*Note this story is in Cebuano.

Gilikayan ni Aguihao ang panan-aw sa mumbaki* samtang nagkupot sa panapton nga nagtabon sa iyang tuong bukton.

“Kaisog gud nimong moanhi nako aron mangayo og pasaylo sa espiritu,” miingon ang mumbaki samtang nagtan-aw sa bukton ni Aguihao.

“Gibuhat nako ang kinahanglan nakong buhaton alang sa akong pamilya,” tubag ni Aguihao, nga gipalabi ang pagtan-aw sa yuta kaysa pag tan aw sa mumbaki nga mata sa mata.

“Imo’ng giyurakan ang mga tradisyon sa among mga katigulangan! Mao na ni ang paagi sa amo’ng kinabuhi sulod sa mga henerasyon ug mangahas ka sa pagkuwestiyon niini?!”

“Wala ka kasabot! Wala ka kahibalo kung unsa ka ka swerte nga gitugotan ang mga espiritu nga mosulti pinaagi kanimo samtang ang mga sama kanako kinahanglan nga maghago adlaw-adlaw tungod sa imong ‘mga balaod’.”

“Kana’ng mga balaod gidumala sa mga espiritu, ang pagsupak niini mao ang pagsupak sa kapalaran.”

“Tingali ang imong kapalaran, apan dili ang ako.”

Usa ka kalit nga kahilom ang mipuno sa hangin ug gibuak kni sa mumbaki.

“Hubua na,” mando niya kang Aguihao.

Ang mga lut-od sa panapton mipagawas sa usa ka nihubag nga samad nga nagtulo ug nana. Ang nawong ni Aguihao halos dili makatago sa kasakit ug sa unang higayon mitan-aw siya sa mga mata sa mumbaki. Adunay kaluoy didto ug gamay nga pagmahay.

“Isulti kanako ang imong istorya,” miingon ang mumbaki.

“Nagsugod kini sa pagkamatay sa akong asawa.”

“Nahinumdom ko niana. Mitambong ang mombangol**.”

“Oo, ug  wala na nako ang tanan. Gikiinahanglan nakong iprenda ang akong kabtangan aron makakuha ang ug panggasto para sa lamay.”

“Kitang tanan kinahanglang mosunod sa mga ritwal. Sulod sa lima ka adlaw ang mga baboy ug mga kabaw kinahanglang ihalad ngadto sa mga diyos ug mga spiritu.”

“Dili makatarunganon ang pagkuha gikan sa mga uyamut nga wala’y bisan unsa.”

“Imortal ang kalag. Kinahanglan natong buhaton ang tanan nga atong mahimo aron masiguro nga makaplagan niini ang dapit niini sa kinabuhi human niining kinabuhia.”

“Sa sulod sa lima ka adlaw gilamayan namo siya ug gipalingkod sa handel***.”

“Ug nahimo nimo ang kinahanglan nimong buhaton base sa atong mga tradisyon.”

“Apan dili kini patas! Mas nisamut pa ko ka uyamut kaysa kaniadto.”

“Dili lang kini bahin sa lamay, dili ba?”

“Dili, dili.”

“Isulti kanako ang uban pa sa imong istorya.”

“Ako ang ikalima nga anak sa akong mga ginikanan. Sila walay kakapoy nga nagtrabaho aron makapundar ug kabtangan alang sa ilang mga anak ug bisan sa ilang mga giagiang pagsulay nakatigom sila og lima ka humayan ug kalasangan. Sa dihang kaslon na ang akong magulang nga lalaki, nakuha niya ang katunga sa tulo ka bahin sa propiedad. Ug ang uban gibahin sa akong kamagulangang babaye ug sa akong usa pa ka igsoon nga lalaki. Gihatag pa gani nila sa akong kamagulangang igsoong babaye ang balay sa pamilya. Wala nay nabilin pa sa nahabilin kanamo.

“Miyatak ka sa peligrosong lugar. Ang pagpangutana niini mao ang paglihok batok sa panaghiusa. Ang kahigayonan sa usa ka tawo sa kinabuhi usa lamang ka gamay nga sakripisyo aron maseguro nga ang mga tradisyon masunod.”

“Aduna ko’y utang nga mosunod kanako hangtod sa akong kamatayon, nga masunod usab sa akong mga anak ug ilang mga anak. Gibuhat nako ang akong mahimo aron mahatagan sila ug higayon. ”

“Mao ba kana ang hinungdan nga miadto ka sa balay sa imong igsoon?”

