"JUST-SO" STORIES.
TALE 65
WHY THE ANT IS NOT SO VENOMOUS AS THE SNAKE.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa of Lipa, Batangas. This is a Tagalog
story.
God first created the earth. Then he took a rock from the earth
and threw it on the terrestrial surface. When the rock was broken
into many small pieces, he breathed into them the breath of life,
and they became living creatures. At first these creatures, though
differing in shapes and sizes, were not given different powers.
Among these creatures of God's were the snake and the ant. One day
the snake went to God to ask for power. It said, "I come to thee,
O God! to ask for thy favor. The world thou hast just created is wild
with confusion. I have come to ask thee to give me the special power
to kill all those that are rebellious and troublesome."
"Go back to your fellow-creatures!" answered God. "Hereafter you are
endowed with the power to store in your teeth this poison. When you
bite the vile and contemptible, inject into the wound some of this
poison, and they will be killed; but first of all, observe their
actions, and be conscientious and thoughtful." Then God gave the
snake the poison. The snake returned to the earth in great joy.
When the ant heard that the snake was endowed with such power, it at
once went to God to ask that the same privilege be granted it. The ant
found God on his heavenly throne, instructing his host of angels. The
ant approached God, and addressed him thus: "O thou almighty God! my
brother the snake has been granted a great privilege by thee. Why
art thou so unkind to me? Give me the same power, and I will be of
great aid to the snake in destroying sinners." God, thinking that
the snake might need an assistant, gave the ant the same privilege
that he had given the snake.
The ant was so greatly overjoyed, that it ran as fast as it could
to the earth. When God saw it running, he called to the ant, but it
paid no attention to him. Then God, being very much enraged, took away
some of the ant's power, lest the ant might use it unreasonably. And
so to-day the ant's bite is not so poisonous as the snake's.
Notes.
Another form of this story, recorded by Andrea Silva, also of Lipa,
Batangas, runs as follows:--
In the olden times, when this great universe was still young, the
inhabitants of this Archipelago had a sacred belief in a superior
god whom they called Bathala. He was the creator of all things.
One day Bathala called the animals one by one, and bestowed upon each a
gift, or the power of doing something. To the bird he gave the power to
fly. Next Bathala called the ant, likewise intending to bestow on it
more power than on any other animals, because it was so very small;
but the ant was the most stupid and lazy of all creatures. It did
not pay any attention to the summons of the god, but pretended to
be deaf. Whereupon Bathala became so angry that he called the snake
and gave to it the wonderful power that he had intended to give the
ant. "You, Sir Snake, shall seldom be caught by any person, for you
shall have the power of being very nimble. Besides, every one shall
be afraid of you."
When finally the ant appeared before the god, asking him for the
gift he had promised, Bathala said, "O you poor, tiny, imprudent
creature! Since you disobeyed your god, from now on you and your
tribe shall meet with death very often, for you shall be pinched by
those whom you bite."
And so it is to-day that we pinch to death the ants whenever they
bite us.
The narrator testified that she heard the story from an old woman in
her town of Lipa. So far as I know, this "just-so" fable of "The Ant
and the Snake and God" has not been recorded outside of Lipa, Batangas;
and I am inclined to believe that it represents old local tradition.
TALE 66
WHY LOCUSTS ARE HARMFUL.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
During the dawn of humanity, some angels headed by Satanas revolted
against God. They wanted to establish a kingdom for themselves. In
a battle against the army of God, in which God himself was present,
Satanas threw a handful of sand into God's face; but the heavenly
monarch just laughed, and said, "I turn the sand back to thee. The
particles shall become the scourge of all ages to thee and to thy
followers, O Satanas!"
No sooner had God uttered these words than the particles of sand
became a mighty swarm of locusts, that flew in all directions. Such
was the beginning of the pest.
Notes.
A tribal Bicol-story narrated by Maximina Navarro of Albay runs thus:--
The Origin of Locusts.
Many years ago there lived a head man whose home was situated in a
very fertile valley, all the inhabitants of which he governed. He was
not a good ruler, however; for he was so greedy, that he wanted to
hoard up all the rice produced by his people. Every year, therefore,
he squeezed from his subjects as much rice as he could get, so that
at the end of four years his granaries were full to bursting. It
happened that in the fifth year the crop failed, and the people knew
that they should starve unless their ruler would let them have rice
from his barns. At first they were afraid to go petition the head man,
for they feared that he would refuse them; but, when nearly one-half
of the children had died from starvation, they agreed to send some
representatives to beg for rice.
Seven men were chosen to be the ambassadors. When they reached
the house of the datu, for so they called their ruler, they asked
for admittance, crying that they wanted rice for their wives and
children. When the datu heard their cry, he went to the door and
made a motion as if he would knock the petitioners off the ladder
leading to the house. He lost his balance and fell, striking his
head sharply on the bottom of the ladder. Thinking that he was dead,
the seven men made no attempt to help him, but went home, proclaiming
that soon there would be rice enough for all.
But the datu was not dead, only badly stunned. The next morning, as he
was walking around his granaries, they exploded with a loud noise; and
all the rice flew away in the form of insects, and vanished from his
sight. This kind of insect which originated from the rice we call doron
(from the Spanish word duro), on account of the toughness of its skin.
A more intelligible version of this story is the following related
by Felix de la Llana, who was told it by an old farmer of Candelaria,
Zambales. It appears to represent old Pagan tradition modified somewhat
by Christianity.
The Origin of Locusts.
