In a forest at the edge of the hills lived a lion named Bhasuraka, and he was the greediest lion anyone could remember. He did not hunt because he was hungry. He hunted because he liked the noise of it. Every morning he came down the hill and killed far more animals than he could ever eat, and by evening the forest was quieter than it had been the day before.
At last the animals gathered under the banyan tree to talk. The deer spoke first, then the wild pigs, then the birds. Everyone agreed on the same unhappy thing: if the lion carried on this way, there would soon be no forest left to live in.
So they went to Bhasuraka with an offer. "Each day," they said, "one of us will walk up the hill and come to you. You will not have to hunt at all. But you must promise to take only that one, and leave the rest of us in peace."
The lion thought about it, yawned, and agreed. "One a day," he said. "But if anyone is late, I will come down and take ten."
And so it went. Every morning a different animal climbed the hill. Every morning the forest lost one of its own, and everyone else breathed out. Then one day the turn fell to a small rabbit.
The rabbit walked very slowly. He stopped to look at a stone. He stopped to drink at a well. He stopped to watch a line of ants cross the path. By the time he reached the top of the hill, the sun was high and the lion was stamping with rage.
"You are late," roared Bhasuraka, "and you are small. Tomorrow I will eat the whole forest."
"Forgive me," said the rabbit. "Five rabbits were sent to you this morning. But on the way, another lion came out and took the other four. He said this forest belongs to him now, and that you are nobody at all."
The lion's tail went stiff. "Another lion? In my forest? Take me to him."
The rabbit led him back down the path to the old stone well, and stopped at the edge. "He lives in there," he whispered.
Bhasuraka leaned over the wall and looked in. Far below, in the dark water, another lion looked straight back up at him. Bhasuraka roared, and the lion in the well roared at exactly the same moment. That was enough. Bhasuraka jumped in to fight him — and the water closed over his head.
The rabbit sat by the well until the ripples went still. Then he walked home, slowly, the way he had come, and told the forest it could stop counting the days.