Once upon a long, long time ago, all the animals lived in the jungle, with the lion as their king. The lion and his relatives, the leopard, the tiger, and the cat, all lived with him in their own rooms in the jungle palace. The other animals lived in their own houses that they liked, spread round the jungle.

All the animals were happy to have the lion as their king, for he was a just and fair leader. During those days, there were no problems for the beasts because peace was normal for the day. Like, for instance, the offspring of the antelope would go to the leopard’s home to wrestle with his children without any fear of being torn to pieces.

The rat would take a stroll to the home of the cat. And ask to go roaming the jungle with him. They would linger all day, cracking jokes and laughing at their own silliness. There was no friendship in the entire jungle, which was stronger than the one that bonded the cat and the rat. They fished in the little streams, they roamed the jungle together, they ate together, but they never slept together, for the cat was of the royal family, while the rat was a peasant.

 Each harvest, all the other animals brought a third of their crops to the royal barn as due to the lion. And the lion, for his part, would toast a big feast in honor of his fellow animals. In this way, there would be eating and drinking of palm-wine from afternoon till midnight. And if it happened that the feast fell on a day of the full moon, all the animals, including the lion, would gather in the jungle-square; merrily playing in the open field and happily dancing to songs.

All the animals loved the harvest festival, because this celebration brought them closer together, as one. They adored it even more, especially when the full moon hung high in the night sky, and was happily brightening the dark jungle with its golden light. Thus, they would gather to make merry, except the lion, who would remain seated on his throne not interested in all the happy partying. He thought it meaningless to dance to a song without the rhythm of a drum to play for it.

He suffered a long time with this problem, but he kept it well hidden from his fellow beasts. He knew that in making a drum, one would need the skin of an animal, and that meant an animal would have to be killed for its skin to be used. But unfortunately, it was against the customs of the jungle to murder a fellow beast. Any animal, with the lion not exempted, who committed such offense, although it seldom happened, paid a heavy price for his action.

The punishment for this crime was of two kinds. First, if an animal accidentally killed another animal, seven years in prison, along with his family relations, was the penalty. Second, if he did it deliberately, he would have to flee the jungle, never to return, forfeiting his family to everlasting enslavement.

    So from harvest to harvest, the lion tussled with this issue, which depressed him greatly. At one point, he would sit in a calm state for a great length of time, with paws under his chin and eyes staring straight into the vast, empty sky. The other animals took notice of this, but they thought it was just part of being king of the jungle. The lion had a lot to worry about. All the beasts had this thought. Well, except the monkey, who was the great palm wine tapper and a crier of the jungle. He knew that a toad would never run in broad daylight for nothing. If it did, then something was after its life. The monkey, like the other animals, knew that the jungle was at peace. So why then would a great and bold king as the lion become so sad, like one who was mourning the death of a beloved family member? The monkey thought over the matter carefully. But no matter how hard and long he thought about it, he still couldn’t understand.

    One day, while the hyena and he, his next-door neighbor, were on their way to his palm wine trees, the monkey seized the opportunity to bring it to his neighbor’s attention.

“Do you know what I’m thinking, Mr. Hyena?” asked the monkey.

“No, I can’t read your mind, my friend. What are you thinking?” the hyena said.

    “I think something is troubling King Lion,” said the monkey.

    “Why do you think so?” asked the hyena.

    “I think so because how can a bold and strong leader as he is become so dull at a time like this when the entire jungle is at peace? He should be happy, I suppose,” said the monkey.

    “So there is something wrong with him?” the hyena asked again.

    “Yes, something definitely must be wrong with him.” the monkey answered.

    “Ah, okay… but you can’t be so sure about that, Mr. Monkey. And besides, as being the crier of the jungle, I think you should pay him a visit to find out. Perhaps he would tell, and if it’s a situation that needs fast attention, then that’s where your duty falls on the line.” suggested the hyena.

    “I think that’s a wise idea, Mr. Hyena. I shall do that this evening when we return.” the monkey agreed.

    The full moon was glistening bright in the night sky, so the monkey had no difficulty in finding his path. The lion, who was leisurely swaying from side to side in a hammock, was never surprised to see the monkey on the royal grounds, at that time of the night, for he visited there quite often. He bowed himself before the lion and sat on a low stool which was leaning against one of the sticks the hammock was tied to.

    “I brought you palm wine and some kola nuts,” he announced when he had sat down.

    The lion only nodded and ordered him to take the token into his hut. The monkey soon returned and was about to say a word when the lion suddenly spoke up.

    “Do you find all this dancing to songs at festivals amusing without the beat of a drum to decorate them?” the lion asked very calmly.