When all the surface of the earth was yet a wilderness and the people
were very few, there lived a farmer who wished to become rich all at
once. So he told his wife to pray to Kayamanan, the goddess of riches,
to give them fortune.
One night the goddess with arms extended appeared to them in a dream,
and advised the ambitious farmer to build six large barns. Then
she went to the goddess of plenty, Kainomayan, and asked her to
give this farmer abundant crops. When the farmer harvested his rice
the next season, he was astounded to find that the crop more than
filled his six barns. So delighted was he, and so greedy, that he
and his wife thought no more of the source of their good fortune,
and they neglected to celebrate a feast in honor of God and his
goddesses. He felt like a powerful monarch, and did not wish to work
any more. However, his riches did not last long, as we shall see.
One day the goddess Kayamanan disguised herself, and in the form of a
beggar came to the house of the rich farmer. She begged him to let her
rest for a little while under his roof, for she had been travelling in
many countries, she said. When she asked for some remnants of rice to
eat, the ungrateful farmer said to her, "Get off my grounds! don't come
here to bother me! If you don't leave at once, I shall let this dog
loose, and you will be its food." The poor beggar went away without
a word, but she begged almighty God to give her the power to change
anything to any form or creature she wished. As she was God's favorite,
her request was granted. So she assumed her own form, and went again
to the farmer's house. To him she said, "You who became rich by my aid,
and have denied food and shelter to a beggar, shall be punished. Since
you have neglected your duty both to the poor and to me, I therefore,
with the consent of the almighty God, punish you thus: your rice
shall turn to a swarm of locusts, which will destroy all the crops
of the farmers of your own race and those of other countries."
The punishment was carried out, and the farmer was left destitute.
This story is also known in the Tagalog province of Batangas.
In a Rumanian saga (Dähnhardt, 3 : 250) a swarm of locusts is sent
by God to punish an emperor who would not invite any priests or nuns
to his wedding-banquet. When the guests were about to eat the feast
prepared, the insects appeared and devoured everything. Since that
time locusts have appeared whenever mankind has forgotten God.
TALE 67
HOW LANSONES BECAME EDIBLE.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
Once upon a time the fruit of the lansone-tree was very poisonous. Its
very juice could make a man sick with leprosy. One day a very
religious old man was passing through a forest to attend the fiesta
of the neighboring town. When he reached the middle of the thick
wood, he became very hungry and tired, and he felt that he could go
no farther. No matter where he looked, he could see nothing but the
poisonous lansone-trees. So he lay down on the soft grass. Hardly a
moment had passed, when a winged being from heaven approached him, and
said, "My good Christian pilgrim, take some of these lansone-fruits,
eat them, and you will be much relieved." At first the old man would
not do it, but the angel picked some of the fruits and handed them
to the pilgrim. He then ate, and soon his hunger was removed. After
thanking Heaven, he continued on his journey. Ever since this time,
lansones have been good to eat. All the fruits still bear the marks
of the angel's fingers.
Notes.
The lanson (Lansium domesticum) is a small tree of Malaysia,
extensively cultivated for its fruit, which resembles a yellow plum
(from E. Ind. lansa). It is not native to the Philippines, and was
probably introduced into the Islands by the Malays in prehistoric
times. Our story, which I think we must consider not imported, is
based on a fancied etymological connection between lanson and lason
(Tag. for "poison"), and does not appear to be known except to the
Tagalogs of La Laguna province, although in Pampango also the word
lason means "poison." Lason itself is derived from the Malay rachun,
perhaps through the Sulu lachun.
Two other Tagalog versions, both from Laguna province, also show the
influence of Christianity, but vary enough from our story to be worthy
of record here. One, related by Manuel Gallego of San Antonio, Nueva
Ecija, is entitled "The Adam and Eve of the Tagalogs." Mr. Gallego
heard the story from a farmer living in Lubang, La Laguna. It runs
as follows:--
Many hundreds of years ago, when Luzon was still uninhabited, Bathala,
our supreme god, was envious of Laon, the god of the Visayans,
because Laon had many subjects, while Bathala's kingdom was a barren
desert. It was within the power of Bathala to create human beings,
but not food for them; and so he asked for advice from Diwata, the
supreme god of the universe.
Diwata told Bathala that the next day he would send an angel to
earth with seeds to be planted. The promise was fulfilled, and
Bathala scattered the seeds all over Luzon. Within a short time the
island was covered with trees and shrubs, and was then ready for human
habitation. Accordingly Bathala created Adam and Eve, the ancestors of
the Tagalogs. In spite of the fact that they were forbidden to eat the
green fruit of a certain plant, they disobeyed and ate it; so, as a
punishment, they were poisoned and made very sick. They did not die,
however. As a result of their experience, they gave the name lason
("poison") to this plant. Conscious of their fault, Adam and Eve
implored forgiveness of Diwata. By order of Diwata, Bathala forgave
the criminals; but the lason still remained poisonous. In order to
rid it of its dangerous properties, an angel was sent to earth. He
put the marks of his finger-nails on the surface of the pulp of each
lason-seed, and these marks may be seen to this day. Afterwards the
name of the plant was changed from lason to lanzon, the name by which
it has been known ever since.
In the other Tagalog version, narrated by Eulogio Benitez of
Pagsanjan, La Laguna, the incident of the finger-prints is told as
a local saint-legend of Paete. The story is entitled "How Lanzones
became Edible."
The little town of Paete, on the southern and western shore of
Laguna de Bay, produces more lanzones than any other town in the
province. Steamers call daily at her wharves for the fruits which
have made her famous. In the church of this town may still be seen
the image of the mother of God, the Virgin Mary, leading her child.
