The Wise King

Long time ago, there was a kingdom named Sanggau in the Borneo Island. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom under the leadership of their wise king. There was a market in the kingdom of Sanggau. Pak Razak was a famous cook there. He owned his own restaurant in the market. One day, Pak Razak was cooking in his restaurant when a farmer passed by. But the farmer stopped in front of Pak Razaks restaurant. He smells the aroma of the delicious food Pak Razak was cooking. Hmmm delicious yummy, said the farmer. "Hey! What are you doing? Do you want to come to my restaurant or not? Pak Razak asked. "No, I don't. Smelling the aroma of your delicious food makes me full," said the farmer. So youre full by smelling my food? asked Pak Razak again. Yes, I am, the farmer answered. If thats the case, you have to pay me for the smell of my delicious food, said Pak Razak. Ridiculous, I dont want to pay. I didnt eat anything, the farmer refused to pay. But Pak Razak kept persisting that the farmer must pay for the aroma of his food. Both of them started to quarrel. People came and asked them to calm down. They suggested that Pak Razak and the farmer go to the King to solve the problem. In the following day, Pak Razak and the farmer went to the palace. "Please tell me what happened, asked the King. Pak Razak and the farmer told the King about the problem. "Hmm...I have the solution, said the King after he heard the story from both Pak Razak and the farmer. The King then asked the farmer to bring out his money. The farmer took a gold coin from his pocket. Now put your coins into this bottle. The farmer then put his coin into a bottle prepared by the Kings servant. Do you hear the sound of the coins?" asked the King to Pak Razak. "Yes, I do," answered Pak Razak. "Then, the farmer has just paid you. He pays your delicious aroma with the sound of his money," explained the King. Pak Razak was silent. He knew the King was right. The King just gave him a lesson. He then apologize to the farmer.***

Wakantanka The Breath Giver

Many, many seasons ago, Wakantanka, the Breath Giver, the Holy one, walked in the trees of the Paha Sapa, the Black Hills. The trees were cool and the music of the streams made him happy. Over the high hard rock the Eagle soared on great wings. Deer looked at Wakantanka, and their delicate feet were full of beauty and grace. Moose and Elk dipped their great heads into the water to pull the sweet lake grasses. The great Black Bears, afraid of nothing, padded toward the honey trees. Antelope stood deep in the meadow grasses. But with all this beauty around Him, Wakantanka was uneasy. He was happy and loved the Hills He had made, but there was no one He could talk to. There was no one He could love. No one who could return His love. To all his creatures He had given something of Himself: Strength to the Bear - Swiftness to the Hawk Grace to the Deer - Perseverance to the Turtle - Majesty to the Eagle. But there was something still in Him that He must share -- it was love. And this was His greatest gift of all. This part of Himself would make His work perfect. So He must take care with giving it. Mother, the Earth, lay off toward the Rising Sun. She, too, stirred with life and stretched out her body trying to give birth to love. She crooned in her yearning: "My body is yours, Life Giver. You made me a mother of many children. I nurse them. I feed them. They grow and multiply everywhere. But I see you are still lonesome, my husband. I have been faithful to you and have slept with no other. But my children do not have all of you in them. They are like me, and hide in me. Now take my red flesh. Dig deep in it. Tear it. I give it all to you. I care not if afterwards I am called a Dead Land. It is myself and all the love I can give you. When your son is born you will look at him at first rising and at evening. You will know he is your son. He will look like you. He will turn his face to you and love you." Mother, the Earth, sang her song day after day, and her love never grew less. The wind heard her words and carried them to the Holy Hills where Wakantanka listened, and He looked out over the prairies, wishing. The wind knew the heaviness in His heart and gently it spoke in the night to the Mother. "Mother, I will help you offer yourself. I would never touch you, but I know there is no other way to satisfy your prayer. In the morning I will call my strong brother from the South. He will bleach the grass that covers you and tear it away from you. He will lift it up like a cloud, and your body will bleed. It will be red like the sun and then you can say, "Breath Giver, take this part of me; from me make children like yourself and they will love you as I do. Sleeping Mother, are you ready for this hurt?" "Yes, Yes," the Mother sang. "Do it to me. And do not wait for the dawn. Call the south wind now and let him begin. I will sing with him. There will be no tears or pain. I am close to the Holy Hills and will always see how happy the Father is, and how loving are our children." The south wind was not cruel. It worked gently and warmly. A new sound began to whisper in the valleys of the hills. The deer lifted their heads to catch a new scent. The eagle whirled farther from his high home. Wakantanka turned His eyes here and there. All His creatures were alert. Stars blazed at night, and a stillness came. The great red sun lifted itself to see what was new....... and there on a high bare red hill stood upright a new thing. Head thrown back, fingers and arms outstretched, red as the sun, swift as the deer, wise as the owl, loving as the Mother, stood Man, the Son of God, the one being who could say A-te , Father