“Daghan kaayo siya’y iya, dili na niya mamatikdan kung mawalaan siya sa uban niyang kwarta. Nagkinahanglan lang ko og gamay nga kantidad.”

“Ug unya gidakop ka sa espiritu.”

“Wala ko kahibalo nga ang akong igsoong lalaki adunay espiritu nga may tigpanalipod sa iyang mga butang.”

“Mosulay ka ba sa pagpangawat kon nahibal-an nimo?”

“Oo. Kung alang lang sa akong pamilya.”

Laing kahilom ang mipuno sa lawak, apan niining higayona si Aguihao na ang mibuak niini.

“Adto sa ko, mumbaki. Nakita nako sa imong mga mata nga nakalapas ko dili lang sa kabtangan sa akong igsoon kon dili sa mga tradisyon usab sa among tribo. Sobra na kaayo ang pagpangayo og pasaylo alang sa duha, ug kini ang akong penitensiya.”

Samtang nagbarog si Aguihao aron molakaw palayo, giisa sa mumbaki ang iyang kamot.

“Huwat sa,” singgit sa mumbaki.

“Buhaton ba nimo ang ritwal?” pangutana ni Aguihao.

“Nasayod ka ba nga usa ako sa kataposang mumbaki sa atong mga probinsiya?”

“Nakadungog ko nga nagkagamay ang mga tawo nga nagkupot sa kupo sa mumbaki.”

“Tingali kini ang timaan sa mga panahon, o tingali ang mga espiritu wala na magtugot sa ilang kaugalingon nga madungog. Himalatyon na ang karaang mga paagi, Aguihao. Ang mga batan-on mas gusto nga adunay usa ka piraso nga papel nga nag-ingon nga sila ‘edukado’ kaysa mopasalig sa pagkat-on sa mga pag-ampo ug pag-awit sa atong mga tawo. Nakigsulti sila sa ilang diyos nga adunay tulo ka kinaiya sa usa ug nagsimba sa mga templo nga bato.

“Ila bang sala? Unsa may nahibilin alang kanato dinhi?”

“Tingali mobati ka nga wala dinhi, apan ang mga espiritu labing kusog nga mulanog sa kahilom.”

Mibarog ang mumbaki ug mikupot sa bukton ni Aguihao.

“Sa pagkakaron, magkinahanglan kami og manok.”

*Mumbaki/Mombaki mao ang Babaylan sa kultura sa mga Ifugao

**Ang labaw sa nga mumbaki.

***Lingkuranan nga gihimo sa ilawom sa balay

=——————————————————-=

English Version

Aguihao avoids the gaze of the mumbaki* as he clutches the fabric covering his right arm.

“I am amused by the nerve you have coming to me to ask for the spirit’s forgiveness,” the mumbaki says as he looks at Aguihao’s arm.

“I did what I needed to do for my family,” Aguihao answers, preferring to look at the ground than meet the mumbaki eye to eye.

“You spit on the traditions of our ancestors! This is the way we have lived for generations and you dare question this?!”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know how lucky you are to let the spirits speak through you while those like me have to toil day after day because of your ‘laws’.”

“Those laws are governed by the spirits, to go against them is to go against destiny.”

“Your destiny maybe, but not mine.”

A pang of silence fills the air and is broken by the mumbaki.

“Take it off,” he commands Aguihao.

The layers of fabric give way to a swollen wound leaking pus. Aguihao’s face barely hides the pain and for the first time looks into the mumbaki’s eyes. There is pity there and a small twinge of regret.

“Tell me your story,” said the mumbaki.

“It started with the death of my wife.”

“I remember that. The mombangol** attended.”

“Yes, and I lost everything. I had to mortgage my property to find the funds for the vigil.”

“We all must follow the rituals. For five days pigs and carabaos must be offered to the gods and spirits.”

“It makes no sense to take from those who have nothing.”

“The soul is immortal. We must do all we can to make sure it finds its place in the life after this life.”

“For those five days we mourned her and sat her upon the hangdel***.”

“And you have done as you must do based on our traditions.”

“But it’s not fair! I have even less than what I had before.”

“This is not just about the vigil is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“Tell me the rest of your story.”

“I am the fifth child of my parents. They had worked tirelessly to save property for their children and through their trials they had accumulated five rice fields and forests. When my older brother was to be married, he got one half of three fourths of the property. And the rest was divided among my eldest sister and my other brother. They even gave my eldest sister the family home. The rest of us were left with nothing.”

“You tread on dangerous ground. Questioning this is acting against unity. One’s chance in life is but a small sacrifice to ensure that the traditions are upheld.”

