The Origin of Rice (Folktales and Legends)

Rice is the staple food of Filipinos, and because of this, we have many stories about rice plants or palay. Our ancestors used their stories to explain how palay was discovered as a crop and rice as a food. The origin of the palay is related to the livelihood of our ancestors before they became farmers. In the beginning, people depended on their surroundings for food. They hunted, fished, and dug for root crops. Because they gathered food this way, they did not have permanent homes nor sources of livelihood. Then, when they learned how to plant palay, their lives improved.

The Legend of Macapuno (Folktales and Legends)

In pre-Hispanic days, there was a lagoon that connected with the River Pasig, where later stood the Chinese Parian, near present Botanical Gardens. The Pasig lapped quietly against its banks. Sailing slowly past on the current were floating islands of water-plants, including patches of those resembling cabbages called quiapo, which that suburb is named after. Crocodiles--ancient, scraggy-skinned specimens--abounded, and water-fowl filled the mornings and evenings with their calls. Where the lagoon and shore met in a labyrinth of waterways, the green fronds of the nipa-palm flourished, and forest trees grew about the edges, raised a few feet above the level of the river. This lagoon was later used as a water-entry for the trading champans and cascos with the Chinese, but gradually it filled up after the Parain was transferred across the Pasig to the Alcayceria.

Upon the arrival of the Castilians to the Islands, the petty rajahs and rulers of the settlements were--almost without exception--men of Borneo or, to more accurately, of the the sultanate of Brunei, which claimed everything north to Manila Bay. Such places as Sapa (Sta. Ana) were ruled over by Lakantagan, a Bornean, whose son by a "Bornean woman" named Pasay--it is said--gave his name to that settlement. So Kainta, Kalilaya, and Komintang (Tayabas and Batangas) of Panay, and Bago and Ilo of Negros were Bornean rulers, as was possibly Lakandola, the grandson of Lontok and Kalangitan. A daughter of Lontok married the ruler of Sapa (Baliuag), a colony planted from the original Sapa (Sta. Ana), who was called Balagtas. Bunayog, the ruler of Bua (Nebuy, the chief settlement of Camarines); Panga, ruler of Lupa; Kayayao ruler of Sabang, settlements of Bicolandia; and Sumaclob, rajah of the Cuyos were all men of Borneo who paid tribute to Brunei before its decadence about the end of the16th century.

Its copper money, at least, was current in the beginning of this century here in the Islands.

Some generations before the caravels of Legaspi entered Manila Bay, this lagoon was home to a family of the rajah class who had been exiled from Brunei for some reason connected with the execution of the Sultan, a cruel and avaricious ruler. Reduced to the lowest circumstances, Rajah Madia and his wife Kimay made the banks of the lagoon their home. Without the usual regiment of slaves and with no means of obtaining them, their household consisted of their only daughter, Macapuno, a girl of extreme beauty and affability and a princess in her own right; the aged brother of Madia, named Tidoy; and Tidoy's two sons, Kamanchille and Guanar, both growing into manhood. The river, marsh, and forest supplied their simple wants, as it did those of their neighbors on the lush banks of the Pasig.

Although many asked for the hand of the beautiful and modest Macapuno, none was of sufficient rank to satisfy Madia and his wife. Attractive and lovable she grew into womanhood, but lacking a noble suitor, she busied herself solely with the tasks of the household. If she had dreams, she kept them to herself. In time, age overtook her parents, who died and were buried according to Bornean customs. Kamanchille and Guanar, haughtily refusing to take service with the datus of Lusong, became expert warriors and hunters, supporting their cousin Macapuno, and their aged father Tidoy, a once-renowned warrior. A year or so passed in this manner for the reduced family living in exile on the banks of the lagoon by the Pasig.

The day came when a wandering hero (bayani) from Brunei passed by, saw the beautiful Macapuno, and fell violently in love with her. She in turn did not discourage his advances. Having nothing but his arms and valor and pleasing address and appearance, Luanbakar proposed to marry her, but the cousins, Kamanchille and Buanar, as heads of the family, were fiercely proud of their high descent and, following age-old custom, suspicious of all strangers. After conferring with the viejo Tidoy and Macapuno, they allowed him to follow the regular condition of an unknown suitor of Malaysia.

