Kasa was a monkey who loved to talk. He could chatter from sunrise to sunset, filling the jungle with his words. But Kasa was not just any talkative monkey—he was a storyteller.
And not just any storyteller—a magnificent one.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
Because Kasa’s stories were never just ordinary.
They were bigger, wilder, more exciting than anything that had actually happened.
And the best part? The other animals believed him.
Kasa’s tales were always the most thrilling ones in The Rimba.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I fought off a python with just a banana?” he boasted one morning, perched high in a tree, while a group of young squirrels and lizards gathered below.
Their eyes widened. A banana?
“Oh yes,” Kasa continued, waving his tail dramatically. “The great python of the Eastern River wrapped itself around me, squeezing tight! But I—thinking quickly, of course—grabbed the nearest banana, peeled it with lightning speed, and shoved it right into its mouth! The python was so surprised, it let me go and slithered away, never to return!”
The young animals gasped. Incredible! A hero among monkeys!
Encouraged, Kasa leaned in. “Oh, but that’s nothing compared to the time I outran a lightning bolt.“
“A… lightning bolt?” a skeptical lizard asked.
“Indeed,” Kasa nodded solemnly. “It was during a storm so fierce, even the rivers ran backwards. A bolt of lightning struck the tree I was in, and do you know what I did?”
The animals shook their heads.
“I leaped from the treetop, swung on a vine, and raced the lightning to the ground—and I won!”
The younger animals cheered, but some of the older ones exchanged glances.
Tula the squirrel was one of Kasa’s oldest friends. She stayed behind after the other animals went on their way.
“Are you sure your stories are true?” asked Tula.
“Oh, Tula,” Kasa scoffed. “A good story is better than a boring truth.”
And with that, he swung away, basking in the attention and admiration of his audience.
Because what was the harm? It was just a little embellishment.
A few stretched truths.
And besides, no one ever wanted to hear a boring story.
Now, if there was one thing Kasa loved more than talking, it was being admired.
He lived for the way the jungle paused to listen whenever he spoke, for the wide-eyed creatures hanging onto his every word.
And so, he started pushing his stories even further.
He told the hornbills he had once been invited to become king of the sky, but declined out of modesty.
He told the crocodiles he had swum across the widest river in The Rimba without taking a breath.
He even told the fireflies he could speak the secret language of the wind.
The truth no longer mattered. Only the attention did.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees, Kasa wandered deep into the jungle in search of sweet, ripe bananas.
That was when he found it.
A pond so still, it reflected the sky like a perfect mirror.
No ripples. No wind. Just his own face staring back at him.
Kasa grinned. “Well, aren’t I a handsome sight?“
And, just for fun, he began to shout his biggest lies into the water.
“I can turn invisible whenever I want!”
“The great hornbill begged me to be king!”
“I discovered a cave filled with golden coconuts!”
His own voice echoed back, bouncing through the trees.
Kasa laughed and laughed as his words filled the air.
Then, suddenly—
The pond shimmered.
And for a split second, the jungle fell completely silent.
The air felt heavier.
Something shifted, though Kasa did not notice.
Still grinning, he swung away, unaware that he had left something behind in the water.
His true words.
The next morning, Kasa leapt down from his tree, eager for another day of storytelling.
“Good morning, Tula!” he intended to greet his friend.
But instead of those words, his voice betrayed him.
“I once outran a lightning bolt!”
Tula blinked. “What?”
Confused, Kasa tried again.
“I can turn invisible whenever I want!” his voice declared.
He repeated lines from his stories, not the ones he had meant to say.
Tula frowned. “Kasa, are you joking?”
“No, I—”
“The great hornbill begged me to be king!”
Kasa’s stomach dropped.
No matter what he tried to say, only his old lies came out.
At first, he laughed it off, assuming it was temporary.
But soon, the real problems began.
When he tried to warn the animals about a fallen tree blocking the river, his voice shouted an old lie instead.
“I once fought off a python with a banana!”
No one listened.
When he tried to ask for help, his words betrayed him.
“The great hornbill begged me to be king!”
The hornbill, passing by, rolled his eyes.
And when he finally panicked and pleaded with Tula, his voice declared—
“I can speak the secret language of the wind!”
The animals laughed.
“Oh, Kasa,” a lizard chuckled. “Always making up stories.”
“It’s true this time!” Kasa tried to say—but the pond had stolen his real words.
And now?
No one believed him.
Kasa ran back to the pond, panting, desperate, staring into its still, glassy surface.
“Please,” he pleaded. “Give me back my voice.”
But the water remained silent.
He tried again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to lie!”
His voice shimmered over the water—but instead of the apology, the words that came out were—
“I discovered a cave filled with golden coconuts!”
Kasa stumbled backward, heart pounding.
“No, no, no—please!”
“I once fought off a python with a banana!”
The echoes were endless.
No matter how much he begged, no matter how much truth he tried to say, the pond had taken his words and twisted them into ghosts—repeating the stories he had once told so easily.
For a long time, Kasa stopped speaking altogether.
If the only words he could say were false ones, then it was better to say nothing at all.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Then months.
And slowly—ever so slowly—something changed.
The echoes began to fade.
At first, only a little.
Then more.
Until one day, when he tried to speak—his true voice finally returned.
But it wasn’t the same voice as before.
It was softer.
More careful.
It carried the weight of everything he had lost.
While the pond had given his voice back, it had left something behind.
Now, whenever Kasa spoke, a faint whisper of his old lies would trail behind him, like a shadow.
They didn’t overpower him anymore.
They didn’t take control.
But they were always there, reminding him:
Once a lie is told, it never truly disappears.
And Kasa never forgot that again.
Corporate Trainer, Consultant, Entrepreneur & Author | Therine Goh 
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