Bridge
“Why is there no bridge on this river?” asked the cub.
“There used to be a bridge; it got washed away in the floods
and that was a blessing for all of us,” said the lion.
“Why?”
“It saved us from annihilation.”
The cub looked confused.
“Men live on other side of the river. Men are weak and lack
courage; even a wolf’s cub can scare a man. But men have deadly instruments.
And they kill with those instruments. They kill for fun and they kill
everything, senselessly.”
“That’s so shameful of
them.”
“Even a kid like you can see the folly; but they don’t. And they think they are the smartest of all
beings.”
“I would hate to be a man.” Cub’s face was contorted in revulsion.
“Good for us that the bridge got washed away or else, like
many of our ancestors, we too would have been killed.”
They trotted towards the forest; thinking of the bridge that, mercifully, was
no longer there.
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