One evening a long time ago it was discovered that the beautiful
image was missing from its accustomed place in the church. The news
spread like wildfire, and all the people were in great amazement and
consternation. While all was confusion in the town, a heavenly sight
was being presented in a little place outside the municipality. A
beautiful woman dressed in white was walking over the grass with a
child in her arms. They were going towards a lanzon-tree on the other
side of the meadow. The boy, who was evidently tired of being carried,
asked to be put down. When the child saw the fruits scattered all over
the ground, he felt very thirsty, and, picking up one of the tempting
fruits, began to open it. The mother told her son that the fruit was
poisonous; but the child said that he was very thirsty, and could
go no farther if he did not have a drink. Then the mother took the
fruit from his hands, and with her delicate white fingers pinched
the pulp gently. Turning to her son, she said, "Now you may take
this and eat it. You will find it the most delicious and refreshing
of all fruits." The child obeyed, and the fruit was indeed sweet.
This is the way by which the lanzones were transformed from a
poisonous, dangerous fruit to a sweet, delicate food. If any one
discredits this story, all he needs to do to prove its truth is
to open up any lanzon he finds, and he will see without fall the
finger-prints of the Virgin.
TALE 68
WHY COCKS FIGHT ONE ANOTHER.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
Once upon a time in an unknown country there lived a royal couple
endowed with almost all the blessings of God. Their palace was
decorated with all kinds of precious stones, diamonds, sapphires,
and emeralds. They were often honored with visits from the celestial
beings. There was hardly an hour of the day when some sort of
jubilation or festival was not being held in the royal home. But,
in spite of all his riches, there was a melancholy in the mind of the
king,--a brooding, a cankering thought, that would not give him an hour
of rest or contentment. In spite of all the favors lavished on him by
God, he felt miserable and uneasy. He had a happy and wealthy kingdom,
but--he had no heir. There was nobody to manage the government after
his death. Whenever the thought of death came to his mind, he fell
on his knees and implored the Almighty to give him a son: "Have mercy
on me, O God! Give me a son to manage my kingdom after I am gone!"
One evening an angel from Paradise came to visit him, and, on finding
the king at his prayers, said, "Dry thy tears, O king! Thy royal
prayer is heard in heaven. Thou shalt be given more than a son, but
not in the same shape as thou art. Thy sons shall see the light of
day crowned with their own flesh." The king was so greatly overjoyed,
that he could not speak a single word of gratitude in reply.
Not long afterward the queen gave birth to a cock that crowed on
seeing the light of day. The couple were very glad: night and day
they caressed the royal babe, and they would have made for him a
cage of gold had not God forbidden them to do so. Every year a cock
was born into the royal family, until the feathered sons numbered
thirteen. But these sons were jealous of one another: each thought
that the others had no right to wear crowns.
At last the old king and queen died, and no one was left to manage
the royal demesne but the dumb sons. Thereafter the feathered orphans
began fighting one another, each one trying to wrest the crown from
the others.
Note.
I know of no variant of this story.
TALE 69
WHY BATS FLY AT NIGHT.
Narrator, Francisco M. Africa.
Many years ago the earth was inhabited by only one man. His body was
composed of minute organisms that were incessantly warring against
one another. One day this man became so weak that he could not obtain
food for his support. He laid himself down on some soft moss by the
bank of a river, and there he remained till night.
The organisms that lived in his body began to fight against one another
most fiercely. Each ate his fellow until he became very big. At last
the man died, and only one organism remained alive. This organism then
flew away, and became the ancestor of the bats. The light of day so
dazzled his eyes, that he could not fly very far, so he decided to
fly only at night. And ever since, his descendants, too, have hidden
themselves in the day-time, and come out only when it is dark.
Note.
This somewhat unsatisfactory pourquoi story appears to represent at
bottom a very ancient tradition. I know of no parallels; but tales
explaining why the bat flies at night are found among many peoples
(e.g., Dähnhardt, 3 : 94, 267, 270; Dayrell, Nos. VII, XII).
TALE 70
WHY THE SUN SHINES MORE BRIGHTLY THAN THE MOON.
A Tagalog story narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
Long, long ago there lived a fairy with two very beautiful
daughters. Araw, the elder daughter, was very amiable, and had a
kindly disposition; but Buwan, unlike her sister, was disobedient,
cruel, and harsh. She was always finding fault with Araw. One night,
when the fairy came home from her nocturnal rambles and saw Buwan
badly mistreating her elder sister, she asked God for help against
her unruly daughter.
Before this time God had prepared very valuable gifts for the two
sisters. These gifts were two enormous diamonds that could light the
whole universe. When God heard the prayer of the fairy, he descended to
earth disguised as a beggar. On learning for himself how bad-tempered
Buwan was, and how sweet and kind-hearted Araw, God gave the older
sister her diamond as a reward. Buwan was greatly angered by this
favoritism on the part of the Almighty, so she went to the heavenly
kingdom and stole one of God's diamonds. Then she returned to earth
with the precious stone, but there she found that her jewel was not
so brilliant as Araw's.
When God went back to heaven and learned what Buwan had done, he sent
two angels to punish her. But the angels abused their commission:
they seized both sisters and hurled them into the sea. Then they threw
the two stones upward into the sky, and there they stuck. But Araw's
diamond was bigger and brighter than the one Buwan stole. Thereafter
the bigger jewel was called Araw ("day" or "sun"); and the smaller one,
Buwan ("moon").
Notes.
A Pangasinan myth, narrated by Emilio Bulatao of San Carlos,
Pangasinan, tells how the light from the sun and the moon proceeds
from two fiery palaces. The story follows:--
The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars.