    “Of course, Your Highness, I think it’s more than amusing because all your underlings dance to the songs. And besides, Mr. Nightingale is a great musician, who possesses a wonderful voice,” the monkey said, as a merry smile played on his lips.

    “You think it’s amusing, but I think it’s meaningless,” remarked the lion.

    “You are the king; just give the command, and we shall do as you wish,” the monkey said.

    “Yes, I have thought of that, but I have no idea on what to do,” said the lion.

    “Then I guess that’s why you have become quiet all this while?” asked the monkey.

    “Yes, Mr. Monkey. Do you have any suggestions?” asked the lion.

     The monkey thought for a brief moment and said, “Well, I think Mr. Tortoise can help with this problem; he’s a beast of wisdom.”

    “Go and get him at once,” the lion ordered.

    “Don’t be in such a hurry, Your Highness. He’s not at home right now. He has gone to check his fish trap. I shall bring him along when I come to visit you tomorrow.”

    “Alright, but don’t fail to bring him here tomorrow.”

    “Don’t worry, Your Highness. Leave it to me,” the monkey assured the lion, and he left.

    At dusk the next day, the monkey and the tortoise visited the lion. They found him seated alone on his elaborate throne. He offered them stools to sit on. Then, as usual, the monkey presented his gift of palm wine and kola nuts to the lion, who asked him to take it into an inner room. When he had sat down again, the conversation began.

    “Your Highness,” the monkey began, “here is Mr. Tortoise, the one whom I told you about yesterday.”

    The tortoise roused, bowed himself, and sat down again.

     “I heard them say you are full of wisdom, Mr. Tortoise. Can you propose any wise suggestion about us making our own drum?” the lion asked.

    The tortoise reflected for a reasonable while, cleared his throat loudly, and said: “Suggesting an idea to make the drum is an easy thing, but who is going to beat it?”

    “That’s the same question I have been asking myself,” the monkey cut in.

    “Just state your suggestion and leave the rest to me,” said the lion.

    “Alright, if you insist, Your Highness. As we all know that crafting a drum needs an animal skin, I think we should all contribute towards its making,” remarked the tortoise.

    “What do you mean?” asked the lion and the monkey, at the same time.

    “What I mean is, let every animal with fur slice off a piece of his ears, and as I being from the lineage of great drum makers, I shall sew these pieces of ear together and make us a drum,” said the tortoise confidently.

     This idea seemed great to the lion, and, for the first time in many years, he smiled very big.

    “I think that’s a very wise suggestion,” he said to the tortoise, as he caressed his mane.

    “Didn’t I tell you Mr. Tortoise is a wise beast?” said the monkey, nodding his head, quite pleased with himself.

    “Mr. Monkey,” the lion said, “I think this is where your duty falls on the line.”

    “Your wish is my command, O King Lion. Just utter the word, and I shall do it,” replied the delighted monkey.

    “Tonight, I want you to go round the jungle and announce to the other animals what Mr. Tortoise has suggested. Visit every footpath in the jungle, do not leave a single one out. Cover them all with the warning that any animal who refuses to obey my command will be strictly prohibited from taking part in any act of merrymaking and festival in this jungle. Have I made myself clear?”

    “Yes, Your Highness,” the monkey agreed and set off to execute the task because, by this time, it was almost approaching midnight.

    A few moments before dawn, the monkey was on the main footpath, jumping from one tree branch to the other and cackling crazily in an attempt to awaken his colleagues. At the sound of the commotion, every animal who lived in that part of the jungle roused from his happy sleep to listen to the message of the monkey. He cackled and cackled till he was sure that his colleagues were awake, then he gave his message, cackled a little more, and headed for the next footpath. And this was the message: Every animal with fur was ordered by the lion, their king, to donate a piece of his ears towards the making of a drum which would be used at the celebration of festivals. And that the collection would begin at first light in the morning. Any animal who failed to comply would be forever prohibited from partaking in any sort of merrymaking and the celebration of feasts in the jungle.

    A sort of annoyance puffed up within the rat as soon as the news reached him, down inside his burrow.

    “Why won’t Mr. Monkey allow us to rest our exhausted muscles tonight after a long day of farm work?” the rat mumbled and stretched himself upon the straw, where he reclined. “I give a third of my crops to that incipient lion, who calls himself king, and he’s not satisfied, but I must give him a piece of my ears, too? He can’t be serious because I’m never giving him a string of fur off my body.”

