L A G U N A
Mariang Makiling by Jose Rizal
One group of Philippine legends tells about various types of supernatural beings: elves, mermaids, ghosts, witches, vampires, and the devil.
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Of elves and elf-like characters, none has fascinated the imagination of the folk more than Mariang Makiling. The various legends about her variously refer to her as “a fairy,’ “a goddess,” ''a fantastic creature, half-nymph, half-sylph.” Whatever she was, she was not a mortal. She was a beneficent being, and her acts of kindness have become constant motifs in the legends told about her: she gave away pieces of ginger which later turned to gold; she gave wedding gifts (garments and jewels) to young couples; she healed the sick. Then, for some reason, she withdrew from the society of men. But though she is no longer seen, it is believed that she still haunts the mountains and sees to it that her taboos are enforced.
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Our national hero, Jose Rizal, gives us a literary version of this famous legend from his hometown, Calamba, Laguna.
In my town there is a legend preserved—that of Mariang Makiling.
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Her favorite walk is, according to accounts, after a storm. Then she is seen running across the fields and whenever she passed, life was reborn—order and peace. The trees straighten their twisted trunks, the rivers are brought back to the confines of their beds and the havoc left by the raging elements is mended.
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When the poor farmers on the slopes of Makiling needed clothes or jewels for the solemn occasions in life, she loaned these to the people on condition that they would be returned to her together with a hen, white as milk and one that has not yet started to lay eggs—a dumalaga (pullet) as the people say. Mariang Makiling was very charitable and kind. How often had she in the form of a peasant girl, helped the poor women who used to gather wood from the forests or pick wild fruits whose seed later turn into gold, money, or precious gems. A hunter who was pursuing a wild hog one day across cogon fields and spiny bushes, suddenly came face-to-face with the hut where the animal had taken refuge. Soon there came out from it a beautiful woman who told him calmly:
Her favorite walk is, according to accounts, after a storm. Then she is seen running across the fields and whenever she passed, life was reborn—order and peace. The trees straighten their twisted trunks, the rivers are brought back to the confines of their beds and the havoc left by the raging elements is mended.
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When the poor farmers on the slopes of Makiling needed clothes or jewels for the solemn occasions in life, she loaned these to the people on condition that they would be returned to her together with a hen, white as milk and one that has not yet started to lay eggs—a dumalaga (pullet) as the people say. Mariang Makiling was very charitable and kind. How often had she in the form of a peasant girl, helped the poor women who used to gather wood from the forests or pick wild fruits whose seed later turn into gold, money, or precious gems. A hunter who was pursuing a wild hog one day across cogon fields and spiny bushes, suddenly came face-to-face with the hut where the animal had taken refuge. Soon there came out from it a beautiful woman who told him calmly:
“The boar belongs to me and you have done wrong in pursuing it, but I see that you are very tired, that your arms and legs or scratched; enter then, eat and go on your way afterwards.”
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The man confused and surprised—more fascinated by the beauty of the woman, went in, ate mechanically everything that was offered without uttering a single word. Before leaving, he was given some pieces of ginger roots with the advice to give them to his wife for use in her cooking. The hunter placed them in the crown of his salakot (peasant hat) and after thanking her, he went away, resigned. On the middle of the road, feeling his salakot getting heavy, he broke the ginger roots and threw some of the pieces away. But what was his surprise and regret when the next day his wife found that what they thought was ginger was gold, bright like solid beams of the sun!
But Mariang Makiling was not always charitable and kind to hunters. She took revenge also even if her ways of taking vengeance were never cruel. The lady always preserved the gentle heart of a woman.
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Two hunters one afternoon were coming down the mountain carrying some hogs and beer which they had killed during the day. They met an old woman who asked them to give her a piece of each, but the hunters who thought she was asking too much refused to give her anything. The old woman went away saying that she would give a report to the owner of those animals. The remark made the hunters laugh aloud.
When night came and when the two were nearing the plain, they heard a cry from afar like something coming from the very top of the mountain. The crying was eerie and it was saying:
“Flee…e….fled!!
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Another voice even farther from the first answered:
“Flee…e….fled!!
