BALI was suffering from a long and merciless drought. The sun blazed relentlessly in the sky, and the once-green rice fields had turned into cracked earth. Rivers that used to sing with flowing water now lay silent and dry. Wells emptied, and even the sacred springs slowed to a trickle.
The air was hot and heavy. People walked slowly, their faces tired and sunburned. Some grew ill from thirst and heat. Children cried through the nights, their lips dry, while the elderly sat quietly in the shade, holding back tears. One by one, the weakest could no longer bear the pain. Quietly, sorrowfully, they slipped away like petals falling from a dying tree.
Animals, too, felt the suffering. Cows lay in the dust, too weak to moo. Birds no longer sang from the trees—they perched silently or fell to the ground. Even the monkeys in the forest stopped playing, searching in vain for water among the rocks.
Desperation filled the hearts of the villagers. They had prayed in every temple, offered gifts at every shrine, and sung songs to the gods, begging them to send rain. Every morning and every night, they lit incense and bowed low, hoping the skies would weep.
But the heavens stayed quiet.
The clouds passed by without a drop.
And hope began to wither like the leaves on the trees.
And finally, when the suffering became too great, the sky darkened—not with rain, but with the presence of a god.
He descended from the shadows of the mountains, wrapped in a cloak as black as midnight. The wind stopped. The animals fell silent. Even the trees seemed to bow as the God of Darkness stepped onto the dry, cracked earth.
His eyes glowed like embers. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.
“This disaster is not an accident,” he said slowly. “It is punishment. You have forgotten the sacred way. You think only of yourselves. You have turned away from kindness, from unity, from care.”
The villagers fell to their knees, frightened and ashamed. One brave elder lifted her head and said, “We are sorry. Please forgive us. We promise to change—to be kind again. But tell us, what must we do to end this suffering?”
The god’s eyes softened, just a little.
“It is not difficult,” he said. “I need one young man. A soul pure and willing to give. I will turn him into a frog. He will sing to the heavens, and his song will summon the rain. But he will remain a frog… unless one day, he finds a girl who can love him truly—as he is.”
A heavy silence fell.
The villagers looked around, eyes darting from face to face. They did not speak, but the truth was clear—no one wanted to volunteer. Mothers clutched their sons. Young men looked down at their feet. Even the bravest warriors hesitated.
The silence became a weight. The God of Darkness watched them without judgment, only waiting.
Outside the temple, the earth cracked again. Another well ran dry. In the distance, a cow let out a weak cry and collapsed. Time was running out. Without rain, more lives would be lost.
People began to weep—not just from fear, but from shame.
And then… a soft voice spoke up.
Among the crowd, a quiet figure stepped forward.
It was Prince Putu Oka, the youngest son of the royal family. Though he wore fine clothes, his heart was humble. He had seen the suffering—children crying from thirst, elders growing weak, animals unable to stand. And his heart could no longer bear it.
“I will do it,” he said, his voice clear but calm. “I will become the frog.”
Gasps filled the air. People were stunned. His parents tried to hold him back, but he simply smiled.
“A leader must protect his people. If my voice can bring the rain, then let me sing.”
The God of Darkness looked deep into the prince’s eyes, then raised his hand. A swirl of wind and shadow wrapped around Putu Oka, and in a blink, the prince was gone—replaced by a small green frog, with bright golden eyes and a soft, steady voice.
He opened his mouth… and began to sing.
His song was gentle and echoing, like drops of water falling on stone. It rose to the sky, spiraled into the clouds, and carried the sorrow of the land. The earth listened.
And then... the clouds answered.
Thunder rolled in the distance. A cool breeze swept across the village. The sky darkened—not with fear, but with promise. A drop fell. Then another. And then the skies poured.
The people cheered! They danced in the rain, laughing and crying. Wells filled. Rice fields turned green again. The cattle lifted their heads and mooed in joy.
Prince Putu Oka—though now a frog—watched it all with a warm heart. His sacrifice had saved the land.
But as the days passed, something else began to grow in his chest. Not pride, but loneliness.
He sat near the pond, watching the children play. He remembered how he used to run with them, how they used to call his name. Now, they only pointed from afar.
“It’s the frog prince!” they whispered.
“He saved us… but he’s not the same anymore.”
The prince sighed. He missed laughter. He missed his friends. He missed being seen as more than a strange little frog.
He had brought life back to the island... but who would bring life back to him?
But Prince Putu Oka, though small and green, did not give up. Deep inside, he held the promise:
“If I can find a girl who truly loves me as I am, I will become human again.”
And so, the frog prince began his quiet journey, leaping from pond to pond, garden to garden. He helped farmers by eating pests in their fields. He sang to lonely animals. But still, no one looked at him with love.
Until one afternoon, he arrived at a peaceful palace surrounded by flowering trees. In the garden, beneath the shade of a frangipani tree, sat a girl—her eyes filled with sorrow.
The frog prince hopped closer.
“Why do you look so sad?” he asked gently.
The girl blinked in surprise. “A frog that talks?” she whispered.
But somehow, she didn’t feel afraid. His voice reminded her of water and wind—calm and kind.
“I lost my favorite ring,” she said, pointing toward the pond. “It belonged to my late mother. I dropped it this morning, and no one could find it.”
“I will help you,” said the frog.
Without waiting, he leapt into the pond with a splash. The water welcomed him—he was still part of its song. With swift strokes, he searched among the stones and roots... and there it was, glinting faintly in the murky water.
The frog prince swam up and placed the ring at the girl’s feet.
Her eyes widened with joy.
“You found it!” she said, holding it close. “You are so kind… Thank you.”
She paused, then looked at him with something deeper.
“You know… I’ve never met anyone like you. Even if you’re a frog… I think I love you.”
At those words, the air shimmered.
The clouds parted above them as if the sky itself smiled. Light wrapped around the frog, soft and golden. The girl gasped as the frog’s form began to shift—legs growing longer, arms stretching out, eyes glowing with warmth.
Before her stood a handsome young man with eyes that still held the same gentle kindness.
“You… you’re the frog?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Prince Putu Oka. And your love has brought me back.”
The girl smiled, her heart swelling with joy. And not long after, they were married in a celebration filled with music, flowers, and rain that fell softly as a blessing.
Together, they ruled with kindness.
They reminded everyone that love is not about appearances—but about truth, kindness, and sacrifice.
And so, the land of Bali blossomed once again, not just with rain and crops… but with hearts that remembered to care.
✨🐸❤️👑🌿
🌱 Moral Message
"True love sees beyond appearances. Kindness and selflessness bring blessings not just to one, but to all."
"When we help others with a sincere heart, love and blessings will follow."
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