The Story of the Lion and the Hare

In a stretch of forest lived a lion drunk with pride. His name was Numskull. He slaughtered animals without ceasing. If he saw a creature, he could not spare it.

At last the natives of the forest—deer, boars, buffaloes, wild oxen, rabbits, and the rest—came together with woebegone faces. They bowed their heads and knelt, and they begged the king of beasts to stop the merciless killing. Such slaughter, they said, was hostile to happiness in any world to come. They quoted scripture against a fool who buys a present comfort with a thousand wretched lives, against deeds that bring dishonor and pave the way to hell, and against those who sink themselves in sin for the sake of a frail, filthy body.

“Consider these things,” they pleaded, “and cease to wipe out our generations. If the master will remain at home, we ourselves will send him each day one animal for his food. In that way neither the royal table nor our families will be cut short. Let the king’s duty be done with measure.” They added the wisdom of kings who taste a realm bit by bit and do not butcher it like goats for a single meal; who guard subjects as florists water plants; who do not milk a cow every hour or tax a people to darkness.

Numskull answered, “If an animal fails to come to me every day as I sit here, I promise I will eat you all.” They accepted the hard bargain. Each day at noon one beast appeared as his dinner, each kind taking its turn.

One day it was rabbit-day. When the throng had given him his directions, the rabbit reflected how he might kill even a lion. Wisdom, resolution, flattery, and enterprise, he told himself, can put almost anything through. So he went very slowly, planning to arrive late, and arrived late in the day when hunger had pinched the lion’s throat.

Numskull was thinking that tomorrow he would kill every animal at once. Then he saw the small, tardy rabbit, and his soul flamed. “You wicked thing,” he roared, “you are too small for a meal, and you are late. For this I will kill you now, and tomorrow morning I will wipe out every species.”

“Master, it is not my fault,” said the rabbit. “Pray hear the cause before I am between your fangs.”

“Speak quickly,” said the lion.

“Master,” said the rabbit, “the animals sent me as your dinner. But in mid-journey another lion came out of a great hole in the ground. ‘Where are you bound?’ he demanded. ‘Pray to your favorite god.’ I answered that we travel by agreement as dinner for our master, Numskull. He said, ‘This forest belongs to me. All animals must deal with me. That Numskull is a sneak thief. Call him out and bring him here. Whichever of us proves stronger shall be king and shall eat all these animals.’ At his command, master, I came late. For the rest, you are the sole judge.”

Numskull could not rest until he had spent his anger on that rival. He forgot the counsel that warns against a quarrel when no great reward is sure. “Warriors fight when insulted,” he muttered—yet this enemy, the rabbit noted, skulked in a fortress, and an enemy in a fortress is hard to handle. Fortresses, the rabbit reminded him, have favored kings since Indra’s day.

“Show me that thief,” cried Numskull. “Even in a fortress I will kill him.”

“But it was a mighty lion I saw,” said the rabbit. “Do not set out without measuring his power. The weak who challenge the strong come home like elephants with broken tusks.”

“Show him to me even in his fortress,” Numskull insisted.

“Very well. Follow me.” The rabbit led him to a well. “Master, who can endure your majesty? The moment he saw you, that thief crawled clear into his hole. Come—I will show him to you.”

“Be quick,” said Numskull.

The rabbit showed him the well. The lion, being a dreadful fool, saw his own reflection in the water and gave a great roar. From the well a roar came back twice as loud because of the echo. Numskull decided his rival was very powerful, hurled himself down, and met his death. The rabbit cheerfully carried the glad news to all the animals, received their compliments, and lived contentedly in the forest.

Where this story comes from

“Numskull and the Rabbit” belongs to Book I of the Panchatantra (“The Loss of Friends”) in Arthur W. Ryder’s 1925 English. A pride-drunk lion accepts a daily animal tax; a late rabbit invents a rival king and leads him to drown attacking his own reflection in a well.

The well turns the lion’s own appearance and voice into the apparent evidence of a rival. Long verse sermons in the animals’ petition are shortened here so the spoken scenes stay clear.

Read the original: Arthur W. Ryder, The Panchatantra (Internet Archive)

Reading guidance: Ages 9–12; includes repeated killing, a bargain requiring daily victims and the lion’s death by drowning.

A closer reading

The animals’ agreement reduces the lion’s killing but does not make his rule fair: a victim is still required every day, and the threat of collective punishment remains. The rabbit’s delay breaks that fearful routine and makes the lion easier to provoke.

The invented rival attacks precisely what Numskull values—his exclusive authority. Reflection and echo then seem to confirm the rabbit’s words. The lion supplies the face, voice and force that destroy him. This is why the well is more than a convenient trap: his unwillingness to question his own interpretation completes it.

Try this with the story

Draw a chain linking the rabbit’s delay, the rival’s insult, the reflection and the echo. At each step, write what the lion believes. Identify one moment when checking that belief could interrupt the chain.

Talk about it

• Does the daily-animal bargain make the forest safe or only reduce the killing?
• Why is the invented rival more persuasive than a simple excuse for lateness?
• How do the lion’s own image and voice seem to support the lie?

Related stories

• The Blue Jackal — another Panchatantra animal undone by pride
• The Crane and the Crab — wit that sees through a predator’s lie
• The Monkey and the Crocodile — a quick mind against a hungry enemy