“I am in a debt that will follow me until I die, that my children and their children will inherit. I did what I could to give them a chance.”

“Is that why you went to your brother’s house?”

“He has so much, he wouldn’t notice some money missing. I just needed a small amount.”

“And then the spirit caught you.”

“I did not know that my brother had the spirit invoked to protect his belongings.”

“Would you have tried to steal had you known?”

“Yes. If only for my family.”

Another spate of silence filled the room, but this time it was Aguihao that broke it.

“Goodbye, mumbaki. I can see it in your eyes that I have trespassed not only on my brother’s property but also on the traditions of our tribe. It is much too much to ask forgiveness for both, and this would be my penance.”

As Aguihao stood to walk away the mumbaki raised his hand.

“Stay,” the mumbaki intoned.
“Will you do the ritual then?” Aguihao asked.

“Do you know I am one of the last mumbaki among our provinces?”

“I have heard that less and less people were taking up the mantle of the mumbaki.”

“It may be the sign of the times, or maybe the spirits aren’t letting themselves be heard. The old ways are dying Aguihao. The young would rather have a piece of paper that says they are ‘educated’ than committing to learning the prayers and chants of our people. They speak to their god with three natures in one and worship in stone temples.”

“Is it their fault? What is there that is left for us here?”

“You may feel that there is nothing here, but the spirits echo loudest in the silence.”

The mumbaki stands up and clutches Aguihao’s arm.

“For now, we will need a chicken.”

=————————————————————–=

*Mumbaki/Mombaki are shamans in Ifugao culture.

**The chief mumbaki.

***An improvised chair constructed under the house.

=—————————————————=

*The Cebuano language, alternatively called Cebuan and also often colloquially albeit informally referred to by most of its speakers simply as Bisaya (“Visayan”, not to be confused with other Visayan languages nor Brunei Bisaya language), is an Austronesian regional language spoken in the Philippines by about 21 million people, mostly in Central Visayas, western parts of Eastern Visayas and most parts of Mindanao, most of whom belong to various Visayan ethnolingusitic groups, mainly the Cebuanos. It is the by far the most widely spoken of the Visayan languages, which are in turn part of wider the Philippine languages. The reference to the language as Bisaya is not encouraged anymore by linguists due to the many languages within the Visayan language group that may be confused with the term.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Cebuano Translation by Christine Rom
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Christine Rom

Inspired by the Pili description in Gibson’s Sacrifice and Sharing in the Philippine Highlands (London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology,n.57); The Athlone Press: London, UK, 1986.

Pili Illustration by Alvin Gasga

FB: The Art of Alvin Gasga

*Note this story is in Waray

Ginlilikayan ni Aguihao nga makipagtukuran sa mumbaki* samtang kapot-kapot niya an an tela nga nagtatakop sa kanya tuo nga butkon.

“Di ak makatoo sa imo sa pagduok saak para mangaro pasaylo sa mga espiritu” sugad sa mumbaki samtang gintutukod an butkon ni Aguihao.

“Kinahanglan ko himuon ak angay himuon para sa ak pamilya” baton ni Aguihao nga mas ginpili nga manukod sa salog kaysa sa makipagtukuran sa mumbaki.

“Gintitiawan mo an tradisyon sa at mga kaapuyan! Sugad na kit sini nabuhi sa pira ka-henersayon tapos yana ginkekwestyon mo?!”

“Di ka nasabot! Di ka maaram kun nano ka kaswerte nga nakikihampang saim an mga Espiritu samtang an mga pareho saam, kinahanglan maningkamot adlaw adlaw tungod sa iyo mga balaod.”

“Iton nga mga balaod kay balaod sa mga Espiritu, an dire pagsunod sa mga balaod kay dire pagsunod sa kabubuwason nga para saim.”

“Imo siguro kabubuwason, pero dire para saak.”

Tigda nagmingaw an palibot pero ginwakay gihapon sa mumbaki.

“Tangtanga iton,” sugad niya kan Aguihao.

Natatangtang an doble-doble nga tela ngan tinambad an nagtutubig ngan nagnanana nga samad. Dire matago ni Aguihon an sakit ngan sa una nga beses, nakatukod na gihapon siya sa mata sa mumbaki. Maiimdan an pagkalooy ngan tala nga pagbasol.

“Sugara saak im istorya,” sugad sa mumbaki.

“Nagtikang an tanan sa kamatay saak asawa.”

“Nahinumdom ak siton. Adto pa ngani an mombangol**.”

“Oo, ngan nawara saak an tanan. Ginprenda ko an ak mga tutuna para yaon ak panggastos sa lamay.”

