Langsung ke konten utama

Story of Glutinous Rice

Story of Glutinous Rice
A Folktale from North Sumatra, Indonesia

Once upon a time, there were a woman lived with her son Olih. Olih and her mother lived in a village in North Sumatra, Indonesia. They were poor. Their neighbors love them because they are kind and always help other people.

In the evening, seven old women came to Olih’s house. Those women looked dirty, and they were wearing ragged clothes. They were also very hungry.

“Good evening. We are hungry. Could you please give us some food?” asked one of the old women.

“Don’t worry, Ma’am. We have some food for you. Just wait for a moment.”

Olih then went to his house. He opened the cupboard then takes some food. A moment later he gave the food to those old women.

“Thank you very much, Kid. It’s very kind of you. We are also very tired. Would you let us stay here to spend the night? Nobody wants to let us stay in their house. We are strangers here, we have no place to go.”

“Don’t worry. You all can stay here,”said Olih’s mother.

“Thank you very mich. You two are very kind to us.”

In the morning, those seven old women were still sleeping. Olih’s mother asked Olih to wake them up to have breakfast.

Suddenly Olih screamed!

“Mom! Come here!!!”

Olih’s mother then run to the bedroom. She found the room full of rice. The old women were gone. But there was one beautiful girl sitting on the bed.

“Don’t be afraid. I am one of the women. My father sent me here. He has a great super natural power. He changed me into an old woman and ask me to deliver this special rice to a family that helped me, “said the girl.

Olih and her mother were very happy. Then they had enough rice to eat. They also shared the rice to the neighbors. The rice was so delicious. They called it beras pulut or glutinous rice, it means sticky and delicious rice.


Postingan populer dari blog ini

Even a Grass Plant Can Become Someone if it Tries

A Folktale from Eskimo You know? near the mouth of the Yukon grows a tall, slender kind of grass which the women gather and dry in the fall and use for braiding mats and baskets and for pads in the soles of skin boots.

One of these grass stalks that had been almost pulled out by the roots when the women were gathering others, did not like the fate in store for it.

"Why should I stay on in this shape and never become anything but a pad in the sole of a boot to be trodden on forever? It must be nicer to be the one who treads on the pad; but since I cannot be that, I will at least be something better than grass."

Looking about, it spied a bunch of herbs growing close by, looking so quiet and unmolested that the grass stem said, "I will be an herb; that is a higher and safer life than this."

At once it was changed into an herb like those it had envied, and for a time it remained in peace. But one day the women came back with baskets and picks and bega…

The Little Red Hen

Following is the story telling for your little brother or your children.
   The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens, when she found a grain of wheat.

   ``Who will plant this wheat?'' she said.

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen, and she planted the grain of wheat.

   When the wheat was ripe she said, ``Who will take this wheat to the mill?''

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen, and she took the wheat to the mill.

   When she brought the flour home she said, ``Who will make some bread with this flour?''

   ``Not I,'' said the Goose.

   ``Not I,'' said the Duck.

   ``I will, then,'' said the little Red Hen

   When the bread was baked, she said, ``Who will eat this bread?''

   ``I will,'' said the Goose


Uraschimataro and The Turtle A Folklore from Japanese

A Folklore from Japanese     

There was once a worthy old couple who lived on the coast, and supported themselves by fishing. They had only one child, a son, who was their pride and joy, and for his sake they were ready to work hard all day long, and never felt tired or discontented with their lot. This son's name was Uraschimataro, which means in Japanese, 'Son of the island,' and he was a fine well-grown youth and a good fisherman, minding neither wind nor weather.

Not the bravest sailor in the whole village dared venture so far out to sea as Uraschimataro, and many a time the neighbours used to shake their heads and say to his parents,

"If your son goes on being so rash, one day he will try his luck once too often, and the waves will end by swallowing him up."

But Uraschimataro paid no heed to these remarks, and as he was really very clever in managing a boat, the old people were very seldom anxious about him. One beautiful bright mo…