Long ago, when the world was still young and the lands of the South Seas were wild and uncharted, a humble island stood sentinel amid vast seas. In a time plagued by pirates, they sat vulnerable, besieged by pillagers time and again. The people of the island were distraught – what meager resources they could find were often stolen, leaving them hungry and destitute.

Until one day, a creature emerged from the water. The Merlion – a mighty beast born of salt and stone, courage and calm. As tempestuous as the sea, the villagers feared it had come to swallow them whole.

But the three village elders were old and wise, and they knew that succumbing to fear would be the end of them all.

“We must appease the beast,” said the first. “Let us offer it what little food and treasure we have. We will go hungry in the days ahead, but better than being eaten ourselves.”

“Yes,” said the second. “And let us get our warriors and dancers to put on a show. Perhaps if the beast is entertained by us, it will let us live.”

“Yes,” agreed the third. “And let us gather the best storytellers on the island – the oldest of us, to share the tales of our villages. Perhaps if it learns our history, it will feel for our plight.”

Under the Merlion’s fierce gaze, they put out a call for all the villages on the island to come together. The villagers brought their food, trinkets, whatever they’d managed to keep away from their attackers – setting up great fires to cook with the scent of food wafting across the island. The village warriors and dancers put on a magnificent show in the village square, dedicating it to the Merlion. Last of all came the storytellers – great poets and the oldest among them, weaving fantastic tales of trials long past.

The festival ran for two days, and the villagers, already weak from hunger, collapsed at the end, beseeching the Merlion to accept their gifts and leave them in peace.

The Merlion lowered its great head, and let out a low rumble, warm breath sweeping through the village. The change was immediate. Warriors who felt faint from hunger rose to their feet, strengthened once more. The sound of children’s laughter filled the air as they found the energy to run and play. The villagers no longer felt the gnawing in their bellies, and as they stood, they watched in wonder as fish leapt from the water into their abandoned fishing nets – as deer and fowl emerged from the jungle as though by a summons.

The Merlion tilted its head, deep voice booming across the island.

“For two days, you who had little offered me all. Never have I been so moved in all my long years. Your villages were many, and in a single moment, you became one. I will protect your island, and its people, but never forget what you did today – for this was triumph, not mine.”

And so the Symphony of Land and Sea was born – a vibrant gathering of artisans, storytellers and villages from islands all over. A grand festival to celebrate not just their guardian, but the wisdom of their elders, and the day their island and its people came together in a time of strife. It’s is said that when the Merlion is pleased, the waters around Singapore’s shores remain calm, the winds fair, the fields blooming, and the fortunes flow like the tide.