Folklore from Papua
Once upon a time, on the lush and remote Moor Island in Papua, there lived a humble husband and wife. The husband's name was Mora, a quiet man with strong hands and gentle eyes. His wife was named Taribuy, a woman of kind spirit and wisdom, known for her melodic voice that echoed through the trees when she sang. They lived alone, surrounded by the vast sea, as no other people inhabited the island.
Moor Island was a place of natural wonder. The soil was rich and dark, and everything they planted thrived—from juicy papayas and wild bananas to yam and leafy greens. The air was fresh, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant call of tropical birds. The ocean around them sparkled under the sun, and gentle waves whispered to the shore.
The couple had no worries about food, for the island provided generously. They foraged for sweet fruits in the morning, cooked nourishing meals over firewood at dusk, and shared laughter under the starlit sky. Each day was simple yet fulfilling, and though they had no neighbors, they never felt lonely, for the island itself felt alive—a companion in its own way.
Together, Mora and Taribuy lived in peace, surrounded by nature’s bounty, their hearts full of gratitude. Life on Moor Island was not just about survival—it was a quiet, enduring happiness.
Mora and Taribuy, though content with their peaceful life, held one deep longing in their hearts—they had no children. Often, during the quiet evenings when the wind rustled gently through the palm leaves, they would sit side by side and speak softly of their wish. They imagined the sound of tiny footsteps in the garden, a small laugh echoing through the trees, and the joy of watching a child grow amidst the beauty of Moor Island.
Each night, they prayed to God with sincerity and hope, asking for just one blessing to complete their joy—a child to share their love with, to carry on their simple legacy. Taribuy would sometimes place her hand over her heart and whisper, “Even one child would make our lives feel whole.”
One morning, as the sun rose golden over the horizon and the birds sang their morning songs, Taribuy felt something different. Her body was changing, and her heart fluttered with a new kind of joy. She was pregnant. When she told Mora, his eyes welled up with tears. He lifted her in a joyful embrace, spinning her gently in the warm breeze. “Thank you, God,” he whispered with a voice full of wonder. “Thank you for hearing us.”
From that moment on, Mora became even more devoted. He rose with the sun and worked until the stars returned. He cleared more land, planting even more fruits and vegetables to prepare for their growing family. He built a larger house, with a small room near the window where sunlight poured in—a room he imagined would one day be filled with toys, laughter, and lullabies.
He told Taribuy not to worry about the work. “You rest now,” he said with a tender smile. “Let the earth and I do the work. You carry our miracle.” Taribuy stayed close to the home, weaving mats, singing softly to her growing belly, and watching the garden bloom with new life, just as new life was blooming within her.
Nine months later, under the glow of a full moon and the hush of a peaceful night, the long-awaited moment arrived. Taribuy gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The cries of the newborn echoed softly through the forest, like a song the island had been waiting to hear. Mora named him Reio, a name that meant “light of life” in their old tongue—a name chosen with hope, love, and reverence.
Tears filled Mora’s eyes as he held his son for the first time, tiny and warm against his chest. Taribuy, though tired, smiled with a radiant glow, her heart full of quiet joy. They wrapped Reio in a soft woven cloth, one Taribuy had made with her own hands during the early months of her pregnancy. In that simple home surrounded by nature, the couple’s dream had come true. Their lives, once peaceful but solitary, now pulsed with a new rhythm—one filled with laughter, lullabies, and the soft coos of a growing child.
Reio grew up surrounded by love and by the wild beauty of Moor Island. He was a bright and curious child, with eyes like the clear sky and a heart as generous as the land around him. From a young age, he showed kindness and gratitude. He never complained and always tried to help.
Every morning, just as the sun kissed the treetops and mist rose from the ground like a dream, Reio would rise early to join his father. Together, they would walk through the forest trails, careful and quiet, learning the signs of animals and listening to the language of the land. Reio’s small hands grew skilled at gathering ripe fruits, digging for sweet roots, and spotting animal tracks. He learned quickly, always asking questions, always eager to understand the world around him.
Back home, he would help his mother with the firewood, the cooking, and the garden. His laughter became part of the island’s daily song, and for Mora and Taribuy, each day with Reio was a blessing multiplied. Their family, once just two souls, now felt like a whole world.
One quiet morning, while the golden mist still hung over the trees, Mora and Reio went hunting together. The forest was calm, filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. As they walked through the familiar paths, looking for game and gathering forest herbs, Mora suddenly paused. His steps slowed, and a shadow passed across his face.
"Are you all right, Father?" Reio asked, his voice filled with concern.
Mora pressed a hand to his chest, breathing a little heavier than usual. "I'm not sure, Son... I don’t feel comfortable. There’s a strange heaviness in my body."
Sensing something was truly wrong, Reio helped his father return home. Taribuy, seeing her husband pale and sweating, rushed to his side. Worry filled her eyes as she gently helped him lie down on a mat of woven pandan leaves.
