Hey there, and welcome back to the Lion King novel. Here we are, at one of my favorite chapters that I've written. While Can You Feel The Love Tonight was one of my least favorites to work on, I've liked working on this one.
I had seen The Lion King when I was a kid, but 2008 was when I really started taking an interest in that movie. Heck, the song that shares the same title as this chapter was one of the songs that drew me into it, turning into one of my favorite songs from The Lion King. I was also glad to hear that the remake included a Swahili cover of He Lives In You (albeit in the credits).
Uploading Date: August 23, 2019
Enjoy!
...
He Lives In You
Once he was out of the jungle and far away from Nala, Simba paced angrily around the jungle's edge. Hearing Nala talk about how the Pride Lands were suffering, and how Scar didn't care at all when the land suffered, was breaking his heart all over again. For a wild moment, he wanted to go back with her, back to the Pride Lands and Pride Rock and to his mother.
But then he felt his claws sink deep into the ground, tearing up the grass. This was not the way he should be acting. He should be having no worries and no responsibilities, like Timon and Pumbaa. The past was in the past, and it needed to stay there. And now Nala had to come along and dig the past back out. Some friend she was, he thought angrily.
"She's wrong," he told himself aloud. "I can't go back home; this is my home. What would it prove, anyway? You can't change the past."
He looked up at the sky, hoping to see Mufasa up there. The stars were silent. His father had said that the great kings of the past were watching over him. At first, when Nala returned to his life, he thought that they were still with him, but that changed when she urged him to come home. Now he felt like the lion spirits were taunting him, buzzing around in his mind like annoying flies.
"You said you'd always be there for me!" he shouted upward. He hung his head and sat down. "But you're not. It's because of me. It's my fault." Tears were forming in his eyes as he felt the despair and shame well up inside of him. "It's my fault."
And with that, he hung his head and began to sob silently.
Suddenly, a voice from the trees pulled him out of his misery. It sounded elderly and rather cooky, and it was also close by. The chanting went something like this: "Asante sana, squash banana, wiwi nugu mi mi apana!"
Simba looked up to the branches of an acacia tree. It was an old mandrill, chanting a song and shaking the branches, and he was brandishing a long stick with fruit at the end. He frowned, wanting to be alone for a bit. With a shake of his head, he stalked away, ignoring the mandrill watching him with a wide grin on his face.
He walked on until he found a pond a little away from the trees of the jungle. Once he reached the log stretching out over the pond, he lay down upon it and stared down at the murky water, frog croaks filling his ears. He was dreaming, he was sure of it. I'm hallucinating, and thinking about what Nala said isn't helping, he thought miserably. What are you supposed to say when Hakuna Matata doesn't work?
Just then, a small fruit landed in the water. Then, when Simba looked up to the trees with a glare, he heard the chanting again: "Asante sana, squash banana, wiwi nugu mi mi apana!"
There was the mandril again but in a different tree this time, chanting and laughing. Simba rolled his eyes and snapped, "Come on, will you cut it out?"
"Can't cut it out. It will grow right back!" the mandrill replied with a laugh.
Simba got up from his spot and began walking away. "Creepy little monkey," he growled. But the mandrill was following him now, further irritating him. "Will you stop following me? Who are you?"
The mandrill darted over to stand in front of him. "I know exactly who I am. But the question is, who...are you?"
Simba rolled his eyes. "I'm nobody. Now leave me alone."
"Everybody is a somebody," said the mandrill sagely. "Even a nobody. Again, who are you?"
When Simba heard the question more clearly, he stopped in his tracks. For a while, he had asked himself the same question. What kind of lion was he really?
"I thought I knew," he muttered, "but now I'm not so sure."
The mandrill hobbled closer, his stick in one arm. "Well, I know who you are! Come here, it's a secret."
Simba leaned in, eager to hear something, a word of encouragement. But then the mandrill started dancing and chanted, getting louder, "Asante sana, Squash banana, Wiwi nugu, Mi mi apana!"
"Enough already!" Simba snarled at him, shaking him away. "What's that supposed to mean, anyway?"
"It means you're a baboon...and I'm not," was the mandrill's reply.
Simba groaned and began walking again away. "I think you're a little confused."
Suddenly, the mandrill's hand shot out of the grass, poking his nose. "Wrong!" he cried as he popped out before him. "I'm not the one who's confused. You don't even know who you are!"
"Oh, and I suppose you know?" Simba grumbled, voice full of sarcasm as he started to storm away for the third time.
The old monkey loped forward until he was in front of Simba again, holding his stick and humming an unfamiliar song. "Of course I know," he replied from before when he stopped the humming. "You're Mufasa's boy!"
Those three words made Simba stop with a gasp, the jungle growing quiet as he began to think. How could this old monkey know about Mufasa? Mufasa was long dead by now.
It was then that a name rang in Simba's brain: Rafiki. The mandrill's name was Rafiki. He remembered it all now: this was indeed Rafiki, a friend of Mufasa's as well as the shaman of the Pride Lands. He had been the one to present Simba to the kingdom when he was a baby, as well as fascinating him with his eccentric behavior, fascinating stories, and sage wisdom.
