Book: Filipino Popular Tales

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"Because," said the mosquito, "Juan put up his mosquito-net, and
there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly (alipatpat.)"

"Why, Juan," said the pugu, "did you put up your mosquito-net? The
mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the
firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his
house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse
was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs."

"Because," said Juan, "I did not care to lose any blood."



Why Mosquitoes Hum and Try to get into the Holes of our Ears.

Narrated by Fermin Torralba, a Visayan from Tagbilaran, Bohol.
He heard the story from an old man of his province.

A long time ago, when the world was much quieter and younger than it
is now, people told and believed many strange stories about wonderful
things which none of us have ever seen. In those very early times,
in the province of Bohol, there lived a creature called Mangla;
[101] he was king of the crabs.

One night, as he was very tired and sleepy, Mangla ordered his old
sheriff, Cagang, [102] leader of the small land-crabs, to call his
followers, Bataktak, [103] before him. Although the sheriff was old,
yet he brought them all in in a very short time. Then Mangla said
to the Bataktak, "You must all watch my house while I am sleeping;
but do not make any noise that will waken me." The Bataktak said,
"We are always ready to obey you." So Mangla went to sleep.

While he was snoring, it began to rain so hard that the guards could
not help laughing. The king awoke very angry; but, as he was still
very tired and sleepy, he did not immediately ask the Bataktak why
they laughed. He waited till morning came. So, as soon as the sun
shone, he called the Bataktak, and said to them, "Why did you laugh
last night? Did I not tell you not to make any noise?"

The Bataktak answered softly, "We could not help laughing, because
last night we saw our old friend Hu-man [104] carrying his house
on his shoulder." On account of this reasonable reply, the king
pardoned the Bataktak. Then he called his sheriff, and told him to
summon Hu-man. In a short time he came. The king at once said to him,
"What did you do last night?"

"Sir," replied Hu-man humbly, "I was carrying my house, because
Aninipot [105] was bringing fire, and I was afraid that my only
dwelling would be burned." This answer seemed reasonable to the king,
so he pardoned Hu-man. Then he told his sheriff Cagang to summon
Aninipot. When Aninipot appeared, the king, with eyes flashing with
anger, said to the culprit, "Why were you carrying fire last night?"

Aninipot was very much frightened, but he did not lose his wits. In a
trembling voice he answered, "Sir, I was carrying fire, because Lamoc
[106] was always trying to bite me. To protect myself, I am going to
carry fire all the time." The king thought that Aninipot had a good
reason, so he pardoned him also.

The king now realized that there was a great deal of trouble brewing
in his kingdom, of which he would not have been aware if he had
not been awakened by the Bataktak. So he sent his sheriff to get
Lamoc. In a short time Cagang appeared with Lamoc. But Lamoc, before
he left his own house, had told all his companions to follow him,
for he expected trouble. Before Lamoc reached the palace, the king was
already shouting with rage, so Lamoc approached the king and bit his
face. Then Mangla cried out, "It is true, what I heard from Bataktak,
Hu-man, and Aninipot!" The king at once ordered his sheriff to kill
Lamoc; but, before Cagang could carry out the order, the companions
of Lamoc rushed at him. He killed Lamoc, however, and then ran to
his home, followed by Lamoc's friends, who were bent on avenging the
murder. As Cagang's house was very deep under the ground, Lamoc's
friends could not get in, so they remained and hummed around the door.

Even to-day we can see that at the doors of the houses of Cagang and
his followers there are many friends of Lamoc humming and trying to
go inside. It is said that the Lamoc mistake the holes of our ears
for the house of Cagang, and that that is the reason mosquitoes hum
about our ears now.


A Tyrant.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel of Jaen, Nueva Ecija. This is a Tagalog
story.

Once there lived a tyrannical king. One of his laws prohibited the
people from talking loudly. Even when this law had been put in force,
he still was not satisfied: so he ordered the law to be enforced
among the animals.

One of his officers once heard a frog croak. The officer caught
the frog and carried it before the king. The king began the trial
by saying, "Don't you know that there is a law prohibiting men and
animals from making a noise?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said the frog, "but I could not help laughing
to see the snail carrying his house with him wherever he goes."

The king was satisfied with the frog's answer, so he dismissed him and
called the snail. "Why do you always carry your house with you?" asked
the king.

"Because," said the snail, "I am always afraid the firefly is going to
burn it." The king next ordered the firefly to appear before him. The
king then said to the firefly, "Why do you carry fire with you always?"

