Literary Works Across the Region (PART II)

And here is the second blow of the set of literary works across the region.

1. The Myth of Wawa Dam, Montalban (RIZAL)

by: Christian Paula Ramos

Wawa Dam

Philippine mythology is the traditional oral literature derived from Philippine folk literature. It includes collection of tales and superstitions about magical creatures and entities. Some Filipinos, mostly in provinces, still believe on these tales.

So, let me share with you the myth of Wawa Dam in Montalban, Rizal.

The limestone walls of Wawa Dam is a majestic site. It has a quiet river, huge limestone rocks, caves, and tranquil scenery which depict a mystical scene. This magnificent view in Montalban, Rizal has its own local folklore about its existence.

There are several versions about this story. Here’s the local version I know. It starts with the story of Bernardo Carpio who grew up in San Mateo, Rizal and was part of a rebellion against the Spanish who feared his incredible strength. Employing the powers of a local engkantado (shaman), he was trapped in between two rocks through supernatural means. Calling for a parley, they lured him towards a cave in the mountains of Montalban. The lad fell for the trap. The engkantado used his agimat (talisman) and Bernardo Carpio was caught between two boulders which the shaman had caused to grind each other.

The legend says he was not killed, but was trapped between these two boulders. He was unable to escape because the talisman’s power was as great as his own strength. When Carpio’s co-conspirators arrived at the cave to rescue him, they were blocked from the cave by a series of cave-ins that killed several of the men. People soon surmised that whenever an earthquake happens, it is caused by Bernardo Carpio trying to free himself from the mountain.

Bernardo Carpio

2. My First Sonnet (CALABARZON)

by: Vina Pedrosa Landicho

What life to start anew if offers no chance?
While God blessed here and there and pour upon
A will to live doth take full reliance
That request in prayer hasn’t been done
To do it when and how, questions arise
Unsure with broken beads of our broken time
And if this reasoning is what another lies
Beseech to make I know should be but mine
Then had the day I dig my eyes admired
In secret thy old song replay relieved the pain
Revealed the truth of yesteryears someone required
In every fleeting moment had me explain
To elucidate would be a mocking groan
But pity not my friend for this sonnet I adorn

3. The Legend of Lake Ticob (QUEZON)

Retold by: Nita Umali-Berthelsen

In one of the lesser-known barrios of Quezon Province in Southern Luzon, there lies a small, clear lake, beautiful in shape like a gem set in the middle of an emerald circlet. It is said that on clear days one can see the depths of this lake and distinguish four posts. And on still nights if one is very quite, one may see crocodiles come up to the and quietly sleep under the moonlight.

The people who have live around the lake say that many, many years ago there was no water in the place. A small house where an elderly couple lived stood on the spot where the lake is now. Although happy in their love for each other, the man and his wife had one sorrow-that in there advanced age they still had no child. Finally his wife, who had about given up all hope, received an answer to all her prayers and one day gave her husband the good news. “I dreamed I would be with child son, a daughter. She shall come on the ninth moon. There is only one thing. The gods who will give us this child have commanded that she shall never stop out of our house or misfortune will befall us.

In their joy at the arrival of the child, little did the couple think of the latter part of her dream. It did not take long before the dream came true, and the baby was bouncing on its father’s knee. The couple could hardly contain their joy. As the years passed, they saw that not only did they have an obedient, diligent daughter whom they, however, always reminded never to set foot outside their door, but that they also had a beautiful child. In time suitors came to ask of her hand, but too young to understand what love meant, she laughed off her admirer’s extravagant words. One day while her parents were in the field working on the soil that gave them their livelihood, one of these suitors came. He have been dared by his other friends who were quite certain that the damsel would never consider his suit. “Why, you can’t even make her come down from her house,” they mocked him. Stung by their remarks, he promised that he could do at least that.

He found the maiden sitting by the window, finishing a piece of embroidery on a pillowcase. When he came, she offered him a seat and settled back to her sewing. “Can’t you leave your work for a minute?” asked the young man, wondering at her unusual diligence. She smiled in apology. “I cannot today. This works is expected to be finished this afternoon. My mother will deliver it to the lady who ordered the embroidery. She will not forgive me if she comes home with the work unfinished.”

Silently the man watched her, seeing in her explanation a way of realizing his plans. He did not waste time. After the girl finished the length of thread and was reaching for some more, he brushed his hand against the needle lying on the windowsill and sent the silver of steel falling down to the ground. The girl exclaimed in consternation and then asked the suitor to go down and get it. Apparently willing, he hurriedly found the needle, reached it up to her, and then, suddenly playful, urged her to come to the door and reach down for it.

Without thinking, the girl did as he asked, her arm stretched out, her feet remaining inside the door. But the man backed away, and she had to go forward. “Come on, take a step down,” he cajoled. She did. He backed away again, and she had to take another step down the stairway. As she did so faint rumbling could be heard, and it grew louder with every downward step she took. Too frightened to think that it was her descent that could be the cause of the noise, the girl hurried to the man, but no sooner had her feet touched the ground than water came rushing down, covering them and the whole house. The parents, having heard the noise, came and they too were enveloped by water.

But the gods, punishing them, still gave them life and changed the four people into crocodiles. That is why, it is said. The crocodiles in Lake Ticob have always been tame and at one time they even played with the children who romped around the beach. And when fishermen rowed on the lake, the crocodiles swam around the boats and never harmed human beings.

But one day, just a few years ago, a stranger who did not know that the crocodiles in the lake were human, shot one of them. Only then did the crocodiles turn unfriendly, and although they still do not kill people, they no longer play with children. This legend explains how some things came bout in Lanao.

4. The Legend of Maria Makiling (CALABARZON)

Retold by: 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.

5. The Legend of Hari sa Bukid (CALABARZON)

Uknown Author

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.