"Bye!" Rafiki suddenly said, running off.
Simba took off after Rafiki, calling for him to wait. He followed the mandrill back the way he had come from, across the pond with the log and back to the edge of the jungle.
When he caught up with the mandrill, Rafiki was sitting on a rock. With arms and legs crossed and eyes closed, he appeared to be meditating. "You knew my father?" he panted, sitting down.
"Correction: I know your father," said Rafiki, still meditating. "I even held you, the son of Mufasa, at the ceremony welcoming you to the Pride Lands."
Head bowing, Simba decided that he would have to break the bad news to Rafiki. "I hate to tell you this, but...he died. A long time ago."
"Nope! Wrong again!" Rafiki suddenly declared, running over to some thick trees and thickets, laughing. "He's alive, and I will show him to you! You follow old Rafiki. He knows the way! Come!"
He slipped into the shadows of the undergrowth, and Simba followed. At first, he paused, unsure of how to enter. He seemed too big to slip through the roots that made the entrance. But after taking a deep breath and reminding himself that Mufasa could still be alive, he followed suit.
As a cub, he had slipped through thorn bushes before, getting little cuts and scrapes due to being smaller. But as an adult running through thick undergrowth, it slowed him down.
"Don't dawdle!" Rafiki called from a tree branch above him. "Hurry up!"
"Wait, wait!" Simba cried out. "Will you slow down?!"
But Rafiki didn't slow down. As a climbing animal, he had the aerial advantage. He swung from vines and leaped from branch to branch with ease. For extra points, he held his stick in his jaws as he grappled with vines and launched himself off branches and to the next.
Simba, however, was a ground animal and had to follow more slowly. He had to squeeze through spaces in low branches, break through vines, and trip over roots. Even tree branches were slapping against his face. Rafiki's laughter bounced through the area, ringing in Simba's ears as he kept running and running. It was almost like a ghost was taunting him into running until he was exhausted...
"Stop!"
Simba slowed down in time, just as Rafiki's hand held up for him to stop. With a shush, Rafiki loped over to some reeds, beckoning for him to come closer. As he did, Simba saw that the old mandrill was gesturing to another pond with a nod. "Look down there," was all Rafiki said.
At first, Simba hung back. If Mufasa was alive, what would he say to Simba? That he was angry with him? That he was disappointed in him for not saving him? But he felt that he was being silly. He had to try.
So Simba walked down to the water's edge. As he got there, he looked down into the water, a bullfrog's croaking ringing in his ears. He hadn't really taken a long look at his reflection, but when he did, he was surprised. He remembered Mufasa having golden fur, bright amber eyes, and a reddish brown mane. Staring back at him was a lion of the almost same description, except with darker eyes and a messier mane.
"That's not my father," he murmured, looking back up. "That's just my reflection."
"No," Rafiki replied, and he pointed a finger down to the water. "Look harder..."
So Simba did so, narrowing his eyes. A breeze drifted over the pond and rippled the water's clear surface. Not too soon after, though, and Simba stumbled back, amazed. Instead of his own reflection, he saw Mufasa. His father's stern yet wise face shone brightly from the water, as bright as the morning sun.
"You see?" Rafiki rasped. "He lives in you."
The air seemed to smell like rain, sweet refreshing rain, and the wind ruffled Simba's mane. In the wind, he could hear a familiar voice rumble, "Simba..."
Simba perked up, looking towards the heavens as he felt raindrops fall. It sent a shiver through his spine to hear that deep loving voice again, after all these years. "Father?"
Indeed, it was Mufasa, appearing to him as a spirit. And as a spirit, he seemed to tower over Simba, taller than the biggest elephant or giraffe. He looked like a mix between star constellations and clouds, taking up most of the sky and twinkling. He even smelled like rain, and the rain suddenly came down as a storm, the wind picking up fiercely.
"Simba..." Mufasa's voice was warm yet sad at the same time, rumbling like thunder. "You have forgotten me."
"No," Simba rasped, eyes still wide as the wind and rain whipped past him. "How could I?"
Clouds began circling around Mufasa, giving way to what appeared to be a heavenly light. "You have forgotten who you are, and so, you have forgotten me," the great lion explained. "Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the great Circle of Life."
"How can I go back? I'm not who I used to be," said Simba. It felt harder to admit this to Mufasa than it was to Nala and Rafiki. His father was here for him now, but he was still dead because of him.
"Remember who you are," rumbled Mufasa, his spirit now golden and radiant even as it rained. "You are my son, and the one true king."
But Simba lowered his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know how."
When he lifted his head to the clouds again, Mufasa was not there, and the rain had stopped. Simba felt his heart start to break at having seen his father again only to disappear from sight. But suddenly, he felt the air around him grow warm, and he looked to the right.
Mufasa was there, but not as clouds or stars this time. He appeared to him in the form of a mortal lion, a lion made of the usual flesh and bone. A warm light seemed to radiate from the deceased king, as warm as the sun. The warmth felt so nice that Simba felt the wetness on his fur start to fade until he felt dry.