"Because the mosquitoes will bite me if I do not carry this fire,"
said the firefly. This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he
summoned the mosquito. When the mosquito was asked why he was always
trying to bite some one, he said, "Why, sir, I cannot live without
biting somebody."

The king was tired of the long trial, so with the mosquito he
determined to end it. After hearing the answer of the mosquito,
he said, "From now on you must not bite anybody. You have no right
to do so." The mosquito tried to protest the sentence, but the king
seized his mallet and determined to crush the mosquito with it. When
the mosquito saw what the king was going to do, he alighted on the
forehead of the king. The king became very angry at this insult,
and hit the mosquito hard. He killed the mosquito, but he also put
an end to his own tyranny.

MORAL: It is foolish to carry matters to extremes.


Notes.

A fifth form (e) of this "clock" story is "The Bacuit's Case," narrated
by W. Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. As I have this tale only in abstract,
I give it here in that form:--

The bacuit (small, light gray bird which haunts marshes and ponds)
went to the eagle-king and brought suit against the frog because the
latter croaked all night, thus keeping the bacuit awake. The frog said
he croaked for fear of the turtle, who always carried his house with
him. The turtle, being summoned, explained that he carried his house
with him for fear that the firefly would set it on fire. The firefly,
in turn, showed that it was necessary for him to carry his lamp in
order to find his food.


There is a striking agreement of incident in all these stories,
as may be seen from the following abstracts of the versions.



Version a (Pampango), "Trial among Animals."
Bird vs. frog; frog vs, turtle; turtle vs. firefly; firefly
vs. mosquito.

Version b (Pampango), "The Pugu's Case."
Pugu vs. horse; horse vs. cock; cock vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly,
firefly vs. mosquito; mosquito vs. Juan.

Version c (Visayan), "Why Mosquitoes Hum."
Crab vs. frogs; frogs vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly
vs. mosquito.

Version d (Tagalog) "A Tyrant".
King's officer vs. frog; frog vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly
vs. mosquito.

Version e (Pampango), "The Bacuit's Case."
Bacuit vs. frog; frog vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly.


With the exception of the substitution of snail for turtle, and crab
for bird, in the Tagalog and Visayan versions, four of these forms (a,
c, d, e) are practically identical. Pampango e lacks the fourth link
in the chain (firefly vs. mosquito). Pampango b adds one link (horse
vs. cock), and substitutes cock for frog; the method of narration
varies somewhat from the others, also. The punishment of the mosquito
differs in a, c, and d. "The Trial among Animals" develops into a
"just-so" story, and may be a connecting link between a Tinguian fable
(Cole, No. 84) and two Borneo sayings (Evans, 447). In the Tinguian,
a mosquito came to bite a man. The man said, "You are very little,
and can do nothing to me." The mosquito answered, "If you had no ears,
I would eat you." The Bajan (Borneo) saying is, "Mosquitoes do not
make their buzzing unless they are near men's ears; and then they say,
'If these were not your ears, I would swallow you.'" The Dusun version
(Borneo) is, "The mosquito says, 'If these were not your horns, I
would swallow you.'" The "killing fly on face" droll episode, which
terminates the Tagalog version (d), we have already met with twice,
Nos. 9 and 57 (q.v.). The link "firefly vs. mosquito" is found in
the Visayan story "The Ape and the Firefly" (JAFL 20 : 314).

There can be no question but that this cycle is native to the Islands,
and was not imported from the Occident. A Malayan story given by Skeat
(Fables and Folk-Tales from an Eastern Forest, 9-12), "Who Killed
the Otter's Babies?" is clearly related to our tales, at least in
idea and method:--

The mouse-deer (plandok) is charged with killing the otter's babies
by trampling them to death, but excuses himself by saying that he was
frightened because the woodpecker sounded his war-gong. In the trial
before King Solomon, the above facts come out, and the woodpecker is
asked why he sounded the war-gong.

WOODPECKER. Because the great lizard was wearing his sword.

GREAT LIZARD. Because the tortoise had donned his coat of mail.

TORTOISE. Because King Crab was trailing his three-edged pike.

KING CRAB. Because Crayfish was shouldering his lance.

CRAYFISH. Because Otter was coming down to devour my children.

Thus the cause of the death of the otter's children is traced to the
otter himself.


