Filipino Popular Tales

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TALE 77

Why the Cuttle-Fish and Squids Produce a Black Liquid.

Narrated by Victoria Ciudadano of Batangas. She says she heard the
story from an old woman. It is known by both the Tagalogs and the
Visayans.

A long time ago, after Bathala [108] had created the fishes, he
assigned a certain day for all of them to meet in the Dark Sea. The
object of this convention was to appoint some officers. Early in the
morning of the day designated, the fishes were to be seen hurrying to
the meeting. When they reached the assembly hall, they found Bathala
sitting on a beautiful stone, waiting for them. He called the roll
when it seemed that all of the fishes were present. It was found
that the cuttle-fish and squid were absent, so they waited for them
a half-hour; but still they did not come. At last Bathala arose,
and said, "The meeting will come to order." After the fishes had
taken their proper positions, Bathala continued, "The object of this
meeting is to appoint some officers and to issue their appointments."

At once all the fishes became very quiet and respectful, for all
were anxious to know what offices each was going to hold. Bathala
appointed the sting-ray sergeant-at-arms: hence all sting-rays now have
whip-like tails. The crocodile was appointed cadaver-carrier: so now
all its children have a coffin-like skin on their backs. The crab was
made a soldier: so to-day all its descendants have large and strong
fore-legs. Bathala had not finished giving out his appointments when
the two missing members came. They at once interrupted the meeting
by asking what it was all about. Bathala became very angry at the
interruption, so he scolded the sting-ray and the squid severely. The
rebuke humiliated them so, that they agreed between themselves to
go get mud and throw it on the official appointments. When they
had gotten the mud, they came back and asked Bathala to give them
something to do; but, instead of appointing them to some work, he only
scolded them for being late. Angered, they now threw mud on all the
appointments that had already been drawn up. This insulting act of
the cuttle-fish and the squid so enraged Bathala, that he stood up,
and said in thundering tones, "Now I shall punish you. From this time
on, you and your descendants shall carry pouches of mud with you all
the time. Besides, you shall be very slow in moving because of your
heavy loads." The squid tried to make excuses, but Bathala became
angrier than ever, and said, "You are the naughtiest creature I ever
had. As a punishment, you and your children shall remain the same size
as you are now." And all of Bathala's words have turned out to be true.

TALE 78

Why Cocks have Combs on their Heads.

Narrated by Rosita Nieva, a Tagalog from Boac, Marinduque. She heard
the story from her grandmother.

Once upon a time there was a magician named Pablo, who had a son
called Juan. Pablo was very industrious, but Juan was lazy and
disobedient. Juan cared for nothing but fine clothes and his own
appearance; he would not help his father. One day Pablo went into his
son's room to find out what he was doing. There he was, standing before
a mirror, and combing his hair. Pablo was so angry at his son, that he
immediately snatched the comb from his hand. Then he angrily struck
the boy's head with the comb, and spoke these harsh words: "Since
you always want to use the comb, let it be on your head forever! I
prefer to have no son at all. I would rather see you changed into a
bird than to remain such a disobedient, worthless boy." The father
struck his son's head so hard, that the comb stuck deep into the
skull. By Pablo's magic power, Juan was immediately changed into a
cock, and the comb on his head was changed into flesh. We can see it
to-day on the heads of all the descendants of Juan.

Note.

I know of no variants of stories Nos. 76-78.

TALE 79

How the Crow became Black.

Narrated by Vicente L. Neri, a Visayan from Cagayan, Misamis. He was
told the story by his grandmother.

A long time ago, when Bathala, the god of the land, was peacefully
ruling his dominions, he had many pets. Among these, his two favorites
were the dove and the crow. The crow was noted for its bright,
pretty plumage.

One day Bathala had a quarrel with Dumagat, the god of the
sea. Bathala's subjects had been stealing fish, which were the subjects
of Dumagat. When Dumagat learned of this, and could get no satisfaction
from Bathala, he retaliated. He opened the big pipe through which
the water of the world passes, and flooded the dominions of Bathala,
until nearly all the people were drowned. When the water had abated
somewhat, Bathala sent the crow, his favorite messenger, to find out
whether all his subjects had been killed. The crow flew out from the
palace where the god lived, and soon saw the corpses of many persons
floating about. He descended, alighted on one, and began to eat the
decaying cadaver. When Bathala saw that it was late and that the crow
had not returned, he sent the dove on the same errand, telling the bird
also to find out what had become of the first messenger. The dove flew
away, looking for any signs of life. At last he saw the crow eating
some of the decaying bodies. Immediately he told the crow that the
king had sent for him, and together they flew back to Bathala's palace.