This custom stated that the admirer should labor for a certain period for the family of the maid, until the elders were satisfied that a good choice had been made and that the suitor would prove an eligible match for the girl. Luanbakar readily agreed, and the first task appointed him was the construction of a long dike in order to make part of the lagoon into a fishpond. This pond, supplied by the tides from the Pasig, would prove a profitable undertaking in breeding the fish among the roots of the mangroves and nilad. The work progressed for some time, the dredging and building being done by hand alone. This was varied by hunting trips in the commons, and Luanbakar proved his industry and dexterity on all occasions, partly allaying the suspicions of the two cousins.

Because the fishpond was but a short distance from the house, Macapuno would carry food to the bayani engaged in his labor of love for her, and in the flush of youth, they were naturally attracted to each other. But the cousins of the princess believed that the stranger had not waited for the rite of marriage and, out of revenge planned, to kill him as he had not followed the strict custom. They reasoned that to doing so would save their honor, notwithstanding that the task allotted him had been practically completed and that their cousin and the bayani were as good as married. In accordance with Malayan custom, a wrong remains un-righted until death overtakes the guilty. It is equally un-redressed if the avenger fails to make himself or his aims known to the victim. The boys then plotted the death of the stranger, either singly or in the company of each other.

As Luanbakar was busy finishing the dike, Kamanchille with his hunting spear appeared before him one day, inquiring if the wild boar he was pursing had passed that way. The bayani replied, "No," adding that these animals rarely take to the river to hide. The cousin kept insisting on his story, and Luanbakar turning his head towards the young man, saw him with his spear poised and pointed in his direction. The same instant this was launched with such ferocity that it entered his side below the ribs, passed through the body and hurled him into the water, while Kamanchille taunted him for his flouting of immemorial custom. Terribly wounded, Luanbakar climbed the dike, extracted the spear, bound the mortal wound tightly with his sarong, and saw Kamanchille in full flight after his treacherous deed.

Certain of him imminent death, Luanbakar grasped the spear and pursued the flying Kamanchille, shouting for him to wait and he would show how the wild boar could die. Gaining on the youth, the latter glancing over his shoulder, tripped over a mangrove root and fell. At this moment Luanbakar threw the lance with such dexterity that it passed completely through his slayer, and at the same time, he fell exhausted beside the body of his enemy. In the moment before their deaths, he whispered in the ear of Kamanchille that the Great Bathala would be their judge, that he forgave the cowardly blow, and that he would so testify. And so they died together.

Macapuno, noting that Kamanchille did not return after passing that way and apprehensive of his attitude came to the dike. It was deserted, but the trail of blood told the story as she followed it to where they lay side by side in death. Tears welled from her eyes for the fate of her relative and her lover, and for some time, she gave herself up to silent sorrow. Stifling her grief, she piled branches on the pair and returned to the house resolved to say nothing and to keep silence over the affair. Guanar, returning later, asked her about the whereabouts of the two, and she replied that the bayani and Kamanchille had gone hunting and awaited him in a distant part of the forest which then extended through Paco--named after its edible ferns--to the nyun of Sapa itself. Grasping his spear, he left hastily for the supposed rendezvous, sensing that his brother was leading the stranger to his death.

Upon his departure Macapuno took a wooden spade and returned to the scene of the tragedy. The night had set and turned dark and stormy. Rain from over the distant mountain pattered on the forest canopies and the lagoon. The wind blew in fitful gusts, chilling her during her terrible task. Without aid of light, she excavated a deep grave in which she placed both bodies, weeping bitterly the while, the work taking some hours to finish. After washing herself in the waters of the river, she returned to the house and prepared a meal for Guanar. He returned about midnight carrying a deer which had fallen to his spear and remarking that he had not found a trace of either his brother or the bayani, although he had searched the entire forest. Macapuno assured him they would return the next day without doubt. The succeeding day Guanar himself continued the work on the fishpond. Upon noticing the traces of blood he reported it to Macapuno, who replied that it is probably that of some wounded animal in the fight. While the explanation did not satisfy Guanar, he said nothing. Some months passed, and the hunters did not return nor was anything further heard of them. The ancient warrior, Tidoy, passed on, and they were still more alone. She took the child across the Pasig, entrusting it to an old woman to bring up. No mention was made of its parents, but princess left with the old crone all her ornaments as recompense--all the property she had left in the world.

Macapuno return sadly to her menial tasks with nothing but memories. The daily gnawing of conscience tormented her. Unable to stand these, together with the buffetings of fate, she arrayed herself in her best garments, carefully weighted them with stones, went to the end of dike and threw herself into the river, thus ending the tragedy. Guanar, finding her absent, searched for her high and low, finally discovering her corpse on a sandbar near the mouth of the Pasig. His sorrow was great, but no amount of remorse could alter the facts. Recovering the body he dug a grave on the bank in which he buried the unfortunate Macapuno, but he had nothing to mark the spot.