“Kinahanglan ta sundon an mga ritwal. Sa sulod sa lima kaadlaw, kinahanglan maghalad mga baktin ngan karabaw sa mga ginoo ngan espiritu.”

“Waray pulos nga kuhaan an mga waray na daan.”

“Imortal an kalag. Kinahanglan ta himuon an tanan para sigurado nga mahingadto sa karadtuan sa sunod nga kinabuhi.”

“Sa sulod sa lima kaadlaw ginhayaan namo siya ngan ginbutang sa hangdel***.”

“Ngan ginhimo mo kun nano an dapat himuon nga basi sa tradisyon.”

“Pero dire patas! Mas nawaraan pa ak kaysa sa una.”

“Dire ini hiunong sa lamay hano?”

“Dire ngani.”

“Hala sige ipadayon im istorya.”

“Ikalima ak sa magburugto. Gindurutuhan saak ak kag-anak para makatirok tutuna para sa kanra mga anak, ngan bisan sa kadamo sa kakurian nga gin-again, nakatirok sira lima nga taranuman ngan mga bukid. San ikarasal ak gurang nga lalaki, ginhatag sa kanya an tunga sa sobra sa tunga sa mga tutuna. An nahibilin kay gintunga-tunga sa am tigurangi nga bugto nga babaye ngan sa ak sayo nga bugto nga lalake. Ginhatag lat nira saam magurang nga babaye an amon balay. Wara nahibilin saam nga iba nga magburugto.”

“Delikado im ginaagihan nga dalan. An pagpinangutana sin-sine kay dire maupay sa pagkasarayo. An sayo nga tsansa sa kinabuhi kay ditoy la nga sakripisyo para masigurado nga nasusunod an tradisyon.”

“Damo ura-ura ak utang nga susundan ak abot sa ak kamatay, ngan maeeredar pa saak mga anak hangtod sa kanra pa mga anak. Ginhimo ko la ak kaya para mahatagan sira tsansa.”

“Mao iton an rason kun nano kinadto ka sa balay saim bugto nga lalake?”

“Damo an kanya kwarta ngan dire niya mapapansin nga may kulang. Nanginahanglan la ak tala nga kantidad.”

“Pero nadakpan ka sa mga Espiritu”

“Dire ak maaram nga gintawag sa ak bugto an mga Espiritu para bantayan an kanya mga butang.”

“Mangangawat ka ba kun nahibaro ka?”

“Oo. Kun para saak pamilya.”

Nagmingaw na lat an kanra palibot pero yana, si Aguihao na an binuong sa kamingaw.

“Makadto na ak, mumbaki. Naiimdan ko saim mata nga dire la an mga butang saak bugto ak nalabtan kundi pati an tradisyon saat tribo. Dako nga butang an pangaro pasaylo sa duha, ngan mao ini akon angay buhaton.”

Sa titugbos na si Aguihao para lumakaw, gin-igbaw sa mumbaki an kanya kamot.

“Dida ka la” sugad sa mumbaki.

“Hihimuon mo na an ritwal?” pangutana ni Aguihao.

“Maaram ka ba nga sayo ak sa mga nahitutura nga mumbaki sa amo probinsya?”

“Nabatian ko ngani nga tagditoy nala an nasunod sa pagigin mumbaki.”

“Mao na siguro an senyales sa panahon, di ngani, mao an paagi sa mga Espiritu nga dire sira mabatian.  Tikamatay na an daan nga mga paagi, Aguihao. Mas pipilion pa sa mga kabatan-on yana an ditoy nga papel nga nagsusugad nga “edukado” sira kaysa sa mahibaro sa mga ampo ngan kanta saat mga tawo. Nakikihampang sira sa kanra ginoo nga tulo an pagkatawo ngan mag dayaw sa mga bato nga templo.”

“Kanra ba iton sala? Nano pa an nahibilin para saat didi?”

“Sa im pag-abat wara na nahibilin didi, pero makaburungol la gihapon an mga Espiritu sa kamingawan didi.”

Tinugbos an mumbaki kapot-kapot an bukton ni Aguihao.

“Sa yana, kinahanglan ta manok.”

=—————————————=

English Version

Aguihao avoids the gaze of the mumbaki* as he clutches the fabric covering his right arm.

“I am amused by the nerve you have coming to me to ask for the spirit’s forgiveness,” the mumbaki says as he looks at Aguihao’s arm.

“I did what I needed to do for my family,” Aguihao answers, preferring to look at the ground than meet the mumbaki eye to eye.