There was once a powerful god called Ama ["father"], the father and
ruler of all others, and the creator of man. He had a wonderful aerial
abode, from which he could see everything. Of all his sons, Agueo
["sun, day"] and Bulan ["moon"] were his two favorites, and to these
he gave each a fiery palace. In accordance with the wish of their
father, Agueo and Bulan daily passed across the earth side by side,
and together they furnished light to mankind. Now, Agueo was of a
morose and taciturn disposition, but he was always very obedient to
his father; Bulan, on the other hand, was merry and full of mischief.
Once, when they were near the end of their day's labor, they saw
thieves on the earth below, wishing that it were night so that they
might proceed with their unlawful business. Bulan, who was one of their
kind, urged Agueo to be quick, so that the earth might soon be left in
darkness. As Agueo obstinately refused to be hurried, a quarrel ensued
between the two brothers. Their father, who had been watching the two
boys and had heard all that passed between them, became very angry
with the mischievous Bulan; and, in his wrath, he seized an enormous
rock and hurled it whistling through the air. The rock struck the
palace of Bulan, and was broken into thousands of pieces, which got
perpetual light from contact with the fiery palace. These may still
be seen in the heavens, and they are called Bituen ["stars"]. Bulan
was forbidden to travel with Agueo any more, but was commanded to
light the ways of thieves henceforth with his much-dimmed fiery palace.
A somewhat similar Pampango myth may also be given here, as it has
never before been printed. It was narrated by Leopoldo Layug of Guagua,
Pampanga, and is entitled "The Sun and the Moon."
Long ago the earth was created and ruled by Bathala. He had two
children, Apolaqui and Mayari. From the eyes of these two children
the earth received its first light. The people, the birds of the air,
the animals of the mountains, and even the fishes of the sea, were
glad because they had light, and so they were great friends of the
two children.
Bathala loved his children tenderly, and never wanted them to be
separated from him. So, no matter how tired he was, he always followed
them in their daily walks. But as time went on, and Bathala became
old and feeble and could no longer keep up with his active son and
daughter, he asked them to stay with him at all times; but they were so
absorbed in their pleasures, that they paid no heed to their father's
wish. One day he became sick, and died suddenly, without leaving any
written will as to the disposition of his kingdom. Now Apolaqui wanted
to rule the earth without giving any power to his sister Mayari. She
refused to consent to her brother's plan, and a bitter conflict arose
between them. For a long time they fought with bamboo clubs. At last
Mayari had one of her eyes put out. When Apolaqui saw what he had
done to his sister, he felt very sorry for her, and said that they
should struggle no longer, but that they should exercise equal power
on the earth, only at different times. Since that time, Apolaqui, who
is now called the Sun, has ruled the earth during the day, and from
his eyes we receive bright light. Mayari, who is called the Moon,
rules the world at night. Her light, however, is fainter than her
brother's, for she has but one eye.
This same struggle between the two great luminaries is reflected in
two short cradle-songs that Pampangan mothers sing to their children
to still them. These verses were contributed by Lorenzo Licup of
Angeles:--
Ing bulan ilaning aldo
Mitatagalan la baho
Pangaras da quetang cuarto
Nipag sundang, mipagpusto.
"The Moon and the Sun chased each other above. When they came into
a room, they took their daggers from their sides and were ready to
fight each other."
Ing aldo ilaning bulan
Mitatagalan la lalan
Pangaras da quetang Pampang
Mipagpustu, 't, mitabacan.
"The Sun and the Moon chased each other below. When they came to
a bank, they first made preparation, and then began to fight each
other with bolos."
The two stories and the two stanzas just given appear to be genuine
old native tradition, unmodified by Christianity.
For Tinguian, Bukidnon, Mandaya, and Visayan myths of the sun, moon,
and stars, see M. C. Cole, 65, 124, 145, 201.
TALE 71
WHY THE CULING HAS A TONSURE.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
In a certain field there lived two birds,--Pogô ("quail") and Culing
(a small black bird that has no feathers on the top of its head). One
day Pogô, while scratching the ground for food, met Culing. When
Culing saw Pogô, he said in a taunting tone, "Where are you going,
lazy one? Be more active. Don't be as lazy as a leech!"
Pogô became very angry. "You call me lazy!" he said. "You are much
lazier than I. Let us see which can fly higher into the sky!"
Thereupon Culing agreed, and he began to fly upward until he was lost
from sight. He flew so high, that his head touched the surface of the
sky. As the sky was hot, all the feathers on the top of his head were
burned off; and ever since, the culing has had a tonsure.
The Culeto and the Crow.
Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna. He
says, "This tradition is a favorite one among Tagalog children. I
have often heard the story told by old men while I was waiting my
turn at barber-shops in my province."
The culeto is a fine singer, but it is bald-headed. The natives often
capture it and train it to talk. Formerly this little black bird was
not so bald as it is to-day: its head, in fact, was covered with a
thick growth of feathers. And the crow, too: it was not black once,
but its feathers were as white as starch.
Once upon a time, shortly after the Deluge, the crow was merrily
crowing on the branch of a tree when the culeto came by. The voice of
the crow was so harsh, that the culeto made fun of it. "Good-morning,
Mr. Crow!" said the culeto, "I am very glad to hear you sing. Your
voice is so fine, that I cannot help closing my ears."
"Pray, think first of yourself!" answered the crow. "What do I care
for a good voice, so long as I have a strong body? Why don't you
laugh at yourself? See how weak and tiny you are!"