Looking around he saw a coconut floating past in the current. This he retrieved and planted it in the grave to permanently mark it. Returning to the lonely house, he in turn became disconsolate, brooding over the circumstances that left him the sole survivor of all his exiled family. He resolved to return to the land of his birth and take service under some datu (exiled family). He paddled out to the island of Takaykay from whence he took passage in a boat bearing the tribute to the Sultan of Brunei, the last of his race.

Years past and the coconut planted on the grave of Macapuno grew up into a noble palm bearing fruit in turn. While not so tall as its species, its graceful fronds hid an abundance of small round nuts. But these were entirely different from the ordinary variety, being solid, full of meat, and much sweeter to taste. The wandering traders of Kalilaya and Bai took these nuts to propagate, and they were thus in high demand.

May not the palm have absorbed the agreeable qualities of the unfortunate princess--her perfection of form, her sweetness of temper? That at least is the legend, for this variety of coconut is known by all and is called Macapuno.

Legend of Mag-asawang Tubig (Folktales and Legends)

In the olden days, there was a small town in which a few farmers' families lived. Among them was the couple known as Ba Imo and Ba Sinta. They were well liked and respected in that place, for although they were well off, they were humble and generous.

One day Bathala put them to the test. A beggar in tattered clothes came to their house and asked for lodgings. The couple very hospitably welcomed their guest and even joined him for a meal at their table. To the great amazement of the couple, although they had been eating for sometime, the food at the table did not decrease. Realizing that their guest was God, the couple knelt before him and prayed. The old man blessed them. In their prayer, the couple asked that they may die at the same time, so that neither of them would experience grief and loneliness which would surely happen if one of them died first.

God granted the wish of the couple. They died at the same time and were buried in adjoining graves. Not long afterwards, a brook sprang from their graves. This later grew and grew until it became a river, which was named Mag-asawang Tubig in memory of the loving couple.

The Legend of Hari Sa Bukid (Folktales and Legends)

Many years ago, in the high mountains of Southern Luzon, there was a beautiful place where the people were happy. They produced much tobacco. The people were governed by a certain king named Hari sa Bukid, who was very good. He had a very wide plantation in their domain, the mountain that was very beautiful. His people were happy.

One day he called all his men and said that he was going to a far-away land to visit his friends, who were kings. He bade them to be industrious and to continue planting. He told them to be diligent and to the slopes of the mountains with tobacco, if he was delayed in his return journey.

During his first ten years, the people of Hari sa Bukid faithfully fulfilled their vow to the king and the slopes of the mountains were virtually flower gardens full of beautifully cultivated tobacco plants. The whole tribe of Hari sa Bukid were happy and prosperous. Their tobacco trade was so large that even the people of the nearby lands flocked to barter their goods with them. All were happy and prosperous. Everyone tended his share of the land carefully. More and more tobacco was produced. The fame of the people in raising tobacco in Hari sa Bukid’s tribe became well-known.

Then they started to abandon the care and the cultivation of the field. Their harvests diminished greatly and their business with other people was discredited because of the small quantity that they could raise. Almont of the friends were abandoned.

When they were already in want because of lack of goods and other things that they needed in their livelihood, they felt a strong earthquake that shook the foundation of the earth and the volcano started throwing out fire and smoke. They were frightened and ran in all directions towards the sea.

To their astonishment Hari sa Bukid appeared in a terrible rage. Calling all his men together, he rebuked them for their disobedience to his order and advice. He scolded them severely for their improper and unbecoming conduct, ordering them in a thundering voice to answer him. All his men were speechless. They knew they were guilty of the serious crimes of disobedience and laziness. Upon seeing the guilt of his people, he punished them by gathering the scanty produce of tobacco in the fields and carried it to the top of the mountain. With a terrific blow of his fist, he bore a hole on top of the mountain and carried all the tobacco with him down to the center of the earth. He smokes in there when he is in good mood. Thus when we see the volcano smoking and sending out fire, it is Hari sa Bukid smoking his tobacco.

Unless his people will come again and show their industry and work hard, Hari sa Bukid will never return; the tobacco which he is still smoking in the center of the earth will continue.