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That cry unnerved both hunters. They did not know what to make of it. Their dogs upon hearing it howled a little and huddled close.
Hardly had moments passed when the same cry was heard again, but this time as if coming from the slopes of the mountain. And hearing it, the dogs pulled their tails between their hindlegs and snuggled close to their masters as if to seek protection. The latter, in return, looked at them terrified without being able to say a word. They stared at each other questioningly, surprised that whoever uttered the cry had come down the mountain very quickly.
Again the mysterious cry heard, this time from the plain, clearly and distinctly. The two instinctively turned to look back. Then in the light of the moon to colossal forms—strange—were seen coming down the mountain swiftly. One of the hunters, the bolder, wanted to hold his ground and prepared to shoot, but was restrained by the other; he was forced to run as fast as the heavy load he was carrying would allow him. The strange creatures were approaching; their footsteps could be heard; the two hunters upon reaching a spring known as bukal, rid themselves of their load and climbed the tree from which they watched the arrival of the monsters. They cocked their rifles. Their dogs in the meantime who saw that they had been abandoned, fled in panic to the direction of the town without uttering a single bark.
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The creatures arrived and their appearance froze the blood in the veins of the hunters. The person who told me the story is a nephew of one of them and he cannot describe the strange creatures. The only detail he gave me was the enormous long fangs which glowed under the light of the moon. It was the only thing he heard his uncle mention. The monsters ate the boar and the deer they found on the ground and left for the mountain. It was only then that the hunters recovered. The bold one tried to shoot, but the bullet wound not come out and the monsters had disappeared.
It was never known if Mariang Makiling ever had parents, brothers, or relatives. Such creatures spring from nature like the stones that the Tagalogs call mutya. Her true name was never known. She was never seen entering the town nor participating in any religious ceremony. She remained the same. Six or seven generations of people who had seen her found her always young, fresh, gay, and pure.
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However, it has been many years ago since her presence was felt in Makiling. Her misty silhouette no longer wanders in the deep valleys nor does it tarry over the fields during moonlit nights. The melancholy notes of her mysterious harp are no longer heard and today, lovers get married without receiving from her gifts or gems. Mariang Makiling has disappeared or at least has fled from the treatment of men.
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Some put the blame for this on the inhabitants of a certain town who not only refused to give her customary white hen, but also failed to return the jewels loaned to them. Of course, they vigorously deny such an accusation and say that Mariang Makiling was offended because the Dominican friars wanted to despoil her of her lands by appropriating half of the mountain area. A poor woodcutter, however, who spent sixty-five out of seventy years of his life in the woods of Makiling cutting the very old trees, gave me another reason, which if not very well known, has at least great probabilities.
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In the mountain spring, there lived a young man engaged in the cultivation of a small farm and was the only support of his old and sickly parents. Of good mien, well-built, robust, and hard-working, he had a noble and simple heart, although he was somewhat taciturn and not very communicative. His farms were considered the best and well-cared for; the locust never swept over them; typhoons seemed to respect them; drought never parched them; neither did torrential rains, which flooded other fields, wash the seeds away from his. Never did rinderpest decimate his stock and if one of his animals should stray during the day, it returned at dusk as if led by an invisible hand. Such a happy fate was attributed by some to certain mutya (charms) and amulets, by others, to God who protects and rewards good sons. However, the conduct of the young man was somewhat mysterious; he spent his leisure in the mountain, seated by some stream, talking sometimes to himself or seemingly listening to strange voices.
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Meanwhile the time for conscription had come. God knows how the young men fear this and how mothers do specially! Good-bye to youth, home, family, kind sentiments, and sometimes, even honor! The seven or eight years of life in the barracks, brutalizing and vicious, where vulgar remarks characterize military despotism armed still with the whip, are brought to the mind of the youth, like a long night wasting beauty and strength in his life, like one who sleep with tears in his eyes and dreams terrifying nightmares, to awaken afterwards old, useless, corrupted, cruel, blood-thirsty. Thus, many of them cut two of their fingers so that they might be exempted from military service; others would pull out their teeth during the period when it was necessary to have them for biting off bullet caps; others fled to the mountains, became bandits, and a few even committed suicide. Yet the great protection against this unfortunate fate was to get married and the parents of our young man decided to marry him off to a woman—pretty and hardworking—who lived some distance from the mountain. The young man though he did not seem very eager about the plan, accepted it nevertheless; first, because he wanted to be freed from military service and later on, so that he would not be separated from his aged parents, since there was no objection to the plan, the wedding was arranged and the date set.