"Weak!" said the culeto. "Do you call me weak? I would fly a race
even with an eagle."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the crow. "The idea of racing the eagle when
you do not even dare race me!"
"Race with you! Why, you would only disgrace yourself," retorted
the culeto.
"Wait!" answered the crow. "Eat some more rice, drink some more water,
fill your body with more air! And wait till you grow bigger before
you venture to race with me!"
"The strength of a person," said the culeto, nettled, "is not to be
judged by his size. Don't you know that it is the smallest pepper
that is the hottest?"
"Well, then," replied the crow, "if you wish to race me now at your
own risk, let us begin!"
"One, two, three!" counted the culeto, and up they flew. During their
flight the two birds became separated from each other by a dense
cloud. The culeto flew at full speed so high upward, that he knocked
his head very hard against the door of the sky,--so hard, in fact, that
a large piece of skin was scraped from his scalp. The crow, having lost
his way, flew so near the sun, that his feathers were burned black.
It is on account of this bet between the culeto and the crow that
all the descendants of the former have been bald-headed, while all
the descendants of the crow have black feathers to-day.
The Hawk and the Coling.
Narrated by Agapito Gaa of Taal, Batangas. He says that this Tagalog
story is well known in every town in Batangas province. He heard the
story from his grandfather.
Early one morning a hawk sallied forth from his nest to find something
to eat. He flew so high that he could hardly be seen from the earth. He
looked down; but as he could not see anything, he flew lower and
lower, until he came to the top of a tree. On one of the branches
he saw sitting quietly a coling. The hawk despised the little bird,
and at once made up his mind to challenge him to a flight upward.
So the hawk said to the coling, "Do you wish to fly up into the sky
with me to see which of us can fly the faster and the higher?"
The coling did not answer at once, but he thought of the matter for
a while. Then he said to the hawk, "When do you want to have the race?"
"That is for you to decide," said the hawk. "If you wish to have it
now, well and good."
"Well," said the coling, "let us have it to-morrow morning before
sunrise!"
"All right," said the hawk.
"But," said the coling, "each of us is to carry a load with him to
make the flight a little more difficult."
"Well, what do you want to take with you?" said the hawk.
"I will take some salt," said the coling.
"Then I will take some cotton," replied the hawk. "Let us meet here
in this tree early to-morrow!" This agreed upon, the two birds
separated. The hawk went to the cotton-field and got his load of
cotton, while the coling went to the sea and got some salt.
The next morning they met in the tree, each having the object he would
carry with him in his flight. They asked the crow, who was present,
to be the judge of the contest. The crow accepted the commission, and
said that he would give a caw as a signal for them to start. He did so,
and the two contestants were off. At first the hawk flew faster and
higher than the coling; but very soon it began to rain. The cotton on
the hawk's back became soaked with water, and soon was very heavy;
but the salt on the coling's back was soon dissolved, and then he
had no load at all. Under these conditions, the coling soon overtook
the bigger bird. For a time they flew side by side; but after a few
minutes the coling had the best of the race, and in a little while
longer the hawk could no longer see his rival. But the coling flew
so high, that at last his head touched the sun, and all the feathers
on the top were burned off. The hawk now flew down to the crow, and
said that he had won the race, for the coling had fallen to the ground
dead. But by and by the coling himself came. He showed them the top
of his head as a proof that he had won the race. The crow gave his
decision in favor of the coling, and the hawk flew off disgraced.
From that time all colings have had the tops of their heads bald to
show that they are the descendants of the victorious bird.
Notes.
These three forms of the "flight-contest" incident are all from
southern Luzon,--the provinces of La Laguna and Batangas. The tale
seems to be definitely localized there. I know of its occurrence
nowhere else in the Islands. Nor have I found any Malayan variants.
For other pourquoi stories of why certain birds are bald, see
Dähnhardt, 3 : 11-14. Dähnhardt (ibid., 142) cites a Ceylon tale of
the crow and the drongo, who had a bet as to which could fly the higher
carrying a load. Crow selected tree-cotton for his burden; but Drongo,
noticing the black rain-clouds overhead, carried salt, and thus won;
for his load became constantly lighter, while Crow's became heavier.
With the explanation given in the second tale of this group of why the
crow is black, compare a Pawnee story (JAFL 6 : 126), in which a crow,
which is sent to the sun to get fire, has all his feathers singed.
TALE 72
WHY THE COW'S SKIN IS LOOSE ON THE NECK.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
There was once a poor farmer who possessed a cow and a carabao. These
two animals were his only wealth. Every day he led them to the field
to plough. He worked his animals so hard, that they often complained to
him; but the cruel master would not even listen to their words. One day
the cow, who had grown tired of this kind of life, said to the carabao,
"Let us run away from this evil man! Though we are very dirty, he is
not willing for us even to take a bath. If we remain here with him,
we shall be as ugly and as filthy as pigs. If we run away from him,
however, he will have to do his own work, and then we shall be
revenged. Hurry up! Let us go!"
The spirit of the carabao was aroused: he jumped with a loud roar,
and said, "I too have long been meditating escape, but I hesitated
because I was afraid you might not be willing to join me in flight. We
are so ill-treated by our cruel master, that God will have pity on
us. Come on! Let us go!"
The two animals at once set out, running as fast as they could,
always trying to avoid any human beings. When they came to a river,
the cow said, "We are very dirty. Let us take a bath before we go
on! The water of this river is so clean and clear, that we shall soon
be as clean as we were before our contemptible master got hold of us."