Another Far-Eastern story from Laos (French Indo-China), entitled
"Right and Might" (Fleeson, 27), is worth notice:--

A deer, frightened by the noise of an owl and a cricket, flees through
the forest and into a stream, where it crushes a small fish almost to
death. The fish complains to the court; and the deer, owl, cricket,
and fish have a lawsuit. In the trial comes out this evidence: As the
deer fled, he ran into some dry grass, and the seed fell into the eye
of a wild chicken, and the pain caused by the seed made the chicken
fly up against a nest of red ants. Alarmed, the red ants flew out to
do battle, and in their haste bit a mongoose. The mongoose ran into
a vine of wild fruit, and shook several pieces of it on the head of
a hermit, who sat thinking under a tree. The hermit then asked the
fruit why it fell, and the fruit blamed the mongoose; mongoose blamed
ants; ants blamed chicken; chicken blamed seed; seed blamed deer;
deer blamed owl. "O Owl!" asked the hermit, "why didst thou frighten
the deer?" The owl replied, "I called but as I am accustomed to call;
the cricket, too, called." Having heard the evidence, the judge says,
"The cricket must replace the crushed parts of the fish and make it
well," as he, the cricket, called and frightened the deer. Since the
cricket is smaller and weaker than the owl or the deer, he had to
bear the penalty.



TALE 61


The Greedy Crow.

Narrated by Agapito O. Gaa, from Taal, Batangas. He heard the story
from an old Tagalog man who is now dead.

One day a crow found a piece of meat on the ground. He picked it
up and flew to the top of a tree. While he was sitting there eating
his meat, a kasaykasay (a small bird) passed by. She was carrying a
dead rat, and was flying very fast. The crow called to her, and said,
"Kasaykasay, where did you get that dead rat that you have?" But the
small bird did not answer: she flew on her way. When the crow saw
that she paid no attention to him, he was very angry; and he called
out, "Kasaykasay, Kasaykasay, stop and give me a piece of that rat,
or I will follow you and take the whole thing for myself!" Still the
small bird paid no attention to him. At last, full of greed and rage,
the crow determined to have the rat by any means. He left the meat he
was eating, and flew after the small creature. Although she was only
a little bird, the Kasaykasay could fly faster than the crow--so he
could not catch her.

While the crow was chasing the Kasaykasay, a hawk happened to pass
by the tree where the crow had left his meat. The hawk saw the meat,
and at once seized it in his claws and flew away.

Although the crow pursued the Kasaykasay a long time, he could not
overtake her: so at last he gave up his attempt, and flew back to
the tree where he had left his meat. But when he came to the spot,
and found that the meat was gone, he was almost ready to die of
disappointment and hunger. By and by the hawk which had taken the
meat passed the tree again. He called to the crow, and said to him,
"Mr. Crow, do you know that I am the one who took your meat? If not,
I will tell you now, and I am very sorry for you."

The crow did not answer the hawk, for he was so tired and weak that
he could hardly breathe.

The moral of this story is this: Do not be greedy. Be contented with
what you have, and do not wish for what you do not own.


Notes.

This fable appears to be distantly related to the European fable
of "The Dog and his Shadow." More closely connected, however,
is an apologue incorporated in a Buddhistic birth-story, the
"Culladhanuggaha-jataka," No. 374. In this Indian story,--

An unfaithful wife eloping with her lover arrives at the bank of a
stream. There the lover persuades her to strip herself, so that he
may carry her clothes across the stream, which he proceeds to do,
but never returns. Indra, seeing her plight, changes himself into
a jackal bearing a piece of meat, and goes down to the bank of the
stream. In its waters fish are disporting; and the Indra-jackal, laying
aside his meat, plunges in after one of them. A vulture hovering
near seizes hold of the meat and bears it aloft; and the jackal,
returning unsuccessful from his fishing, is taunted by the woman,
who had observed all this, in the first gatha:--


"O jackal so brown! most stupid are you;
No skill have you got, not knowledge, nor wit;
Your fish you have lost, your meat is all gone,
And now you sit grieving all poor and forlorn."


To which the Indra-jackal repeats the second gatha:--


"The faults of others are easy to see,
But hard indeed our own are to behold;
Thy husband thou hast lost, and lover eke,
And now, I ween, thou grievest o'er thy loss."


The same story is found in the "Pancatantra" (V, viii; see Benfey,
I : 468), whence it made its way into the "Tuti-nameh." It does not
appear to be known in the Occident in this form (it is lacking in the
"Kalilah and Dimnah").

Although the details of our story differ from those of the Indian
fable of "The Jackal and the Faithless Wife," the general outlines
of the two are near enough to justify us in supposing a rather close
connection between them. I know of no European analogues nearly so
close, and am inclined to consider "The Greedy Crow" a native Tagalog
tale. From the testimony of the narrator, it appears that the fable
is not a recent importation.


TALE 62


The Humming-bird and the Carabao.