When the two birds arrived at the king's court, the dove told Bathala
that the crow had been eating some dead bodies, and consequently
had not done what he had been sent to do. Bathala was very angry at
this disobedience. Without saying a word, he seized his big inkstand
filled with black ink and threw it at the crow, which was immediately
covered. Bathala then turned to the dove, and said, "You, my dove,
because of your faithfulness, shall be my favorite pet, and no longer
shall you be a messenger." Then he turned to the crow, and said,
"You, foul bird, shall forever remain black; you shall forever be a
scavenger, and every one shall hate you."

So that is why to-day the dove is loved by the people, and the crow
hated. The crows to-day are all black, because they are descendants
of the bird punished by Bathala.

Why the Crow is Black.

Narrated by Ricardo Ortega, an Ilocano living in Tarlac. The story,
however, is Pampangan.

The first crow that lived on the earth was a beautiful bird with a
sweet voice. The universe was ruled over by the god Sinukuan, and
all his subjects were either plants or animals. No human beings were
yet in existence. Sinukuan lived in a beautiful palace surrounded with
gardens of gold. In these gardens lived two crows who sang sweet songs,
and did nothing but fly about among the flowers and trees. Their golden
plumage was beautiful to see, and Sinukuan took great delight in them.

Once a terrible pestilence visited the earth, and a great many of
Sinukuan's animals began to die. In his distress and sorrow, Sinukuan
at once set out and made a tour of his kingdom to give what relief
he could to his suffering subjects. After being away three days,
he returned to his palace, his mind weighted down by all the death
and sickness he had seen. When he reached his garden, he called to
his two birds to come sing for him and relieve his mental anguish;
but neither of the birds came. Sinukuan went through his gardens, but
he called in rain. "O birds! where are you?" he cried. Thinking that
perhaps they had flown away and had been attacked by the pestilence, he
determined to make another trip through his kingdom and look for them.

He had not walked a mile, when, approaching a number of dead animals,
he saw the pair feasting on the decaying flesh. When they saw their
master, they bowed their heads in shame. Had not Sinukuan restrained
himself, he might have killed them that very moment; but he thought
of a better way to punish them. "Now," he said, as he cursed them,
"from this time on, you shall be very ugly black birds; you shall
lose your beautiful voice, and shall be able to make only a harsh cry."

From that time on, those birds were black, and their offspring are
the crows of to-day.

The Dove and the Crow.

Narrated by Restituto D. Carpio, a Zambal from Cabangan, Zambales.

A few days after the inundation of the world, God sent a crow down
to earth to see how deep the water was on the land. When the crow
flew down to earth, he was surprised to see so many dead animals
everywhere. It came to his mind that perhaps they would taste good,
so he alighted on one of them and began to eat. He was so very much
pleased with the abundance of food about him, that he forgot all
about the command God had given him, and he remained on the earth.

On the third day, since the crow had not returned, God sent a dove
down to earth to find out the depth of the water, and to make other
observations of the things that had taken place on the earth. As
the dove was a faithful creature, she did not forget what God told
her. When she reached the earth, she did not alight on any dead animal,
but alighted directly in the water. Now, the water was red from the
blood of so many creatures that had been slain. When the dove stood
in the bloody water, she found that it was only an inch deep. She at
once flew back to heaven, where, in the presence of God, she related
what she had seen on earth, while the crimson color on her feet was
evidence of the depth of the water.

After a short time the crow returned. He came before God, who spoke
to him thus: "What made you so long? Why did you not return sooner
from the earth?" As the crow had no good reason to give for his delay,
he said nothing: he simply bent his head.

God punished the crow by putting a chain on his legs. So that to-day
the crow cannot walk: all he can do is to hop from place to place. The
dove, which was faithful to God, is now the favorite pet bird the
world over. The red color on her feet may be seen to-day as evidence
that she performed her duty.

Notes.

None of our stories presents the exact sequence of events found in
other folk-tales of the sending-out of the raven and the dove after
the Deluge to measure the depth of the water; but there can be no
doubt that the Zambal story (c) derives immediately from one of
these. The Visayan account mentions a flood, but not the Deluge. In
the fact that the cause of the great inundation is a quarrel between
two chief Pagan deities, there seems to be preserved an old native
tradition. In the Pampangan story not only is the curse of the crow
attributed to a Pagan deity, Sinukuan, but the occasion of the bird's
downfall is a pestilence. There is no mention whatever of a flood,
nor is the dove alluded to.

