The lack of balanced nutrition manifested in the rickets-ravaged legs that precariously supported his misshaped body. That’s why he came to be known as Koto, or Crooked. Although he answered to this name, he had never approved of it. He felt incomplete and idiotic with such a name.
One full moon night, the fifteenth of the fourth month according to the Bhutanese calendar, he was wandering around town like most of the dogs, with nothing particular to do. After he had gone around town more than half a dozen times, he lifted his head sadly and suddenly saw the big, circular yellow mystery in the dark night sky.
All at once, he felt an overwhelming sense of wonder. As he gazed at it, he realized that the moon was flawless while he himself was the perfect example of everything that is not perfect and blemished, an orphan with a dirty – looking coat and a disproportionate body. So he continued to gaze at the moon for a long time until his whole body shook impulsively. No sound of the intended bark ensued through his open mouth. Instead, a huge sob filtered into the cold night air. It was not a sob of sadness or anguish, but a sob of revelation. He would call himself Dawa Koto, or the Crooked Moon.
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