Narrated by Eusebio Lopez, a Tagalog from the province of Cavite.

One hot April morning a carabao (water-buffalo) was resting under the
shade of a quinine-tree which grew near the mouth of a large river,
when a humming-bird alighted on one of the small branches above him.

"How do you do, Friend Carabao?" said the humming-bird.

"I'm very well, little Hum. Do you also feel the heat of this April
morning?" replied the carabao.

"Indeed, I do, Friend Carabao! and I am so thirsty, that I have come
down to drink."

"I wonder how much you can drink!" said the carabao jestingly. "You
are so small, that a drop ought to be more than enough to satisfy you."

"Yes, Friend Carabao?" answered little Hum as if surprised. "I bet
you that I can drink more than you can!"

"What, you drink more than I can, you little Hum!"

"Yes, let us try! You drink first, and we shall see."

So old carabao, ignorant of the trick that was being played on him,
walked to the bank of the river and began to drink. He drank and
drank and drank; but it so happened that the tide was rising, and,
no matter how much he swallowed, the water in the river kept getting
higher and higher. At last he could drink no more, and the humming-bird
began to tease him.

"Why, Friend Carabao, you have not drunk anything. It seems to me
that you have added more water to the river instead."

"You fool!" answered the carabao angrily, "can't you see that my
stomach is almost bursting?"

"Well, I don't know. I only know that you have added more water than
there was before. But it is now my turn to drink."

But the humming-bird only pretended to drink. He knew that the tide
would soon be going out, so he just put his bill in the water, and
waited until the tide did begin to ebb. The water of the river began to
fall also. The carabao noticed the change, but he could not comprehend
it. He was surprised, and agreed that he had been beaten. Little Hum
flew away, leaving poor old Carabao stupefied and hardly able to move,
because of the great quantity of water he had drunk.


Notes.

That this story was not imported from the Occident is pretty clearly
established by the existence in North Borneo of a tale almost identical
with it. The Borneo fable, which is told as a "just-so" story, and
is entitled "The Kandowei [rice-bird] and the Kerbau [carabao],"
may be found in Evans (pp. 423-424). It runs about as follows:--

The bird said to the buffalo, "If I were to drink the water of a
stream, I could drink it all."--"I also," said the buffalo, "could
finish it; for I am very big, while you are very small."--"Very well,"
said the bird, "tomorrow we will drink." In the morning, when the water
was coming down in flood, the bird told the buffalo to drink first. The
buffalo drank and drank; but the water only came down the faster,
and at length he was forced to stop. So the buffalo said to the bird,
"You can take my place and try, for I cannot finish." Now, the bird
waited till the flood had gone down; and when it had done so, he put
his beak into the water and pretended to drink. Then he waited till
all the water had run away out of the stream, and said to the buffalo,
"See, I have finished it!" And since the bird outwitted the buffalo
in this manner, the buffalo has become his slave, and the bird rides
on his back.


I know of no other Philippine versions, but I dare say that many
exist between Luzon and Mindanao.


TALE 63


The Camanchile and the Passion.

Narrated by Fernando M. Maramag of Ilagan, Isabella province. He says
that this is an Ilocano story.

Once upon a time there grew in a forest a large camanchile-tree [107]
with spreading branches. Near this tree grew many other trees with
beautiful fragrant flowers that attracted travellers. The camanchile
had no fragrant flowers; but still its crown was beautifully shaped,
for the leaves received as much light as the leaves of the other
trees. But the beauty of the crown proved of no attraction to
travellers, and they passed the tree by.

One day Camanchile exclaimed aloud, "Oh, what a dreary life I lead! I
would that I had flowers like the others, so that travellers would
visit me often!" A vine by the name of Passion, which grew near by,
heard Camanchile's exclamation. Now, this vine grew fairly close
to the ground, and consequently received "only a small amount of
light. Thinking that this was its opportunity to improve its condition,
it said, "Camanchile, why is your life dreary?"

"Ah, Passion!" replied Camanchile, "just imagine that you were
unappreciated, as I am! Travellers never visit me, for I have no
flowers."

"Oh, that's easy!" said Passion. "Just let me climb on you, and I'll
display on your crown my beautiful flowers. Then many persons will
come to see you." Camanchile consented, and let Passion climb up on
him. After a few days Passion reached the top of the tree, and soon
covered the crown.

A few months later Camanchile realized that he was being smothered: he
could not get light, so he asked Passion to leave him. "O Passion! what
pain I am in! I can't get light. Your beauty is of no value. I am
being smothered: so leave me, I beg of you!"

Passion would not leave Camanchile, however, and so Camanchile died.

