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THE MONKEY AND THE SNAKE FIGHT
WE wish to tell you of the monkey and the snake fight, described by a witness in the Lahore Tribune.
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Before men arrived on earth, when all the animals were racing for supremacy, the monkey seemed to have the smallest chance. No one would have guessed that the descendants of this feeble, defenseless little brute would eventually rule the earth, killing off tigers, lions and the other huge monsters at pleasure.
We have before called your attention in this column to the fact that the monkey, or some animal like him, had the honor of contributing our proud human services as the world's rulers because he could use his brain.
That fight between the monkey and the cobra illustrates this quite clearly.
The monkey was a little monkey, with scarcely enough muscle to strangle a hen.
His little black finger-nails could hurt nobody. His teeth were fit only to nibble fruit or to chatter in rage at his fellow monkeys.
This monkey had the misfortune to annoy a huge cobra.
Mr. Cobra is the most dangerous, the most formidably armed, of all living animals. He is a solid mass of muscle, gifted with lightning speed. The slightest touch of his fangs means death.
The brain of the cobra is about as big as a mustard seed. The brain of the monkey—even a small one—is several hundred times as big as the brain of the largest snake. We refer to the cerebrum, the front brain, which does the thinking.
The monkey annoyed the snake, and the snake chased him. Mr. Monkey, shrieking and chattering, rushed over the ground until he came to a rock. He stood still in front of the rock.
The snake dashed its head at him to annihilate him; the monkey jumped to one side and let the snake beat its head against the rock.
Over and over, this operation was repeated, the monkey with lightning speed avoiding the dart of the snake, and the snake, with never-ending stupidity, dashing its head against the rock.
Eventually the powerful, dangerous snake was stretched out at full length, bleeding and tired out.
The monkey was not bleeding and not tired. He was extremely cheerful. He seized the snake by the neck, just back of the head, and placidly proceeded to rub its head off on the stone.
When he had rubbed the head to a pulp, incidentally destroying its primitive brain, he left the dead snake lying there, and gratefully accepted
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The monkey used his brain—the snake did not.
The monkey did not say, but he might as well have said:
"You need not wonder that my half-sister, Eve, crushed the serpent's head. We monkeys and humans have soft hands and no poison sacs, but we know how to make our brains work, and that means that we rule creation."
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