Long ago in the Central Highlands, the Buk So waterfall roared day and night. Its sound brought life to the forest, but King Prum, who lived nearby, despised it. He claimed the waterfall’s constant thunder made him restless, ruined his appetite, and kept him awake. Angered by something as natural as the sound of falling water, the king ordered his soldiers to destroy the rocks and silence the waterfall so he could sleep peacefully. His command unleashed disaster across the land.
To fulfill the king’s selfish wish, soldiers burned homes, slaughtered thousands of livestock, and forced villagers to work until they collapsed. Countless people died from starvation, beatings, and falling rocks. Their bodies were thrown into the crashing waters, turning the river red with grief and rage. The land cried out, but no one dared to resist the king.
Among the villagers was a poor young man who could no longer bear the suffering of his people. Heartbroken by the destruction of his homeland, he fled with only a woven backpack, a handful of rice, a sword, a crossbow, and his loyal dog. His mind held only one purpose: he would find a way to avenge his village and end King Prum’s cruelty.
One day, he reached a clear, quiet lake. Suddenly, his dog began barking fiercely. There were no birds, no animals, nothing to provoke it. He tried to command the dog to follow him, but it refused. Instead, it barked with even greater urgency. Frustrated, the young man pushed the dog into the water and left. But no matter how far he walked, he kept hearing the echo of the dog’s barking as if it were calling him back. Angered and confused, he returned to the lake and struck the dog with his sword.
Something strange happened. The blade bent as if it had struck solid stone. He swung harder, and the sword sparked and bounced off the dog’s body. Yet the dog simply wagged its tail, unharmed. Shocked, the young man dipped his hand into the lake, then tried cutting himself. The sword snapped in two. Realizing the lake must hold magical power, he leapt into the water, letting it wash over him. His strength surged, his body hardened like iron, and he called the dog to return. Together, they hurried back to save the villagers.
Though his rice was gone, he felt no hunger. Though the journey was long, his legs moved like the wind. His heart burned with determination. When he finally returned to Buk So, he saw soldiers beating his people and forcing them to break apart the waterfall. He stepped forward with fearless anger.
“Who dares strike my village?” he shouted.
The soldiers turned on him, recognizing the runaway villager. They attacked with a fury, swords flashing in every direction. But their blades bent and shattered against his skin. He stood unmoving, solid as a mountain. Terrified, the soldiers believed he was a god and tried to flee. The young man seized one of their swords and chased them, cutting them down like falling leaves.
He pursued the king’s army for seven days and seven nights until he reached the capital. Guards tried to block him, but one by one they fell. King Prum panicked and sent out endless waves of warriors. Hundreds died, then thousands. But even with his newfound strength, the young man could not defeat an entire kingdom alone. Eventually, the soldiers managed to trap him, bind him with iron chains, and build a pyre around him.
They set him on fire. Flames shot into the sky, but the young man didn’t flinch. His body glowed red like heated steel, shining brighter with every second. The flames melted the chains, and he broke free in a blaze of furious light. He rushed into the army, embracing them with burning arms. Entire battalions burst into flames. He pushed forward, setting the king’s palaces, towers, and fortress walls ablaze. The capital of King Prum collapsed into a sea of fire.
Desperate, the last of the soldiers used their final plan. They swarmed him, tied him again, and drove a long iron hook deep into his stomach. The young hero fell like the Buk So waterfall itself. He died there, not because of weakness, but because in his rage, he had forgotten to drink the magical water that protected him. Smoke rose from his body, and the fire of his anger glowed in his chest until the very end.
The villagers mourned him forever. They named him Damb’ri, the Son of the Forest, a hero born from the land itself.
Today, when you visit Đắk Nông, you can still hear the mighty Buk So waterfall roaring through the mountains, echoing the timeless legend of Damb’ri and the courage of the M’nông people.