“You spit on the traditions of our ancestors! This is the way we have lived for generations and you dare question this?!”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know how lucky you are to let the spirits speak through you while those like me have to toil day after day because of your ‘laws’.”

“Those laws are governed by the spirits, to go against them is to go against destiny.”

“Your destiny maybe, but not mine.”

A pang of silence fills the air and is broken by the mumbaki.

“Take it off,” he commands Aguihao.

The layers of fabric give way to a swollen wound leaking pus. Aguihao’s face barely hides the pain and for the first time looks into the mumbaki’s eyes. There is pity there and a small twinge of regret.

“Tell me your story,” said the mumbaki.

“It started with the death of my wife.”

“I remember that. The mombangol** attended.”

“Yes, and I lost everything. I had to mortgage my property to find the funds for the vigil.”

“We all must follow the rituals. For five days pigs and carabaos must be offered to the gods and spirits.”

“It makes no sense to take from those who have nothing.”

“The soul is immortal. We must do all we can to make sure it finds its place in the life after this life.”

“For those five days we mourned her and sat her upon the hangdel***.”

“And you have done as you must do based on our traditions.”

“But it’s not fair! I have even less than what I had before.”

“This is not just about the vigil is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“Tell me the rest of your story.”

“I am the fifth child of my parents. They had worked tirelessly to save property for their children and through their trials they had accumulated five rice fields and forests. When my older brother was to be married, he got one half of three fourths of the property. And the rest was divided among my eldest sister and my other brother. They even gave my eldest sister the family home. The rest of us were left with nothing.”

“You tread on dangerous ground. Questioning this is acting against unity. One’s chance in life is but a small sacrifice to ensure that the traditions are upheld.”

“I am in a debt that will follow me until I die, that my children and their children will inherit. I did what I could to give them a chance.”

“Is that why you went to your brother’s house?”

“He has so much, he wouldn’t notice some money missing. I just needed a small amount.”

“And then the spirit caught you.”

“I did not know that my brother had the spirit invoked to protect his belongings.”

“Would you have tried to steal had you known?”

“Yes. If only for my family.”

Another spate of silence filled the room, but this time it was Aguihao that broke it.

“Goodbye, mumbaki. I can see it in your eyes that I have trespassed not only on my brother’s property but also on the traditions of our tribe. It is much too much to ask forgiveness for both, and this would be my penance.”

As Aguihao stood to walk away the mumbaki raised his hand.

“Stay,” the mumbaki intoned.
“Will you do the ritual then?” Aguihao asked.

“Do you know I am one of the last mumbaki among our provinces?”

“I have heard that less and less people were taking up the mantle of the mumbaki.”

“It may be the sign of the times, or maybe the spirits aren’t letting themselves be heard. The old ways are dying Aguihao. The young would rather have a piece of paper that says they are ‘educated’ than committing to learning the prayers and chants of our people. They speak to their god with three natures in one and worship in stone temples.”

“Is it their fault? What is there that is left for us here?”

“You may feel that there is nothing here, but the spirits echo loudest in the silence.”

The mumbaki stands up and clutches Aguihao’s arm.

“For now, we will need a chicken.”

=——————————————————–=

*Mumbaki/Mombaki an tawag sa paragbulong sa barang sa Ifugao. (Mumbaki/Mombaki are shamans in Ifugao culture.)

**The chief mumbaki.

***An improvised chair constructed under the house.

*Waray is the fifth-most-spoken native regional language of the Philippines, native to Eastern Visayas. It is the native language of the Waray people and second language of the Abaknon people of Capul, Northern Samar and some Cebuano-speaking peoples of eastern and southern parts of Leyte island. It is the third most spoken language among the Visayan languages, only behind Hiligaynon and Cebuano.

Written by Karl Gaverza
Waray translation by Jmee Juanerio
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Translation Copyright © Jmee Juanerio

Inspired by the Pili description in Gibson’s Sacrifice and Sharing in the Philippine Highlands (London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology,n.57); The Athlone Press: London, UK, 1986.

Pili Illustration by Alvin Gasga

FB: The Art of Alvin Gasga

*Note this story is in Tagalog

Iniiwasan ni Aguihao ang tingin ng mumbaki habang hawak niya ang telang nakabalot sa kanang braso niya.

“Nagulat ako sa lakas ng loob mong magpunta sa akin para humingi ng tawad sa espiritu,” sinasabi ng mumbaki habang nakatingin sa braso ni Aguihao.

“Ginawa ko ang kinakailangan kong gawin para sa aking pamilya,” sagot ni Aguihao, na piniling tumingin sa lupa kaysa harapin ang mumbaki ng mata sa mata.

