An Epic of Collective Strength

Following the hyena's sudden attack, a momentary separation fast becomes a brutal test for the baboon troop. The infant is lifted from the sea of chaos, carried away from the center of the violence; the troop is drawing a boundary between the living and the dead. The loss is real, and the violence that follows no longer just a defense, but a response shaped by distress and fury.

The hyena is now forced to attack the troop. Even under mounting pressure, it does not yield easily; there is a stubborn force in it now, driven less by opportunity than by raw survival. The baboons utilize mobbing behavior, a high-stakes tactical display meant to overwhelm the predator's senses. With a calculated lunge, the hyena breaks the defensive line and seizes a mature baboon, its jaws locking onto the throat with mechanical precision.

It will not be deterred, and it will not let go. The struggle begins to slow as the victim's oxygen is systematically cut off. Death in the wild is a slow, heavy process of attrition. One individual remains by the body—an act of recognition that transcends simple survival.

 

For the troop, this is more than injury or defeat. The death of an adult carries a heavy toll. Even here, with the fight still raging, the dead are not simply left where they fall. The social bond endures beyond the moment of death itself.

 

But now, disaster strikes again as another baboon is seized, its hand caught in the hyena's lethal jaws. The troop has seen what this hyena is capable of, and that knowledge seems to pass through them all at once, slowing even those who, moments earlier, had surged forward. The injury is severe, and in social animals, suffering is not simply individual.

 

Around the wounded baboon, the atmosphere changes. Surrounded on all sides and forced to absorb repeated attacks, the hyena begins to lose the advantage that came with speed and surprise. A predator may be powerful, but prolonged conflict shifts the balance.

 

The strength of the baboons lies not in any one individual, but in persistence. As the hyena's strength gives way to fatigue and its once-powerful body begins to falter, the troop immediately capitalizes, launching a fierce retaliation for their fallen companions. The troop presses the advantage with a determination that leaves little room for escape.

What remains is a single, overwhelming force: the determination of the group to end the threat completely. The hyena is reaching its limits. Built for endurance and violence, it has survived by seizing moments of weakness in others; but now, surrounded and faltering, it is caught in the same harsh law of the wild it has long lived by. In the chaos, the hyena is brought down and pinned under the baboons' aggression. Wounded and spent, it no longer has the strength to get back on its feet. Its final growl scatters the attackers, but it is left behind with no path back to survival.

Unshakable Fearlessness | Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki

Unshakable fearlessness as such already amounts to mastery, which, in the nature of things, is realized only by the few. 

As proof of this I shall quote a passage from the Hagakure, which dates from about the middle of the seventeenth century:

Yagyü Tajima-no-kami was a great swordsman and teacher in the art to the Shogun of the time, Tokugawa lyemitsu. One of the personal guards of the Shogun one day came to Tajima-no-kami wishing to be trained in fencing. The master said, “As I observe, you seem to be a master of fencing yourself; pray tell me to what school you belong, before we enter into the relationship of teacher and pupil.” The guardsman said, “I am ashamed to confess that I have never learned the art.”

 

“Are you going to fool me? I am teacher to the honorable Shogun himself, and I know my judging eye never fails.” “I am sorry to defy your honor, but I really know nothing.” This resolute denial on the part of the visitor made the sword master think for a while, and he finally said, “If you say so, it must be so; but still I am sure you are a master of something, though I do not know of what.”

“If you insist, I will tell you. There is one thing of which I can say I am complete master. When I was still a boy, the thought came upon me that as a Samurai I ought in no circumstances to be afraid of death, and I have grappled with the problem of death now for some years, and finally the problem of death ceased to worry me. May this be at what you hint?”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tajima-no-kami. “That is what I mean. I am glad that I made no mistake in my judgment. For the ultimate secrets of swordsmanship also lie in being released from the thought of death. I have trained ever so many hundreds of my pupils along this line, but so far none of them really deserve the final certificate for swordsmanship. You need no technical training, you are already a master.”

Quoted from: 

Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki (1938) - Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture.