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Long before men built cities of stone, before crowns were forged in gold, and before laws were written upon parchment, there existed a vast and mysterious wilderness known as the Forest of Oblivion.
It was called Oblivion because those who entered its shadows often forgot the lessons of the past, and in forgetting, repeated the same tragedies generation after generation.
The forest was rich and beautiful. Great rivers flowed through it like silver snakes. Ancient trees rose toward the heavens. Birds sang in a thousand tongues, and every creature—from the tiniest ant to the mighty elephant—had its place under the sun.
For many seasons, the animals lived in relative peace. They competed, they quarreled, and they struggled, as all living beings do, but they survived together.
Yet there was one constant terror.
The lions.
The lions hunted relentlessly. They stalked the gazelles in the grasslands, ambushed the buffalo at the watering holes, and prowled the villages at night. No creature was safe from their claws except the lions themselves.
The antelopes trembled. The monkeys hid in silence. The rabbits dug deeper burrows. The warthogs slept with one eye open.
And all the animals asked the same question:
“How can there be peace when those with the sharpest teeth answer to no one?”
After many years of suffering, the animals gathered beneath the Great Baobab Tree to seek a solution.
The elephant spoke of strength. The owl spoke of wisdom. The tortoise spoke of patience. The monkey spoke of negotiation.
Then rose Mr. Hare, small in body but swift in thought.
“My friends,” he said, “perhaps our suffering is not because the lions are powerful, but because there is no government to restrain power. Let us establish a kingdom. Let us crown one lion as king. If he is given authority by all, perhaps he will use it to discipline his own kind.”
The idea seemed bold. Some were fearful. Some were skeptical. Some were desperate.
In the end, desperation defeated caution.
The animals agreed.
Messengers were sent to every corner of the forest. Drums echoed across valleys and hills. All creatures were summoned to witness the birth of the Kingdom of Oblivion.
At the grand ceremony, the strongest lion was crowned king.
He stood upon a stone platform with a mane shining like fire and proclaimed:
“I shall rule for peace, security, order, and prosperity. No creature shall fear unjust violence again.”
The animals roared, chirped, trumpeted, and danced.
Hope had arrived.
Or so they believed.
The Terms of the Kingdom
To sustain the royal household, the animals agreed that each village would bring gifts and offerings to the king as a sign of loyalty and thanksgiving.
The distant villages would begin first. The nearby villages would follow later.
Mr. Hare, as chief organizer of the coronation, arranged a magnificent feast. Leopards hunted. Hyenas scavenged. Cheetahs raced across the plains. Even elephants uprooted fruit trees and carried supplies.
Before the ceremony ended, Mr. Hare proposed that the village of Ndiwulira—known for its stubborn independence and reluctance to submit—should be the first to present offerings to the new king.
The suggestion was accepted.
The king smiled.
The King Falls “Ill”
A week after the coronation, the first delegation arrived at the palace.
They were Mr. Monkey, Mr. Warthog, and Mr. Hyena.
The king received them lying on a bed of leaves.
“My dear subjects,” he groaned weakly, “I have fallen gravely ill.”
The visitors expressed concern.
Turning to Monkey, the king said:
“You are clever and quick. Go throughout the forest and inform all my loyal subjects that their king is sick. Let them visit me one at a time every three days so that they may not overwhelm my strength.”
Monkey bowed and departed.
The king then told Warthog:
“Please inspect the royal kitchen and see what food remains.”
Warthog obediently trotted away.
As soon as they were alone, the king turned to Hyena.
“You have always been practical,” he whispered. “Remain by my side. Admit visitors one by one. Together, we shall never need to hunt again.”
Hyena’s yellow eyes gleamed.
And when Warthog returned from the kitchen, he never returned to his home.
Meat That Walked Into the Palace
Every three days another animal came.
A gazelle entered. A duiker entered. A goat entered. A porcupine entered.
None ever emerged.
Inside the palace, bones accumulated in pale heaps. The king grew larger. Hyena grew round and sluggish. Monkey, faithful but unsuspecting, continued delivering messages throughout the forest.
The distant villages emptied.
Mothers wept. Children waited for parents who never returned. Entire communities vanished.
Yet no one dared question the king openly.
For in every age, fear is the first minister of tyranny.
Suspicion in the Forest
Eventually, grieving relatives sought Mr. Hare.
“Our loved ones went to comfort the king,” they said, “but none has returned.”
Hare’s ears stood upright.
He had once believed that power could tame appetite.
