The Monkey and the Midnight Fruit

Deep in the misty jungles of Isale, hidden beyond the last bend of the emerald river, stood a mysterious tree that bore fruit only at midnight. Its trunk glowed faintly in the moonlight, and its branches whispered secrets when the wind passed through.

The villagers called it Igbako, the Tree of Truth.

It was said: “This tree gives fruit only to those who speak the truth in darkness. One lie, and the fruit vanishes forever.”

But most feared the tree—because truth, when spoken aloud, can sting.

Now, there lived a clever monkey named Tantu, who had never told a straight tale in his life. He could mimic birds, trick crocodiles, and even talk his way out of hyena traps. But when a drought hit the land, and hunger bent even the tallest giraffe, Tantu’s games no longer fed him.

One night, starving and desperate, he ventured to Igbako.

The tree’s voice rumbled low and ancient:

“Speak your truth, Tantu. And only your truth.”

Tantu swallowed hard.

“I have stolen,” he said, voice trembling. “I have lied to friends and mocked those who fed me. I… I once blamed the wind for stealing mangoes I took myself.”

The tree was silent.

Then, a single golden fruit bloomed before him—glowing, pulsing, alive.

Tantu reached for it… but paused.

“I once pretended to be a dying bird to get attention,” he added quickly. “That… that too was a lie.”

The fruit shimmered brighter.

He plucked it and ate.

From that night on, Tantu changed. He became the storyteller of the forest—not of tricks, but of truths. His words fed minds, not just bellies.

And every full moon, a new fruit bloomed for him.

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Moral Lesson:

Truth may be bitter to speak, but it bears the sweetest fruit. When we own our mistakes, even the darkest night can reward us.