As Malin grew older, he wanted for a better life. The fishing boats became a hope for him to fix his life. One fateful morning, a merchant ship anchored near the shore. Its crew, tell the stories of distant lands and riches, captivated Malin. Fueled by ambition, he made the decision to leave his mother and join the ship’s crew.

“I will return, Mother,” he promised, holding his mother's hands. “And when I do, I will be back with a lot of gold.”

Years passed. The villagers gossiped about Malin’s absence, they were envious and pity for the boy’s mother, who never skipped praying for her son’s safety. Then, one day, a magnificent ship appeared on the horizon. The villagers rushed to the shore, whispering in awe at the vessel’s grandeur.

To everyone’s amazement, Malin Kundang came out from the ship, wore fine silks and jewels in his neck, and wrist. By his side, stood a beautiful woman, his wife. The villagers cheered, welcoming their prodigal son, but his mother’s frail figure stood apart, her hands trembling with anticipation.

“Malin, my son,” she called, tears streaming down her face as she approached him.

But Malin, embarrassed by his mother’s ragged appearance and fearful of damaging his reputation, scowled. “I do not know this woman,” he declared. His words cut deeper than any blade, shattering his mother’s heart.

She grieved, as she knelt on the sand, her voice rising in a desperate prayer. “Oh, heavens, if this man is truly my son and he denies me, let justice be done!”

The sky darkened, the sea roared, as her curse echoed across the land. Malin’s ship trembled beneath the storm. He tried to flee, but the waves rose, dragging him back to the shore. It didn't take so long before Malin’s body hardened, his limbs turning to stone.

When the storm had passed, the villagers found a statue on the beach a man kneeling, begging for forgiveness. They whispered that it was Malin Kundang, forever petrified as a reminder of pride and ungratefulness.

His mother, heartbroken but resolute, disappeared into the page of history.

Even now, when the tides crash against the rocks, many say you can hear the anguished cries of Malin Kundang, pleading for a forgiveness that will never come.

However, in this era of modernization, I think this specific tradition Bambu Gila is at risk of being forgotten, unless we take immediate action to preserve it. It is crucial to save it and to promote this cultural heritage, not only to maintain its spiritual significance for the people of Maluku but also to share its uniqueness for the wider world.