"When I was alive, I was proud of one thing," Mufasa replied, his shining eyes upon Simba. "And that was having you as my son."
Hearing this made Simba feel tears of joy run down his cheeks. More than anything in the world, he wanted to tell Mufasa that he had wanted to hear those words. He wanted to tell him about all that had happened, to ask him for forgiveness of the sin he had committed. But more importantly of all, he wanted his father back.
"That was a long time ago," he rasped.
Mufasa smiled the warmest smile Simba had ever seen. "No, Simba," he rumbled, embracing him. "That is forever."
Simba brushed his face against his father's fire-warm mane as father and son embraced. He felt like a cub again, tears now falling freely as he sobbed with joy.
"Remember who you are..." Simba felt Mufasa's embrace lessen and looked up. His father was slowly vanishing, becoming like the stars and clouds once more. He felt sadness again when he saw Mufasa being pulled back up into the heavens.
"No! Please!" Simba cried as he chased after his father. "Don't leave me again! Father!"
"I never left you..." Mufasa's voice carried in the wind. "And I never will...remember..."
Finally, Simba could run no more and sat at the top of a hill, watching the clouds fade away. All that was left was the night sky above his head, shining with stars. It had all seemed like a dream, and yet it all seemed too real. He had finally seen his father again; of course he wasn't alive, but he was still with Simba.
"What was that?" Rafiki's voice sounded behind Simba, laughing. The wise old mandrill came up beside him, a smile on his brightly colored face. "The weather, it is peculiar, no?"
Simba nodded, looking up to the sky again. "Yep. Looks like the winds are changing."
"Ah," remarked Rafiki with a nod, "change is good."
"Yeah, but it's not easy," said Simba. "I know what I have to do. But going back means I'll have to face my past. I've been running from it for so long."
Suddenly, Rafiki whacked Simba hard on the head with his staff. Simba jumped back, roaring, "Ow! Jeez, what was that for?!"
"It doesn't matter. It's in the past," replied Rafiki, laughing.
"Yeah, but it still hurts," Simba grumbled, rubbing his head and checking for any bleeding. Fortunately, there was no sight of blood nor scent of it.
Rafiki nodded and rested a hand on Simba's shoulder. "Oh yes, the past can hurt. But from the way I see it, you can either run from it, or...learn from it."
He swung his staff at Simba again, but Simba was ready this time. Just as the staff was near his mane, he ducked out of the way.
"Ha! You see?" Rafiki exclaimed. "Pretty easy, is it not?"
"Yeah," said Simba. He looked down at his paws, doubt starting to come into his head again. "But you knew my father. He was a great and powerful king; he'd have an idea on how to save the Pride Lands and restore the Circle of Life. I can never be like him."
"And he could never be like you. Mufasa's story may be over, but yours is just beginning," explained Rafiki, a serious look in his eyes this time. "He lives in you, young Simba, and he watches over everything we see. Into the water, into the truth, and in your reflection."
Those words sent a chill through Simba's body, but it was a good chill. It reminded him of what Mufasa had told him years ago, that the great kings of the past would always watch over him and guide him. An ancient song seemed to vibrate through his body, making his heart thrill with a rapture unlike any he knew before. When he was sure to be lifted off the ground, the song left his body as soon as it had arrived.
Simba smiled and looked up to the heavens, feeling his eyes fill up with tears again. Mufasa was still there, and so were the kings of the past; they were with him all this time. They were still guiding his paw steps along the path of righteousness. While he didn't have the answer to how he would help the Pride Lands, he was done running from his problems. He was going to go back and save his kingdom.
"And so, I ask again." Rafiki's word shook him awake. "Who are you?"
Simba lowered his head from the heavens to Rafiki, the same look on his face. "I am Simba, son of Mufasa, and the one true king of the Pride Lands."
Rafiki had a bright smile as he nodded. "Indeed you are, young lion, indeed you are. So what are you going to do?"
Simba was now happy that Rafiki had helped him see the truth. But he wanted just a little payback first with the staff Rafiki had hit him with.
"First..." Simba crept closer to Rafiki with a smirk. "...I'm gonna take your stick."
And with the speed of a cobra, he snatched Rafiki's staff and tossed it into the grass.
"No, no, no, no! Not the stick!" Rafiki barked, running to retrieve it. Once he got it back, he saw that Simba was already running off. "Hey! Where you going?!"
"I'm going back!" Simba roared. "To save the Pride Lands!"
"Good!" Rafiki shouted after him. "Go on! Get out of here!"
So Simba ran. He could hear the old mandrill laughing and screeching loudly, happy that he had set the son of Mufasa on the right path again.
Once Simba reached the end of the jungle, he lifted his head and roared, a loud and proud roar so that the land, all of Africa, or even the world could hear. It sounded even louder than it would have been back at the gorge. But Simba finished with another roar before running on, a fire in his heart. He was going home.
To be continued...
