PHILIPPINE

LITERATURE
MODULE
 LIT 1: PHILIPPINE LITERATURE

Lesson 1. Introduction to Literature

What is Literature?

Literature is a body of work containing imaginative language that realistically portrays thought,
emotions, and experiences of the human condition. It comes from the Latin word ‘litera’ which means
“acquaintance with letters”. Arthur Krystal of the Harper’s Magazine gives a new definition of literature.
He says that “literary means not only what is written but what is voiced, what is expressed, what is
invented, in whatever form”.

Importance of Literature

• It expands horizons.
• It builds critical thinking skills
• It serves as a leap into the past.
• We learn to appreciate others’ cultures and beliefs.
• It betters our writing skills.
• It addresses humanity.

Introduction to Poetry and Prose

Poetry

- refers to those expressions in verse, with measures, lines, stanzas and melodious tone.
- embodies deep truths that reveal complex living of human being.
- centers on comments and ideas that are necessary to human needs.

Divisions and Types of Poetry

LYRIC POETRY – the utterance of human heart in poetic form; subjects and moods dwell on love,
death, grief, religion, feelings, the beauty of love and nature, art, the world of fancy and
imagination, the environment and others.

a. lyric poems – meant to be sung to the accompaniment of a musical instrument known as the
lyre .
b. lyre – a stringed musical instrument of the harp class used by the ancient Greeks.

1. SIMPLE LYRIC – embraces a wide variety of poems and is characterized by subjectivity, imagination,
melody and emotion.
2. SONG – a short lyric poem which has a specific melodious quality and Is intended to be sung and can
be set easily to music; can be religious or secular.
3. SONNET – a lyric poem of 14 lines with a formal rhyme.
4. ELEGY – a poem expressing a lament or grief for the dead; solemn and sorrowful, yet it can suggest
hope and faith.
5. ODE – the most splendid type of lyric poetry; exalted in tome, projects deep feelings and expresses
high praise for some persons, objects, events or ideas.

NARRATIVE POETRY – tells a story following an order of events

1. BALLAD – a short simple narrative poem composed to be sung, and is orally told from
one generation to another
 2. METRICAL ROMANCE - a narrative poem which is written in verse and can be
classified either as a ballad or a metrical romance - a long rambling love story in verse which is
centered around the adventures of knights and lords, and their royal ladies during the age of
chivalry - heavily flavored in romance, fantastic events, supernatural occurrences, magic and the
ideals of the medieval period such as truth, courage, reverence, and justice
3. EPIC - a long majestic, narrative poem which tells the adventures of a traditional hero
and the development of a nation

DRAMATIC POETRY - aims at involving the reader in an experience or situation, and creates
tension, immediacy, expectation, and conflict

- suggests a story but more emphasis is placed on the characters rather than the narration

1. DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE - a combination of drama and poetry which presents the

speech of a character in a particular situation at a critical moment

2. CHARACTER SKETCH - a poem where the writer is concerned less with complete or
implied matters of a story, but rather with arousing sympathy or antagonism for, or
mere interest in an individual

Prose
- Refers to any written work that follows a basic grammatical structure - a form of language that
has no metrical structure

Divisions and Types of Prose

FICTION - a series of imagined facts which illustrates truths about human life; does not deal with what
has been done, but with what could happen within the bounds of what is possible and probable

1. SHORT STORY - a brief, artistic form of prose fiction which is centered on a single main
incident and is intended to produce a single dominant impression which may be sadness, surprise,
sympathy, terror or other reactions

- Important features are narrated and events are compressed to allow the meaningful and
indispensable to be included in the narration

2. NOVEL - a more extensive form of prose

- its length permits a greater number and a variety of characters, a more complex plot, and a
more elaborate use of the setting

- capable of revealing both a broader and deeper view of human nature and the experience

3. DRAMA - the art of imitating human action or a story presented on stage by actors
impersonating characters in a given situation

- written either in poetry or in prose, or a mixture of both

a. Comedy – lighter in tone than ordinary works, and provide a happy conclusion; intended for
audience to laugh, hence they use quaint circumstances, unusual characters, and witty remarks

b. Tragedy – uses darker themes, such as disaster, pain, and death

c. Farce – a nonsensical genre of drama, which often overacts or engages slapstick humor

d. Melodrama – an exaggerated drama, which is sensational and appeals directly to the senses
of the audience.
 e. Musical Drama – tells a story not only through acting and dialogue but through dancing and
music also.

NONFICTION - literary works that are based mainly on fact rather than on the imagination, although
they may contain fictional elements.

1. ESSAY - a prose composition of moderate length, usually expository in nature, which aims to
explain an idea, a theory, an impression or a point of view

2. FORMAL ESSAY - deals with serious and important topics such as philosophy, theology,
science, politics, morality, and others - aims to teach or instruct; addressed to the intellect of an
individual - objective and impersonal, clear and straightforward

3. INFORMAL OR FAMILIAR ESSAY – an essay written for pleasure - helps you organize your
thoughts on specific topics, to reflect on topics and to express your different points of view - can be
informative and convincing but you are allowed to write in less formal expressions.

Lesson 2. Contemporary Literary Forms

What is Contemporary Literature?

The word contemporary means living, belonging to or occurring in the present. So when we talk

about contemporary literature, we are talking about literature that is being written in the now about the
now. But what does the now encompass?
It is defined as literature written after World War II through the current day. While this is a
vague definition, there is not a clear-cut explanation of this concept -- only interpretation by scholars
and academics. While there is some disagreement, most agree that contemporary literature is writing
completed after 1940.

What is Literary Elements?

  Literary elements are the things that all literature—whether it's a news article, a book, or a
poem—absolutely have to have.

 These are the fundamental building blocks of writing, and they play an important role in helping
us write, read, and understand literature.

Elements of Literature

 Language - The most important literary element is language. Language is defined as a system

of communicating ideas and feelings through signs, sounds, gestures, and/or marks. Language
is the way we share ideas with one another, whether it's through speech, text, or even
performance.

 Plot - The plot of a work is defined as the sequence of events that occurs from the first
line to the last. In other words, the plot is what happens in a story.

a. Beginning/Exposition: This is the very beginning of a story. During the exposition,

authors usually introduce the major characters and settings to the reader.
b. Conflict: Just like in real life, the conflict of a story is the problem that the main
characters have to tackle.
c. Rising Action: Rising action is literally everything that happens in a story that leads
up to the climax of the plot.
d. Climax: The climax of the plot is the part of the story where the characters finally
have to face and solve the major conflict. This is the "peak" of the plot where all the
tension of the rising action finally comes to a head. 
e. Falling Action: Falling action is everything that happens after the book's climax but
before the resolution. This is where writers tie up any loose ends and start bringing
the book's action to a close.
f. Resolution/Denouement: This is the conclusion of a story. But just because it's
called a "resolution" doesn't mean every single issue is resolved happily—or even
satisfactorily

 Mood - The mood of a piece of literature is defined as the emotion or feeling that
readers get from reading the words on a page

 Setting - is defined simply as the time and location in which the story takes place. The
setting is also the background against which the action happens.

 Theme - All literary works have themes, or central messages, that authors are trying to
convey. Themes are any ideas that appear repeatedly throughout a text. 

 Point of View - Point of view is the position of the narrator in relationship to the plot of
a piece of literature. In other words, point of view is the perspective from which the
story is told.

a. First person: This is told by one of the characters of the story from their
perspective. You can easily identify first-person points of view by looking for first-
person pronouns, like "I," "you," and "my."
 b. Second person: second-person point of view happens when the audience is made a
character in the story. In this instance, the narrator uses second person pronouns,
like "you" and "your."
c. Third person limited: this is when the narrator is removed from the story and tells
it from an outside perspective. 
d. Third person omniscient: in this point of view, the narrator still uses third-person
pronouns...but instead of being limited to one character, the narrator can tell
readers what's happening with all characters at all times. It's almost like the
narrator is God: they can see all, hear all, and explain all.

 Narrator - The narrator is the person who's telling the story and narrator helps make
sense of the plot for the reader.

 Conflict -  A conflict is the central struggle that motivates the characters and leads to a
work's climax. 

 Characters - A piece of literature has to have at least one character, which can be a
person, an object, or an animal.

a. Protagonist – The work is its main character.

b. Antagonist - On the other hand, are the characters that oppose the
protagonist in some way.

Structure of Literature

Structure is all about pinning down the framework of a text, including its sequence of events,
how they are told, and how they are all threaded together, whereas form deals with the genre
of a text, and how it appears in a certain work of literature.

 Linear Structure – whereby structure of actions follow chronologically (in time

order) from beginning to end.
- it is usually used in written literature because it is the
easiest to understand and demonstrate

 Circular Structure – the story ends in the same place it began

 In Media Res – latin for “ into the middle of things “

- it begins midway through the story

Literary Device – Writers often use words in special ways to help readers “see” things in a
different way. Devices are tools, so literary devices are tools that writer use to improve their
writing and make it more interesting. Literary devices include figurative language, imagery and
sound devices.

1. Foreshadowing

- A writer gives an advance hint of what is to come later in the story.

- Often appears at the beginning of a story, or a chapter, and it helps the
reader develop expectations about the upcoming events.

2. Repetition

- Involves intentionally using a word or phrase for effect, two or more

times in a speech or written work.
- Repeating the same words or phrases in a literary work of poetry or
prose can bring clarity to an idea and/or make it memorable for the
reader. ...

3. Analepsis

- (Sometimes called flashback) is an interjected scene that takes the

narrative back in time from the current point in the story.

4. Prolepsis

- Also called flash-forward

- Is a literary device in which the plot goes ahead of time; meaning a scene
that interrupts and takes the narrative forward in time from the current
time in the story

5. Paragraph

- A typical structure literary analysis essay consists of five paragraphs: the

three paragraphs of the body, plus the introduction and conclusion.
Each paragraph in the main body should focus on one topic.

6. Sentence

-  includes where the noun and verb fall within an individual sentence

- Depends on the language in which you're writing or speaking.
Philippine Literature

  In PANITIKANG PILIPINO written by Atienza, Ramos, Salazar and Nazal, it says that
“true literature is a piece of written work which is undying. It expresses the feelings and
emotions of people in response to his everyday efforts to live, to be happy n his
environment and, after struggles, to reach his Creator.”

 It can be said that Philippine literature in English has achieved a stature that is, in a way,
phenomenal since the inception of English in our culture.   Our written literature, which
is about four hundred years old, is one of slow and evolutionary growth.

Philippine Literature in Pre- Colonial Period

 Pre- Colonial Period - Early Times – 1564 The first period of the Philippine
literary history and considered as the longest.

 The early literary forms of the Philippines were epics, legends, riddles and proverbs
which were told and retold by the natives.  The literature of the pre – colonial Filipinos
bore the marks of the community

 Folk narratives such as epics and folk tales often deal with the exploits of supernatural
beings or are about super natural events. The epic is considered as the most
important form of pre-colonial literature among the pre-colonial inhabitants of the
Philippines

Philippine Literature in Colonial Period

 The existing literature of the Philippine ethnic groups at the time of conquest and
conversion into Christianity was mainly oral, consisting of epics, legends, songs, riddles,
and proverbs. The conquistador, especially its ecclesiastical arm, destroyed whatever
written literature he could find, and hence rendered the system of writing (e.g.,
the Tagalog syllabary) inoperable. Among the only native systems of writing that have
survived are the syllabaries of the Mindoro Mangyans and the Tagbanua of Palawan.
 Spanish colonial strategy was to undermine the native oral tradition by substituting for it
the story of the Passion of Christ (Lumbera,

Philippine Literature in Post- Colonial Period

 the historical period or state of affairs representing the aftermath of

Western colonialism; the term can also be used to describe the concurrent project to
reclaim and rethink the history and agency of people subordinated under various forms of
imperialism.

