In the waters surrounding Pulau Bedukang, where the Brunei River meets the South China Sea, the mangrove forests grow thick and ancient. Their tangled roots reach down into the brackish water like the fingers of old spirits, creating a labyrinth of channels that only the most experienced fishermen dare navigate. Here, where saltwater and freshwater mingle, where land and sea embrace, the boundary between the physical world and the realm of spirits grows as thin as morning mist.
Among the water villages built on stilts above these tidal waters lived a fisherman named Haji Ismail. He was neither the wealthiest nor the poorest of his community, but he possessed a restless ambition that kept him awake long into the humid nights. While other fishermen were content with their daily catch, Haji Ismail dreamed of prosperity that would elevate him above his neighbors, of filling his home with luxuries that would make others envious.
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Each morning before dawn, when the call to prayer drifted across the water from the golden-domed mosques, Haji Ismail would push his sampan into the mangrove channels. He knew every twist and turn of these waterways, every place where fish gathered according to the tides. His nets were always carefully mended, his lines strong and true. The river had provided for him well enough, but it was never quite enough to satisfy the hunger in his heart.
One morning, as the tide rose and the water pushed deeper into the mangrove forest, Haji Ismail guided his boat into a channel he rarely visited. The roots here were particularly dense, gnarled and twisted by decades of tidal flow. As he maneuvered around a bend, something caught his eye, a piece of mangrove root protruding from the mud, shaped by nature into an elegant curve that resembled a flute.
Curious, Haji Ismail secured his boat and waded through the knee-deep water to examine the root more closely. It was smooth from years of tidal washing, hollow in the center, with natural holes along its length that looked almost deliberately placed. As he reached out to touch it, the rising tide water began to flow through the root’s hollow interior.
What happened next made Haji Ismail’s breath catch in his throat. The root began to sing.
It was not a sound like wind through bamboo or water gurgling through stones. This was music haunting, beautiful melody that seemed to carry all the secrets of the mangrove forest within its notes. The song rose and fell with the rhythm of the tide, sometimes plaintive and lonely, other times joyful and dancing. It was as if the root itself was alive, breathing with the pulse of the river, singing the ancient songs of water and earth.
Haji Ismail stood transfixed, water lapping at his shins, listening to this impossible music. And as he listened, his mind began to calculate. Such a marvel would be worth a fortune to the right buyer. Wealthy merchants in Bandar Seri Begawan would pay handsomely for such a curiosity. Perhaps even the royal court would be interested. This was his chance his opportunity to finally rise above his station.
Working quickly, Haji Ismail dug around the root, loosening it from the riverbed. The music grew louder as he worked, more insistent, but he paid it no heed. His hands trembled with excitement as he finally pulled the root free and placed it carefully in his boat. The tide was at its peak now, and water flowed through the hollow root continuously, making it sing without ceasing.
For three days, Haji Ismail kept the mangrove flute in his home, listening to its otherworldly music and dreaming of wealth. He polished it carefully, preparing it for sale. He sent word to merchants and collectors, speaking of the miraculous musical root he had discovered. Several expressed interest, and an appointment was made with a wealthy trader from the city.
On the appointed day, as Haji Ismail prepared to take the root to the buyer, something terrible happened. He lifted the root from its resting place, and it began to scream.
This was no longer the beautiful melody it had played before. This was a sound of anguish and rage, a shriek that seemed to come from something in unbearable pain. The root writhed in Haji Ismail’s hands like a living creature trying to escape. He tried to hold it firm, but it twisted with supernatural strength.
Then, before his horrified eyes, the root tore itself from his grasp and flew through the air. It crashed through his window and plunged into the river below, disappearing beneath the brown water with a final, accusing wail. Haji Ismail rushed to the window, but there was no trace of it only ripples spreading across the surface and the echo of that terrible scream fading into silence.
From that day forward, Haji Ismail’s fortunes changed dramatically. When he cast his nets, they came up empty. When he set his lines, the fish avoided them as if they could sense something wrong. Day after day, he returned home with barely enough catch to feed his own family, let alone sell at the market. His sampan, once so reliable, began to leak. His nets tore inexplicably. It was as if the river itself had turned against him.
Weeks passed, then months. Haji Ismail grew thin and haggard. His wife looked at him with worried eyes, and his children asked why they no longer had fish for dinner. The other fishermen whispered among themselves, some offering sympathy, others suggesting that he had offended the spirits that dwelt in the mangrove forests.
