The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars

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:—

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.

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.