  Looks at issues of power, economics, politics, religion, and culture and how these

elements work in relation to colonial hegemony (Western colonizers controlling the
colonized).
 Biag ni Lam- Ang

 (English: "The Life of Lam-ang") is an epic poem of the Ilocano people from

the Ilocos region of the Philippines. It is notable for being the first Philippine folk
epic to be recorded in written form, and was one of only two folk epics
documented during the Philippines' Spanish Colonial period, along with the
Bicolano epic of Handiong.) It is also noted for being a folk epic from a
"Christianized" lowland people group (the Ilocano people), [] with elements
incorporated into the storytelling.

 As oral literature, the poem is believed to have originated in pre-colonial times,

evolving as it is passed on from poet to poet and generation to generation.[

Don Juan and his wife Namongan lived in Nalbuan, now part of La Union in the northern part of the
Philippines. They had a son named Lam-ang. Before Lam-ang was born, Don Juan went to the
mountains in order to punish a group of their Igorot enemies. While he was away, his son Lam-ang
was born. It took four people to help Namongan give birth. As soon as the baby boy popped out, he
spoke and asked that he be given the name Lam-ang. He also chose his godparents and asked
where his father was.

After nine months of waiting for his father to return, Lam-ang decided he would go look for him.
Namongan thought Lam-ang was up to the challenge but she was sad to let him go. During his
exhausting journey, he decided to rest for awhile. He fell asleep and had a dream about his father's
head being stuck on a pole by the Igorot. Lam-ang was furious when he learned what had happened
to his father. He rushed to their village and killed them all, except for one whom he let go so that he
could tell other people about Lam-ang's greatness.

Upon returning to Nalbuan in triumph, he was bathed by women in the Amburayan river. All the fish
died because of the dirt and odor from Lam-ang's body.

There was a young woman named Ines Kannoyan whom Lam-ang wanted to woo. She lived in
Calanutian and he brought along his white rooster and gray dog to visit her. On the way, Lam-ang
met his enemy Sumarang, another suitor of Ines whom he fought and readily defeated. Lam-ang
found the house of Ines surrounded by many suitors all of whom were trying to catch her attention.
He had his rooster crow, which caused a nearby house to fall. This made Ines look out. He had his
dog bark and in an instant the fallen house rose up again. The girl's parents witnessed this and
called for him. The rooster expressed the love of Lam-ang. The parents agreed to a marriage with
their daughter if Lam-ang would give them a dowry valued at double their wealth. Lam-ang had no
problem fulfilling this condition and he and Ines were married.

It was a tradition to have a newly married man swim in the river for the rarang fish. Unfortunately,
Lam-ang dove straight into the mouth of the water monster Berkakan. Ines had Marcos get his
bones, which she covered with a piece of cloth. His rooster crowed and his dog barked and slowly
the bones started to move. Back alive, Lam-ang and his wife lived happily ever after with his white
rooster and gray dog.

alpay na namnama

by Leona Florentino (Ilocano Version)

Atoy ngatan ti ayat a kunada.
Aldaw rabii pampanunuten ka.
Summangpet ka, lubong ko nga natalna.
Ket biag gummulon sa dinakita ka.

Ditoy dalan ko no sikan ti magna,

Sirsirpatangkan nga awan labas na.
Matmatak imnas mo awan kapada na,
Diak ngarud mapukaw ti pinagduadua,

Pinagduadua no sika ket agmaymaysa

Wen no ti pusom addan nakaala.
Toy manong mo, piman nga agsagaba
No awan kanton, malpay tay namnama.

Namnama ta ti pusom iyawat mo;

Ta ti diro ni ayat danggayantanto;
Ta ti rabii sika kumat’ raniag ko,
Kas naslag a bulan sadiay ngato.

Dayta pintas mo a dardaripdepek.

Tungal rabii no innak iredep
Agtalnan toy nakem kentoy utek,
Ta sikan ti kaduak diay tagtaginep.

No nairedep, sam-it nannanamek.

Nagragsak ta a dua diay tagtaginep.
Ngem no makariing, pa-it balbalunek
Ta nalpas manen diay dardaripdepek.

Ket gapu ti nalaus nga ayat ko

Pinamuspusak inyapan ka diay ungto
Ta adaddiay ti maysa nga kayo
Inukit ko nagan mo nga sinanpuso.

Adu a tawenen ti nabilangko.

Dumteng manen nalammiis a tiempo
Awan man lang asi nga mauray ko,
Ta ti ibagbagam puro sentimiento.

Nu tay sika kenyak makagura,

Yeb-ebkas toy pusok ket sika latta.
Nalabit ti ayat ket kastoy ngata;
Pintas mo umunay a liwliwa.

Amin a pinagdungngo impakitak.

Sipupudnuak ta diak pay naglibak
Nagbabaan toy gasat no siak ti agayat
Ta apay madinak man lang maayat.
Gasat nadanunen ti pannakapaay,
Sinaom a dinak a mauray.
Naut-ot launay ti inka impaay.
Naupay a ayat, kas sabong a nalaylay.

Gayagayek a ipalpalawag
Sika ti kayat ko a pagtungpalk
Ngem makitak met a sibabatad,
Ni pay ken liday ti kalak-amak.

Ket aniakad payso ti ur-urayek?

Malaksid a ni rigat ti lak-amek!
Gapu piman ti ayat ko ken pateg,
Ta madim pay rinekna ken dinengngeg.

Yantangay siak ket linipatnakon,

Liday ti yas-asog toy barungkonko.
Nuray agsagabaak nga agnanayon,
Nalpay a namnama aklunekon.

Blasted Hopes (Nalpay A Namnama)

English Version

What gladness and what joy

are endowed to one who is loved

for truly there is one to share

all his sufferings and his pain.

My fate is dim, my stars so low

perhaps nothing to it can compare,

for truly I do not doubt

for presently I suffer so.

For even I did love,

the beauty whom I desired

never do I fully realize

that I am worthy of her.

Shall I curse the hour

when first I saw the light of day

would it not have been better a thousand times

I had died when I was born.

Would I want to explain

but my tongue remains powerless

for now do I clearly see

to be spurned is my lot.

But would it be my greatest joy

to know that it is you I love,

for to you do I vow and a promise I make

it’s you alone for whom I would lay my life.

LITERATURES OF REGIONS 2,3,4, CAR, AND NCR

Literature of Region 2 ( Cagayan Valley )

Also known as ( Lambak ng Cagayan in Filipino, Tana’nak Cagayan in the Ibanag Language,
Tanap ti Cagayan in the Ilocano Language. )
 Agta/Atta - were the first inhabitants in the region
-food gatherers who roam the forest without fixed residence.
 Ibanag dialect was a strong factor in Cagayano’s evangelization of the pagan and
hostile inhabitants.
 Ibanag is the literature of Region 2
 Ibanag Folk Poetry – is purely sung which explains how it was handed down to
the present, by way of oral transmission.

-Songs are for ceremonial and recreational and they are narrative,
speculative, romantic, ridiculing or titilliating.
Literature of Region 3 (Central Luzon )
Also known as Central Luzon ( Kapampangan- Kalibudtarang Luzon,Tagalog- Gitnang
Luzon )
 Administrative region in the Philippines, primarily serving to organize the 7
provinces of the vast central plain of the Island of Luzon ( the largest island ), for
administrative convenience.
 Contains the largest plain in the country and produces most of the
country's rice supply, earning itself the nickname "Rice Granary of the
Philippines.
 Its provinces are: Aurora, Bataan, Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, Pampanga, Tarlac and
Zambales.
 The type of literature of Region 3 in the Philippines is called tagalong literature.
Some notable authors of this type of literary work include Francisco Balagtas,
Lualhati Bautista, and Rene Villanueva.
 Zambales Kapampangan Pampanga and some parts of Tarlac, Zambales and
Bataan Ethno-linguistic groups Tagalog the literary tradition in the Tagalog
regions especially outstanding in the field of oral literature like bugtong (riddle),
proverbs, native songs. While in Pampanga are short stories and poems.

Literature of Region 4 (CALABARZON and MIMAROPA)

The region is located in southwestern Luzon, just south and west of Metro Manila and is the
second most densely populated region.
 Calabarzon and Mimaropa were previously combined together as Southern
Tagalog, until they were separated in 2002.

CALBARZON
 Designated as region IV A ( Cavite,Laguna, Batangas, Rizal and Quezon )
  The area is rich in history, where the Philippines’ independence from Spain was
first declared in 1898. It’s the birthplace of national heroes such as Jose Rizal
(from Calamba, Laguna), Emilio Aguinaldo (from Kawit, Cavite), Apolinario
Mabini (from Tanauan, Batangas) and Miguel Malvar (from Sto. Tomas,
Batangas).

MIMAROPA

 Designated as region IV B ( Mindoro, Marinduque, Romblon and Palawan )

 Envisioned as the “food basket “of the country and a haven for tourism,industry
and technology.

 There’s an enchantment to this region, especially underwater. Above land you’ll

find simple towns, delicious seafood, and the quiet, laid-back island life that the
people of MIMAROPA have had for centuries.

Literature of CAR (CORDILLERA ADMINISTRATIVE REGION)

Includes the provinces of Benguet, Kalinga, Apayao, Ifugao, Abra, the Mountain Province, and
the city of Baguio.  This region has rugged mountain ranges, forests, deep gorges and ravines,
wide pasturelands and river basins.
 The different tribal communities are the Ifugao, Kankanai, Gaddang, Ibaloy,
Kallahan, Kalinga, Bontok, Balangaw, Itneg and Isneg.
 Important literary piece is Hud Hud (story of Aliguyon Ifugao)
 Hudhud ni Aliguyon is a famous epic that came from the Ifugao province
of Luzon in the Philippines. It narrates events about the culture and traditions
of the Ifugao and their hero, Aliguyon. Belonging in the genre of Hudhud di
Ani for harvesting in the fields, this heroic epic has three functions.

Literature of NCR (National Capital Region)

The National Capital Region or NCR is the center of Luzon and capital region of the Philippines.
 It is composed of the cities of Manila, Caloocan, Las Piṅas, Makati,
Mandaluyong, Marikina, Paraṅaque, Muntinlupa, Pasay, Pasig, and
Quezon City.
Pending ratification for city hood through plebiscites by their respective
residents are the municipalities of Taguig, Valenzuela, and the industrial
district of Novaliches in Quezon City. The municipalities of MM are
Navotas, Malabon, Pateros and San Juan.

Faith, Love, Time and Dr. Lazaro

By: Greg Brillantes
From the upstairs veranda, Dr. Lazaro had a view of stars, the country darkness, the lights on the distant
highway at the edge of town. The phonograph in the sala played Chopin – like a vast sorrow controlled,
made familiar, he had wont to think. But as he sat there, his lean frame in the habitual slack repose took
after supper, and stared at the plains of night that had evoked gentle images and even a kind of peace (in
the end, sweet and invincible oblivion), Dr. Lazaro remembered nothing, his mind lay untouched by any
conscious thought, he was scarcely aware of the April heat; the pattern of music fell around him and
dissolved swiftly, uncomprehended. It was as though indifference were an infection that had entered his
blood it was everywhere in his body. In the scattered light from the sala his angular face had a dusty,
wasted quality, only his eyes contained life. He could have remained there all evening, unmoving, and
buried, it is were, in a strange half-sleep, had his wife not come to tell him he was wanted on the phone.

