Once upon a time, the world was taken over by a dragon. It flew across the sky, breathing fire on everything that moved. Crops were devastated, and animals terrified or burned. The humans hid in fire proof pits, only daring to come out at night. Come the spring, crops had to be planted, but they failed to grow.
“We have no animals,” said the venerable old head man. “No animals, no dung. We have no fertiliser.”
“Could we get dung from the dragon?” said a young, fearless boy.
“The dragon only makes methane, it does not make dung. The dragon must be killed or we shall all die.”
“I will kill the dragon,” said the boy, and everyone turned to look at him. He seemed to have grown a foot as he spoke and his voice was strong, so strong that they all fell back, realising that a hero had emerged among them.
“How will you kill it?” asked the old chief.
“That is my secret,” said the boy, “and I must not tell you. If I breathe a word of my plan and I happen to fail, then others might follow and make the same mistake. For all your safety, I must go alone and use my secret weapon.”
“It is a dangerous quest,” said the boy’s mother, “but I know you cannot be dissuaded. I have packed your questing bag with nutritious food to sustain you on your way.”
And so at night-fall, the boy set out. The whole village watched him go, some glad it was not them, and others hoping for the best. One young girl, standing alone at the back, blew him a kiss and crossed her fingers.
Nothing was heard for a week, but at least the dragon did not come. On the eighth day, the dragon was seen high in the sky, rushing towards the village. The people scattered but the young girl stayed, waving her handkerchief, for she alone had seen the boy riding on the dragon’s neck.
As the dragon flew over the newly sown crops, there was a huge roar and everyone shivered. Instead of fire, the dragon let out another roar and suddenly began to pass a huge volume of dung which fertilised all the fields just before it smashed into the ground and died. The young boy, who now seemed to have grown another foot, stepped off the dragon and took the hand of the young girl who was waiting for him.
The crops grew, and they all lived happily ever after.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years later, when the boy was an old man and his deeds were lost in legend, he spoke to another wise man. “I fed the dragon charcoal,” he said. “Activated charcoal absorbs the methane and speeds up the transit time though the gut. The dragon produced diarrhoea instead of gas.”
“Where did you get the charcoal?”
“There was plenty of that around,” said the old man. “The dragon had burned everything in sight.”
“What gave you the idea?”
“Many years ago physicians, who knew nothing like as much as doctors know now, invented the doctrine of signatures. They believed that in places where a disease was common, God would have provided a cure nearby. That was God’s signature. Aspirin was discovered that way. Malaria caused fevers and was common near swamps. Willow trees grew near swamps, and aspirin comes from Willow bark. Do you understand that?” the old man said.
The Gastroenterologist nodded. “That myth is well known.”
“It is indeed a myth, but it set my mind working. Dragons make charcoal, so I wondered what charcoal did to dragons.”
“I am impressed,” said the gastroenterologist, “But how did you get the dragon to eat charcoal?”
“Easy,” said the old man, “but you would not understand unless you know a lot about dragons.”
“What do I need to know about dragons?”
“Dragons are vain and motivated by one thing — gold.”
“How does that help?”
“What do you see when corn is ripe?”
“Golden fields.”
“Exactly.”
“I told the dragon that burning the crops hid the gold. The charred crops had to be eaten to release the gold. If the dragon ate the charcoal and dumped his dung all over the fields, there would be ten times as much gold.”
“But why did the dragon crash and die?”
“You expect me to tell you everything?”
“We have no animals,” said the venerable old head man. “No animals, no dung. We have no fertiliser.”
“Could we get dung from the dragon?” said a young, fearless boy.
“The dragon only makes methane, it does not make dung. The dragon must be killed or we shall all die.”
“I will kill the dragon,” said the boy, and everyone turned to look at him. He seemed to have grown a foot as he spoke and his voice was strong, so strong that they all fell back, realising that a hero had emerged among them.
“How will you kill it?” asked the old chief.
“That is my secret,” said the boy, “and I must not tell you. If I breathe a word of my plan and I happen to fail, then others might follow and make the same mistake. For all your safety, I must go alone and use my secret weapon.”
“It is a dangerous quest,” said the boy’s mother, “but I know you cannot be dissuaded. I have packed your questing bag with nutritious food to sustain you on your way.”
And so at night-fall, the boy set out. The whole village watched him go, some glad it was not them, and others hoping for the best. One young girl, standing alone at the back, blew him a kiss and crossed her fingers.
Nothing was heard for a week, but at least the dragon did not come. On the eighth day, the dragon was seen high in the sky, rushing towards the village. The people scattered but the young girl stayed, waving her handkerchief, for she alone had seen the boy riding on the dragon’s neck.
As the dragon flew over the newly sown crops, there was a huge roar and everyone shivered. Instead of fire, the dragon let out another roar and suddenly began to pass a huge volume of dung which fertilised all the fields just before it smashed into the ground and died. The young boy, who now seemed to have grown another foot, stepped off the dragon and took the hand of the young girl who was waiting for him.
The crops grew, and they all lived happily ever after.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years later, when the boy was an old man and his deeds were lost in legend, he spoke to another wise man. “I fed the dragon charcoal,” he said. “Activated charcoal absorbs the methane and speeds up the transit time though the gut. The dragon produced diarrhoea instead of gas.”
“Where did you get the charcoal?”
“There was plenty of that around,” said the old man. “The dragon had burned everything in sight.”
“What gave you the idea?”
“Many years ago physicians, who knew nothing like as much as doctors know now, invented the doctrine of signatures. They believed that in places where a disease was common, God would have provided a cure nearby. That was God’s signature. Aspirin was discovered that way. Malaria caused fevers and was common near swamps. Willow trees grew near swamps, and aspirin comes from Willow bark. Do you understand that?” the old man said.
The Gastroenterologist nodded. “That myth is well known.”
“It is indeed a myth, but it set my mind working. Dragons make charcoal, so I wondered what charcoal did to dragons.”
“I am impressed,” said the gastroenterologist, “But how did you get the dragon to eat charcoal?”
“Easy,” said the old man, “but you would not understand unless you know a lot about dragons.”
“What do I need to know about dragons?”
“Dragons are vain and motivated by one thing — gold.”
“How does that help?”
“What do you see when corn is ripe?”
“Golden fields.”
“Exactly.”
“I told the dragon that burning the crops hid the gold. The charred crops had to be eaten to release the gold. If the dragon ate the charcoal and dumped his dung all over the fields, there would be ten times as much gold.”
“But why did the dragon crash and die?”
“You expect me to tell you everything?”