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Resigned to his fate, the groom became more taciturn as the fateful day approached. He disappeared long hours and when he returned, he looked dejected and often failed to answer questions put to him.
On the eve of the wedding, when he returned from the house of his future bride at night, a beautiful woman appeared before him on the road—a woman of extraordinary beauty.
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“I no longer wanted to see you,” she said to him in a gentle voice mixed with reproach and pity, “but I came to bring you my present—the gown and the jewels of your bride. I had protected you and loved you because I saw that you were a good and hardworking man and I hoped that you would be consecrated to me. Go! Since an earthly love is necessary to you; since you had no courage to face a hard fate, nor defend your liberty and live free in these mountains; since you had no confidence in me—I, who would have protected you and your parents. Go, then. I shall leave you to your fate; live and struggle alone; live as you can.”
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Having said this, the woman went away and was lost among the shadows. He remained immobile as if petrified; then he moved two or three paces as if to pursue her, but she had disappeared. He gathered the package the woman left at his feet and entered his house. The bride neither used the gown nor put on the jewels. Since then Mariang Makiling never appeared again to the peasants.
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The woodcutter who told me this story did not wish to tell me who the hero of the story was.
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I do not know if this is true or not. I have wandered several times along the slopes of Makiling and instead of engaging in shooting the poor doves who were cooing at each other among the leaves of the trees, I thought of Mariang Makiling. I listened amidst the silence of the woods to catch the sound of her melancholic instrument. I slept there at night to see if I could find her perfect figure floating in the air, lighted by the moon whose light penetrated the thick foliage. I saw nothing, and heard nothing. Much later, I even climbed to the top of the mountain (in that famous climb which the friars charged was filibusterism, in spite of having gone with an officer and soldier of the Civil Guards like tourists) and we saw delightful places, enchanting sites worthy of being the home of gods and goddesses, towering trees of straight and mossy trunks from among whose branches climbing vines weave very pretty filigrees embroidered with flowers; orchid plants of the wide ones that may be dented, pointed, or round; giant ferns, palms of all kinds, tall and graceful which spread their symmetrical leaves above like a splendid plumage. All this and more we saw and admired, stopping several times lost in admiration, but we saw neither the enchanted palace, nor the humble hut of Mariang Makiling.
Source: Philippine Folk Literature: The Legends, Damiana L. Eugenio, University of the Philippines Press (2002)
The Legend of Sampaloc Lake
One of the Seven Lakes in San Pablo City has a peculiar name, derived from a mystical fruit that was cursed by a fairy.
Legend has it that there was once a couple who lived near a giant tamarind tree. One day, a mysterious old woman asked the couple for some tamarind, but instead of sharing a few pieces of the tamarind, the couple unleashed their ferocious dogs and let them chase the old woman.
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It was a harrowing moment, the old woman suffered horrific injuries after being mauled.
With some blood on her face the old woman slowly uttered an eerie chant!
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Suddenly, the ground trembled, the sky was overcast with a gloomy atmosphere and the ground began to splurge water. Soon enough, the town’s people began to evacuate the area due to the rising water coming from the ground.
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It was a town catastrophe, all the houses were destroyed including the infamous tamarind tree.
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From that day on, the surviving people called that area Lake Sampaloc.
Even now, people still believe that Sampaloc Lake is a revered site. Once in a while, some people claim to witness seeing the Diwata of the Lake. There are many stories and many unexplained events, some of them might give you goosebumps like the drowning deaths. Some claim that people drowned because they were lured by the Diwata and some people believe every year one male is taken by the Diwata and only to be found his lifeless body the following day..
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If ever you’re in town, you might want to ask some fisher folks about the “Bantay ng Sampaloc Lake” or ask them if the tamarind trees are still rooted to the sunken ground?