    The rat lay down again to sleep, furious that he had been awakened from his sound slumber to listen to the silly message of the monkey. The next day, the monkey went about collecting the pieces of every animal with fur ear, including the lion, until he arrived at the burrow of the rat, which was located at the jungle-square. He summoned the rat, who came out somewhat slowly. As it was the custom of the jungle, the rat offered the monkey a stool to sit on and dawdled into an inner room. When he emerged again, he had a gourd full of palm wine, some fresh kola nuts in his hands, and a plan in mind.

    The plan was to get the monkey drunk so that he wouldn’t be able to collect the piece of ears for which he had come.

    “I have kola and cool water to quench your thirst,” the rat announced cheerfully and sat down again on a stool opposite the monkey, who accepted the offer with a wan smile. Although the rat was acting in accordance with traditions. But the monkey had the inkling that the rat was up to something cunning. So he decided he wouldn’t drink beyond his limit.

    The two animals ate all the kola nuts. But the monkey, despite the rat’s persistent urges to consume more of the palm-wine, drank only a little amount. Then, at last, he hit directly to the point for which he had come. He cleared his throat loudly, and began.

    “Mr. Rat, thank you for the palm-wine and the kola, but I believe you must have heard the announcement which I made last night,” the monkey said.

     The rat felt defeated. His plan had failed, and so he had nothing else to say than to utter a response. “Oh yes, I heard you cackling last night. But sorry, Mr. Monkey, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t hear a word of your message,” the rat said.

    “Are you certain about that, Mr. Rat, because all the other animals, who do harder work than you, heard the announcement clearly?” asked the monkey, who knew that the rat was lying but refrained from asking further questions lest it lead to a fight.

    “Certainly, Mr. Monkey, I did not hear a word of your message,” the rat replied.

    And so the monkey began to reiterate his message. But before he could finish speaking, the rat interrupted him.

    “See here, Mr. Monkey, I do not mean to interrupt, but I want you to see how tiny my ears are; if I slice a piece off, just a piece, what will remain for hearing?” the rat said and took a long sip of the palm-wine he was drinking.

    “So what about us animals who have sliced off a piece of our ears, don’t we know the value of hearing, too?” asked the monkey.

    “Ah, I’d be wrong to say you don’t know the value of hearing, because that’s your affair, and it is clearly none of my business. But what we are discussing right now pertains to me, so I have the right to talk, don’t I, Mr. Monkey?” the rat replied and took another long sip of palm wine.

    Annoyed at the rat’s baffling behavior, the monkey took his leave in a rage. At the jungle palace, he reported to the lion what had happened at the rat’s abode. The lion became angry upon hearing the news and was filled with the spirit to subdue, but due to the penalty which was ordered by the crime of murder, he eventually calmed down. After a reasonable interval, he then ordered the monkey to take the collection of ears to the tortoise to commence fixing the drum at once. The monkey obeyed and vanished out of sight like a flash of lightning.

    Two days later, the tortoise had finished crafting the drum and had brought it to the lion. At dusk of the day, the drum was crafted, and the lion called around his colleagues to present it to them. All the animals came except the rat, who knew better than to make an attendance. The animals were all delighted to see the drum. They all complimented the tortoise for his magnificent effort. In fact, the lion was so overjoyed that he decided to toast a feast for his friends the next day.

    Before the first light of morning appeared, the jungle palace turned as busy as an anthill. Pots and pots of yam pottage went on and off the fire hearths. Some of the animals busied themselves in the kitchen, while others made numerous trips to the nearby bushes and stream to fetch firewood and water. And speaking of palm wine, which was the chief drink in the jungle, there were so many large gourds of it that even the parrot, who was notorious for his thoroughness, got tired of counting.

    When all the festive preparation was done, the animals assembled to make merry. As expected, the royal lion roused from his throne to address the gathering. And as he spoke, all else were silent as statues, except when he uttered something which deserved applauding, only then would they clap and become silent again. After he had finished addressing the gathering, he called upon the tortoise to test the drum since he was the one who had crafted it. The tortoise entered the middle of the circle, which the gathering had formed, somewhat reluctantly. Although he was a magnificent drum maker, he was never a good drummer.

    “Sorry, my colleagues,” said he to the assembly, “though I’m able to craft a drum, I’m not good at beating it.”

    “We understand, Mr. Tortoise; even if you are not a good drummer, just show us the little you have got,” the lion said as a merry smile beamed on his face.

    Then the tortoise, who was trying by all means to avoid embarrassment, began beating the drum, but the noisy and meaningless rhythm soon got all the animals covering their mutilated ears to stop them from hearing.

    “Enough!” growled the lion. “How can you craft a drum as splendidly as this, but not know how to beat it?”

    The tortoise did not reply. He stood by the drum shuddering with fear. A thick silence hung over the gathering like a cloud heavy with raindrops.