The Legend of Mariang Makiling (Folktales and Legends)

Retold by: Dr. Jose P. Rizal

The many legends of Mariang Makiling tell of a young woman who lived on the beautiful mountain that separates the provinces of Laguna and Tayabas. Her dwelling place was never definitely known, because those who had the good luck to deal with her would wander about for a long time lost in the woods, unable to return; neither did they remember the way, nor were they agreed as to the place and its description.

While some say her home was a beautiful palace, bright as a golden reliquary, surrounded by gardens and fine parks, others assert that they saw only wretched hut with a patched roof and bamboo sides. Such a contradiction may give rise to the belief that both parties were romancing, it is true; but it may also be due to the fact that Mariang Makiling, like may persons in comfortable circumstances, might have had two dwelling places.

According to eyewitness, she was a young woman, tall and graceful with big black eyes and long a nd abundant hair. Her color was a clear pure brown, the kayumangging kaligatan, as the Tagalog say. Her hands and feet were small and delicate and the expression of her countenance always grave and serious.

She was a fantastic creature, half nymph, halves sylph, born under the moonbeams of Filipinas, in the mystery of its ancient woods, to the murmur of the waves on the neighboring shore. According to general belief, and contrary to the reputation imputed to the nymphs and goddesses, Mariang Makiling always remained pure, simple, and mysterious as the genius of the mountain. An old maid servant we had, an Amazon who defended her house against the outlaws and once killed once of them with a lance thrust, assured me that she had in her childhood seen her passing in the distance over the reed grass so lightly and airily that she did not even make the flexible blades bend.

They said that on the night of Good Friday, when the hunters build bonfires to attract the deer by the scent of the ashes of which these animals are so fond, they have discerned her motionless on the brink of the most fearful abysses, letting her long hair float in the wind, all flooded with the moonlight. Then she would salute them ceremoniously, pass on, and disappear amid the shadows of the neighboring trees.

Generally every one love and respected her and no one ever dared to question her, to follow, or to watch her. She has also been seen seated for long periods upon a cliff beside a river, as though watching the gentle currents of the stream. There was an old hunter who claimed to have seen her bathing in a secluded fountain at midnight, when the cicadas themselves were asleep, when the moon reigned in the midst of silence, and nothing disturbed the charm of solitude. In those same hours and under the same circumstances was the time when the mysterious and melancholy notes of her harp might be heard. Persons who heard them stopped, for they drew away and became hushed when any attempt was made to follow them up.

Her favorable time for appearing, it is said, was after a storm. Then she would be seen scurrying over the fields, and whenever she passed, life, order, and calm were renewed; the trees again straightened up their overthrown trunks, and all traces of the unchained elements were wiped away.

When the poor country folk on the slopes of Makiling needed clothing or jewels for the solemn occasions of life, she would lend them and besides, give her a pullet white as milk, one that had never laid an egg, a dumalaga, as they say. Mariang Makiling was very charitable and had a good heart. Now often has she not, in the guise of a simple country maid, aided poor old women who went to the woods for firewood or to pick wild fruits, by slipping among the latter nuggets of gold, coins, and jewels.

A hunter who was one day chasing a wild boar through the tall grass and thorny bushes of the thickets came suddenly upon a hut in which the animal hid.

Soon a beautiful young woman issued from the hut and said to him gently: “The wild boar belongs to me and you have done wrong to chase it. But I see that you are very tired; your arms and legs are covered with blood. So come in and eat, and then you may go on your way.”

Confused and startled, and besides charmed by the beauty of the young woman, the man went in and ate mechanically everything she offered him, without being able to speak a single word. Before he left, the young woman gave him some pieces of ginger, charging him to give them to his wife for her cooking. The hunter put them inside the crown of his broad hat and after thanking her, withdrew in content. On the was home, he felt his hat becoming heavy so he took out many of the pieces and threw them away. But what was his surprise and regret when the next day he discovered that what he had taken to be ginger was solid gold, bright as a ray of sunshine. Although he tried to look for them later, he could never find even one.

But for many years now, Mariang Makiling’s presence has not been manifested on Makiling. Her vapory figure no longer wanders through the deep valleys or hovers over the waterfalls on the serene moonlight nights. The melancholy tone of her mysterious harp is no longer heard, and now lovers get married without receiving from her jewels and other presents, many fear that she has disappeared forever, or at least, she avoids any contact with mankind.

Yet on the side of the mountain, there is a clear, quite pool, and the legend persists that her vapory figure may still be seen reflected in this pool in the mists of early dawn, and from time to time people to the countryside go to watch for her there.