MORAL: Be yourself.


Note.

With this story compare the "Palasa-jataka," No. 370, which tells how a
Judas-tree was destroyed by the parasitic growth of a banyan-shoot. The
general idea is the same in both stories, though I hardly suspect that
ours is descended from the Indian. The situation of a tree choked to
death by a parasite is such a commonplace in everyday experience, that
a moral story based on it might arise spontaneously almost anywhere.


TALE 64


Auac and Lamiran.

Narrated by Anastacia Villegas of Arayat, Pampanga. She heard the story
from her father, and says that it is well known among the Pampangans.

Once Auac, a hawk, stole a salted fish which was hanging in the
sun to dry. He flew with it to a branch of a camanchile-tree,
where he sat down and began to eat. As he was eating, Lamiran,
a squirrel who had his house in a hole at the foot of the tree,
saw Auac. Lamiran looked up, and said, "What beautiful shiny black
feathers you have, Auac!" When he heard this praise, the hawk looked
very dignified. Nevertheless he was much pleased. He fluttered
his wings. "You are especially beautiful, Auac, when you walk; for
you are very graceful," continued the squirrel. Auac, who did not
understand the trick that was being played on him, hopped along the
branch with the air of a king. "I heard some one say yesterday that
your voice is so soft and sweet, that every one who listens to your
song is charmed. Please let me hear some of your notes, you handsome
Auac!" said the cunning Lamiran. Auac, feeling more proud and dignified
than ever, opened his mouth and sang, "Uac-uac-uac-uac!" As he uttered
his notes, the fish in his beak fell to the ground, and Lamiran got it.

A heron which was standing on the back of a water-buffalo near by saw
the affair. He said, "Auac, let me give you a piece of advice. Do
not always believe what others tell you, but think for yourself;
and remember that 'ill-gotten gains never prosper.'"


Notes.

This is the old story of the "Fox and Crow [and cheese]," the
bibliography for which is given by Jacobs (2 : 236). Jacobs sees a
connection between this fable and two Buddhistic apologues:--

(1) The "Jambu-khadaka-jataka," No. 294, in which we find a fox
(jackal) and a crow flattering each other. The crow is eating jambus,
when he is addressed thus by the jackal:--


"Who may this be, whose rich and pleasant notes
Proclaim him best of all the singing birds,
Warbling so sweetly on the jambu-branch,
Where like a peacock he sits firm and grand!"


The crow replies,--


"'Tis a well-bred young gentleman who knows
To speak of gentlemen in terms polite!
Good sir,--whose shape and glossy coat reveal
The tiger's offspring,--eat of these, I pray!"


Buddha, in the form of the genius of the jambu-tree, comments thus
on their conversation:--


"Too long, forsooth, I've borne the sight
Of these poor chatterers of lies,--
The refuse-eater and the offal-eater
Belauding each other."


(2) The "Anta-jataka," No. 295, in which the rôles are reversed, the
crow wheedling flesh from the jackal; here, too, the Buddha comments
as above.

Our Pampangan story is of particular interest because of the moralizing
of the heron at the end, making the form close to that of the two
Jatakas. Possibly our story goes back to some old Buddhistic fable
like these. The squirrel (or "wild-cat," as Bergafio's "Vocabulario,"
dated 1732, defines lamiran) is not a very happy substitution for the
original ground-animal, whatever that was; for the squirrel could reach
a fish hanging to dry almost as easily as a bird could. Besides,
squirrels are not carnivorous. Doubtless the older meaning of
"wild-cat" should be adopted for lamiran.




PART III

"Just-So" Stories.


TALE 65


Why the Ant is not so Venomous as the Snake.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa of Lipa, Batangas. This is a Tagalog
story.

God first created the earth. Then he took a rock from the earth
and threw it on the terrestrial surface. When the rock was broken
into many small pieces, he breathed into them the breath of life,
and they became living creatures. At first these creatures, though
differing in shapes and sizes, were not given different powers.

Among these creatures of God's were the snake and the ant. One day
the snake went to God to ask for power. It said, "I come to thee,
O God! to ask for thy favor. The world thou hast just created is wild
with confusion. I have come to ask thee to give me the special power
to kill all those that are rebellious and troublesome."

"Go back to your fellow-creatures!" answered God. "Hereafter you are
endowed with the power to store in your teeth this poison. When you
bite the vile and contemptible, inject into the wound some of this
poison, and they will be killed; but first of all, observe their
actions, and be conscientious and thoughtful." Then God gave the
snake the poison. The snake returned to the earth in great joy.

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