Daehnhardt (1 : 283-287) has discussed a number of folk-tales and
traditions of the punishment of the raven and the rewarding of the
dove. These are for the most part associated with popular accounts
of events immediately after the Deluge. Two that seem to be nearly
related to our versions may be reproduced here in English:--

(Polish story of the dove.) When Noah had despatched a dove from the
Ark, the bird alighted on an oak, but soiled its feet in the water of
the Flood, which was all red from the blood of the multitudes that
had been drowned. Since then, doves have all had red feet. (This
detail appears in part word for word in our Zambal story.)

(Arabian tradition recorded by the ninth-century historian
Tabari.) Noah said to the raven, "Go and set foot on the earth and
see how deep the water is now." The raven flew forth. But on the
way it found a corpse; it began to eat of it, and did not return to
Noah. Noah, troubled, cursed the raven: "May God make you despised of
mankind, and may your food always be corpses!" Then Noah sent the dove
forth. The dove flew away, and without alighting dipped its feet in the
water. But the water of the Flood was salty and stinging; it burned
the dove's feet so that the feathers did not grow in again, and the
skin dropped off. Those doves that have red feet without feathers are
the descendants of the dove that Noah sent forth. Then Noah said, "May
God make you welcome among mankind!" For this reason the dove is even
to-day beloved of mankind. (This version is of especial interest in
connection with the Visayan story, which comes from Mindanao, the home
of Mohammedanism in the Philippines. Note the close correspondences.)

While it appears to me more than likely that our Filipino stories
derive ultimately from Arabian sources through the Moros of the
southern islands rather than through the Spaniards, nevertheless to
settle the question absolutely more variants are needed for comparison.

Attention might be called to incidents peculiar to the Philippine
accounts and not found in any of the versions cited by Daehnhardt:--

(1) A deity, not Noah, sends out the birds.

(2) The crows of Sinukuan (b), in addition to becoming black, are
condemned forever afterward to have raucous, unpleasant voices.

(3) In the Visayan story Bathala makes the crow black by hurling an
inkstand at it. This undignified detail may have been taken over from
one of the popular metrical romances ("Baldovinos" or "Doce Pares")
in which Charlemagne loses his temper and throws an inkwell at Roland
(see JAFL 29 : 208, 214, 215). Or it is just barely possible that
this popular bit of machinery became attached to our story of the
crow on the analogy of an Annamite tale (Landes, Contes annamites,
p. 210 f., cited by Daehnhardt, 3 : 65):--

The raven and the coq de pagode were once men in the service of the
saint (Confucius), who transformed them into birds as a punishment for
disobedience. In order to undo the punishment and to make the saint
laugh, the raven smeared itself all over with ink. The coq de pagode
wished to do the same to itself, but had only enough black ink for
half its body; for the rest it was obliged to use red. Therefore the
raven is black, and the coq de pagode is half red, half black.

(4) In the Zambal story the crow is punished, not by being made black,
but by having a chain put on its legs; so that the crows to-day cannot
walk, but must hop from place to place.

In conclusion I will cite merely for completeness an American Indian
version not found in Daehnhardt. It is referred to by Sir J. G. Frazer
(Folk-Lore in the Old Testament [1918], 1 : 297), who writes as
follows:--

"The same missionary [i.e., Mgr. Faraud, in Annales de la Propagation
de la Foi, xxxvi (1864), 388 et seq.] reports a deluge legend current
among the Crees, another tribe of the Algonquin stock in Canada;
but this Cree story bears clear traces of Christian influence, for
in it the man is said to have sent forth from the canoe, first a
raven, and second a wood-pigeon. The raven did not return, and as a
punishment for his disobedience the bird was changed from white to
black; the pigeon returned with his claws full of mud, from which
the man inferred that the earth was dried up; so he landed."

For other folk explanations of the black color of the crow or raven,
see Daehnhardt, 3 : 59, 65-66, 71, 369. An entirely different account
of how the crow's feathers, which were originally as white as starch,
became black, is given in out No. 71 (b).

TALE 80

Why the Ocean is Salty.

Narrated by Jose M. Paredes of Bangued, Ilocos Sur. He heard the
story from a farmer.

