The Tale of a Lion

 

                                                                                Fiction

One evening, in a city of over twenty-five million, a lion was spotted casually strolling down a busy street. Within moments, the internet exploded. First came the mobile videos on social media, then the screaming headlines on every news channel.

The footage shattered viewership records. Those who saw the lion in person were petrified; those who watched on TV were bewildered. People gathered on balconies, rooftops, and corridors. Some recorded videos; others snapped selfies.

The breaking news segment dominated every channel. One anchor went as far as to claim:

"The appearance of a lion in Karachi has put millions of lives at risk!"

While the news frenzy peaked, memes began to flood social media:

·         “A lion has come to Karachi, but not the one we expected!”

·         “The original lion, born of lions, ran away and got caught in 30 minutes.”

·         “Better late than never — the lion returned with a prescription in hand.”

While the public debated and laughed, the lion himself remained oblivious to the uproar. He had already been transferred to the zoo by the Wildlife Department and now rested calmly inside his cage, unbothered by news, chaos, or memes.

The next day, I decided to interview him. As a reporter for Afra Tafri News, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

I reached the zoo in the early morning; the place was nearly empty, save for a few wandering visitors. Taking advantage of the quiet, I walked straight to the lion’s den. A zookeeper, who informed me the lion was around three years old, led me to the cage and left.

The lion appeared lost in thought. I approached him directly, skipping pleasantries.

“I’m a reporter from Afra Tafri Channel,” I said. “I’ve come to interview you about yesterday’s incident.”

He looked at me for a moment, eyes steady, and expression blank.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“We’ve only seen lions on TV, in films, or locked in cages. How did you end up on the streets of such a massive city?”

“That wasn’t my first time,” he replied. “I often go out. This time, my owner forgot to give me my proper suit. The old one was torn. The new one hadn’t arrived yet. I stepped out in a shabby outfit, and well... you saw what happened.”

“You’ve gone out before?!” I stared at him in disbelief. The lion noticed my shock.

“I often go for evening strolls—Clifton, the seaside... I usually return afterward. It’s routine.”

“How is that possible? You’re a dangerous animal! Who lets a lion roam free?”

“Is fresh air the exclusive right of humans?” he asked. “Why would I need permission? My owner’s kindness is enough.”

“But yesterday, the entire city—no, the entire country—was terrified! You even attacked a man!” I accused.

“That wasn’t my fault. That’s on you—the media. You people crave sensational news. Drama. Scandal. And besides, did I actually harm the man?”

He shot the question back at me.

“No,” I admitted. “Okay, tell me this—who owns you?”

“We’re trained never to ask our owner’s name. It’s forbidden during our upbringing. My owner was kind. Fed me little. Kept me in a weak cage. But in return, it allowed me to go outside.”

“If you were allowed out, didn’t you ever think of escaping?”

“No. I’m not a wild lion. I’m domesticated. And those who wear a collar—never run.”

“Are you better off here in the zoo, or would you prefer to return to your owner?”

He paused. Then said quietly:

“What difference does it make—owner or zoo? A slave is a slave. Hell is the same, no matter where you’re kept.”

Before I could ask another question, he looked around carefully, then gestured for me to come closer. Hesitantly, I stepped toward the bars.

“Listen,” he whispered, “I’m going to take a bath now. Whatever you see next—don’t tell anyone.”

Before I could process his words, he unzipped himself.

Out of the lion’s skin stepped a dog.
He trotted off to bathe through the back gate of the cage.