"Rest, my love," she whispered. Then she turned to Reio. "Please, go into the forest and bring me the green moonleaf and bitter root. I’ll make a medicine for your father."
Reio ran swiftly into the woods, and by the time he returned, his mother had already started preparing a traditional herbal remedy, the one passed down from her grandmother. She boiled the leaves over a fire, the steam rising with a bitter, earthy scent. Taribuy carefully fed the medicine to Mora, hoping it would ease whatever illness had taken hold.
But the medicine did not work. Days passed, and Mora grew weaker. His once-strong voice faded to a whisper, and his body, once firm and full of energy, became fragile.
Realizing that the end was near, Mora called his family close to him. The fire crackled softly beside them as they knelt near his resting place. His voice was soft but clear.
"My dear wife... my son..." he began, his eyes filled with love. "I can feel it in my bones. My time in this world is almost over."
"Please don’t say that, Father," Reio cried, his voice trembling as he held his father's hand. "We will find another way to heal you. We won’t give up."
Mora smiled gently. "You and your mother have done all that you can. And for that, I thank you with all my heart. But listen carefully, Son… If I die, bury me in the front yard, under the morning sun where the birds sing. Keep the place clean, and visit it often. If one day a tree grows from my grave, do not cut it down. Take care of it, protect it... for it will bring something good to your life. It will be a part of me, still with you.”
Reio sobbed quietly, while Taribuy wiped away her tears. Though their hearts were heavy, they listened closely, holding every word as a sacred promise.
Not long after that quiet evening, Mora passed away. His breath faded with the rising sun, leaving behind only the soft sound of wind rustling through the trees. Taribuy and Reio were heartbroken. Their home felt emptier, quieter, without Mora’s steady voice and warm laughter.
But even through their sorrow, they remembered Mora’s final wish. With love and care, they buried him in the front yard, just beneath the wide sky where he loved to sit and watch the clouds drift by. Reio cleared the area every morning, just as his father had asked, sweeping the ground gently and whispering small greetings to his father's resting place.
Then, something extraordinary happened.
From the soil above Mora’s grave, a small sprout appeared, unlike any plant they had ever seen on Moor Island. It grew faster than any other tree, reaching toward the sky as if drawn by sunlight itself. Reio and Taribuy watched over it with great care, just as they had watched over Mora. In time, the slender green trunk stretched tall, and large feathery leaves spread out like open arms.
When the tree bore fruit, it was unlike anything the islanders had ever known. The fruits were round and covered in a coarse brown husk. Curious, Reio cracked one open with a stone. Inside, they found clear sweet water, cool and refreshing. Beneath the shell, there was soft, white flesh—rich and delicious. It was a gift they had never imagined.
"This tree," Taribuy said softly, holding the fruit in her hands, "is like your father. Strong on the outside, but full of sweetness and life within."
They named the tree Nera, which in their language meant “the head of Mora.” It stood as a symbol of his wisdom, his strength, and his love for his family. Over the years, the tree multiplied and spread across the island. Others came to know of its many uses—from the fruit to the leaves and even the trunk. It gave food, drink, shelter, and warmth.
And so, the people say, that was how the coconut tree came to be—born from the love of a family, rooted in loss, but growing into a blessing for generations to come.
🌴 Moral Message
The story from Moor Island in Papua, featuring Mora, Taribuy, and their son Reio, carries timeless values rooted in family, nature, and legacy. It reminds us of the beauty found in simplicity and the strength born from love and responsibility.
1. Gratitude and Contentment
Mora and Taribuy embraced the blessings of their fertile land and lived peacefully, appreciating what they had even before their greatest wish—a child—was fulfilled. Their story reminds us to cherish the present and live with gratitude.
2. Hard Work and Responsibility
Mora worked diligently to build a secure life for his family, and Reio grew up mirroring that dedication. Their efforts reflect how hard work, especially when done with love, builds a strong foundation for a family.
3. Love and Care within the Family
The story radiates with the warmth of familial love. From Mora's care for Taribuy and their unborn child, to Taribuy’s healing efforts and Reio’s loyal support, it highlights the strength of bonds nurtured with compassion and respect.
4. Honoring Final Wishes
Mora’s last request was fulfilled with devotion. Reio and Taribuy honored his words by tending his grave and caring for the tree that grew from it. This act teaches us the deep value of respecting the wishes of those we love, even after they are gone.
5. Legacy and Transformation
The growth of the coconut tree from Mora’s grave represents renewal and the continuation of care across generations. From sorrow came sustenance, symbolizing how love can leave behind gifts that nourish and protect the future.
🌱 In essence, this tale encourages us to live with gratitude, work with purpose, love with depth, and honor those who came before us. Like the coconut tree that sprang from Mora’s resting place, true legacies grow when we nurture them with love.
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| Coconut tree |