The carabao answered, "We would better run a little farther, for
perhaps our master is already in pursuit of us. Besides, we are very
tired now, and I have been told that to take a bath when one is tired
injures the health."
"Don't believe that!" returned the cow. "Our bodies are so big,
that we do not need to fear sickness."
At last the carabao was persuaded by the arguments of the cow; and
he said, "All right! Let us take off our clothes before we go into
the water!"
The two animals then stripped themselves of all their clothes, then
they plunged into the deep, cool river. They had been in the water
less than an hour, however, when they saw their master coming after
them with a big stick in his hand. They ran up to where their clothes
were; but in their haste the carabao put on the cow's clothes, and the
cow got the carabao's. As soon as they were dressed, they continued
their mad flight; and as their master was very tired, he had to give
up the chase and return home disappointed.
Since the carabao was larger than the cow, the skin on the cow's neck
has been loose ever since, because the two friends were separated
and could never exchange clothes again. And likewise the skin on the
carabao's neck has been tight ever since these two animals made their
mistake in dressing.
The First Loose-Skinned Cow and the First Tight-Skinned Carabao.
Narrated by Amanda Morente, a Tagalog from Pinamalayan, Mindoro. She
heard the story from an old woman of her town.
Many years ago, when the people of the world were still few in number
and the animals took the place of servants, an old man bought a cow
and a carabao from his neighbor. With these animals he travelled until
he reached the top of a mountain. There they saw a cave, and the
old man told his servants to enter and see if there was any danger
inside. With slow and cautious steps the carabao and the cow went
in, examining every corner. All at once the cow perceived something
moving. In his fright he jumped back, and hid behind his companion;
but the slow-going carabao did not see the figure, and suddenly he
felt his hind leg seized in a strong grasp. The god of the cave had
caught him. Then the god of the cave spoke. His voice was terrifying,
but his words were kind. He told them how for many days he had been
hungry, and he asked for meat. The cow, whose courage had by this
time been somewhat restored, gladly offered him some of her master's
provisions, which she was carrying. In return for this kindness,
the god gave each of the animals a dress: to the carabao he gave one
of gold; and to the cow, one of bronze. He also invited the two to
remain with him and be his servants.
Some time after the two friends had been installed in their new home,
the god of the cave sent them one day to gather fruits. The carabao and
the cow were delighted at this prospect of a change, and they jumped
with joy. They rushed out into the woods; and when they came to a pond,
they took off their new clothes and plunged into the soft mud. While
they were enjoying their bath, they saw their master coming. He was
carrying a big stick. They knew very well that he would beat them,
for they had been away the whole morning. In their haste to get
their clothes back on, they made a mistake: the carabao got into the
cow's dress, and the cow into the carabao's. After that they never
exchanged their clothes, which finally became their outer skin. So
to-day the carabao has a tight bronze-colored skin; and the cow,
a loose golden-colored one.
Note.
Like the preceding, this story appears to be a native Tagalog tale. I
know of no other variants.
TALE 73
WHY THE MONKEY IS WISE.
Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.
Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had seven sons. These
young men, all except the youngest, helped their aged father with
the work; but the family became poorer and poorer. One day, when they
had exhausted all their means of support, the father called his sons
before him. To every son he assigned a certain kind of work, so that
there might be cooperation, and hence efficiency, in the labors of the
humble family. To the youngest son was assigned the task of gathering
sticks in the forest for fuel.
Not long afterwards a pestilence broke out in the little town where the
old man lived, and all his sons but the youngest died. The father was
left to starve on his bed, for his only living son was so ungrateful
as not to give any help to his father in his last years. When the old
man was about to breathe his last, he called his son to give him his
final benediction; but the ungrateful boy, instead of going to his
dying father, ran away into the woods, and the old man passed away
without anybody to care for him.
But God punished the unfilial son; he cursed him; and the boy lost
his power of speech, and was condemned to live in the forests ever
after as a monkey. Thus, although monkeys cannot talk, they are wise
because they are descended from a human being.
Notes.
I know of no analogues of this story, but will cite two other Filipino
myths accounting for the origin of monkeys. The first was narrated
by Antonio Maceda, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, who heard it from his
grandfather. The story follows.
Origin of the Monkey.
A long time ago the world, which was divided into earth and heaven,
was very lonesome, for Bathala was the only living being in it. He
lived in heaven. One day Bathala felt so lonely, that the thought of
creating some living beings for his companions came into his mind. He
had never thought of this before, although with his infinite power he
could do anything he pleased. So he came down to earth to get some
clay; but he found the ground very dry, for there was no such thing
as rain on the earth. Immediately he said, "Let there be rain!" and
the rain fell down. Then, with a large load of slippery clay, Bathala
returned to heaven and began the work of creation. He created men,
birds, plants, mountains, and rivers (sic!). While he was in the act
of creating men, however, an accident occurred. As he was moulding
a piece of clay into the shape of a man, the mould slipped from his
left hand. Bathala was quick enough to grasp the back of this lifeless
mass of clay; but the clay was so soft that it stretched out into a
long rope, and the mould fell into a tree. In his anger, Bathala said,
"I curse thee! Thou shalt have life, but thou shalt inhabit trees. The
part of thy body that has been stretched out into a rope shall become
thy tail."
The lifeless mould was at once changed into a monkey, the
great-grandfather of all the monkeys.
The following story was written down by Sotero Albano, an Ilocano
from Dingras, Ilocos Norte:--
The First Monkey.
Long years ago there lived in a thick forest a young girl under the
care of the goddess of weaving. Here she lived happily and without
care, for everything that she wanted to eat was provided for her by
her patroness.
