In the rainforests of Oro Province, the drum is more than music—it’s memory. Every clan has its rhythm, every tree its spirit, and every echo a story.
Long ago, when the forest stretched unbroken from mountain to sea, the people spoke to one another by drumbeat. Before the first roads or radios, messages traveled on air and bark. But it was said that only one man—Tana of the Ufi clan—could make his drum truly speak.
They called his instrument Auro, carved from the trunk of a lightning-struck fig tree. When he played, its voice carried through rain and leaf like a whisper turned to thunder.
One day, a neighboring clan sent word of war. The men of Ufi prepared to defend their valley, but Tana sat beneath the fig tree and waited. “We fight not with fear,” he said, “but with truth.”
That night, he played. The rhythm rolled through the valley, slow and sorrowful. The enemy warriors, hearing it from afar, mistook it for mourning. But the sound changed—growing fierce, alive, layered with voices. It was as if the ancestors themselves had taken up the beat.
When dawn came, the opposing clan approached in peace, saying they had heard the dead speaking through the drum, warning them not to spill blood upon sacred ground.
Years passed. Tana grew old, and Auro’s bark darkened with oil and age. When he died, his son buried the drum beside him. But one night, lightning struck that same fig tree again, splitting it open. The next morning, villagers heard faint drumming from the grave.
They gathered, trembling. “The forest remembers,” the elders said. “Tana still speaks.”
So they dug up the drum and found it whole. From that day, Auro was kept in the men’s house, used only for messages of death, danger, or joy too great for words.
Generations later, when missionaries came and new ways replaced the old, the drum fell silent. It hung from the rafters, dust gathering on its skin.
But silence, like fire, never stays still.
During the great flood of Oro, when the rivers devoured roads and bridges, the people were cut off for days. In the dark of the storm’s third night, the village heard a distant beat—slow, deep, and certain.
“Boom… boom… boom…”
Elders recognized it at once. “Auro,” they whispered. “He calls.”
They followed the sound to higher ground, where the earth was firm. Hours later, the floodwaters swept through their old homes, but none perished.
Afterward, the villagers rebuilt and re-carved the drum, saying: “When we forget our own ways, the forest reminds us how to listen.”
Now, whenever thunder rolls over Oro, people pause and bow their heads, for it may be Auro speaking—echoing the voice that once carried truth through storm and time.
Moral of the Story
Tradition does not die; it waits to be heard again. When people honor the past, even silence becomes a guide.
Knowledge Check
1. Who was Tana of the Ufi clan?
A master drummer whose rhythms carried messages across valleys.
2. What made his drum Auro special?
It was carved from a lightning-struck fig tree, believed to hold ancestral power.
3. How did Tana prevent war?
By drumming a message that made the enemy believe the ancestors forbade bloodshed.
4. What happened after Tana’s death?
His drum was buried but later unearthed when it began drumming from the grave.
5. How did the drum save the people during the flood?
Its beats guided them to higher ground before the waters rose.
6. What does the story teach about heritage?
That ancestral wisdom can return through the natural world when most needed.
Origin: Oro Province, Papua New Guinea (Melanesian oral tradition)