    “A mangrove tree dwells in the river, Your Highness, but that does not make it a crocodile,” the leopard broke the silence, as he tried to minimize the tension on the tortoise.

    “And you… what are you saying!” roared the furious lion.

    “I mean no offense, O mighty King Lion, but I’m simply trying to say that being a good drum maker does not make one a good drummer,” responded the leopard, who was the only beast in the assembly that was never afraid of the lion’s fury.

    The lion again sat on his elaborate throne, blazing with rage. When he had calmed down a little, he ordered the animals to take turns beating the drum to see which animal was good, but all their efforts proved to be unrhythmically annoying. Thus, he ordered the monkey to take the drum to the jungle square and leave it there till they found an animal who could beat it well. The monkey swiftly obeyed the order and returned almost immediately, breathing heavily and perspiring. But before he could take his seat again, they heard the beating of a drum resonating from the square. The beat was intricate and pleasant as it was unmistakable. It was a tone filled with festivity and glee. It sailed leisurely with the wind and hovered over the gathering of animals. Then they began to dance — King Lion and all. The animals danced and danced, happy that, at last, there was an animal who could beat the drum. But who was this drummer? Why wasn’t he at the feast? They did not know but continued to dance to his blood-stirring beat.

    The happy commotion went on for quite a reasonable while until the lion raised a clenched fist in the air then, the tumult subsided. He scanned the happy visages of his colleagues with satiation and remarked: “If I stand here and tell you that today is not one of the greatest days in this jungle, then I would be suggesting that I’m the greatest liar to have ever lived.”

    All the animals looked at one another in disbelief. Was it the same lion who was filled with wrath barely a moment ago that was uttering these words? They all shrugged their shoulders in astonishment, and then, the lion continued.

    “Does anyone know who is beating our drum?” asked the elated lion.

    Again, the animals looked at one another, quite at a loss.

    “Alright,” said the lion after a brief interval, “since nobody knows who is beating the drum, I will send Mr. Antelope to go find out. And Mr. Antelope, if you see the animal who is beating our drum, grab him and bring him here. Do you hear me?”

   “Yes, Your Highness,” the antelope obeyed and swiftly galloped away.

    He galloped on and on, trampling dry leaves under his hooves. The sound of drum beat and trodden leaves blended and produced a strange sort of tumult. And just before the antelope reached the square, the drum beat had stopped; there was no one to be seen. Who was this animal that was beating the drum barely a moment ago? Where had he gone to? The antelope was highly mystified. Nevertheless, he decided to return to the jungle palace to tell the lion what had happened.

    “Sorry, Your Highness, but there was nobody at the square when I got there,” the antelope said when he rejoined the gathering.

    “Nonsense!” the lion swore. “How can you say you didn’t see anybody? You might as well be saying that a drum beats by itself.”

    “I didn’t say so, King Lion, but nobody was at the square when I got there,” said the fearful antelope.

    Raging with wrath, the lion scanned around the gathering, summoned the elephant and sent him to the square. The elephant bowed and commenced walking away heavily. But not very long after, he returned to deliver a similar story as the antelope.

    “What does this mean?” the parrot said, almost to himself, but audible enough for the gathering to hear.

    “Incompetence!” bellowed the angry lion. Again he summoned another animal. This time it was the hyena. The hyena, too, returned to narrate a story akin to that of the antelope and the elephant.

    “Silence!” the frustrated lion raved and was about to call up another animal when the cat interrupted him.

    “I will go and bring you the rascal who is beating our drum,” volunteered the cat.

    “Are you sure you can do that?” asked the lion, bubbling with annoyance.

    “Yes, I can,” the cat said confidently.

    “Alright then, go and bring him here at once,” said the lion somewhat calmly.

    Within no time, the cat was halfway from the square. And because the cat had an instinct of making little noise when he walked, this rascal drummer heard no strange sound to alarm him of any possible pursuers. Nevertheless, he kept right on beating and beating the drum. And silently, the cat drew nearer and nearer to the square. When he reached the spot where he could have a broad view of the square, the cat couldn’t believe what he saw. The rat! It was the rat who had refused to contribute a piece of his ears towards the making of the drum that was beating it. It was the rat, his great friend, who frequently visited him at the jungle palace that was beating the drum. Who taught him to beat a drum as magnificently as this? The cat wondered and kept sauntering closer and closer. And the rat, fully unaware of the danger lurking at his tail, continued to beat the drum on and on. Reveling in the intricate rhythm; and glad that he was entertaining his foolish colleagues. Unfortunately for the cat, who was about a paw away from the rat’s tail, his leg broke a stupid twig. The rat heard the startling sound; he turned round sharply and flinched in fright. He made a great leap for his burrow but was not fast enough. Within no time, the cat’s paws were onto his tail. He made efforts to release himself, but the grip was very, very tight.

