T
he summer days grew long in the village of Qwok-tu, especially when water was an
issue. The summer rains had not been kind to the soil as they were in past years. Many
things did not grow. Many things, that is, except for Yong Wong, a kindhearted but
sizable man.
With each passing week, crops wilted, and ponds dried but Yong flourished. "This is
surely black sorcery!", exclaimed the destitute villagers. So, they rose with great force and
much sweat and quickly overwhelmed the overweighted Yong.
"Let me go!", screamed Yong. "Can't you see I am in great danger! Let me save
myself!"
"It is not you who can save yourself, Rounded One!", said one of the village's wise man.
"It is us who must save you. You are but a simple token in the well of life. Although
your danger is small, you are large. You are the chosen one."
"You people are mad! I am to face my doom and you speak in riddles. Let me go,"
exclaimed the horrified Yong, "for it is I that have the knowlege of the water. I can help
you!"
"Then we will have to extract the secret out of you, O' Plumpest One!"
With time, the crops prospered, the ponds were filled, and hair grew back. The legend of
'Yong Wong, Giver of Water' grew and soon became religion to many, often shadowing
Buddha. The Great Water Worships sketched their way into the weekly routine of villages
far and near. Many young virgins lost their hair to this appalling ritual.
To this day, many offerings are still performed at the Great Water Press where the
constriction cries of Yong Wong's spirit can still be heard.
The End