Gradually his mind stirred, focused; as he rose from the chair he recognized the somber passage in the
sonata that, curiosly, made him think of ancient monuments, faded stone walls, a greyness. The brain
filed away an image; and arrangement of sounds released it… He switched off the phonograph,
suppressed and impatient quiver in his throat as he reached for the phone: everyone had a claim on his
time. He thought: Why not the younger ones for a change? He had spent a long day at the provincial
hospital.

The man was calling from a service station outside the town – the station after the agricultural high
school, and before the San Miguel bridge, the man added rather needlessly, in a voice that was frantic
yet oddly subdued and courteous. Dr. Lazaro thad heard it countless times, in the corridors of the
hospitals, in waiting rooms: the perpetual awkward misery. He was Pedro Esteban, the brother of the
doctor’s tenant in Nambalan, said the voice, trying to make itself less sudden remote.

But the connection was faulty, there was a humming in the wires, as though darkness had added to the
distance between the house in the town and the gas station beyond the summer fields. Dr. Lazaro could
barely catch the severed phrases. The man’s week-old child had a high fever, a bluish skin; its mouth
would not open to suckle. They could not take the baby to the poblacion, they would not dare move it;
its body turned rigid at the slightest touch. If the doctor would consent to come at so late an hour,
Esteban would wait for him at the station. If the doctor would be so kind…

Tetanus of the newborn: that was elementary, and most likely it was so hopeless, a waste of time. Dr.
Lazaro said yes, he would be there; he had committed himself to that answer, long ago; duty had taken
the place of an exhausted compassion. The carelessness of the poor, the infected blankets, the toxin
moving toward the heart: they were casual scribbled items in a clinical report. But outside the grilled
windows, the night suddenly seemed alive and waiting. He had no choice left now but action: it was the
only certitude – he sometimes reminded himself – even if it would prove futile, before, the descent into
nothingness.

His wife looked up from her needles and twine, under the shaded lamp of the bedroom; she had
finished the pullover for the grandchild in Bagiuo and had begun work, he noted, on another of those
altar vestments for the parish church. Religion and her grandchild certainly kept her busy … She looked
at him, into so much to inquire as to be spoken to: a large and placid woman.

“Shouldn’t have let the drive go home so early,” Dr. Lazaro said. “They had to wait till now to call …
Child’s probably dead…”

“Ben can drive for you.”

“I hardly see that boy around the house. He seems to be on vacation both from home and in school.”

“He’s downstairs,” his wife said.

Dr. Lazaro put on fresh shirt, buttoned it with tense, abrupt motions, “I thought he’d gone out again…
Who’s that girl he’s been seeing?...It’s not just warm, it’s hot. You should’ve stayed on in Baguio…
There’s disease, suffering, death, because Adam ate the apple. They must have an answer to
everything… “He paused at the door, as though for the echo of his words.
Mrs. Lazaro had resumed the knitting; in the circle of yellow light, her head bowed, she seemed
absorbed in some contemplative prayer. But her silences had ceased t disturb him, like the plaster saints
she kept in the room, in their cases of glass, or that air she wore of conspiracy, when she left with Ben
for Mass in the mornings. Dr. Lazaro would ramble about miracle drugs, politics, music, the common
sense of his unbelief; unrelated things strung together in a monologue; he posed questions, supplied
with his own answers; and she would merely nod, with an occasional “Yes?” and “Is that so?” and
something like a shadow of anxiety in her gaze.

He hurried down the curving stairs, under the votive lamps of the Sacred Heart. Ben lay sprawled on the
sofa, in the front parlor; engrossed in a book, one leg propped against the back cushions. “Come along,
we’re going somewhere,” Dr. Lazaro said, and went into the clinic for his medical bag. He added a vial of
penstrep, an ampule of caffeine to the satchel’s content’s; rechecked the bag before closing it; the
cutgut would last just one more patient. One can only cure, and know nothing beyond one’s work…
There had been the man, today, in the hospital: the cancer pain no longer helped by the doses of
morphine; the patients’s eyes flickering their despair in the eroded face. Dr. Lazaro brushed aside the
stray vision as he strode out of the whitewashed room; he was back in his element, among syringes,
steel instruments, quick decisions made without emotion, and it gave him a kind of blunt energy.

I’ll drive, Pa?” Ben followed him through the kitchen, where the maids were ironing the week’s wash,
gossiping, and out to the yard shrouded in the dimness of the single bulb under the eaves. The boy push
back the folding doors of the garage and slid behind the wheel.

“Somebody’s waiting at the gas station near San Miguel. You know the place?”

“Sure,” Ben said.

The engine sputtered briefly and stopped. “Battery’s weak,” Dr. Lazaro said. “Try it without the lights,”
and smelled the gasoline overflow as the old Pontiac finally lurched around the house and through the
trellised gate, its front sweeping over the dry dusty street.

But he’s all right, Dr. Lazaro thought as they swung smoothly into the main avenue of the town, past the
church and the plaza, the kiosko bare for once in a season of fiestas, the lam-posts shining on the quiet
square. They did not speak; he could sense his son’s concentration on the road, and he noted, with a
tentative amusement, the intense way the boy sat behind the wheel, his eagerness to be of help. They
passed the drab frame houses behind the marketplace, and the capitol building on its landscaped hill,
the gears shifting easily as they went over the railroad tracks that crossed the asphalted street.

Then the road was pebbled and uneven, the car bucking slightly; and they were speeding between open
fields, a succession of narrow wooden bridges breaking the crunching drive of the wheels. Dr. Lazaro
gazed at the wide darkness around them, the shapes of trees and bushes hurling toward them and
sliding away and he saw the stars, hard glinting points of light yards, black space, infinite distances; in
the unmeasured universe, man’s life flared briefly and was gone, traceless in the void. He turned away
from the emptiness. He said: “You seem to have had a lot of practice, Ben.”

“A lot of what, Pa?”

“The ways you drive. Very professional.”

In the glow of the dashboard lights, the boy’s face relaxed, smiled. “Tio Cesar let me use his car, in
Manila. On special occasions.”

“No reckless driving now,” Dr. Lazaro said. “Some fellows think it’s smart. Gives them a thrill. Don’t be
like that.”

“No, I won’t, Pa. I just like to drive and – and go place, that’s all.”
Dr. Lazaro watched the young face intent on the road, a cowlick over the forehead, the mall curve of the
nose, his own face before he left to study in another country, a young student of full illusions, a lifetime
ago; long before the loss of faith, God turning abstract, unknowable, and everywhere, it seemed to him,
those senseless accidents of pain. He felt a need to define unspoken things, to come closer somehow to
the last of his sons; one of these days, before the boy’s vacation was over, they might to on a picnic
together, a trip to the farm; a special day for the two of them – father and son, as well as friends. In the
two years Ben had been away in college, they had written a few brief, almost formal letters to each
other: your money is on the way, these are the best years, make the most of them…

Time was moving toward them, was swirling around and rushing away and it seemed Dr. Lazaro could
almost hear its hallow receding roar; and discovering his son’s profile against the flowing darkness, he
had a thirst to speak. He could not find what it was he had meant to say.

The agricultural school buildings came up in the headlights and glided back into blurred shapes behind a
fence.

“What was that book you were reading, Ben?”

“A biography,” the boy said.

“Statesman? Scientist maybe?”

It’s about a guy who became a monk.”

“That’s your summer reading?” Dr. Lazaro asked with a small laugh, half mockery, half affection. “You’re
getting to be a regular saint, like your mother.”

“It’s an interesting book,” Ben said.

“I can imagine…” He dropped the bantering tone. “I suppose you’ll go on to medicine after your AB?”

“I don’t know yet, Pa.”

Tiny moth like blown bits of paper flew toward the windshield and funneled away above them. “You
don’t have to be a country doctor like me, Ben. You could build up a good practice in the city. Specialized
in cancer, maybe or neuro-surgery, and join a good hospital.” It was like trying to recall some rare
happiness, in the car, in the shifting darkness.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Ben said. It’s a vocation, a great one. Being able to really help people, I
mean.”

“You’ve done well in math, haven’t you?”

“Well enough, I guess,” Ben said.

Engineering is a fine course too, “ Dr. Lazaro said. “There’ll be lots of room for engineers. Planners and
builders, they are what this country needs. Far too many lawyers and salesmen these days. Now if your
brother –“ He closed his eyes, erasing the slashed wrists, part of the future dead in a boarding-house
room, the landlady whimpering, “He was such a nice boy, doctor, your son…” Sorrow lay in ambush
among the years.

“I have all summer to think about, “ Ben said.

“There’s no hurry,” Dr. Lazaro said. What was it he had wanted to say? Something about knowing each
other, about sharing; no, it was not that at all…
The stations appeared as they coasted down the incline of a low hill, its fluorescent lights the only
brightness on the plain before them, on the road that led farther into deeper darkness. A freight truck
was taking on a load of gasoline as they drove up the concrete apron and came to a stop beside the
station shed.

A short barefoot man in a patchwork shirt shuffled forward to meet them.

I am Esteban, doctor,” the man said, his voice faint and hoarse, almost inaudible, and he bowed slightly
with a careful politeness. He stood blinking, looking up at the doctor, who had taken his bag and
flashlight form the car.

In the windless space, Dr. Lazaro could hear Esteban’s labored breathing, the clank of the metal nozzle
as the attendant replaced it in the pump. The men in the truck stared at them curiously.

Esteban said, pointing at the darkness beyond the road: “We will have to go through those fields,
doctor, then cross the river,” The apology for yet one more imposition was a wounded look in his eyes.
He added, in his subdued voice: “It’s not very far…” Ben had spoken to the attendants and was locking
the car.

The truck rumbled and moved ponderously onto the road, its throb strong and then fading in the warm
night stillness.

“Lead the way, “ Dr. Lazaro said, handing Esteban the flashlight.

They crossed the road, to a cleft in the embankment that bordered the fields, Dr. Lazaro was sweating
now in the dry heat; following the swinging ball of the flashlight beam, sorrow wounded by the stifling
night, he felt he was being dragged, helplessly, toward some huge and complicated error, a meaningless
ceremony. Somewhere to his left rose a flapping of wings, a bird cried among unseen leaves: they
walked swiftly, and there was only the sound of the silence, the constant whirl of crickets and the
whisper of their feet on the path between the stubble fields.

With the boy close behind him, Dr. Lazaro followed Esteban down a clay slope to the slope and ripple of
water in the darkness. The flashlight showed a banca drawn up at the river’s edge. Esteban wade waist-
deep into the water, holding the boat steady as Dr. Lazaro and Ben stepped on the board. In the
darkness, with the opposite bank like the far rise of an island, Dr. Lazaro had a moment’s tremor of fear
as the boar slide out over the black water; below prowled the deadly currents; to drown her in the
dephts of the night… But it took only a minute to cross the river. “We’re here doctor,” Esteban said, and
they padded p a stretch of sand to a clump of trees; a dog started to bark, the shadows of a kerosene
lamp wavered at a window.

Unsteady on a steep ladder, Dr. Lazaro entered the cave of Esteban’s hut. The single room contained the
odors he often encountered but had remained alien to, stirring an impersonal disgust: the sourish decay,
the smells of the unaired sick. An old man greeted him, lisping incoherently; a woman, the grandmother,
sat crouched in a corner, beneath a famed print of the Mother of Perpetual Help; a boy, about ten, slept
on, sprawled on a mat. Esteban’s wife, pale and thin, lay on the floor with the sick child beside her.