“Niluraan mo ang tradisyon ng ating mga ninuno! Sa ganitong paraan tayo namuhay sa loob ng ilang henerasyon at kinukuwestiyon mo ito?!”

“Hindi mo naiintindihan! Hindi mo alam kung gaano ka kasuwerte na hinahayaan mong magsalita ang mga espiritu sa pamamagitan mo habang ang mga katulad ko ay kailangang magtrabaho araw-araw dahil sa inyong ‘mga batas’.”

“Ang mga batas na iyon ay pinamamahalaan ng mga espiritu, at ang pagsuway sa kanila ay pagsuway sa tadhana.”

“Ang tadhana mo siguro, pero hindi ang sa akin.”

Napuno ng katahimikan ang paligid at binasag ito ng mumbaki.

“Tanggalin mo iyan,” utos niya kay Aguihao.

Ang mga suson ng tela ay nagbigay daan sa isang nagnananang, magang sugat. Halos hindi maitago ng mukha ni Aguihao ang sakit at sa unang pagkakataon ay tumingin siya sa mga mata ng mumbaki. May pagkahabag doon at maliit na kirot ng panghihinayang.

“Sabihin mo sa akin ang kuwento mo,” sabi ng mumbaki.

“Nagsimula ito sa pagkamatay ng aking asawa.”

“Naaalala ko iyon. Dumalo ang mombangol.”

“Oo, at nawala ang lahat sa akin. Kinailangan kong isangla ang mga ari-arian ko para makahanap ng pera para sa lamay.”

“Lahat tayo ay kailangang sundin ang mga ritwal. Sa loob ng limang araw, kailangang mag-alay ng mga baboy at mga kalabaw sa mga diyos at mga espiritu.”

“Walang saysay ang pagkuha mula sa mga walang-wala.”

“Ang kaluluwa ay imortal. Dapat nating gawin ang lahat ng ating makakaya para masigurong mahahanap nito ang lugar nito sa buhay pagkatapos ng buhay na ito.”

“Sa loob ng limang araw na iyon ay pinagluksa namin siya at iniupo siya sa hangdel.”

“At ginawa ninyo ang nararapat base sa ating mga tradisyon.”

“Ngunit hindi ito makatarungan! Mas kaunti na lang ang natira sa akin kaysa sa kung ano ang mayroon ako dati.”

“Hindi lang ito tungkol sa lamay, ‘no?”

“Oo, hindi lang ito tungkol doon.”

“Sabihin mo sa akin ang natitira pa sa kuwento mo.”

“Panglima akong anak ng aking mga magulang. Walang tigil sila sa pagtatrabaho para makapag-ipon ng mga ari-arian para sa kanilang mga anak, at sa kanilang pagpupursigi ay nakaipon sila ng limang palayan at kagubatan. Noong ikakasal ang kuya ko, kinuha niya ang kalahati sa tatlong kapat ng mga ari-arian. At ang natira ay hinati para sa ate ko at isa ko pang kuya. Binigay pa nga sa ate ko ang bahay. Walang naiwan para sa aming mga natira.

“Mapanganib ang tinatayuan mo ngayon. Ang pagkuwestiyon dito ay pagkilos laban sa pagkakaisa. Ang pagkakataon ng isang tao sa buhay ay datapwa’t isang maliit na sakripisyo upang matiyak na nasusunod ng mga tradisyon.”

“Nakalubog ako sa utang na susundan ako hanggang sa kamatayan, na mamanahin ng aking mga anak at ng aking mga apo. Ginawa ko ang makakaya ko para bigyan sila ng pagkakataon.”

“Kaya ba pumunta ka sa bahay ng kuya mo?”

“Sagana naman siya, hindi niya mapapansin ang kaunting perang mawawala. Kailangan ko lang ng maliit na halaga.”

“At nahuli ka ng espiritu.”

“Hindi ko alam na hinimok ng kuya ko ang espiritu na protektahan ang kanyang mga ari-arian.”

“Susubukan mo pa rin bang magnakaw kahit alam mo?”

“Oo, kung para sa pamilya ko.”

Muling napuno ng katahimikan ang paligid, pero sa pagkakataong ito, si Aguihao ang bumasag nito.

“Paalam, mumbaki. Nakikita ko sa iyong mga mata na hindi lang bahay ng kuya ko ang pinanghimasukan ko, kung hindi pati na rin ang mga tradisyon ng ating tribo. Labis ang paghingi ng kapatawaran para sa dalawang ito, at ito ang magiging penitensiya ko.”