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Another Version:
Legend tells of a giant Tamarind (Sampaloc) tree in the garden of a selfish, stingy old woman who drove away a fairy disguised as an old man asking for some fruit as a cure for his ailing grandson. Instead of helping him, the old woman had him driven away by her ferocious dogs. The old man was badly hurt. After the old man left, there was a thundering noise and peltering rain, followed by the cracking of the earth. And then, the entire orchard sank into a colossal pit which was immediately filled with water. Henceforth, the villagers called it Lake Sampaloc.
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Mangita and Larina
This is a tale told in the lake district of Luzon. At times of rain or in winter the waters of the Laguna de Bai rise and detach from the banks a peculiar vegetation that resembles lettuce. These plants, which float for months down the Pasig River, gave rise, no doubt, to the story.
Many years ago there lived on the banks of the Laguna de Bai a poor fisherman whose wife had died, leaving him two beautiful daughters named Mangita and Larina.
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Mangita had hair as black as night and a dark skin. She was as good as she was beautiful, and was loved by all for her kindness. She helped her father mend the nets and make the torches to fish with at night, and her bright smile lit up the little nipa house like a ray of sunshine.
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Larina was fair and had long golden hair of which she was very proud. She was different from her sister, and never helped with the work, but spent the day combing her hair and catching butterflies. She would catch a pretty butterfly, cruelly stick a pin through it, and fasten it in her hair. Then she would go down to the lake to see her reflection in the clear water, and would laugh to see the poor butterfly struggling in pain. The people disliked her for her cruelty, but they loved Mangita very much. This made Larina jealous, and the more Mangita was loved, the more her sister thought evil of her.
One day a poor old woman came to the nipa house and begged for a little rice to put in her bowl. Mangita was mending a net and Larina was combing her hair in the doorway. When Larina saw the old woman she spoke mockingly to her and gave her a push that made her fall and cut her head on a sharp rock; but Mangita sprang to help her, washed the blood away from her head, and filled her bowl with rice from the jar in the kitchen.
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The poor woman thanked her and promised never to forget her kindness, but to her sister she spoke not a word. Larina did not care, however, but laughed at her and mocked her as she painfully made her way again down the road. When she had gone Mangita took Larina to task for her cruel treatment of a stranger; but, instead of doing any good, it only caused Larina to hate her sister all the more.
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Some time afterwards the poor fisherman died. He had gone to the big city down the river to sell his fish, and had been attacked with a terrible sickness that was raging there.
The girls were now alone in the world.
Mangita carved pretty shells and earned enough to buy food, but, though she begged Larina to try to help, her sister would only idle away the time.
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The terrible sickness now swept everywhere and poor Mangita, too, fell ill. She asked Larina to nurse her, but the latter was jealous of her and would do nothing to ease her pain. Mangita grew worse and worse, but finally, when it seemed as if she would soon die, the door opened and the old woman to whom she had been so kind came into the room. She had a bag of seeds in her hand, and taking one she gave it to Mangita, who soon showed signs of being better, but was so weak that she could not give thanks.
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The old woman then gave the bag to Larina and told her to give a seed to her sister every hour until she returned. She then went away and left the girls alone.
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Larina watched her sister, but did not give her a single seed. Instead, she hid them in her own long hair and paid no attention to Mangita's moans of pain. The poor girl's cries grew weaker and weaker, but not a seed would her cruel sister give her. In fact, Larina was so jealous that she wished her sister to die.
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When at last the old woman returned, poor Mangita was at the point of death. The visitor bent over the sick girl and then asked her sister if she had given Mangita the seeds. Larina showed her the empty bag and said she had given them as directed. The old woman searched the house, but of course could not find the seeds. She then asked Larina again if she had given them to Mangita. Again the cruel girl said that she had done so.
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Suddenly the room was filled with a blinding light, and when Larina could see once more, in place of the old woman stood a beautiful fairy holding the now well Mangita in her arms.
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She pointed to Larina and said, "I am the poor woman who asked for rice. I wished to know your hearts. You were cruel and Mangita was kind, so she shall live with me in my island home in the lake. As for you, because you tried to do evil to your good sister, you shall sit at the bottom of the lake forever, combing out the seeds you have hidden in your hair." Then, she clapped her hands and a number of elves appeared and carried the struggling Larina away.