Motionless, its tiny blue-tinged face drawn way from its chest in a fixed wrinkled grimace, the infant
seemed to be straining to express some terrible ancient wisdom.

Dr. Lazaro made a cursory check – skin dry, turning cold; breathing shallow; heartbeat
fast and irregular. And I that moment, only the child existed before him; only the child and his own mind
probing now like a hard gleaming instrument. How strange that it should still live, his mind said as it
considered the spark that persisted within the rigid and tortured body. He was alone with the child, his
whole being focused on it, in those intense minutes shaped into a habit now by so many similar
instances: his physician’s knowledge trying to keep the heart beating, to revive an ebbing life and
somehow make it rise again.
Dr. Lazaro removed the blankets that bundled the child and injected a whole ampule to check the tonic
spasms, the needle piercing neatly into the sparse flesh; he broke another ampule, with deft precise
movements , and emptied the syringe, while the infant lay stiff as wood beneath his hands. He wiped off
the sweat running into his eyes, then holding the rigid body with one hand, he tried to draw air into the
faltering lungs, pressing and releasing the chest; but even as he worked to rescue the child, the bluish
color of its face began to turn gray.

Dr. Lazaro rose from his crouch on the floor, a cramped ache in his shoulders, his mouth dry. The
lamplight glistened on his pale hollow face as he confronted the room again, the stale heat, the poverty.
Esteban met his gaze; all their eyes were upon him, Ben at the door, the old man, the woman in the
corner, and Esteban’s wife, in the trembling shadows.

Esteban said: “Doctor..”

He shook his head, and replaced the syringe case in his bag, slowly and deliberately, and fastened the
clasp. T Here was murmuring him, a rustle across the bamboo floor, and when he turned, Ben was
kneeling beside the child. And he watched, with a tired detached surprise, as the boy poured water from
a coconut shell on the infant’s brow. He caught the words half-whispered in the quietness: “.. in the
name of the Father.. the Son… the Holy Ghost…”

The shadows flapped on the walls, the heart of the lamp quivering before it settled into a slender flame.
By the river dogs were barking. Dr. Lazaro glanced at his watch; it was close to midnight. Ben stood over
the child, the coconut shell in his hands, as though wandering what next to do with it, until he saw his
father nod for them to go.

Doctor, tell us – “Esteban took a step forward.

“I did everything: Dr. Lazaro said. “It’s too late –“

He gestured vaguely, with a dull resentment; by some implicit relationship, he was also responsible, for
the misery in the room, the hopelessness. “There’s nothing more I can do, Esteban, “ he said. He
thought with a flick of anger: Soon the child will be out of it, you ought to be grateful. Esteban’s wife
began to cry, a weak smothered gasping, and the old woman was comforting her, it is the will of God,
my daughter…”

In the yard, Esteban pressed carefully folded bills into the doctor’s hand; the limp, tattered feel of the
money was sort of the futile journey, “I know this is not enough, doctor,” Esteban said. “as you can see
we are very poor… I shall bring you fruit, chickens, someday…”

A late moon had risen, edging over the tops of the trees, and in the faint wash of its light, Esteban
guided them back to the boat. A glimmering rippled on the surface of the water as they paddled across,;
the white moonlight spread in the sky, and a sudden wind sprang rain-like and was lost in the tress
massed on the riverbank.

“I cannot thank you enough, doctor,” Esteban said. “You have been very kind to come this far, at this
hour.” He trail is just over there, isn’t it?” He wanted to be rid of the man, to be away from the shy
humble voice, the prolonged wretchedness.

I shall be grateful always, doctor,” Esteban said. “And to you son, too. God go with you.” He was a
faceless voice withdrawing in the shadows, a cipher in the shabby crowds that came to town on market
days.

“Let’s go, Ben” Dr. Lazaro said.

They took the path across the field; around them the moonlight had transformed the landscape,
revealing a gentle, more familiar dimension, a luminous haze upon the trees stirring with a growing
wind; and the heat of the night had passed, a coolness was falling from the deep sky. Unhurried, his
pace no more than a casual stroll, Dr. Lazaro felt the oppression of the night begin to life from him, an
emotionless calm returned to his mind. The sparrow does not fall without the Father’s leave he mused
at the sky, but it falls just the same. But to what end are the sufferings of a child? The crickets chirped
peacefully in the moon-pale darkness beneath the trees.

“You baptized the child, didn’t you, Ben?”

“Yes, Pa.” The boy kept in the step beside him.

He used to believe in it, too. The power of the Holy Spirit washing away original sin, the purified soul
made heir of heaven. He could still remember fragments of his boy hood faith, as one might remember
an improbable and long-discarded dream.

“Lay baptism, isn’t that the name for it?”

“Yes,” Ben said. I asked the father. The baby hadn’t been baptized.” He added as they came to the
embankment that separated the field from the road: “They were waiting for it to get well.”

The station had closed, with only the canopy light and the blobed neon sign left burning. A steady wind
was blowing now across the filed, the moonlit plains.

He saw Ben stifle a yawn. I’ll drive,” Dr. Lazaro said.

His eyes were not what they used to be, and he drove leaning forward, his hands tight on the wheel. He
began to sweat again, and the empty road and the lateness and the memory of Esteban and of the child
dying before morning in the impoverished, lamplit room fused into tired melancholy. He started to think
of his other son, one he had lost.

He said, seeking conversation, If other people carried on like you, Ben, the priests would be run out of
business.”

The boy sat beside him, his face averted, not answering.

“Now, you’ll have an angel praying for you in heaven,” Dr. Lazaro said, teasing, trying to create an easy
mood between the. “What if you hadn’t baptized the baby and it died? What would happen to it then?”

It won’t see God,” Ben said.

“But isn’t that unfair?” It was like riddle, trivial, but diverting. “Just because..”

“Maybe God has another remedy,” Ben said. “I don’t know. But the church says.”

He could sense the boy groping for the tremendous answers. “The Church teaches, the church says…. “
God: Christ: the communications of saints: Dr. Lazaro found himself wondering about the world of
novenas and candles, where bread and wine became the flesh and blood of the Lord, and a woman
bathed in light appeared before children, and mortal men spoke of eternal life; the visions of God, the
body’s resurrection at the tend of time. It was a country from which he was barred; no matter – the
customs, the geography didn’t appeal to him. But in the care suddenly, driving through the night, he was
aware of an obscure disappointment, a subtle pressure around his heart, as though he had been
deprived of a certain joy…

A bus roared around a hill toward, its lights blinding him, and he pulled to the side of the road, braking
involuntarily as a billow of dust swept over the car. He had not closed the window on his side, and the
flung dust poured in, the thick brittle powder almost choking him, making him cough, his eyes smarting,
before he could shield his face with his hands. In the headlights, the dust sifted down and when the air
was clear again, Dr. Lazaro, swallowing a taste of earth, of darkness, maneuvered the car back onto the
road, his arms exhausted and numb. He drove the last half-mile to town in silence, his mind registering
nothing but the frit of dust in his mouth and the empty road unwinding swiftly before him.

They reached the sleeping town, the desolate streets, the plaza empty in the moonlight, and the
dhuddled shapes of houses, the old houses that Dr. Lazaro had always know. How many nights had he
driven home like this through the quiet town, with a man’s life ended behind him, or a child crying newly
risen from the womb; and a sense of constant motions, of change, of the days moving swiftly toward
and immense reverlation touched him onced more, briefly, and still he could not find the words.. He
turned the last corner, then steered the car down the graveled driveway to the garage, while Ben closed
the gate. Dr. Lazaro sat there a momen, in the stillness, resting his eyes, conscious of the measured
beating of his heart, and breathing a scent of dust that lingered on his clothes, his skin..SLowely he
merged from the car, locking it, and went around the towere of the water-tank to the frotnyard where
Ben Stood waiting.

With unaccustomed tenderness he placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder was they turned toward the ement
–walled house. They had gone on a trip; they had come home safely together. He felt closer to the boy
than he hade ever been in years.

“Sorry for ekeeping you up this late,” Dr. Lazaro said.

“It’s all right, Pa.”

Some night, huh, Ben? What you did back in that barrio” – ther was just the slightest patronage in this
one –“ your momother will love to hear about it.”

He shook the boy beside him gently. “Reverend Father Ben Lazaro.”

The impulse of certain humor – it was part of the comradeship. He chuckled drowsily: father Lazaro, what
must I do to gain eternal life?”

As he slid the door open on the vault of darkness, the familiar depth of the house, it came to Dr. Lazaro
faitly in the late night that for certain things, like love there was only so much time. But the glimmer was
lost instantly, buried in the mist of indifference and sleep rising now in his brain.
Morning in Nagrebcan
by Manuel E. Arguilla
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and
thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on
the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long
the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the
hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens
hesitated on their perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds
on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.

In the early morning the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the
ladder of the house. Four puppies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids
and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They
had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On
the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a patch of
hair on its chest.

The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring,
aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose
white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the
puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared
beyond the house of a neighbor.

The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to
sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.

Baldo stood at the threshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been
about ten years old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He
wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.

The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a
banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other.
Bending down, he reached between his legs for the black-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its
soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue, lapping the air. It whined
eagerly. Baldo laughed – a low gurgle.

He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly, “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many
times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth, Baldo straightened up, raised the
puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy,” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he
said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.

The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-
spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of woven split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch.
When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a
long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand,
feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious
trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down.

The whistle excited the puppies; they ran to the boy as fast as their unsteady legs could carry them,
barking choppy little barks.

Nana Elang, the mother of Baldo, now appeared in the doorway with handful of rice straw. She
called Baldo and told him to get some live coals from their neighbor.
 “Get two or three burning coals and bring them home on the rice straw,” she said. “Do not wave
the straw in the wind. If you do, it will catch fire before you get home.” She watched him run
toward Ka Ikao’s house where already smoke was rising through the nipa roofing into the misty air. One
or two empty carromatas drawn by sleepy little ponies rattled along the pebbly street, bound for the
railroad station.

Nana Elang must have been thirty, but she looked at least fifty. She was a thin, wispy woman, with
bony hands and arms. She had scanty, straight, graying hair which she gathered behind her head in a
small, tight knot. It made her look thinner than ever. Her cheekbones seemed on the point of bursting
through the dry, yellowish-brown skin. Above a gray-checkered skirt, she wore a single wide-sleeved
cotton blouse that ended below her flat breasts. Sometimes when she stooped or reached up for
anything, a glimpse of the flesh at her waist showed in a dark, purplish band where the skirt had been
tied so often.

She turned from the doorway into the small, untidy kitchen. She washed the rice and put it in a pot
which she placed on the cold stove. She made ready the other pot for the mess of vegetables and dried
fish. When Baldo came back with the rice straw and burning coals, she told him to start a fire in the
stove, while she cut the ampalaya tendrils and sliced the eggplants. When the fire finally flamed inside
the clay stove, Baldo’s eyes were smarting from the smoke of the rice straw.

“There is the fire, mother,” he said. “Is father awake already?”

Nana Elang shook her head. Baldo went out slowly on tiptoe.

There were already many people going out. Several fishermen wearing coffee-colored shirts and
trousers and hats made from the shell of white pumpkins passed by. The smoke of their home-made
cigars floated behind them like shreds of the morning mist. Women carrying big empty baskets were
going to the tobacco fields. They walked fast, talking among themselves. Each woman had gathered the
loose folds of her skirt in front and, twisting the end two or three times, passed it between her legs,
pulling it up at the back, and slipping it inside her waist. The women seemed to be wearing trousers that
reached only to their knees and flared at the thighs.

