Once upon a time, in the lush, emerald highlands of West Sumatra, nestled among rolling hills and whispering bamboo groves, lived a kind-hearted widow and her two beloved children—a curious young boy with a heart full of wonder, and his gentle younger sister, who was quiet but wise beyond her years. Life was simple, yet filled with love and the beauty of nature that surrounded their modest home.
One sunny morning, the widow received an invitation to a celebration in a neighboring village—an event that brought together families from all around the valley. Seeing how her children’s eyes lit up with anticipation, she decided to take them along. It was a rare occasion for joy and community, and the children were overjoyed at the chance to see something new.
Together, they dressed in their finest attire. The boy wore a vibrant teluk belanga shirt with a neatly wrapped songket sarong, while his sister’s outfit shimmered in soft tones of gold and red, threads of real gold dancing across the woven fabric like rays of sunlight. Their mother wore a graceful baju kurung, her headscarf pinned neatly with a delicate brooch passed down from her ancestors.
As they entered the bustling village, a wave of warmth welcomed them. The celebration was alive with color and movement—bright canopies of red and yellow fluttered in the breeze, and long tables were lined with aromatic Minangkabau dishes. The rich scent of rendang, slow-cooked to perfection, mingled with the sweet aroma of lemang roasting in bamboo, and the zing of freshly pounded sambal lado ijo filled the air.
The children’s laughter rang out as they explored the festivities, their eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, all worries melted away, replaced by the simple magic of joy, tradition, and togetherness.
Among the festivities was a traditional music performance—a lively show with talempong and gendang drums, drawing a large crowd to a small stage set beside a grove of trees. The rhythmic melodies enchanted many, and soon the children, eager to explore, tugged on their mother’s hand.
“Mother,” they asked, “may we go see the music show up close?”
Their mother smiled and gently nodded. “Yes, you may go. But remember, stay close and do not wander too far.”
Promising to obey, the children ran excitedly toward the music, their laughter mingling with the beat of the drums. They watched with wide eyes as dancers in colorful costumes twirled to the rhythm. But after a while, the show lost its charm. Their young hearts yearned for adventure, and the forest path behind the stage seemed far more intriguing.
Forgetting their mother’s words, they began to wander—just a little at first, then a little more, until the sounds of the party faded behind them and they found themselves deep in a place they did not know...
Suddenly, beyond the trees and tangled roots, the children stumbled upon a hidden pond nestled like a secret gem in the heart of the forest. The water shimmered under the afternoon sun—so crystal clear and inviting that they could see fish darting among smooth stones at the bottom. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves above, and birds chirped as if urging them to play.
The sun was high and scorching, and their faces glistened with sweat. The temptation was too great to resist.
“Let’s swim! Just for a while,” the boy said, glancing around.
His sister nodded eagerly. They slipped off their fine clothes and stepped into the cool water, laughter bubbling from their lips as they splashed and swam in joy. The pond embraced them with refreshing calm, its waters soothing like a lullaby. In that moment, they were completely lost in the joy of play, unaware that time was slipping away.
Meanwhile, back at the village, the celebration was coming to an end. The sun began to dip below the hills, casting long shadows across the earth. The widow looked around and realized with a sudden chill that her children were nowhere to be found. Panic gripped her chest.
She searched frantically—calling their names, running from one guest to another—but no one had seen them. As night fell and the party lights dimmed, her heart sank with dread. Unable to find them, she returned home alone, her soul heavy with sorrow.
That night, her eyes red and swollen from weeping, she collapsed into a restless sleep. In her dreams, a radiant old woman with silver hair and a voice like the wind appeared before her.
“Do not lose hope,” the old woman said gently. “Your children are in the enchanted pond, the one near the celebration grounds. If you wish to see them again, go there at dawn and cast a handful of rice into the water. Then call their names with love.”
The mother awoke with a start, her heart pounding. Without wasting a moment, she gathered some rice in a small pouch and ran barefoot through the misty dawn toward the forest. The dew still clung to the grass, and her breath came in puffs against the cool air.
When she reached the edge of the pond, her hands trembling, she took a deep breath and whispered her children’s names. Then, slowly, she scattered the rice across the shimmering surface.
To the mother’s astonishment, the dream had been true.
As the last grains of rice settled on the water's surface, the still pond rippled gently, as if awakening from a sacred slumber. From the shimmering depths, two large fish emerged, gliding in graceful circles beneath the surface. Their scales glowed like sunlight dancing on silk—one gleaming in hues of radiant gold, the other in deep, velvety ruby. They were unlike any fish the mother had ever seen, beautiful and ethereal, yet hauntingly familiar. In that moment, her heart trembled, for she knew—these were her children, transformed by the power of love and the weight of forgotten obedience.
She fell to her knees and wept, her tears dropping into the water like small pearls. “My children…” she whispered, recognizing something familiar in the gentle movements of the fish—the way they circled her, as if responding to her voice.
She understood then, with a mother’s heart, what had happened.
Her beloved children had been transformed, bound to the pond as part of the forest’s mysterious magic—changed not out of cruelty, but as a lesson. A lesson about the sacredness of a parent’s guidance. Though they had disobeyed her words, her love had brought her to them once more.
The villagers gathered quietly around her, moved by what they saw. Some tried to offer comfort, but the mother could not be consoled. Her sorrow ran deep. Yet within that sorrow was also love, eternal and undying, echoing across the waters of the pond.
From that time forward, the pond became a revered place.
The village that rose near it came to be known as Desa Sungai Jernih—or Sungai Janiah, which means “Clear River” in the local tongue. The name honored the crystal clarity of the water and the story that had become part of its soul. The villagers believe the pond remains sacred to this day, holding the spirit of the mother’s devotion and the presence of the enchanted fish.
To this day, parents tell this tale to their children—not to frighten them, but to pass down the wisdom hidden in its depths. The story of the widow and her children reminds everyone that obedience, love, and humility are threads that bind a family together.
And sometimes, even in sorrow, beauty endures.
🌾 Moral of the Story
Obedience to parents is a virtue that brings blessings, and forgetting it may lead to unforeseen consequences.
This tale serves as a gentle reminder of the sacred bond between parent and child—woven with love, respect, and the importance of listening to wisdom passed down through generations.