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"Come," said the fairy to Mangita, and she carried her to her beautiful home, where she lives in peace and happiness.As for Larina, she sits at the bottom of the lake and combs her hair. As she combs a seed out, another comes in, and every seed that is combed out becomes a green plant that floats out of the lake and down the Pasig.
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And to this day people can see them, and know that Larina is being punished for her wickedness.
The Legend of Ana Kalang
Ana Kalang is a wealthy lady who lives in a house made of stone. The villagers often see her strolling the town donning her golden cane and salakot, a form of traditional hat made of rattan or reeds. The villagers love her because of her kindness. She always help the people of her village in time of need. Aside from these characteristics, Ana Kalang is a good leader in the community as well. Through her leadership the village prospered and received bountiful harvests.
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By the time that the village was under Spanish colonization, Ana Kalang made a generous donation to help build the first catholic church. Ana Kalang is devoted to her faith and goes to church every day. The priests will not start the mass unless they recognized that she is seated comfortably in her usual spot.
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Being an important person in the community the Spaniards often pays her a visit to her home. With each visit, they always hear an unfamiliar sound coming from her backyard. Fired by curiosity they always ask what was that, to which Ana Kalang replied that it was the bamboo outside that is making the sound. The local term for it is Nagkakalang-kalang or the rustling of bamboo trunks clashing with each other as it sways with the wind. The Spaniards always ask this question. When they ask what is the name of the village Ana Kalang responds with the same answer. Due to language barrier the Spaniards took it as the name of the town. Over time it was shortened to Nagkalang in which eventually it was further corrupted to Nagcarlan adapting towards their western tongue.
The Naiad of Botocan Falls
In the province of Laguna, there is a town named Majayjay, which has a small river on the east, known as the Botocan, with a beautiful fall. This fall is two hundred and fifteen feet high, but you imagine that it is higher, for much of the water is changed into vapor and whenever the sun shines upon the fall, one or more rainbows are seen. The water falls into a rocky basin, then flows away in a red bed between precipitous walls of rocks covered with foliage. In front of this fall just at the edge of the precipice is a big tree covered from top to bottom with inscriptions in an unknown language. At the bottom behind this fall is a spacious cave inhabited by a wonderful naiad. This naiad is a golden princess dressed in a garment adorned with the most precious jewels and gold. In her habitation, she has a servant and also a golden cow, a golden centipede, and many other golden things, for whatsoever the naiad uses is made of gold.
Our ancestors have many traditions concerning the naiad. About the time of the American occupation, a poor little girl living in a barrio of Majayjay was passing near the fall with her mother one twilight when she stopped to wash her feet in a stream nearby. After the mother had passed on, the little girl heard her name called and looking up, she saw the fair naiad. Following her guidance, the little girl stepped into the stream, and lo! The water on which she stepped was changed into golden sand. Upon her arrival at the naiad’s cave she was very much bewildered and amazed at the decorations of her habitation.
The naiad gave this poor girl a great –sum of money including bracelets, necklaces, rings, and earrings, saying that she must not tell where these valuables came from. Although the bag of gold was very heavy, yet the little girl went away without any difficulty because the naiad helped her at first in carrying it, but as she proceeded alone, the bag became heavier and heavier until she had to ask for aid. When she reached home, her mother asked her where that money came from, but she said that she must not ask, for it was a secret. Finally the mother asked her so persistently that she could not keep quiet any longer, so she had to tell the forbidden secret, but after so doing, she found no money in the chest where she had hidden her treasure.
References:
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Ana Kalang. (2018, June 12). Retrieved from https://www.aux1traveler.com/ana-kalang/
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The Legend of Sampaloc Lake in San Pablo City. (2017, June 14). Retrieved from
https://phdestinations.com/the-legend-of-sampaloc-lake-in-san-pablo-city/
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Philippine Folk Literature: The Legends, Damiana L. Eugenio, University of the Philippines Press (2002)
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Philippine Folklore Stories: Mangita and Larina. (n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.sacred-texts.com/asia/pfs/pfs08.htm
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