Day was quickly growing older. The east flamed redly and Baldo called to his mother, “Look,
mother, God also cooks his breakfast.”

He went to play with the puppies. He sat on the bridge and took them on his lap one by one. He
searched for fleas which he crushed between his thumbnails. “You, puppy. You, puppy,” he murmured
softly. When he held the black-spotted puppy, he said, “My puppy. My puppy.”

Ambo, his seven-year old brother, awoke crying. Nana Elang could be heard patiently calling him to
the kitchen. Later he came down with a ripe banana in his hand. Ambo was almost as tall as his older
brother and he had stout husky legs. Baldo often called him the son of an Igorot. The home-made cotton
shirt he wore was variously stained. The pocket was torn, and it flipped down. He ate the banana
without peeling it.

“You foolish boy, remove the skin,” Baldo said.

“I will not,” Ambo said. “It is not your banana.” He took a big bite and swallowed it with
exaggerated relish.

“But the skin is tart. It tastes bad.”

“You are not eating it,” Ambo said. The rest of the banana vanished in his mouth.
 He sat beside Baldo and both played with the puppies. The mother dog had not yet returned and
the puppies were becoming hungry and restless. They sniffed the hands of Ambo, licked his fingers. They
tried to scramble up his breast to lick his mouth, but he brushed them down. Baldo laughed. He held the
black-spotted puppy closely, fondled it lovingly. “My puppy,” he said. “My puppy.”

Ambo played with the other puppies, but he soon grew tired of them. He wanted the black-spotted
one. He sidled close to Baldo and put out a hand to caress the puppy nestling contentedly in the crook of
his brother’s arm. But Baldo struck the hand away. “Don’t touch my puppy,” he said. “My puppy.”

Ambo begged to be allowed to hold the black-spotted puppy. But Baldo said he would not let him
hold the black-spotted puppy because he would not peel the banana. Ambo then said that he would
obey his older brother next time, for all time. Baldo would not believe him; he refused to let him touch
the puppy.

Ambo rose to his feet. He looked longingly at the black-spotted puppy in Baldo’s arms. Suddenly he
bent down and tried to snatch the puppy away. But Baldo sent him sprawling in the dust with a deft
push. Ambo did not cry. He came up with a fistful of sand which he flung in his brother’s face. But as he
started to run away, Baldo thrust out his leg and tripped him. In complete silence, Ambo slowly got up
from the dust, getting to his feet with both hands full of sand which again he cast at his older brother.
Baldo put down the puppy and leaped upon Ambo.

Seeing the black-spotted puppy waddling away, Ambo turned around and made a dive for it. Baldo
saw his intention in time and both fell on the puppy which began to howl loudly, struggling to get away.
Baldo cursed Ambo and screamed at him as they grappled and rolled in the sand. Ambo kicked and bit
and scratched without a sound. He got hold of Baldo’s hair and ear and tugged with all his might. They
rolled over and over and then Baldo was sitting on Ambo’s back, pummeling him with his fists. He
accompanied every blow with a curse. “I hope you die, you little demon,” he said between sobs, for he
was crying and he could hardly see. Ambo wriggled and struggled and tried to bite Baldo’s legs. Failing,
he buried his face in the sand and howled lustily.

Baldo now left him and ran to the black-spotted puppy which he caught up in his arms, holding it
against his throat. Ambo followed, crying out threats and curses. He grabbed the tail of the puppy and
jerked hard. The puppy howled shrilly and Baldo let it go, but Ambo kept hold of the tail as the dog fell
to the ground. It turned around and snapped at the hand holding its tail. Its sharp little teeth sank into
the fleshy edge of Ambo’s palm. With a cry, Ambo snatched away his hand from the mouth of the
enraged puppy. At that moment the window of the house facing the street was pushed violently open
and the boys’ father, Tang Ciaco, looked out. He saw the blood from the toothmarks on Ambo’s hand.
He called out inarticulately and the two brothers looked up in surprise and fear. Ambo hid his bitten
hand behind him. Baldo stopped to pick up the black-spotted puppy, but Tang Ciaco shouted hoarsely to
him not to touch the dog. At Tang Ciaco’s angry voice, the puppy had crouched back snarling, its pink
lips drawn back, the hair on its back rising. “The dog has gone mad,” the man cried, coming down
hurriedly. By the stove in the kitchen, he stopped to get a sizeable piece of firewood, throwing an angry
look and a curse at Nana Elang for letting her sons play with the dogs. He removed a splinter or two,
then hurried down the ladder, cursing in a loud angry voice. Nana Elang ran to the doorway and stood
there silently fingering her skirt.

Baldo and Ambo awaited the coming of their father with fear written on their faces. Baldo hated his
father as much as he feared him. He watched him now with half a mind to flee as Tang Ciaco
approached with the piece of firewood held firmly in one hand. He is a big, gaunt man with thick bony
wrists and stoop shoulders. A short-sleeved cotton shirt revealed his sinewy arms on which the blood-
vessels stood out like roots. His short pants showed his bony-kneed, hard-muscled legs covered with
black hair. He was a carpenter. He had come home drunk the night before. He was not a habitual
drunkard, but now and then he drank great quantities of basi and came home and beat his wife and
children. He would blame them for their hard life and poverty. “You are a prostitute,” he would roar at
his wife, and as he beat his children, he would shout, “I will kill you both, you bastards.” If Nana Elang
ventured to remonstrate, he would beat them harder and curse her for being an interfering whore. “I
am king in my house,” he would say.

Now as he approached the two, Ambo cowered behind his elder brother. He held onto Baldo’s
undershirt, keeping his wounded hand at his back, unable to remove his gaze from his father’s close-set,
red-specked eyes. The puppy with a yelp slunk between Baldo’s legs. Baldo looked at the dog, avoiding
his father’s eyes.

Tang Ciaco roared at them to get away from the dog: “Fools! Don’t you see it is mad?” Baldo laid a
hand on Ambo as they moved back hastily. He wanted to tell his father it was not true, the dog was not
mad, it was all Ambo’s fault, but his tongue refused to move. The puppy attempted to follow them,
but Tang Ciaco caught it with a sweeping blow of the piece of firewood. The puppy was flung into the
air. It rolled over once before it fell, howling weakly. Again the chunk of firewood descended, Tang Ciaco
grunting with the effort he put into the blow, and the puppy ceased to howl. It lay on its side, feebly
moving its jaws from which dark blood oozed. Once more Tang Ciaco raised his arm, but Baldo suddenly
clung to it with both hands and begged him to stop. “Enough, father, enough. Don’t beat it anymore,”
he entreated. Tears flowed down his upraised face.

Tang Ciaco shook him off with an oath. Baldo fell on his face in the dust. He did not rise, but cried
and sobbed and tore his hair. The rays of the rising sun fell brightly upon him, turned to gold the dust
that he raised with his kicking feet.

Tang Ciaco dealt the battered puppy another blow and at last it lay limpy still. He kicked it over and
watched for a sign of life. The puppy did not move where it lay twisted on its side.

He turned his attention to Baldo.

“Get up,” he said, hoarsely, pushing the boy with his foot.

Baldo was deaf. He went on crying and kicking in the dust.  Tang Ciaco struck him with the piece of
wood in his hand and again told him to get up. Baldo writhed and cried harder, clasping his hands over
the back of his head. Tang Ciaco took hold of one of the boy’s arms and jerked him to his feet. Then he
began to beat him, regardless of where the blows fell.

Baldo encircled his head with his loose arm and strove to free himself, running around his father,
plunging backward, ducking and twisting. “Shameless son of a whore,” Tang Ciaco roared. “Stand still, I’ll
teach you to obey me.” He shortened his grip on the arm of Baldo and laid on his blows. Baldo fell to his
knees, screaming for mercy. He called on his mother to help him.

Nana Elang came down, but she hesitated at the foot of the ladder. Ambo ran to her. “You
too,” Tang Ciaco cried, and struck at the fleeing Ambo. The piece of firewood caught him behind the
knees and he fell on his face. Nana Elang ran to the fallen boy and picked him up, brushing his clothes
with her hands to shake off the dust.

Tang Ciaco pushed Baldo toward her. The boy tottered forward weakly, dazed and trembling. He
had ceased to cry aloud, but he shook with hard, spasmodic sobs which he tried vainly to stop.

“Here take your child,” Tang Ciaco said, thickly.

He faced the curious students and neighbors who had gathered by the side of the road. He yelled at
them to go away. He said it was none of their business if he killed his children.

“They are mine,” he shouted. “I feed them and I can do anything I like with them.”
 The students ran hastily to school. The neighbors returned to their work.

Tang Ciaco went to the house, cursing in a loud voice. Passing the dead puppy, he picked it up by
its hind legs and flung it away. The black and white body soared through the sunlit air; fell among the tall
corn behind the house. Tang Ciaco, still cursing and grumbling, strode upstairs. He threw the chunk of
firewood beside the stove. He squatted by the low table and began eating the breakfast his wife had
prepared for him.

Nana Elang knelt by her children and dusted their clothes. She passed her hand over the red welts
on Baldo, but Baldo shook himself away. He was still trying to stop sobbing, wiping his tears away with
his forearm. Nana Elang put one arm around Ambo. She sucked the wound in his hand. She was crying
silently.

When the mother of the puppies returned, she licked the remaining four by the small bridge of
woven split bamboo. She lay down in the dust and suckled her young. She did not seem to miss the
black-spotted puppy.

Afterward Baldo and Ambo searched among the tall corn for the body of the dead
puppy. Tang Ciaco had gone to work and would not be back till nightfall. In the house, Nana Elang was
busy washing the breakfast dishes. Later she came down and fed the mother dog. The two brothers
were entirely hidden by the tall corn plants. As they moved about among the slender stalks, the corn-
flowers shook agitatedly. Pollen scattered like gold dust in the sun, falling on the fuzzy· green leaves.

When they found the dead dog, they buried it in one corner of the field. Baldo dug the grove with a
sharp-pointed stake. Ambo stood silently by, holding the dead puppy.

When Baldo finished his work, he and his brother gently placed the puppy in the hole. Then they
covered the dog with soft earth and stamped on the grave until the disturbed ground was flat and hard
again. With difficulty they rolled a big stone on top of the grave. Then Baldo wound an arm around the
shoulders of Ambo and without a word they hurried up to the house.

The sun had risen high above the Katayaghan hills, and warm, golden sunlight filled Nagrebcan. The
mist on the tobacco fields had completely dissolved.
The Prowess of Aliguyon
Retold by: F. Landa Jocano
(Ifugao, Visayas)

-------

Long ago in Hannanga there lived a rich couple, Amtulao and Dumulao. They owned the longest and
widest of the rice terraces that covered the mountainsides, and their harvests were the most plentiful.
Their thatched house, large enough to contain three of their neighbors’ huts, had piles of red and white
camote. Buried in the earth were jars of rice wine. Amtulao’s dogs were fat and well fed, not lean and
starved looking as were the dogs of his neighbors. But will all their wealth, Amtulao and Dululao were
unhappy, for they were childless. They offered numerous sacrifices to the spirits; and they lived frugally
and simply feeling somehow that austerity and lack of ostentation would please the anitos.

In the end their prayers were answered, and Dumulao gave birth to Aliguyon, a sturdy and handsome
child.