A few years after the creation of the world there lived a tall giant by
the name of Ang-ngalo, the only son of the god of building. Ang-ngalo
was a wanderer, and a lover of work. He lived in the mountains, where
he dug many caves. These caves he protected from the continual anger
of Angin, the goddess of the wind, by precipices and sturdy trees.

One bright morning, while Ang-ngalo was climbing to his loftiest
cave, he spied across the ocean--the ocean at the time was pure,
its water being the accumulated tears of disappointed goddesses--a
beautiful maid. She beckoned to him, and waved her black handkerchief:
so Ang-ngalo waded across to her through the water. The deep caverns
in the ocean are his footprints.

This beautiful maid was Sipgnet, the goddess of the dark. She said to
Ang-ngalo, "I am tired of my dark palace in heaven. You are a great
builder. What I want you to do for me is to erect a great mansion on
this spot. This mansion must be built of bricks as white as snow."

Ang-ngalo could not find any bricks as white as snow: the only white
thing there was then was salt. So he went for help to Asin, the ruler
of the kingdom of Salt. Asin gave him pure bricks of salt, as white
as snow. Then Ang-ngalo built hundreds of bamboo bridges across the
ocean. Millions of men were employed day and night transporting the
white bricks from one side of the ocean to the other. At last the
patience of Ocean came to an end: she could not bear to have her deep
and quiet slumber disturbed. One day, while the men were busy carrying
the salt bricks across the bridges, she sent forth big waves and
destroyed them. The brick-carriers and their burden were buried in her
deep bosom. In time the salt dissolved, and today the ocean is salty.

Note.

I know of no close analogues to this etiological myth.

The hero of the tale, Ang-ngalo, is the same as the Aolo (Angalo)
mentioned in the notes to No. 3 (p. 27, footnote). Blumentritt
(s.v.) writes, "Angangalo is the name of the Adam of the Ilocanos. He
was a giant who created the world at the order of the supreme God."

TALE 81

Why the Sky is Curved.

Narrated by Aurelia Malvar, a Tagalog from Santo Tomas, Batangas. Her
father told her the story.

Many, many years ago, when people were innocent, as soon as they died,
their souls went directly to heaven. In a short time heaven was crowded
with souls, because nearly every one went there. One day, while God
was sitting on his throne, he felt it moved by some one. On looking
up, he saw that the souls were pushing towards him, because the sky
was about to fall. At once he summoned five angels, and said to them,
"Go at once to the earth, and hold up the sky with your heads until
I can have it repaired." Then God called together all his carpenters,
and said to them, "Repair the heavens as soon as possible."

The work was done; but it happened that the tallest angel was standing
in the centre of the group; and so, ever since, the sky has been
curved.

Why the Sky is High.

Narrated by Deogracias Lutero of Janiuay, Iloilo. He says that the
story is often heard in his barrio.

In olden days the sky was low,--so low that it could be reached by
a stick of ordinary length. The people in those days said that God
had created the sky in such a way that he could hear his people when
they called to him. In turn, God could send his blessings to earth
as soon as men needed them. Because of this close connection between
God and his subjects, the people were well-provided for, and they did
not need to work. Whenever they wanted to eat, they would simply call
God. Before their request was made, almost, the food would be on the
table; but after the expulsion of Adam and Eve, God made men work
for their own living. With this change in their condition came the
custom of holding feasts, when the men would rest from their labors.

One day one of the chiefs, Abing by name, held a feast. Many people
came to enjoy it. A sayao, or native war-dance, was given in honor of
the men belonging to the chief, and it was acted by men brandishing
spears. While acting, one of the actors, who was drunk, tried to show
his skill, but he forgot that the sky was so low. When he darted
his spear, he happened to pierce the sky, and one of the gods was
wounded. This angered God the Father: so he raised the sky as we have
it to-day, far from the earth.

Notes.

I have come across no variants of the Tagalog story of why the sky
is curved.

Our second story, however, "Why the Sky is High," is without doubt
a Malayan tradition, as analogues from the Bagobos and the Pagan
tribes of Borneo attest. Miss Benedict (JAFL 26 : 16-17) furnishes
two Bagobo myths on "Why the Sky Went Up:"--

(a) "In the beginning the sky lay low over the earth--so low that when
the Mona wanted to pound their rice, they had to kneel down on the
ground to get a play for the arm. Then the poor woman called Tuglibung
said to the sky, 'Go up higher! Don't you see that I cannot pound my
rice well?' So the sky began to move upwards. When it had gone up
about five fathoms, the woman said again, 'Go up still more!' This
made the sun angry at the woman, and he rushed up very high."

