How Lake Ekari Came into Existence!

Once upon a time, there lived a man and his sister. The man was a brave hunter, skilled in
capturing cuscus, cassowaries, birds, and wild pigs. His sister, on the other hand, tended to their
garden near their home.

One scorching day, while the sun beat down mercilessly, the diligent sister worked in the garden
without a shirt, her breasts exposed. Suddenly, a fruit fell from a tree above her, striking her right
on the chest. To her astonishment, she realized it was her own brother who had thrown it. The
shock and embarrassment overwhelmed her—how could her brother violate the cultural taboo of
touching a close relative in such a way?

Unbeknownst to her, a jealous wild man (a fallen angel) had orchestrated this incident. He had
observed the siblings’ close bond and decided to provoke a rift between them. Meanwhile, the
brother, busy hunting cuscus for their afternoon meal, remained clueless about the situation.

As he returned home, he noticed the disarray—the environment had changed, and something was
amiss. Desperate to find his sister, he called out her name, but she remained silent. Instead, he
heard the sound of her tears, her heartbroken sobs echoing through the air.

Days passed, and the sister continued to refuse the food he offered, leaving it to rot. Frustrated
and concerned, the brother finally gave up. He untied their prized pig, slaughtered it, and divided
the meat into two portions—one for his sister and one for himself. Packing his belongings, he
announced his departure, telling her that their changed relationship meant they could no longer
live together.

With determination, he set off toward the east, leaving his sister behind. But she couldn’t bear the
separation. Begging him not to go, she promised to eat everything and explain what had
happened. Yet he remained unmoved, distancing himself further.

Her pleas followed him as he walked away. “Ekari, Iptikas Piyu,” she called, using traditional
names for brave and handsome men. But he never turned back. The man’s name was Ekari, and
his sister was Perpar.
They continued traveling, and suddenly, heavy rain poured down. The girl remained atop the
mountain, a spot visible today from Mogol Secondary School. Meanwhile, the boy, Ekari,
descended toward Mogol Secondary, just minutes away.

As the rain intensified, the girl sought refuge under the trees on the mountain peak. Ekari, too,
sought shelter—a cave-like depression in the ground, reminiscent of those dug by pigs. The rain
fell relentlessly, forming lakes that crept up their bodies: first their feet, then knees, thighs,
stomachs, and shoulders. Eventually, it swallowed them whole.

Raindrops transformed into two lakes, preserving the memory of the siblings. Even now, when
the lakes dry up, you’ll find remnants of their story. At the bottom of the valley, near Mogol
Secondary, lies the man’s bow and arrow. On the mountaintop, you’ll discover the woman’s grass
skirts. And if you touch the lakes, you’ll sense the lingering essence of the pig meat they carried.

Today, the lake that engulfed the man is known as Lake Ekari, while the woman’s watery resting
place bears the name Lake Paepar. This tale echoes through generations, a testament to the
enduring power of tradition.

If you ever wish to visit these lakes, you’re warmly invited to Mogol Peles Blo ol Kagom Nawe.

Thank you for reading this story.

Penned by Timson Wakrit. Good night.