Even as an infant, Aliguyon was precocious. He quickly learned the songs with which his mother lulled
him to sleep, and in no time he could recite the long prayers chanted by the warriors on Hannanga. He
even knew by heart the village lore, the stories that the old folks of the village told, reciting them word for
word as he had heard them in the cool evenings. But what pleased Amtulao most was Aliguyon’s skill with
the spear and the shield. Amtulao made for him a little spear; and when at the age of three Aliguyon
speared his first fish, Amtulao offered a pig as a sacrifice to the gods in thanksgiving. At five Aliguyon had
speared wild chickens, at seven he was an accepted companion of Amtulao on hunting trips.
Among his playmates Aliguyon was a favorite. He was accepted as the leader, and no one challenged his
leadership, for he could not spin a top better than anyone else? And he could not “kill” the strongest tops
by hitting them with the pointed stem of his own top? Amtulao loved his son and carefully taught him all
the arts of hunting and fishing that he knew, and he told the boy all the stories of valor and prowess of
which he knew so many. But always, he ended with the story about his bitter enemy in the village across
the mountain. Pangaiwan of Daligdigan had to be conquered before Amtulao could die in peace.

So when Aliguyon reached manhood, he called his childhood friends, now skilled workers, and talked to
them about the glories of war, the prize they could bring back , and the adventures and fame awaiting
them if they joined him in an expedition to Daligdigan. Eagerly his friends ran for their spears and
shields, and with provisions for three days, Aliguyon and ten warriors set forth. When they reached the
enemy village, Aliguyon challenged Pangaiwan to fight, but Pangaiwan was old. Instead, up rose
Pumbakhayon, his manly son, as skilled a warrior and as strong and keen eyed as Aliguyon.

For three years the two men fought, and when they rested, their friends fought man to man. But so well
matched were the men, so equal in the arts of war, that no one was beaten. Each combat was a draw, each
encounter ended with no one seriously wounded. At last Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon grew to admire each
other. The people of Daligdigan, who had watched the strangers with suspicion, learned to like them for
their courteous bearing and fair fighting. And the warriors of Hannanga found the girls in Daligdigan
winningly shy and sweet.

One day, therefore, while Aliguyon and Pumbakhayon sat resting from a hotly contested fight,
Pumbakhayon remarked: “What a waste of time! If were not enemies, we could be at home drinking rice
wine and eating broiled river fish or roasted meat. But were enemies even though neither of us did the
other any harm.” Aliguyon replied, “Ah, how truly you speak. Perhaps the anitos do not favor this fight, for
neither has won. Perhaps the gods put your words into your mouth and this feeling in my heart, for I no
longer wish to kill you, O Pumbakhayon.” His words fell on the ears of the listening warriors and on those
of the villagers watching the combat. With a loud shout of approval, the warriors ran to their leaders and
carried them to the house of Pumbakhayon where old Pangaiwan waited. Preparations began for a huge
celebration. Squealing pigs were drag to be killed. The fattest dogs were killed and cooked. The fields were
scoured for river fish and snails. Prized camotes, violet and orange, glutinous and sweet, were boiled or
roasted. Bananas were laid out by the bunches; guavas and berries were heaped high, and in white
scrubbed wooden bowls steamed small-grained upland rice, sweet smelling of fragrant herbs and banana
leaves, and black-bottomed earthen pots. Everyone came to the feast, and as the jars of rice wine were
emptied, the friendship between the strangers from Hannanga and the people of Daligdigan grew.

All throughout the feast, Aliguyon was fascinated by the light movements of Bugan, by her gaiety and her
poise. At the end of the three-day feast, he approached Pangaiwan and said, “O Pangaiwan, once my
father’s enemy but now his friend, grant, I beg of you, this one request. Let us bind our friendship with
ties that even death cannot break. Give me your daughter Bugan for my wife. I love her; she is to me the
brilliant sun that warms the earth and drives away the chill of the night. She is to me the golden moon that
brightens the dark and drives away the weariness of the day’s work. Without her I cannot return to my
village as I left it, for with her I have left my heart and my thoughts and my happiness.”

Pangaiwan listened, and the men grew quite. Bugan blushed and bent her head. Fourteen times her father
had harvested his yearly crops since she was born; she knew that after two or more harvests her father
would begin looking critically at the young men who talked to her. But Aliguyon was such a hero, so
strong and brave, so well-spoken of and handsome! Would her father allow her to leave the house and
follow Aliguyon?

Pangaiwan looked at his daughter fondly. He could read her thoughts as she looked at him mutely from
under shyly lowered eyelashes. Clearing his throat, he answered slowly:

`“Aliguyon, you are my son. The spirits are good. They have given me a worthy man for a son-in-law. Take
Bugan. I pray the anitos that she will be a worthy wife for you and a dutiful daughter-in-law for Amtulao
and Dumulao.” His words were drowned by the joyous shouts of Aliguyon and his men. Aliguyon sprang
into the air, yelling with happiness, and his friends chanted the first words of the courting song. The
women took up the rhythm with their hands on bronze gongs and hollowed-out logs, and everyone
crowded around to see Aliguyon mimic the strut of a rooster as he danced before Bugan.

In triumph he led her to his father in Hannanga, and kneeling before Amtulao and Dumulao, he cried:

“O Father! O Mother! Your enemy in Daligdigan is no more.Pangaiwan, your enemy, no longer lived. In
his place is Pangaiwan, the father-in-law of your only son Aliguyon. If you love me, love too the man
whom your son promised to honor as the father of his wife. Behold, I have brought you my wife, Bugan of
Daligdigan, the lovely daughter of Pangaiwan. I bring her to you, Father, so that someone can pound the
dried meat for you when you are hungry. I brought her to you, O my mother, so that someone can carry
water to you when you want to drink.

“I destroyed your enemy by making him a friend. Therefore, O Father, you can die in peace, for we have
conquered him. But Bugan conquered my heart, and with her I can live in peace.”

Thus did peace come to Amtulao and Dumulao. They lived to see Bugan enrich their lives with several
grandchildren. Often Amtulao and Dumulao were honored guests at Daligdigan, in the house of
Pangaiwan; and as often as they visited Pangaiwan, so often did he go to Hannanga to visit his
grandchildren and to talk of old times with Amtulao and Dumulao.
LITERATURE OF REGIONS 5,6,7,8 and 9

Literature of Region 5
Bikol is the language of almost 5 million people in the provinces of Albay,
Camarines Norte, Camarines Sur, Catanduanes, Masbate and Sorsogon that
constitute the Bikol Region.  The Bikol people have a writing tradition with roots
in its ancient folkways.  Still extant are charm verses exploiting the possibilities of
words in folk poems and narratives with mythical content, and bound with early
historical fragments which form part of the people’s lives.
        Colonization stifle after about two centuries later did the people begin to write
poems and plays adapted from Biblical stories – this time in the native writing system.

        Corridos or metrical romances became the main reading fare for many years. 
Translation from Spanish to Bikol were eagerly awaited that writers switched to
translating for the money it brought them.  In time, Bikol corridos were written.  The
most popular was Mag -amang Pobre (The Poor Father and Son).

 The comedia or moro-moro stayed for a long time.  Almost every town boasted of

a comedia writer and a theater group.

 The Commonwealth Period were years of poetic and dramatic

productivity. The zarzuela did not escape the Bikol’s questioning bent.

 By the mid-thirties, shorter plays became the fashion. The new themes were poor
vs. rich, laziness vs. hard work and Rizal and nationalism. 

 The Post-War Period was unproductive. The stories and novels written in the fifties
were insipid and mere narrations; the novels fantastic and improbable.

 Contemporary writing has just began to burst with creative energy.  The writers now
possess the courage to deal with big themes. 

 The Bikolano can write memorable and significant pieces.  The native literary
tradition has been resurrected and kept.   How to make the people aware and how to make
them read as well and how to multiply these writings so they can be disseminated have to
be resolved.

LITERATURE OF REGION 6
West Visayas is designated Region 6. Its lingua franca is Hiligaynon, but unknown
to many, there are more speakers of Kinaray-a than of Hiligaynon. Kinaray-a in its
many variants is spoken in all of Antique, all the southern coastal towns and
central towns of Iloilo, and all the towns and hinterlands of Capiz. Aklanon,
likewise in its various versions, is spoken in all the provinces of Aklan.

 Sadly, people usually lump these languages together as Hiligaynon. Worse, Kinaray-a
and Aklanon are labeled as dialects, as if they were not capable of expressing the best in the
minds and hearts of their users.
 The 1986 EDSA revolution is a milestone in the literary history of West Visayas and the
country. Three new writings emerged in the region: Kinaray-a, Aklanon and Visayan-
influenced Filipino.

LITERATURE OF REGION 7
The island province of Bohol has a population of 1.102,000 in forty- eight towns
andone city, Tagbilaran which is the provincial capital. The island seems to have
evenmore history than usual of long and bitter fighting against foreign invaders,
Spanish,American and Japanese. This represents the concept of blood- brotherhood
between Miguel Lopez de Legapi and Sikatuna.

LITERATURE OF REGION 8
Samar Leyte Eastern Visayas ( Region VIII). This region is the eastern boundary of the
Philippines. Eastern Visayas encompasses the two large islands of Leyte and Samar connected
by the Philippine Longest Bridge, and other provinces and several minor islands.

 It is occupied by the Waray- warays. Waray are a subgroup of the Visayan people whose
primary language is Waray-waray. This ethnic group is the country’s fourth largest
culture- linguistic group.

 Early Forms of Literature Ambahan an unrhymed seven- syllable line containing a

complete thought ismaylingay.
 The same balac form or ismayling has been reinvented to exp[ress anti- imperialist
sentiments where the woman represents the motherland and the man, the patriot who
professes his love of country.

LITERATURE OF REGION 9
The region 9 or Zamboanga Peninsula, as it is known now, was formerly Western Mindanao
is in the southernmost portion of the country. It is bounded by: Sulu Sea on the north; Illana
Bay and Moro Gulf on the South; Misamis Occidental, Lanao del Norte and Panguil Bay on
the east and the Celebes Sea on the west.
 Roughly half of the population speaks Chabacano, a dialect heavily influenced by
Spanish settlers. Spanish-speakers are sure to pick up on quite a few familiar words.
  Each part of the Zamboanga Peninsula shines on its own, but there is a common
heritage. This is a region of beauty, history and culture. It’s been blessed by nature. It
is cherished by its people
 This is what the early Chinese and Malays saw when they came over and made
Zamboanga the cynosure of Southern Philippines centuries ago. Up to today, the
Zamboanga Peninsula has an undeniable allure.

THE WHITE HORSE OF ALIH

By: Alvarez Enriquez

The story happened on July 4th in a city with a parade of people. It was a happy day for
everybody because they are celebrating the big American Holiday. Among the crowd was Alih, a
Moro who was then looking for his brother, Omar. That day was intended for them to fulfill their
plan. Their plan is to kill these people.
So Alih waited for his brother, he went out of the crown and sat under the Balete tree. While he
was sitting and looking at the parade, he remembered his past, his childhood and his growing
years where he met the women whom he wished and longed for and he remembered his mission.
That is—to kill the people. But people can’t notice them as Moros because they were in disguise.
When he saw a man riding a horse and controlling the crowd, he remembered how much he
longed for a horse for himself. He recalled when his brother punished him because he spent his
earnings just to ride in a merry – go- round. He wanted to ride on a wooden horse because he
saw the girl whom he liked most and her name was Lucy. Lucy was the girl who lived in the
reservation area where the Americans live. Moros were not allowed to enter that vicinity. But
because he needs to go to school, he cross the river and reached the reservation area. There he
saw the first girl he liked. Though, they were not given the chance to see and talk to each other
since then.
When he grew up, Omar told him about how the American soldiers killed their father without
any reason. Their father was known and respected in their village. With these, Omar taught him
to be brave and be able to fight against these people because he believes that only by killing
could they wash away their shame. He taught him words to live by and beliefs to be respected
and attained.
As he grew into a mature individual, he met another woman named Fermina. Fermina was a
beautiful bar maid with a mole near her mouth. He likes her so much but the woman doesn’t like
him because of his impertinent manner towards her. He was put to jail for six months because of
what he did.
Remembering all of these from his past, he thought of what Omar said about the promise of their
prophet to those who are faithful to him. That is to have a white horse ride to heaven and as
many hours as the number of infidel heads he could lay before Allah. But when he thought of
what their Imam said that white horse, as a reward for killing is an reference conjured by fanatics
in their attempt to give reason to their behavior. The prophet never taught them about that
because he was man of peace.
 