Noong tumayo si Aguihao para lumakad palayo, itinaas ng mumbaki ang kamay nito.

“Manatili ka,” sabi ng mumbaki.

“Gagawin mo na ang ritwal?” tanong ni Aguihao.

“Alam mo bang isa ako sa mga natitirang mumbaki sa ating probinsiya?”

“Narinig kong paunti nang paunti ang mga taong gustong maging mumbaki.”

“Maaaring tanda ito ng mga oras, o maaaring hindi na hinahayaan ng mga espiritu na sila ay marinig. Namamatay na ang mga dating kinagawian, Aguihao. Mas gusto ng mga bata ngayon ang isang pirasong papel na nagsasabing sila ay “edukado” kaysa pag-aralan ang mga dasal at awit ng ating bayan. Nakikipag-usap sila sa diyos nilang may tatlong persona sa isa at sumasamba sa mga templong bato.”

“Kasalanan ba nila iyon? Ano pa ba ang natitira dito para sa atin?”

“Maaaring nararamdaman mong wala na, pero pinakamalakas ang alingawngaw ng mga espiritu sa katahimikan.”

Tumayo ang mumbaki at hinawakan ang braso ni Aguihao.

“Sa ngayon, kailangan natin ng manok.”

=—————————————————————–=

English Version

Aguihao avoids the gaze of the mumbaki* as he clutches the fabric covering his right arm.

“I am amused by the nerve you have coming to me to ask for the spirit’s forgiveness,” the mumbaki says as he looks at Aguihao’s arm.

“I did what I needed to do for my family,” Aguihao answers, preferring to look at the ground than meet the mumbaki eye to eye.

“You spit on the traditions of our ancestors! This is the way we have lived for generations and you dare question this?!”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know how lucky you are to let the spirits speak through you while those like me have to toil day after day because of your ‘laws’.”

“Those laws are governed by the spirits, to go against them is to go against destiny.”

“Your destiny maybe, but not mine.”

A pang of silence fills the air and is broken by the mumbaki.

“Take it off,” he commands Aguihao.

The layers of fabric give way to a swollen wound leaking pus. Aguihao’s face barely hides the pain and for the first time looks into the mumbaki’s eyes. There is pity there and a small twinge of regret.

“Tell me your story,” said the mumbaki.

“It started with the death of my wife.”

“I remember that. The mombangol** attended.”

“Yes, and I lost everything. I had to mortgage my property to find the funds for the vigil.”

“We all must follow the rituals. For five days pigs and carabaos must be offered to the gods and spirits.”

“It makes no sense to take from those who have nothing.”

“The soul is immortal. We must do all we can to make sure it finds its place in the life after this life.”

“For those five days we mourned her and sat her upon the hangdel***.”

“And you have done as you must do based on our traditions.”

“But it’s not fair! I have even less than what I had before.”

“This is not just about the vigil is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“Tell me the rest of your story.”

“I am the fifth child of my parents. They had worked tirelessly to save property for their children and through their trials they had accumulated five rice fields and forests. When my older brother was to be married, he got one half of three fourths of the property. And the rest was divided among my eldest sister and my other brother. They even gave my eldest sister the family home. The rest of us were left with nothing.”

“You tread on dangerous ground. Questioning this is acting against unity. One’s chance in life is but a small sacrifice to ensure that the traditions are upheld.”

“I am in a debt that will follow me until I die, that my children and their children will inherit. I did what I could to give them a chance.”

“Is that why you went to your brother’s house?”

“He has so much, he wouldn’t notice some money missing. I just needed a small amount.”

“And then the spirit caught you.”

“I did not know that my brother had the spirit invoked to protect his belongings.”

“Would you have tried to steal had you known?”

“Yes. If only for my family.”

Another spate of silence filled the room, but this time it was Aguihao that broke it.

“Goodbye, mumbaki. I can see it in your eyes that I have trespassed not only on my brother’s property but also on the traditions of our tribe. It is much too much to ask forgiveness for both, and this would be my penance.”

As Aguihao stood to walk away the mumbaki raised his hand.

“Stay,” the mumbaki intoned.
“Will you do the ritual then?” Aguihao asked.

“Do you know I am one of the last mumbaki among our provinces?”

“I have heard that less and less people were taking up the mantle of the mumbaki.”

“It may be the sign of the times, or maybe the spirits aren’t letting themselves be heard. The old ways are dying Aguihao. The young would rather have a piece of paper that says they are ‘educated’ than committing to learning the prayers and chants of our people. They speak to their god with three natures in one and worship in stone temples.”

“Is it their fault? What is there that is left for us here?”