Fireflies (Folktales and Legends)

Once, a long time ago, in the valley of Pinak in Central Luzon, one of the islands of the Philippines, there was a deep, large lake rich with fish. There, the people of Pinak fished for their food, and always, there was plenty for all. Then suddenly, the big river dried up. In the shallow mud, there was not a fish to catch! For months, there was no rains. Out in the fields, the land turned dry. The rice stalks slowly withered. Everywhere in Pinak, there was hunger.

Night after night, the people of Pinak prayed hard. “Dear Bathala,” they would recite together in their small and poorly built chapel, “send us rains, give us food to eat for the people are starving, and there is want among us all.”

Then one black and starless night, the good Bathala answered the prayers of the faithful people of Pinak. For suddenly, up in the skies, appeared a blaze of gold. “A chariot! A chariot of gold!” shouted the people in fear and wonder. True enough-zooming and blazing through the sky, was a beautiful chariot made of pure, glittering gold!

The people started to flee in panic, when a big voice boomed from the chariot: “I am a Bulan-hari, and I have come with my wife, Bitu-in. We are sent from the heavens to rule Pinak from now on. We have come to give you a good life!”

As Bulan-hari spoke, the black skies opened. The rains fell in torrents. Soon the dry fields bloomed fresh again. The large lake rose till it was again deep and alive with fish. The people of Pinak were happy once more under the rulership of the good Bulan-hari.

Soon Bulan-hari and Bitu-in had a daughter. She grew up to be a beautiful maiden. Such long, dark hair! Such lovely eyes under long, curly lashes! Her nose was chiseled fine. Her lips were like rosebuds. Her skin was soft and fair like cream. They named her Alitaptap, for on her forehead was a bright, sparkling star.

All the young, brave, and handsome men of Pinak fell in love with Alitaptap. They worshipped her beauty. They sang songs of love beneath her windows. They all sought to win her heart. But, alas! The heart of Alitaptap was not human. She was the daughter of Bulan-hari and Bitu-in who burst from the sky and were not of the earth. She has a heart of stone, as cold and hard as the sparkling star carved in her forehead. Alitaptap would never know love.

Then one day, an old woman arrived in the palace. Her hair was long and dirty. Her clothing was tattered and soiled.

Before the King Bulan-hari, Balo-na, the old, wise woman whined in her high and sharp voice. “Oh, mighty king! I have come from my cave in the mountains. I have journeyed on foot to bring you sad news!” Bulan-hari asked in fear, “What is it, wise woman?” “I can see in my crystal ball that the future will bring ruin and sorrow. The warriors from the land of La-ut will come on their mighty horses with their mighty swords and conquer our mighty men. They will destroy our crops, throw poison in the lake, and bring ruin everywhere!”

“Oh, wise woman,” the king replied in despair, “what are we to do?”

“Alitaptap must bear a son. Only he can grew up to be the people’s leader. He will conquer all invaders, and keep the peace in our land!”

At once, Alitaptap! You must pick one of the young men to marry. You must bear a son. He will keep the peace and happiness our people now enjoy!”

But how could Alitaptap understand? The beautiful maiden with a heart of stone merely stood in silence.

Bulan-hari gripped his sword in blind despair. “Alitaptap!” he bellowed in the quiet palace. “You will follow me, or you will lie dead this very minute!”

But nothing could stir the lovely young woman’s heart. Bulan-hari, bling with anger nand fear of the dark future, finally drew his sword. Clang! The steel of his sword’s blade rang in the silence of the big palace. It hit the star on Alitaptap’s lovely forehead!

The star burst! Darkness was everywhere! Suddenly a thousand chips of glitter and light flew around the hall. Only the shattered pieces of the star on Alitaptap forehead lighted the great hall, flickering around as through they were stars with tiny wings.

Alitaptap, the lovely daughter sent from the heavens, lay dead.

And soon, Balo-na’s predictions came true. Riding on stamping wild horses, the warriors of La-ut came likt the rumble and clash of lightning and thunder. They killed the people of Pinak, ruined the crops, poison the lake. They spread sorrow and destruction everywhere.

When it all ended, the beautiful, peaceful valley of Pinak had turned into empty and shallow swamp. At night, there was nothing but darkness, but soon, tiny sparkles of light flickered and glimmered brightly in the starless night.

And so, the fireflies came about. Once, a long time ago, they were fragments from the star on the forehead ob Bulan-hari’s daughter, the beautiful Alitapap.