T
welve thousand years ago there lived an old monk named Jhun Wong. Now Jhun Wong was
deeply saddened by a terrible draught which had left his province destitute. To cheer
himself, he would play his flute by the fire and sing this song:
A little flower grew in my hair
as the scary monkey was set on fire
Even dripping bat dung has its uses
like terrible children
Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
No. Yes.
For days he would sit in the corner and sing this while fasting. Because food was so
scarce and the woeful monk would not eat, the ungrateful peasants laughed. "Behold!",
they said, "An unopened book may lose its pages.". But Jhun Wong waited patiently.
Soon many gardens prospered as the rains returned. The peasants spoke in fear of Jhun
Wong, saying he commanded the north wind. They came in force to kill him, but when they
opened the safe, all the money was gone, and Jhun Wong was never seen again.
The End
