Anselmo felt his hands quiver as he planted the first seed. He knew what he was doing was against the wishes of the king of the mountain, and he was fearful of the price. Yet, there was so much to gain. Tobacco plants could stretch until the mountaintop if only the farmers had enough backbone to take the leap.
The earth was parted and the seed buried.
That night he dreamt of the king. They were in a forest facing each other. The king tapped the ground three times and small men sprang from the earth. The king said something Anselmo couldn’t hear and the small men ran towards the edges of the forest.
Anselmo and the king were left alone, but it seemed that the king couldn’t see the scared man. The king tapped the ground three more times and even more small men appeared. Alfonso was curious so this time he followed the small men to see what they were doing.
As he reached the end of the forest he gasped at the sight, rows of tobacco plants that extended towards the horizon. He had never seen so many tobacco plants. The small men were busy planting even more tobacco. Anselmo counted hundreds, no thousands of small men toiling in the fields.
He grabbed one of the small men and asked what they were doing. “Why this is for the king, of course,” said the small man, “the king needs his tobacco to smoke.” The small man then turned his back on Anselmo snickering at such a stupid question.
The dream ended there, with the small man and the tobacco plant. Anselmo’s heart was pounding, it was yesterday when he planted the first seed and he wondered what his punishment would be.
He agonized for days, wondering if he should take back the seed he planted. His mind raced for months about what his punishment would be.
Still, nothing happened. The sun still rose and the moon faded into the night. The roosters crowed at the same time every day and the tobacco plants grew around Kanlaon as they always have.
Soon, others noticed that Anselmo was planting above the line. Their eyes grew greedy with the promise of gold and they too took tobacco seeds and planted where Anselmo did.
And again, nothing happened. Kanlaon was filled to the brim with tobacco.
There were those that tried to warn the farmers. “Remember what the king said! If we plant here then he would carry all the tobacco away and smoke it all!”
Their cries fell on deaf ears. Money blinds even the most humble of men.
In the night there would be those that huddled around campfires and told the story of the king of the mountain. How he had absolute power over the earth, but sought to live alongside humans rather than rule over them.
They recounted how he had asked the people not to plant above a certain line that he had ordered his small men to draw around the mountain near the top. They told of the day when the king left. How the people shed tears at the kings pronouncement.
“I only ask that you will not plant above the line, if you do I will take all the tobacco away and no more shall grow along the mountainside until I have smoked it all.” The king tapped the ground and opened the earth, disappearing into the mountain.
The people kept their promise until Anselmo, of course.
Throughout all this he planted more tobacco. He remembered the dream, how he wished that his fields would look like the king’s, stretching until the horizon.
Years passed and the people forgot about the king of the mountain and their promise to him.
The mountain of Kanlaon was covered entirely by tobacco plants and the people grew rich and fat from their harvests.
Even the most humble of the people joined in the lavish fiestas that were held. It seemed like nothing could stop their celebrations of the people’s newfound wealth.
That is, until the earth opened and the king of the mountain returned.
Anselmo was the first to flee. He could feel the rumble in his bones and he knew the day of reckoning had come. He didn’t even look back as made a dash for the foot of the mountain.
It was a terrible sight to behold. Once filled with tobacco, Kanlaon was now bare. The farmers could not believe that their crops had disappeared so easily, but they had forgotten the true power of the king.
There was silence among the people, as if they knew what was about to happen. Suddenly the mountaintop exploded into the air, creating a crater filled with smoke and fire.
This was too much for even the bravest of them. The people fled in all directions, fearful of the king’s wrath.
That night Anselmo dreamed.
A thick cloud of smoke appeared before Anselmo. He coughed until he saw the king smoking tobacco. He went down on his knees and asked for forgiveness.
Again, the king did not notice his presence. He tapped the ground three times and small men appeared. The small men then brought more tobacco for the king to smoke.
Smoke filled the mountain, filling each crevice. It was an oppressive force. Anselmo felt his chest about to explode from inhaling so much smoke.
Then he awoke.
Years passed by and there were those that returned to the mountain. They set up their villages along the sides, but no one was brave or foolish enough to grow tobacco on the mountain.
No one knows what became of Anselmo, some say the king stole him away for special punishment. Others say that he moved far away, trying to escape the king’s wrath.
It does not matter, for the people know they are complicit in his crime. Nothing will be planted on Kanlaon for generations.
Not until the king is done smoking his tobacco.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Story adapted from THE TOBACCO OF HARISABOQUED http://www.sacred-texts.com/asia/pfs/pfs03.htm
Hari sa Bukid Illustration by Camille Chua
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