So back to reality, he continued searching for Omar into the crowd. Soon he saw a float with a
girl whom he thought of as Fermina. He went near the float and assisted the girl to go down to
the ground. As he was about to hold her completely, Omar came but to his surprise, he was
drunk and tipsy! All along, he realized that Omar had been drinking tuba. He knew that Omar
was afraid to kill that is why he drink tuba first before he go to the town.
Omar shouted and leap to the street, and then he gets his fatal blade from his pants.
The crowd screamed. Fear and panic seized everyone. Everyone is running and escaping from
Omar, even fermina jumped into the ground and run away but she got stocked from a bamboo
frame of the float because of her long flowing robe that hooked on the edge of the bamboo
frame. She tried to set her free but she saw Omar coming to her swinging his blade. Fermina
screamed and screamed because of fear.
The screams struck Alih because he saw that Fermina the girl he was love is in danger and get
his blade from his leg immediately and then he leaped to his brother Omar and hit its back by his
sharp blade repeatedly. Omar died.
The town spoke out about the strange tragedy for many days after. But nobody had known Alih,
and nobody could figure out why he turned against his brother.
https://ischoolsericsonalieto.wordpress.com/2012/03/25/the-white-horse-of-alih
Tungkung Langit and Alunsina Creation Myth
In the beginning everything was shapeless and formless. The earth, the sky, the sea, and the air
were almost mixed up. In a word, there was only confusion. Then from the depth of this formless
void there appeared the god Tungkung Langit and the goddess Alunsina.

It was not known just where these two deities came from but it is related by old Bisayan folk that
Tungkung Langit fell in love with Alunsina. After he had courted her for many years, they
married and made their home in the highest part of heaven. There the water was always warm
and the breeze was forever cool. In this place order and regularity began.

Tungkung Langit was a loving, hard-working god. He wanted to impose order over the confused
world. He decided to arrange the world so that the heavenly bodies would move regularly. On
the other hand, Alunsina was a lazy, jealous, selfish goddess. She sat at the window all day doing
nothing.
Sometimes she would leave her home, sit down by a pool near the door, and comb her long, jet-
black hair all day long. One day Tungkung Langit told his wife that he would be away for some
time. He said he must make time go on smoothly and arrange everything in the world.

When he was gone, Alunsina set the breeze to spy on Tungkung Langit. Tungkung Langit found
this out and he became very angry. After he returned home, he told her that it was ungodly of her
to be jealous since there were no other gods in the world except the two of them.

Alunsina resented this reproach, and they quarreled. In his anger, Tungkung Langit drove his
wife away. No one knew where she went. Several days later, Tungkung Langit felt very lonely.
He realized that he should not have lost his temper. But it was too late.

Once vibrant with Alunsina’s sweet voice, his home became cold and desolate. In the morning
when he woke up, he would find himself alone. In the afternoon when he came home, he would
feel the same loneliness creeping deep in his heart because there was no one to meet him at the
doorstep or soothe the aching muscles of his arms.

For months, Tungkung Langit was in utter desolation. He could not find Alunsina, try hard as he
would. And so, in desperation, he decided to do something in order to forget his sorrows. For
months and months he thought, but his mind seemed pointless; his heart weary and sick. He
needed something to ease his lonely world.
One day, while he was sailing across the regions of the clouds, a thought came to him. He would
make the sea and the earth, and the earth and the sea suddenly appeared. However, the sombre
sight of the lonely sea and the barren land irritated him. So he came down to earth and planted
the ground with trees and flowers.

Then he took his wife’s treasured jewels and scattered them in the sky, hoping that when
Alunsina would see them she might be induced to return home. The goddess’s necklace became
the stars, her comb the moon and her crown the sun. However, despite Tungkung Langit’s
efforts, Alunsina did not come back.

Until now, some elders of Panay say Tungkung Langit lives alone in his palace in the skies.
Sometimes, he would cry out his pent-up emotion and his tears would fall down upon the earth.
When it thunders hard, it is Tungkung Langit sobbing, calling for his beloved Alunsina to come
back, entreating her so hard that his voice reverberates across the fields and the countryside.

 Source: Alunsina with Tungkung Langit adapted by F. Landa Jocano in Outline of Philippine
Mythology
ALSO READ: VISAYAN Origin Myth: Creation of the Sun and Moon
Bowaon and Totoon

Once upon a time, there were two friends, Bowaon and Totoon. They couldn’t find
work so they decided to go away from their place to look for their fortune
somewhere. They brought with them some rice and then they mounted their horses.
As they went on, they got hungry. From a distance, they saw a coral reef. They got
off their horses and headed for the reef to catch some fish. They caught schools of
fish but these were very tiny. Totoon forgot his hunger. He returned the fish he
caught to the reef. Bowaon got angry. “How will we able to eat?” he scolded
Totoon. “Never mind Bowaon, they are so tiny; they will still grow bigger,”
Totoon replied.

They rode on their horses again. After a distance, they saw a dead man. Totoon
asked Bowaon to stop so they could bury the body. But Bowaon got angry, “Are
you out of mind? If somebody sees us, he’ll think we killed him.” “But we should
show mercy. There is a way of finding the truth. Well, if you won’t help me, then I
will bury him by myself. You may go onward if you please. I’ll follow later,” said
Totoon.

Bowaon went ahead while Totoon dug a grave for the body. Then he carried the
dead person and buried him. He prayed over it then went on his journey. Bowaon
could not bear to leave him so he returned for Totoon. They therefore, set out
together again. Trotting along, they heard babies crying. They went towards the
direction of the sounds. They found hungry baby eagles in a nest.

“Let’s stop for a while and feed the eagles,” suggested Totoon. Then Bowaon saw
that Totoon was going to kill his horse. “Are you foolish? When they grow up
they’ll prey on you. Let’s go on, we’re already delayed,” Bowaon said. “Don’t
mind me. I pity these baby eagles. Anyway, no debt goes unpaid. Go ahead, I’ll
just follow.”

“If you go on with your silly ideas, I’ll not give you a ride,” threatened Bowaon.

“Then I’ll walk,” decided Totoon. “Even if I go slowly, I’ll still reach my
destination.”

After killing his horse, he fed the eagles. When they feel asleep, Totoon left.
Bowaon again returned to give Totoon a ride. Far ahead, they sighted a palace.
“Let’s go,” suggested Bowaon. “Let’s ask the king for work.”

They knocked at the palace door. They were told to enter, but since it was late,
they were not granted any audience with the king. They slept in the palace. “You
see,” taunted Bowaon, “if you did not delay our trip, we should’ve been able to eat.
You are the cause of all this.” They went to sleep nevertheless since they were so
tired from their journey.
After a while, Totoon heard someone calling his name. “Rise, Totoon, and listen:
In the morning, when the king calls you for breakfast, don’t eat at once. On the
table you’ll see a pen and some cooking utensils. Sit near the pen, and your future
will be bright. Don’t be surprised. I am the dead person whom you have buried. I
have come back to pay you back the favor you showed me.” Everything went silent
and Totoon feel asleep again.

In the morning, the two friends were called for breakfast by the king. As he was
told the night before, he saw the pen and some cooking utensils on the table.
Bowaon sat down and just as soon began eating.

“You, Totoon, will become my secretary; while you, Bowaon, will become my
cook,” announced the king.

At first, Bowaon was glad with his work for it meant plenty of food. He would not
go hungry. But as time went on, he began to envy Totoon for the latter was not
fatigued much. He thought of smearing the name of his friend.

One day, Bowaon went to the king to report that he heard Totoon say that the latter
would be able to find the ring the king lost within three days and that the reward
will be marriage to the princess. Of course, the king got angry for he did not say
anything like that. He had Totoon summoned to his hall. Totoon protested the
accusation but the angry king would not listen to him.

“Go, look for the ring then and if you find it you will have the princess for a
reward but, if you fail you will lose your head,” announced the king.

Totoon did not say anything. He got a paddle and rode far out to the sea. There, he
cried because of his fate. No longer after, he heard a voice. It was a fish asking him
why he as crying. Totoon unburdened his problem. After listening, the fish dived
deep into the sea. When it surfaced, many fishes came up with it, each one with a
ring in its snout. Totoon looked among the rings. The king’s ring was not there.
The fishes dived again. When they came up, they were bringing the king’s ring.
Totoon thanked the fish.

Don’t mention it,” said the fish. Actually we are only paying the favor you showed
us before when you threw us back into the reef.” Then they left.

The king rejoiced that the ring had been found. He held a banquet. Now, Bowaon
had plenty of work again. He did not like it. In the banquet, the king announced the
forthcoming marriage of Totoon and the princess. Bowaon was very angry. There
would be much work ahead. He thought of a plan to thwart the wedding. But it did
not succeed.

After the wedding, Bowaon went to the king. “Your majesty,” he said. “I heard
Totoon say that on the third day, the princess will give birth.”
The king got mad. He once more summoned Totoon. “Do you mean to say that you
had an affair with the princess even before you got married? You scoundrel! But
since you’re already my child, I can’t do anything. However, do what you’ve
said---that the princess will give birth three days from now. If not, you’ll surely
lose your head.”

Totoon cried in despair. The princess comforted him by saying she’d talk with her
father, but he couldn’t be calmed. After a while, an eagle came. “Don’t cry,
Totoon,” she began. “This time I’ll help you in payment for help you extended my
children. Get a midwife and talk to her. I’ll bring you a newly-born child.” Then
the eagle flew away.

When she came back, she had an infant, still dripping with blood. In the bedroom,
the midwife acted as if there really was a delivery. When the king awoke he heard
the ones of an infant. He was amazed that the princess did give birth. He forgot his
anger. “It must be a miracle,” he muttered. 

Literature of Region 10
Designated as Region X of the Philippines, Northern Mindanao (Filipino:Hilagang Mindanao) is
composed of five provinces and two cities classified as highly- urbanized, all occupying the
north- central part of Mindanao island, and the island-province of Camiguin. The regional center
is Cagayan De Oro City, where the national government's regional offices and other big
establishments are located.

LITERATURE OF REGION 11
Davao Region, formerly called Southern Mindanao (Cebuano: Habagatang
Mindanao; Tagalog: Rehiyon ng Davao), is an administrative region in the Philippines,
designated as Region XI. It is situated at the southeastern portion of Mindanao and comprises
five provinces: Davao de Oro, Davao del Norte, Davao del Sur, Davao Oriental, and Davao
Occidental.
The region encloses the Davao Gulf, and its regional center is Davao City. Dávao is
the Hispanicized pronunciation of daba-daba, the Bagobo word for "fire".
Many historians believe that the name Davao is the mixture of the three names that three
different tribes, the earliest settlers in the region, had for the Davao River. The Manobos, an
aboriginal tribe, referred to the Davao Rivers as Davohoho. Another tribe, the Bagobos, referred
to the river as Davohaha, which means "fire", while another tribe, the Guiangan tribe, called the
river as Duhwow.