One day the goddess said to the girl, "Take this cotton, clean it,
and make out of it a dress for yourself." Now, the girl knew nothing
about making cloth and weaving it: so she said to the goddess,
"When the cotton is cleaned, is it ready for use?"
"No," answered her guardian; "after it is cleaned, it must be
beaten." "Well, after it is beaten, is it ready for use?" said the
lazy girl.
The goddess said that before it could be used, it would have to
be spun.
"Well, after it is spun," persisted the saucy maiden, "is it ready
for use?"
"No; it must next be woven into cloth, cut, and sewed," answered the
patient goddess.
"Oh!" said the girl, "it will take a long time and much hard work to
make clothes that way. This leather hide, which you have given me to
beat the cotton on, will make me better clothing, because it will
wear longer." So she covered herself with the leather. The goddess
was so angry at the girl for her laziness, that she determined that
the leather should not only be her dress, but also become her very
skin. Then the goddess took the stick for beating the cotton, and,
thrusting it between the maiden's buttocks, said to her, "This
stick will become a part of your body, and you will use it for
climbing-purposes. As a penalty for your laziness, henceforth you
shall live in trees in the forest, and there you will find your food."
Thus originated the first monkey with a coat of leather and a tail.
Obviously connected with this Ilocano story are three Tinguian myths
recorded by Cole, who abstracts them thus:--
(No. 65.) A lazy man, who is planting corn, constantly leans on his
planting-stick. It becomes a tail, and he turns into a monkey.
(No. 66.) A boy is too lazy to strip sugarcane for himself. His mother,
in anger, tells him to stick it up his anus. He does so, and becomes
a monkey.
(No. 67.) A lazy girl pretends she does not know how to spin. Her
companions, in disgust, tell her to stick the spinning-stick up her
anus. She does so, and at once changes into a monkey.
Compare also a Bagobo story collected by Miss Benedict (JAFL 26 :
21), where a ladle becomes a monkey's tail; also an African saga in
Dähnhardt (3 : 488).
The Filipinos have other explanatory myths which credit Lucifer with
the creation of monkeys and snakes.
TALE 74
THE LOST NECKLACE.
Narrated by Facundo Esquivel, a Tagalog, who heard the story from a
friend from Cebu. The story is Visayan.
Once a crow bought a fine necklace from a merchant. He was very proud
of his purchase, which he immediately put around his neck, so that
everybody could see it. Then he flew away, and came to a beautiful
little garden, where he met his old friend the hen strutting about,
with her chicks following her. The hen said to him, "Oh, what a fine
necklace you have! May I borrow it? I will return it to you to-morrow
without fail."
Now, the crow liked the hen: so he willingly lent her the necklace
for a day. The next morning, when the crow returned for his property,
he found the hen and her chicks scratching the ground near an old
wall. "Where is my necklace?" said the crow.
"It is lost," said the hen. "My chicks took it yesterday while I was
asleep, and now they do not remember where they put it. We have been
looking for it all day, and yet we have not been able to find it."
"You must pay for it at once," said the crow, "or else I shall go to
the king and tell him that you stole my necklace."
The hen was frightened at this reply, and she began to wonder how she
could raise the necessary money. The crow, who was on his way to a
fiesta, at last said impatiently, "I will take one of your chicks every
day in payment of what you owe me. As soon as you find the necklace,
give it to me, and then I will stop eating your chicks." The hen had
to be satisfied with this arrangement, for she feared that the crow
would go to the king if she refused.
Unto this day, then, you can find hens and chicks together looking for
the lost necklace by scratching the ground; and the crows are still
exacting payment for the lost jewel by eating chicks. It is said that
the hens and chickens will never cease scratching the ground until
the lost necklace is found.
The Cock and the Sparrow-Hawk.
Narrated by Dolores Asuncion of Manila. She heard the story from an
old Tagalog.
Long ago the sparrow-hawk and the cock were very good friends. Once,
when the cocks were going to hold a great fiesta in the neighboring
village, a proud young rooster, who wished to get the reputation for
being rich and consequently win him a wife, went to the sparrow-hawk,
and said, "My friend, please lend me your bracelet! I am going to
our fiesta; and I wish to make some young hens there believe that I
am rich, in order that they may love me."
The sparrow-hawk answered, "With much pleasure, my friend."
So the cock went to the fiesta wearing the borrowed bracelet. While he
was dancing, however, he lost the jewel, and could find it nowhere. At
last he went back to the sparrow-hawk, and said, "I am very sorry,
my friend, but I lost your bracelet while I was dancing, and I can
find it nowhere. What do you wish me to give you in payment for it?"
The sparrow-hawk answered, "Since that bracelet was an heirloom, I
valued it very highly. You must go back to the place where you think
you lost it, and there look for it until you find it. In the mean
time I reserve the right to take from your flock a chicken whenever
I please."
So, ever since that time sparrow-hawks are often seen carrying off
young chickens, while the cocks have been busy scratching the ground
to find the lost bracelet. Hens also scratch the soil, for they hate
to lose their chicks, and they want to find the bracelet as soon as
possible. They look up into the sky to see if the sparrow-hawk is near;
then they scratch the soll vigorously, and cry, "Tac-ta-laoc!" which
means, "Come and help me!"
Note.
Another Visayan variant of these two stories may be found in the
"Journal of American Folk-Lore" (20 : 100), whence it has been
reprinted by M. C. Cole (p. 212), "The Hawk and the Hen." An African
analogue may be found in Dayrell (No. xv, p. 62).
TALE 75
THE STORY OF OUR FINGERS.
Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna.
"Why," said Antonio to his grandfather one day, "does our thumb stand
separate from the other fingers?"
"That is only so in our days," replied old Julian. "In the days of
long ago the fingers of our ancestors stood together in the same
position. One day one of these fingers, the one we call the little
finger, became very hungry, and he asked the finger next to him to
give him some food.
"'O brother!' said the Ring-Finger in reply, 'I am hungry also;
but where shall we get food?'
"'Heaven is merciful,' put in the Middle-Finger, trying to comfort
his two brothers; 'Heaven will give us some.'
"'But, Brother Middle-Finger,' protested the Forefinger, 'what if
Heaven gives us no food?'
"'Well, then,' interposed the Thumb, 'let us steal!'
"'Steal!' echoed the Forefinger, not at all pleased by the advice that
had just been given. 'Mr. Thumb knows better than to do that, I hope!'
"'That is bad policy, Mr. Thumb,' concluded the other three
unanimously. 'Your idea is against morality, against God, against
yourself, against everybody. Our conscience will not permit us
to steal.'
"'Oh, no, no!' returned Thumb angrily, 'you are greatly mistaken,
my friends! Haven't you sense enough even to know how foolish you
are to oppose my plan? Do you call my scheme bad policy,--to save
your lives and mine?'
"'Ay, if that be your plan,' said the other four fingers, 'you
can go your own way. As for us, we would rather starve and die than
steal.' Then the four virtuous brothers drove Thumb in shame out of
their community, and would have nothing more to do with him.
"So that is why," concluded old Julian, "we see our thumbs separated
from the other four fingers. He was a thief; and the other four,
who were honest, did not care to live with him. And it is because
Little-Finger did not have enough to eat, that we see him lean and
weak these days."
Note.
I know of no other Filipino accounts of why the thumb is separated
from the rest of the fingers. As an interesting curiosity, however,
I might cite a Bicol children's jingle of five lines which characterize
briefly the five fingers (the thumb is the last described) :--
Maya-mayang saday
Magayon na singsignan
Daculang mangmang
Atrevido
Hababang tao
"Pretty little sparrow,
Beautiful for a ring,
Long but lazy fellow,
Froward, insolent thing,
Dumpy, dwarfish one."
TALE 76
WHY SNAILS CLIMB UP GRASS.
Narrated by José E. Tomeldan of Binalonan, Pangasinan.
Long ago, when the various kinds of animals dwelt together in a kind
of community, a dalag (a kind of mud-fish), a dragonfly, a wasp, and
a snail agreed to live together in a common house. They furthermore
agreed to divide up the different household duties according to
their power and skill. Accordingly, Dalag, since he was the biggest
and strongest of all, was made the head of the house. He was also
to provide food for his little companions. Dragon-Fly was made the
messenger, because he was the swiftest of them all, but was too weak
for any other kind of work. Wasp was made the house-guard because
of his poisonous sting. Besides being guard, he was also to keep
the house in repair, because he could carry bits of earth and other
building-materials. Snail was made the cook, because he was too slow
for any other duty except tending the house.
Early one day Dalag went out to look for food. He swam slowly here and
there among the water-plants, when suddenly he saw something moving
on the surface of the water. When he approached nearer, he saw that
it was a big frog swimming helplessly among the duck-weeds. "This
is a big piece of sweet food for us," thought Dalag, and without
hesitation he seized the frog. When he had assured himself that it
could not get away from him, he started to swim home. But, alas! he
never reached his companions; for a sharp hook was inside the frog,
and poor Dalag was caught fast. He tried hard to free himself, but
in rain. Soon a fisherman came, and, putting Dalag in his basket,
took him home and ate him.
In the mean time Dalag's three companions were anxiously waiting for
him. When they realized that he was lost, Dragon-Fly was sent out to
look for him. Before he went, Dragon-Fly spent a long time arranging
his neck-tie. Then he flew away, turning his head in all directions to
look for Dalag. At last he met Bolasi (a kind of fish whose lips always
move in and out on the surface of the water), and he became very angry
because he thought that Bolasi was laughing at his neck-tie. Dragon-Fly
thought that his tie must be too loose, so he tightened it. Still
Bolasi laughed every time he saw Dragon-Fly. Dragon-Fly kept drawing
his tie tighter and tighter, until at last he cut his own head off,
and that was the end of him.
Two days had now passed; still Dalag and Dragon-Fly were missing from
home. By this time Wasp and Snail were very hungry. But Snail had the
advantage over Wasp; for Snail could eat mud to pass away the time,
while Wasp could not eat mud, but could only draw in his belt a little
tighter. At last Wasp could no longer endure his hunger. His abdomen
by this time had become very slender: so he flew forth in search of
either Dalag or Dragon-Fly. While he was flying about, his hunger
oppressed him so much, that he tightened his belt again and again,
until he finally broke in two; and that was the end of Wasp.
Now only Snail was left. He set out from his home, and wandered
everywhere in search of his three companions, weeping as he went. His
food consisted mostly of mud. Whenever he could find a stalk of grass
or the stem of a water-plant, Snail would climb up to look around
and to see if any of his old friends were in sight. Even to-day the
snails still weep; and whenever they see a stalk of grass projecting
above the surface of the water, they climb up and look around, trying
to discover their old friends.
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.
Dähnhardt (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
Tabarî.) 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 Dähnhardt:--
(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 Dähnhardt, 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 Dähnhardt. It is referred to by Sir J. G. Frazer
(Folk-Lore in the Old Testament [1918], 1 : 297), who writes as
follows:--