and faced the lions, dry savannah dust rising at his passage. I could see the whites of its eyes as he charged the ones closest on his heels. They fell back as a comrade flanked him and leapt high on his haunches, digging claws into that leathery gray flesh. It tried to gain purchase with its teeth, angling its head to sink canines. The elephant took off, dragging the lion’s hind feet while its front claws were still sunk in like fishhooks. The others swarmed around it, keeping clear of the dangerous tusks and heavy feet. Eventually, the lion on its hindquarters lost his grasp, and the elephant picked up speed again, but these were 12 lions, and one 1 elephant. Soon another took its place on his haunches. The rest swarmed on him like flies. And everywhere they let go, they left dark red marks as a testament to the sharp claws and rending teeth. They slashed at his belly and legs, sometimes hanging on with only their teeth, attempting to drag him down. Two by two, they sprang at him. Some gaining purchase and some just bouncing off. There was no end to their attacks. One climbed up onto his back between his shoulders and began biting his neck from the top. They tried to tire him out, hooking into his flesh with tooth or claw and hanging on to slow him. Like so many harpoons in great Moby Dick. At a slower pace now, he swung his head from side to side, his tusks threatening to gore the soft flesh of any of his oppressors. In an instant, tusk caught flesh and the lion was hurled into the air above the heads of its companions. When it landed, it lay still. The elephant didn’t have much of plan – used to going head to head with males larger than him, he didn’t know how to ward off little biting cats. He reared and stomped, more to threaten than to actually kill the lions. He was unaware of the deadly weapons he actually had against these foes. And so he raged, one lone strong man against the vicious masses. He would rage for some moments, knock them off, rustle a few free, and then rest. Two lions attacked his trunk and head from the ground. He thrashed them anew, breaking the skull of one, and scaring the other away. As three lions scrambled onto his back, he reared and one fell off. The other two hung on like leeches, draining his blood through the small holes they pricked. He tripped under the oppressive weight, and the whole pack piled on, biting ears, trunk, face, neck, belly. He lay still for a while. I thought he might have given up, succumbing to his fate. With a colossal effort, the young bull staggered up, shedding cats like water. He ran at full tilt, faster than he had yet, eyes shining white and hide flowing with red streams. He pulled away from even the fastest. But his strength gave out and he slowed. The lions caught up and began their attack anew. He raged and rested. Raged and rested. Lions fell by the wayside, crushed by his fey stomping, or gored by his ivory tusks. But the lions were too many. Slowly they wore him down. His rest periods gradually became longer and longer, till eventually, he stopped running and just stood. This great colossal bulk, heart as big as a watermelon, was not made for fighting. Four lions were on top of it, and others pulling it from the sides. Never once did he trumpet in fear. The elephant stumbled under the un-opposable weight. Lions swarmed him like children on some colossal jungle gym. They struggled to tear through his tough hide. I don’t know what went on in that great beasts’ mind, but I can imagine. He is overwhelmingly aware of the exertion it takes to struggle. So heavy, so hot. Dusty air clogging each laborious breath. Muscles burning from exhaustion and spent fear. The pain is so far away. It is easy to rest, to sleep; to lay still. Just a little nap. Breathing deeply. No matter that the beasts keep pricking. They are far away. Sleep now. The fear is gone. He doesn’t know what death is, and doesn’t fear it. That old fear of the lions, of unknown pain, is gone now. He knows that pain, has borne it, and it holds no more terror. The question is not of life or death. Not of failure or success. It is of making one more fruitless, exhausting struggle or of relaxing in peace. I broke my silence. “RAGE!” I shouted. He lays there, unaware of his own latent power; not sure of his own strength. Never having tested the extent of his own ability, he doesn’t recognize what he is capable of. His enemies are tired, too. Diminished in number and strength. His death toll is impressive. But still he lays quiet. Under the pile. Feeling all that weight on top. Wanting to lay still. He has failed so many times before. He doesn’t think about the consequence: just of how exhausting the fight is. "Get up!" My cry rang across the plain. The lions paid no heed. The elephant struggled again. I slipped down from the tree and escaped with my life. ___ The event depicted above is fiction. However, the struggle is real. 
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