Now doubt gnawed at his heart.
“I will investigate,” he said.
The Visit to the Palace
Early one Sunday morning, Mr. Hare set off toward the royal compound.
He moved carefully, placing each foot as lightly as a falling leaf.
As he approached, he crouched beneath the palace window.
Inside, he heard laughter.
The king’s voice boomed:
“My friend, what fools they are. We once exhausted ourselves chasing prey through thorn and mud. Now our meals walk willingly into our hall.”
Hyena cackled.
“And they call it loyalty.”
Hare’s blood ran cold.
He crept to the doorway and peered inside.
There, scattered across the floor, lay mountains of bones.
And on his throne sat the “sick” king—fatter and more radiant than on the day he was crowned.
The Question That Exposed the Lie
Hare stepped to the entrance.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “how does a creature become so magnificently fat while suffering from a deadly illness?”
The king narrowed his eyes.
“Come closer,” he said softly. “Repeat your question.”
Hyena rose from the shadows, smiling.
Hare looked at the bones.
He looked at the lion.
He looked at Hyena.
Then he laughed.
“I may be small,” he said, “but I am not foolish enough to join that heap.”
And with that, he sprang away like an arrow.
Hyena rushed after him, but Hare was already beyond the palace gates, racing through grass, over logs, and across streams until he disappeared into the forest.
The Truth Revealed
Upon returning to Ndiwulira , Hare gathered the remaining animals.
He told them everything.
The false illness. The secret alliance. The bones. The deception.
At last the animals understood.
The king had not changed because of the crown.
He had merely found a more efficient method of feeding.
And Hyena, hoping to enjoy power and privilege, had become accomplice to the devourer.
The Fall of the Carnivores
The animals stopped visiting the palace.
No gifts were brought. No delegations arrived. No sacrifices appeared at the gate.
At first, the king and Hyena laughed.
“They will return,” they said.
But days passed.
Then weeks.
Their bodies, once swollen with excess, grew heavy and weak. They had forgotten how to hunt. Their muscles had softened. Their speed had vanished.
The king could no longer chase antelope. Hyena could no longer outrun a rabbit.
And so, in the palace where they had feasted upon the trust of others, both starved to death.
The wind scattered their bones among the remains of their victims.
Peace returned to the Forest of Oblivion.
The Lesson Beyond the Forest
Ages passed.
The animals faded into legend.
Human kingdoms rose in their place.
But the methods of the lion did not disappear.
In ancient monarchies, rebellious villages were raided, and their people turned into serfs, servants, and sacrificial offerings.
In modern states, those who question rulers are labeled enemies, traitors, or troublemakers.
And often, ambitious individuals are invited to “join the system.”
They are promised influence. They are offered status. They are fed with privilege.
At first they believe they are sharing power.
Soon they discover they are helping the predator lure new victims.
And when their usefulness ends, they too are discarded.
The Characters Among Us
The Lion is every ruler who mistakes authority for ownership.
The Hyena is every collaborator who betrays others for temporary advantage.
The Monkey is every messenger who carries orders without understanding their consequences.
The Warthog is every obedient servant who walks innocently into danger.
The distant villages are those who suffer first while others remain silent.
And Hare is the vigilant conscience—the one who studies power, recognizes deception, warns the people, and escapes before becoming part of the bones.
The Eternal Warning
No herbivore can safely become the favorite of a carnivore.
The predator may spare you today. He may praise your loyalty. He may allow you to dine at his table.
But he never abandons his nature.
When all others have been consumed, he will turn to those nearest to him.
And the closer you stand, the easier you are to devour.
Moral of the Tale
Those who dance daily with dictators should remember:
The feast you enjoy may be prepared from the flesh of your own people.
The privileges you celebrate may be bait.
The ruler who rewards your betrayal is merely postponing your turn.
Wisdom lies not in serving the lion, but in recognizing his nature before your bones join the silent testimony on the palace floor.
By Evan Sande Ndahura
Evan Sande Ndahura is a Ugandan political and legal commentator, columnist, poet, and social justice advocate whose writings focus on governance, constitutionalism, democracy, and the political economy of power in Africa. He is widely published on issues of judicial accountability, electoral justice, human rights, and institutional reform, with particular emphasis on Uganda’s political and legal systems. Ndahura writes from a Pan-African critical perspective, interrogating the failures of state institutions and the lived realities of ordinary citizens under entrenched systems of power. He believes that the liberation of Africa will occur through a mighty pen, not the gun.