(b) "In the beginning the sky hung so low over the earth that the
people could not stand upright, could not do their work. For this
reason the man in the sky said to the sky, 'Come up!' Then the sky
went up to its present place."

With Miss Benedict's first version, compare Hose and McDougall (2
: 142):--

"According to an old man of the Long Kiputs of Borneo, the stars are
holes in the sky made by the roots of trees in the world above the sky
projecting through the floor of that world. At one time, he explained,
the sky was close to the earth, but one day Usai, a giant, when working
sago with a wooden mallet, accidentally struck his mallet against the
sky; since which time the sky has been far up out of the reach of man."

A different explanation of why the sky went up is current in British
North Borneo. It is embodied in the story of "The Horned Owl and the
Moon" (Evans, JRAI 43 : 433):--

"The moon is male and the Pwak (horned owl) is female.

"Long ago, when the sky was very low down, only a man's height from
the ground, the moon and the Pwak fell in love and married. At that
time there was a man whose wife was with child. The woman came down
from the house, and as the heat of the sun struck her on the stomach,
she became ill, for the sky was very low. Then the man was very angry
because his wife was ill, and he made seven blow-pipe arrows. Early
the next morning he took his blow-pipe with him and went to the place
where the sun rises, and waited. Now at that time there were seven
suns. When they rose, he shot six of them and left one remaining;
then he went home. At the time the man shot the suns the Pwak was
sitting on the house-top in the sky combing her hair. The comb fell
from the sky to the ground, and the Pwak flew down to get it; but when
she found it, she could no longer fly back to the sky; for, while she
had been looking for the comb, the sky had risen to its present place;
since, when the man had shot the six suns, the remaining sun, being
frightened, ran away up into the air and took the sky with it. And so
on the present day, whenever the moon comes out, the Pwak cries to it;
but the moon says to it, 'What can I do, for you are down there below,
while I am up here in the sky?'"

TALE 82

An Unequal Match; Or, Why the Carabao's Hoof is Split.

Narrated by Godofredo Rivera, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, La Laguna.

Once a carabao and a turtle met on a road. They walked in the woods,
and had a fine talk together. The turtle was a sort of humorist, and
was constantly giving exhibitions of his dexterity in getting food by
trickery. But he was especially anxious to win the friendship of the
carabao; for he thought that, if they were friendly, this big fellow
would help him whenever he got into trouble. So he said to the carabao,
"Let us live together and hunt out food together! thus we shall break
the monotony of our solitary lives."

But the carabao snorted when he heard this proposal; and he replied,
"You slow thing! you ought to live with the drones, not with a swift
and powerful person like me."

The turtle was very much offended, and to get even he challenged
the carabao to a race. At first the carabao refused to accept the
challenge, for he thought it would be a disgrace for him to run
against a turtle. The turtle said to the carabao, "If you will not
race with me, I will go to all the forests, woods, and mountains,
and tell all your companions and all my friends and all the animal
kingdom that you are a coward."

Now the carabao was persuaded; and he said, "All right, only give me
three days to get ready for the race." The turtle was only too glad
to have the contest put off for three days, for then he too would
have a chance to prepare his plans. The agreement between the turtle
and the carabao was that the race should extend over seven hills.

The turtle at once set out to visit seven of his friends; and, by
telling them that if he could win this race it would be to the glory
of the turtle kingdom, he got them to promise to help him. So the
next day he stationed a turtle on the top of each hill, after giving
them all instructions.

The third day came. Early the next morning the turtle and the carabao
met at the appointed hill. At a given signal the race began, and
soon the runners lost sight of each other. When the carabao reached
the second hill, he was astonished to see the turtle ahead of him,
shouting, "Here I am!" After giving this yell, the turtle at once
disappeared. And at every hill the carabao found his enemy ahead
of him. When the carabao was convinced at the seventh hill that he
had been defeated, he became so angry that he kicked the turtle. On
account of the hardness of its shell, the turtle was uninjured; but
the hoof of the carabao was split in two, because of the force of
the blow. And even to-day, the carabaos still bear the mark which an
unjust action on the part of their ancestor against one whom he knew
was far inferior to him in strength produced on himself.