The Lion and the Boar

It was the height of summer, and the jungle was baking under the relentless sun. The rivers had dried to trickles, the ponds had turned to mud, and the animals were growing desperate for water. The air was thick and still, and every creature, big and small, was panting with thirst.

In a small clearing, there was a tiny pool of water left—barely a puddle, but enough to offer relief. By chance, a Lion and a Boar arrived at this precious spot at exactly the same moment.

The Lion, with his golden mane matted with sweat, roared softly. “Make way, Boar. I am the King of Beasts, and I shall drink first.”

The Boar, sturdy and tusky, snorted angrily. “I think not, Lion. I found this spot just as you did. I am thirsty, and I will not wait for anyone, not even a king.”

Neither animal was willing to step back. The heat made their tempers short, and their thirst made them stubborn. The Lion growled, baring his sharp teeth. The Boar pawed the ground, lowering his dangerous tusks.

“If you will not yield,” snarled the Lion, “then we shall fight for it!”

“So be it!” grunted the Boar.

They charged at each other with fury. The jungle echoed with the sounds of their struggle—the roars of the Lion and the squeals of the Boar. They wrestled and bit, kicking up clouds of dust that choked the air. They fought until they were both bruised, bleeding, and even more exhausted than before. The water they wanted so badly was forgotten in their rage.

Panting heavily, they broke apart for a moment to catch their breath. Their sides heaved, and their legs shook. It was then, in the brief silence, that the Lion looked up towards the sky.

High above, circling silently against the bright blue, were several dark shapes. Vultures.

They were gliding patiently, their sharp eyes fixed on the fighting pair below. They were not interested in the water. They were waiting for the battle to end. They knew that soon, one or perhaps both of the warriors would fall, and then they would have a feast.

The Lion shuddered at the realization. He looked at the Boar, who had also noticed the dark birds circling overhead. The anger drained out of them as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold chill of understanding.

“Look,” whispered the Lion, nodding toward the sky. “Do you see who waits for us?”

The Boar looked up and swallowed hard. “The vultures,” he said, his voice trembling. “They are waiting for one of us to die.”

The Lion looked the Boar in the eye. “My friend,” he said, his voice calm now. “If we continue this fight, we will not drink. We will only become dinner for those birds. Is this water worth our lives?”

The Boar shook his massive head. “No, it is not. I would rather be alive and thirsty than a meal for a vulture.”

“Then let us call a truce,” proposed the Lion. “We are both strong. We are both brave. Let us share the water. There is just enough for both of us if we sip slowly.”

The Boar nodded gratefully. “Agreed.”

Side by side, the two former enemies lowered their heads to the cool water. They drank together in peace, washing away their thirst and their anger. High above, the vultures, seeing that there would be no battle today, screeched in disappointment and flew away to find a meal elsewhere.

The Lion and the Boar parted ways that day as friends, having learned that cooperation is far better than conflict.

Moral of the Story: It is better to compromise and be friends than to fight and destroy each other.