Finally, in desperation, Haji Ismail sought counsel from Pak Haji, the eldest man in the water village, whose knowledge of the old ways ran deep. The old man listened to Haji Ismail’s story with grave attention, nodding slowly as the tale unfolded.
“You have taken something sacred,” Pak Haji said when the story was finished. “The mangrove root was not merely wood, it was a dwelling place for river spirits, and its song was their voice. By attempting to sell it for profit, you showed disrespect to the spirits who have sustained your livelihood all these years. The river provided for you, and you sought to exploit its gifts.”
“What can I do?” Haji Ismail asked, his voice breaking. “How can I restore what I have broken?”
Pak Haji instructed him carefully. “You must return to the place where you found the root. You must prepare offerings of food rice cooked with coconut milk, fruits from the forest, fish from your own meager catch. Place these offerings at the water’s edge where the root once grew. Speak to the spirits with a humble heart. Ask for forgiveness and promise to respect the balance between taking and giving.”
The next morning, before dawn, Haji Ismail did as he was instructed. He paddled his leaking sampan back to that half-forgotten channel in the mangrove forest. There, at the spot where he had uprooted the singing root, he placed his offerings on a banana leaf. He bowed his head and spoke words of genuine remorse, acknowledging his greed and promising to honor the spirits of the river from that day forward.
As the tide began to rise, he heard it faint at first, then growing stronger. The music of the mangrove flute drifted across the water, forgiving and gentle. The melody wrapped around him like a blessing, and Haji Ismail felt a weight lift from his chest that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
From that day, his nets filled again. Fish returned to his lines. His boat stopped leaking. But Haji Ismail was changed. He took only what he needed, and he always left offerings at the water’s edge, maintaining the delicate balance between himself and the spirits of the river. He understood now that true prosperity came not from grasping at gifts, but from respecting the sacred relationship between humans and the natural world that sustained them.
And sometimes, during high tide in the mangrove channels of Pulau Bedukang, fishermen still hear the sound of music drifting across the water, a reminder that some things are meant to remain wild and free, singing their songs to those who listen with humble hearts.
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The Moral Lesson
This Bruneian tale teaches us that natural gifts should be honored, not exploited for personal gain. The fisherman’s attempt to profit from the sacred mangrove flute broke the spiritual balance that sustained his livelihood. Only through genuine remorse, humble offerings, and restored respect for the river spirits could harmony be regained. The story reminds us that our relationship with nature requires reciprocity we must give back to what provides for us, maintaining balance through gratitude and restraint rather than endless taking driven by greed.
Knowledge Check
Q1: Who is Haji Ismail in this Brunei folktale?
A: Haji Ismail is a fisherman from the water villages of Pulau Bedukang who discovers a magical mangrove root but suffers consequences when he tries to sell it rather than respecting its sacred nature.
Q2: What was special about the mangrove root from Pulau Bedukang?
A: The mangrove root was naturally shaped like a flute and played beautiful, haunting music on its own during high tide, as the tidal water flowed through its hollow interior and natural holes.
Q3: Why did the mangrove flute scream and leap into the river?
A: The root screamed in anguish because Haji Ismail attempted to sell it for profit, treating a sacred dwelling place of river spirits as a mere commodity. It escaped back to the river to free itself from exploitation.
Q4: What happened to Haji Ismail’s fishing after the root disappeared?
A: His fishing fortunes collapsed completely his nets came up empty, fish avoided his lines, his boat leaked, and he could barely catch enough to feed his family for months, as the river spirits had turned against him.
Q5: How did Haji Ismail restore balance with the river spirits?
A: Following the advice of the village elder Pak Haji, he returned to where he found the root and made humble food offerings rice cooked with coconut milk, fruits, and fish while sincerely asking forgiveness and promising respect.
Q6: What is the cultural significance of river spirits in Brunei water village folklore?
A: In Brunei’s water village traditions, river spirits inhabit the mangrove forests and waterways, providing for fishing communities. These spirits require respectful reciprocity through offerings and reverence, reflecting the Islamic Malay belief system that honors both spiritual and natural balance.
Source: Adapted from Water Village Folklore documented in the Brunei Oral Heritage Manuscripts
Cultural Origin: Pulau Bedukang region, Brunei Darussalam