Cultural groups

•Majority of the region's inhabitants are migrants from Cebu and Iloilo. There are also
inhabitants of Waray, Tagalog and Maranao descent

Region XII (SOCCSKSARGEN)

SOCCSKSARGEN is a region of the Philippines, located in Central Mindanao, and is officially
designated as Region XII. It is an acronym that stands for the region’s four provinces and one of
its cities: South Cotabato, Cotabato, Sultan Kudarat, Sarangani and General Santos City.

REGION 13
The Caraga, officially known as the Caraga Administrative Region or simply Caraga Region and
designated as Region XIII, is an administrative region in the Philippines occupying
thenortheastern section of the island of Mindanao. The Caraga Region was created through
Republic Act No. 7901 on February 23, 1995.The region comprises five provinces, namely,
Agusan del Norte, Agusan del Sur, Surigao del Norte, Surigao del Surand Dinagat Islands; The
region has the following cities:1.Butuan2.Cabadbaran3.Surigao City4.Tandag5.Bislig
6.BayuganButuanis the regional administrative center.

ARMM
The ARMM spans two geographical areas: the Mindanao mainland, where Lanao del Sur and
Maguindanao are situated, and the Sulu Archipelago, made up of the island provinces of Basilan,
Sulu and Tawi-Tawi. The region covers a total of 12,288 km².
The Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao ( abbreviated ARMM) is the region located in the
Mindanao island group of the Philippines, that is composed of predominantly Muslim provinces,
namely: Basilan ( except Isabela City), Lanao del Sur, Maguindanao, Sulu and Tawi- Tawi. It is
the only region that has its own government. The regional capital is at Cotabato City, although
this city is outside its jurisdiction.
Indarapatra and Sulayman

This is the story of King Indarapatra and his brother Sulayman.

A very long time ago, the large island of Mindanao was completely covered with water, and the
sea extended over all the lowlands so that nothing could be seen but mountains. There were
many people living in the country, and all the highlands were dotted with villages and
settlements. For many years the people prospered, living in peace and contentment.

Suddenly there appeared in the land four horrible monsters which, in a short time, had devoured
every human being they could find.

Kurita, a terrible creature with many limbs, lived partly on land and partly in the sea, but its
favorite haunt was the mountain where the rattan grew; and here it brought utter destruction on
every living thing. The second monster, Tarabusaw, an ugly creature in the form of a man, lived
on Mt. Matutun, and far and wide from that place he devoured the people, laying waste the land.
The third, an enormous bird called Pah, was so large that when on the wing it covered the sun
and brought darkness to the earth. Its egg was as large as a house. Mt. Bita was its haunt, and
there the only people who escaped its voracity were those who hid in caves in the mountains.
The fourth monster was a dreadful bird also, having seven heads and the power to see in all
directions at the same time. Mt. Gurayn was its home and like the others it wrought havoc in its
region.

So great was the death and destruction caused by these terrible animals that at length the news
spread even to the most distant lands, and all nations were grieved to hear of the sad fate of
Mindanao.

Now far across the sea in the land of the golden sunset was a city so great that to look at its many
people would injure the eyes of man. When tidings of these great disasters reached this distant
city, the heart of the king Indarapatra was filled with compassion, and he called his
brother, Sulayman, begging him to save the land of Mindanao from the monsters.

Sulayman listened to the story, and as he heard he was moved with pity.

“I will go,” said he, zeal and enthusiasm adding to his strength, “and the land shall be avenged.”

King Indarapatra, proud of his brother’s courage, gave him a ring and a sword as he wished him
success and safety. Then he placed a young sapling by his window and said to Sulayman:

“By this tree I shall know your fate from the time you depart from here, for if you live, it will
live; but if you die, it will die also.”
So Sulayman departed for Mindanao, and he neither walked nor used a boat, but he went through
the air and landed on the mountain where the rattan grew. There he stood on the summit and
gazed about on all sides. He looked on the land and the villages, but he could see no living thing.
And he was very sorrowful and cried out:

“Alas, how pitiful and dreadful is this devastation!”

No sooner had Sulayman uttered these words than the whole mountain began to move, and then
shook. Suddenly out of the ground came the horrible creature, Kurita. It sprang at the man and
sank its claws into his flesh. But Sulayman, knowing at once that this was the scourge of the
land, drew his sword and cut the Kurita to pieces.

Encouraged by his first success, Sulayman went on to Mt. Matutun where conditions were even
worse. As he stood on the heights viewing the great devastation there was a noise in the forest
and a movement in the trees. With a loud yell, forth leaped Tarabusaw. For a moment they
looked at each other, neither showing any fear. Then Tarabusaw threatened to devour the man,
and Sulayman declared that he would kill the monster. At that the animal broke large branches
off the trees and began striking at Sulayman who, in turn, fought back. For a long time the battle
continued until at last the monster fell exhausted to the ground and then Sulayman killed him
with his sword.

The next place visited by Sulayman was Mt. Bita. Here havoc was present everywhere, and
though he passed by many homes, not a single soul was left. As he walked along, growing sadder
at each moment, a sudden darkness which startled him fell over the land. As he looked toward
the sky he beheld a great bird descending upon him. Immediately he struck at it, cutting off its
wing with his sword, and the bird fell dead at his feet; but the wing fell on Sulayman, and he was
crushed.

Now at this very time King Indarapatra was sitting at his window, and looking out he saw the
little tree wither and dry up.

“Alas!” he cried, “my brother is dead”; and he wept bitterly.

Then although he was very sad, he was filled with a desire for revenge, and putting on his sword
and belt he started for Mindanao in search of his brother.

He, too, traveled through the air with great speed until he came to the mountain where the rattan
grew. There he looked about, awed at the great destruction, and when he saw the bones of Kurita
he knew that his brother had been there and gone. He went on till he came to Matutun, and when
he saw the bones of Tarabusaw he knew that this, too, was the work of Sulayman.

Still searching for his brother, he arrived at Mt. Bita where the dead bird lay on the ground, and
as he lifted the severed wing he beheld the bones of Sulayman with his sword by his side. His
grief now so overwhelmed Indarapatra that he wept for some time. Upon looking up he beheld a
small jar of water by his side. This he knew had been sent from heaven, and he poured the water
over the bones, and Sulayman came to life again. They greeted each other and talked long
together. Sulayman declared that he had not been dead but asleep, and their hearts were full of
joy.

After some time Sulayman returned to his distant home, but Indarapatra continued his journey to
Mt. Gurayn where he killed the dreadful bird with the seven heads. After these monsters had all
been destroyed and peace and safety had been restored to the land, Indarapatra began searching
everywhere to see if some of the people might not be hidden in the earth still alive.

One day during his search he caught sight of a beautiful woman at a distance. When he hastened
toward her she disappeared through a hole in the ground where she was standing. Disappointed
and tired, he sat down on a rock to rest, when, looking about, he saw near him a pot of uncooked
rice with a big fire on the ground in front of it. This revived him and he proceeded to cook the
rice. As he did so, however, he heard someone laugh near by, and turning he beheld an old
woman watching him. As he greeted her, she drew near and talked with him while he ate the
rice.
Of all the people in the land, the old woman told him, only a very few were still alive, and they
hid in a cave in the ground from whence they never ventured. As for herself and her old husband,
she went on, they had hidden in a hollow tree, and this they had never dared leave until after
Sulayman killed the voracious bird, Pah.

At Indarapatra’s earnest request, the old woman led him to the cave where he found the headman
with his family and some of his people. They all gathered about the stranger, asking many
questions, for this was the first they had heard about the death of the monsters. When they found
what Indarapatra had done for them, they were filled with gratitude, and to show their
appreciation the headman gave his daughter to him in marriage, and she proved to be the
beautiful girl whom Indarapatra had seen at the mouth of the cave.

Then the people all came out of their hiding-place and returned to their homes where they lived
in peace .

Activities:

Activity # 1
Make a Reflection Paper about the importance of literature as a student of Bachelor of Science
in Tourism Management.

Activity # 2
Self - made poem about pandemic (Covid-19 ),its impact to human lives.

Activity # 3
Make an analysis about the story of “Morning in Nagrebcan”.

Activity # 4
Short Analysis of the following stories, Faith,Love,Time and Dr. Lazaro and Hudhud ni
Aliguyon.
REFERENCES
References:

• https://literarydevices.net/drama/
• Krystal, A. (2014). What is literature? Harper’s Magazine.https://harpers.org/archive/2014/03/what-
is-literature/
• Marcos, Lucivilla L., Bantados, Wilfredo A., Valdez, Suzette, E. (2012). Introduction to Literature with
Special Glimpse of Philippine Literature. Intramuros, Manila: Purely Books Trading & Publishing Corp.

https://study.com/academy/lesson/what-is-contemporary-literature-definition-writing-style.html

https://blog.prepscholar.com/literary-elements-list-examples

https://www.mytutor.co.uk/answers/9916/A-Level/English-Literature/What-is-the-difference-between-
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https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk03GC4GSI4wNtI_YBJMlPn8ZimZ_yQ
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https://study.com/academy/lesson/what-is-contemporary-literature-definition-writing-style.html

https://blog.prepscholar.com/literary-elements-list-examples

https://www.mytutor.co.uk/answers/9916/A-Level/English-Literature/What-is-the-difference-between-
form-and-structure/

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk03GC4GSI4wNtI_YBJMlPn8ZimZ_yQ
%3A1600482739892&ei=s21lX5CTNq-wmAWt27qgCA&q=what+is+fo
https://www.google.com/search?
q=what+is+in+media+res+structure+of+literature&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjth-
uR_fbrAhVJEqYKHWTvCQ4Q2-cCegQI

https://www.google.com/search?
q=what+is+linear+structure+of+literature&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwj8j6Wc__brAhWaAKYKHRy2DBMQ2

-cCegQIABAA

1. https://www.studymode.com/essays/Literature-Region-10-Philippines-1396589.html

2. https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk02aMYFvRCWzA46zqN6dgSajottA7A
%3A1607671184620&ei=kB3TX6CgJdfmwQP49bGoCA

3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Davao_Region

4. https://reflectionsbymira.blogspot.com/2012/01/autonomous-region-of-muslim-
mindanao.html

5. https://www.tagaloglang.com/indarapatra-and-sulayman/

https://dokumen.tips/documents/bowaon-and-totoon-56b4b72e3f3b2.html

https://www.aswangproject.com/tungkung-langit-alunsina/

http://christineclairemontenegro.blogspot.com/2016/04/summary-of-region-9.html
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literature-in-the-philippines/

https://www.bartleby.com/essay/Literature-of-Region-7-FKMYCEK6YYS

https://www.scribd.com/document/151098468/Literature-of-Cagayan-Valley

http://johannasagario.blogspot.com/2016/04/region-3-central-luzon-central-luzon.html

https://www.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_literature_of_region_2_in_the_Philippines

https://mamjennifer.weebly.com/region-4.html

https://mamrenoblas.weebly.com/car-cordillera-administrative-region.html

https://philippinelit.wordpress.com/2013/03/25/morning-in-nagrebcan-by-manuel-e-arguilla/

https://iwrotefiction.blogspot.com/2010/04/faith-love-time-and-dr-lazaro.html

http://sharcyliteracy.blogspot.com/2009/09/prowess-of-aliguyon.html