“You may feel that there is nothing here, but the spirits echo loudest in the silence.”

The mumbaki stands up and clutches Aguihao’s arm.

“For now, we will need a chicken.”

=——————————————————————————————————————=

*Mumbaki/Mombaki are shamans in Ifugao culture.

**The chief mumbaki.

***An improvised chair constructed under the house.

Inspired by the Pili description in Gibson’s Sacrifice and Sharing in the Philippine Highlands (London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology,n.57); The Athlone Press: London, UK, 1986.

Pili Illustration by Alvin Gasga

FB: The Art of Alvin Gasga

Aguihao avoids the gaze of the mumbaki* as he clutches the fabric covering his right arm.

“I am amused by the nerve you have coming to me to ask for the spirit’s forgiveness,” the mumbaki says as he looks at Aguihao’s arm.

“I did what I needed to do for my family,” Aguihao answers, preferring to look at the ground than meet the mumbaki eye to eye. 

“You spit on the traditions of our ancestors! This is the way we have lived for generations and you dare question this?!”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know how lucky you are to let the spirits speak through you while those like me have to toil day after day because of your ‘laws’.” 

“Those laws are governed by the spirits, to go against them is to go against destiny.”

“Your destiny maybe, but not mine.”

A pang of silence fills the air and is broken by the mumbaki.

“Take it off,” he commands Aguihao. 

The layers of fabric give way to a swollen wound leaking pus. Aguihao’s face barely hides the pain and for the first time looks into the mumbaki’s eyes. There is pity there and a small twinge of regret.

“Tell me your story,” said the mumbaki.

“It started with the death of my wife.”

“I remember that. The mombangol** attended.”

“Yes, and I lost everything. I had to mortgage my property to find the funds for the vigil.”

“We all must follow the rituals. For five days pigs and carabaos must be offered to the gods and spirits.”

“It makes no sense to take from those who have nothing.”

“The soul is immortal. We must do all we can to make sure it finds its place in the life after this life.”

“For those five days we mourned her and sat her upon the hangdel***.”

“And you have done as you must do based on our traditions.”

“But it’s not fair! I have even less than what I had before.”

“This is not just about the vigil is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“Tell me the rest of your story.”

“I am the fifth child of my parents. They had worked tirelessly to save property for their children and through their trials they had accumulated five rice fields and forests. When my older brother was to be married, he got one half of three fourths of the property. And the rest was divided among my eldest sister and my other brother. They even gave my eldest sister the family home. The rest of us were left with nothing.”

“You tread on dangerous ground. Questioning this is acting against unity. One’s chance in life is but a small sacrifice to ensure that the traditions are upheld.”

“I am in a debt that will follow me until I die, that my children and their children will inherit. I did what I could to give them a chance.”

“Is that why you went to your brother’s house?”

“He has so much, he wouldn’t notice some money missing. I just needed a small amount.”

“And then the spirit caught you.”

“I did not know that my brother had the spirit invoked to protect his belongings.”

“Would you have tried to steal had you known?”

“Yes. If only for my family.”

Another spate of silence filled the room, but this time it was Aguihao that broke it.

“Goodbye, mumbaki. I can see it in your eyes that I have trespassed not only on my brother’s property but also on the traditions of our tribe. It is much too much to ask forgiveness for both, and this would be my penance.”

As Aguihao stood to walk away the mumbaki raised his hand.

“Stay,” the mumbaki intoned.
“Will you do the ritual then?” Aguihao asked.

“Do you know I am one of the last mumbaki among our provinces?”

“I have heard that less and less people were taking up the mantle of the mumbaki.”

“It may be the sign of the times, or maybe the spirits aren’t letting themselves be heard. The old ways are dying Aguihao. The young would rather have a piece of paper that says they are ‘educated’ than committing to learning the prayers and chants of our people. They speak to their god with three natures in one and worship in stone temples.”

“Is it their fault? What is there that is left for us here?”

“You may feel that there is nothing here, but the spirits echo loudest in the silence.”

The mumbaki stands up and clutches Aguihao’s arm.

“For now, we will need a chicken.” 

——————————————————————————————————————

*Mumbaki/Mombaki are shamans in Ifugao culture.

**The chief mumbaki.

***An improvised chair constructed under the house.

Written by Karl Gaverza

Copyright © Karl Gaverza

Inspired by the Pili description in Gibson’s Sacrifice and Sharing in the Philippine Highlands (London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology,n.57); The Athlone Press: London, UK, 1986.

Pili Illustration by Alvin Gasga

FB: The Art of Alvin Gasga