    “So you are the rascal beating our drum all this while?” asked the cat.

    “Please let me go Mr. Cat, I mean no offense. I only wished to test it to see if it was good,” the dreadful rat pleaded.

    “What cunningness!” replied the cat harshly. “Oh, so you didn’t care to contribute towards the making of the drum, but you wanted to test it!”

    “No, I didn’t say so, my good friend; what I meant was…” said the rat, who was interrupted.

    “Look, Mr. Rat,” the cat cut in, “I know we are good friends, but I don’t want to argue with you further. I must take you to King Lion at once.”

    “Alright, Mr. Cat, if you really must, but please, grant me one last request.” said the rat.

    “What is it?” the cat asked.

    “Allow me to go say my goodbyes to my family, especially to my son, whom I must pass this drumming knowledge onto before I go to meet my ancestors, for I know that the moment I see the face of King Lion, I would be dead instantly,” lied the rascal rat.

    “Where is your family?” asked the cat again who was ignorant of the rat’s trick.

    “They are inside my burrow, of course,” the rat replied, pointing at his underground home.

    “Are you not lying to me?” asked the cat.

    “I’m not deceiving you, Mr. Cat, believe me,” said the rat.

    “Alright, you may go, but don’t you dare keep me waiting,” the cat commanded.

    “Thank you, my dear friend; I will never forget this courtesy. After all, that’s what friends are for,” the rat said to the cat, as he scurried away into the burrow.

    And it happened that the rat’s burrow had many crossing tunnels which had exits at far-off places. So when he vanished into the burrow, he turned right then, left and then, right again. A few twists and turns later, he was far away. Far enough away to be safe.

    Back at the entrance of the burrow, the cat had leaned against an anthill to wait for the rat. He waited and waited and waited, but the rat didn’t return. After waiting the whole afternoon, but in vain, the cat decided to return to the jungle palace to report the incident. He came running, breathless and sweating heavily.

    “What is it? What took you so long?” the lion asked as soon as the cat rejoined the gathering.

    “Oh, King Lion, you will not believe what I saw with my eyes,” the cat reported, still breathing heavily and gasping for air.

    “What did you see?” asked the lion once again.

    “Mr. Rat… It was Mr. Rat who has been beating the drum all this while,” responded the cat.

    The animals looked at one another in disbelief.

    “Mr. Rat? Are you sure? Where is he? Why have you returned without him?” the lion asked furiously.

    “Yes, I’m sure. I caught him… I caught him, but he asked me to allow him to go and say his goodbyes to his family. But ever since this afternoon he went into his burrow, he hasn’t come out yet,” said the cat.

    “Ah, what a clever trickster!” the monkey remarked sadly. “A cunning rascal. The rat has tricked you, Mr. Cat. Don’t you know that his burrow has many crossing tunnels which have outlets at far-off places? He has gone far away now, and we may never see him around here again.”

    “Traitor!” growled the agitated lion. “Oh, I see, so because the rat is your friend that’s why you allowed him to go!”

    “Never, my King. I would never betray you. And as Mr. Monkey said, that rat tricked me,” said the cat, already trembling with fear.

    “Lies!” the furious lion roared. “Although you are my relative, I must do what I think is justice. Therefore, you are forever ostracized from the lives and privileges of this jungle. You have only from now to midnight to leave; otherwise, have yourself to blame for the consequences.”

    The cat fell to the lion’s feet and asked for mercy, but all in vain. None of the other animals dared join him in his plea for mercy, for at that moment, they were all terribly afraid of the lion. So when midnight came, the cat packed all his necessary belongings into a kinja (raffia basket) and sorrowfully left the jungle. On his way into exile, he reached a certain village where he spied a lone, old man seated by a blazing log fire warming his body. He greeted the old man and asked if he could live with him in his home.

    “Yes, you can live with me,” the old man said, “but let me make this clear, I don’t have any food to give you.”

    “That doesn’t matter, old man; I can fend for myself. It’s only the shelter I seek, and thank you for the kindness,” the cat replied gleefully.

    He hastily carried his kinja into the attic of the kitchen and returned to the blazing fire to warm his body, for the dew of the night had drenched him. As he warmed himself, he swore inwardly that wherever he saw the rat, he would chase after him until he was caught. Then he would ask him why he had betrayed their friendship. But ever since that night, the cat made the vow; the chase has continued to this very day. Perhaps the rat is refusing to give an answer.

This was written by our contributing writer, Emmanuel Gleekia.