Dujon’s Symphony of Destiny

Once upon a time there lived a donkey named Dujon. He loved to sing and imagined that he would become the greatest singer in the World and the people would crowd in front of his house to hear him sing. The soothsayer who was responsible for instilling this idea in him, also taught him how he should achieve it. He told him to go to a particular temple once every week and bow before the deity to say a prayer. After that he should donate $1 to the deity. Dujon practiced regularly and went to the temple weekly to donate $1. The soothsayer, however, did not specify how and where he should donate it.

Though Dujon often felt uncertain about his path, his resolve never wavered. It was sustained by a whimsical hope and the faint echoes of his braying that seemed to stir something inexplicably profound in those who listened. He began humming melodies even in the farm where he worked during his farm duties, weaving patches of song amidst the mundane rhythm of work. He unwittingly created a peculiar harmony that intrigued even the skeptical farmer. Meanwhile, the soothsayer's words haunted him, and the temple visits became less about donation and more about finding solace by offering his voice to the eternal quiet of the statue. These moments began to feel like rehearsals for destiny, a chance to sing not just to the deity but to the universe itself, pleading for recognition. The streets of the town came alive with whispers of the “singing donkey,” a creature whose braying transcended its mundane form and carried a peculiar charm that could not be ignored.

If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands,

If you are happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it.

Dujon was unhappy because he could not achieve his dream of becoming a world-renowned singer. One day while returning home he stumbled upon something which appeared to give him hope. It was an advertisement inviting him to participate in a local singing competition. The winner will perform in front of a massive crowd (just as his soothsayer predicted). Now another problem has arisen. Dujon’s farm manager was unhappy with his singing, as it was affecting customer visits. Perhaps the only friend on the farm who was friendly to him and believed his musical talents was a kid. He encouraged him to learn to sing human songs. But Dujon knew that it was the Humans who dominated the competition, and they refused to believe that Donkeys can sing. At the back of this thought was the arrogant reigning champion who is a farmer’s daughter with an operatic voice and a fallacious notion that Dujon’s singing is nothing but noise pollution.

Dujon’s friends did not lose their support with his singing, and he became an accidental cult leader. They spread the word that his braying is a sacred chant that brings good fortune. The temple priest became an ardent supporter, establishing "Dujon Worship Wednesdays," during which a large assembly of worshippers gathered to receive his ceremonial chant. Some erudite scholars also attended, misinterpreting the singing as an ancient form of communication dating back from the days of the Pharos. The crowd grew every Wednesday as the music competition date approached.

On the day of the competition Dujon tried to be as confident as possible. His mind was filled with thoughts about whether his soothsayer’s prophecy is true, and he will turn out to be a great singer. But, as soon as he started braying every pet dog, cow, and parrot in the audience joined in, creating an accidental animal orchestra. Humans were baffled and wondered if Dujon is a genius or did, he just ruined the show. The competition’s reigning champion – the farmer’s opera singing daughter – decided Dujon is an insult to serious music. She made it her mission to sabotage his performance in the funniest way possible. She sang a famous classical song composed by one of the greatest music composers of the past and accompanied by a team of the best instrumentalists. However, as soon as her program started all the animals and birds began to make a random orchestra which sounded more like the cacophony of birds than the sound of music. That evening, after the competition, the town was abuzz with discussions. Some were convinced that Dujon was merely a lucky fluke. Others believed him to be a once-a-lifetime-musical marvel. The temple priest, emboldened by the spectacle, declared that Dujon's voice was divine intervention and claimed responsibility for encouraging him.

That evening Dujon was overwhelmed by all the noise. He had never felt so seen, but he also feared the attention. Did people really love his voice or was he merely a spectacle? Was he truly meant to be a singer, or had fate played a trick on him? The farmer scowled, grumbled because his business was suffering from the new cult following. The farmer’s daughter felt humiliated at the competition’s outcome and stormed off.

That night, the cool wind carried a soft hum through the farm as Dujon sat beneath the stars, braying gently to himself. His little friend, the kid, approached and sat beside him.

“You did it, Dujon,” he whispered.

“But did I really?” Dujon sighed. “They laughed. They called me a spectacle. I wanted them to love my singing.”

The boy smiled. “It’s always been about the music, hasn’t it? What if you sing just for yourself? Just for those who hear the truth in it?”

Dujon thought long and hard. Perhaps the soothsayer’s prophecy wasn’t about fame and wealth – but about realizing his own voice had value. He wasn’t meant to win the trophies. He was meant to sing.

Thereafter, Dujon started visiting the temple every Wednesday, not for worshippers or scholars, but simply because he loved it. His braying was no longer just a chant – it was a song of joy, of triumph, of self-belief.

In the final act, Dujon performed a song that was emotionally charged but off-key.

If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands

If you’re happy and you know it, let’s all dance.

If you’re happy and you know it, let the world hear what you sing

For every heart that’s smiling makes the music take wing

So, bray it out, belt it strong, let your voice be free

Even a donkey’s dream can bring sweet harmony.

END