DATU TAYONG AND BATBATAN OTANG

"DATU Tayong!" called out a young warrior. "Something has happened. A young man is coming. He is running at full speed."

TAYONG came out of the house to join the six warriors on top of Dipnaysuhuan Hill. Down the trail from the south along the ridge of the hill a young man was running towards Dipnaysuhuan Hill as fast as his legs could carry him. The six bold warriors and Datu Tayong watched the running man. "Surely something must have happened," said the chieftain. They continued watching. He was nearing them. As he went up the steep trail he slipped and stumbled but he got to his feet again and resumed his travel towards the Hill. "Surely, there must have been something terrible which have happened," said the warriors.

HE was then approaching the datu’s house. He was momentarily hidden from sight as he was nearing the gate. A pandan grove hid him from sight. Then he emerged again.

ALL eyes were on him as he came to view. His fave and all his body were wet with sweat. He was dead tired from running and excitement. They could hear him breathe laboriously. "Why?" asked Datu Tayong, "What has happened?"

THE young man bowed before the datu. Tayong acknowlwdged his greeting with a nod and waited for him to speak. He could not speak immediately. He was panting.

THEN as he got some rest, he spoke, "Datu, I am come with a very bad news…"

"YES. Please tell me everything…" said Datu Tayong.

"MY father and mother and I went to our field to get gabi. While we were there, the giant Batbatan Otang of Uyugan came. He is carrying with him his rowboat. He laid his rowbaot at the foot of the hill below our field. Then he began gathering gabi from our farm. My father and mother begged him not to get too many of our gabi. Without saying anything, he grabbed my mother by her neck and dashed her against the rocks. Otang also grabbed my father who tried to rescue my mother. He first broke his limbs with his bare hands. Then he tore him to bits and threw every piece of him down the ravine. Since it was futile for me to put up a fight, I decided to flee for my life in order to warn you and our tribe.

DATU Tayong looked at the young man. Then, he spoke out, "Please give him some wine to drink. It would give him courage and ease his nerves." One of the warriors went into the house. He turned with a half dipper of sweet cogon wine. The young man bowed with thanks and drank the liquor.

"NOW, young man, where is Batbatan Otang now?" asked the datu.

"WHEN I left he was preparing to cook his food under a big tree right at the side of our field. That was after he filled his rowboat with gabi."

"WELL, young man, rest while we get ready. We shall go to get him after we have eaten our lunch," said Datu Tayong. Food was being prepared in the house. Meanwhile Datu Tayong himself prepared a bamboo spear, the tip of which he hardened by applying goat fat and heating it over the fire. The six warriors also prepared their weapons—bamboo spears and stone axes. The young man was given a club fashioned out from a branch of a thorny tree. Then they sat down around a flat stone and partook of a heavy meal of boiled tugue and gabi and boiled pork. They washed it down with sweet cogon wine.

BEFORE they left, another set of six warriors was summoned to stay on guard at the datu’s house. And Tayong gave instructions to an old man to inform the villagers of what had happened. He also instructed the old men about what to do just in case he would not win over Batbatan Otang. Then Datu Tayong and his warriors plus the young man left, fully armed, for a showdown with the Uyugan giant. The six warriors and the old man watched them depart for the southern hills. "I know our datu will give Batbatan Otang the beating of his life," said one of the warriors. The old man left to warn the tribe in the village below Dipnaysuhuan Hill.

AS they approached the young man’s farm the sharp eyes of the intrepid datu espied the giant ahead of his warriors. He motioned them to conceal themselves among the bushes. "There he is," he murmured, pointing to one side of the farm below. The giant was sleeping under the big tree. Beside him were his big pot and the stove on which he cooked. Way down below, at the foot of the hill, was his rowboat filled with gabi. "You watch here. Be on the alert to lend me a hand just in case I can’t handle him," Datu Tayong told his man. "Yes, Master," they answered.

DATU Tayong, spear in hand, went cautiously down the hill along the side of the farm. In size, he was no match with the giant from Uyugan. For Otang derived his name from his size. He was so big that the distance between his eyes was as wide as the length of the handle of an axe. Tayong was less than five feet while the giant was more than twice his size. His men were confident of his strength yet they feared the giant.

HE was then a few paces away from the sleeping giant. For Otang was sleeping after having taken a heavy meal of gabi. Tayong’s warriors and the young man were watching, on the alert to run to aid their chieftain. Tayong was then standing beside the giant, spear in his hand, ready to strike. He called out, "Otang! Wake up! This is your day!" Almost as soon as the giant opened his eyes, Tayong, with his bamboo spear, tore out the giant’s abdomen. The giant rose to grapple with the small Tayong. The intrepid Datu Tayung met the giant in a mighty grip. Otang’s intestines began to fall out. They grappled in a terrible combat. They wrestled down the gabi field, letting fly about gabi plants and black earth. Down the stream, among the trees and rocks they wrestled and thundered. Down the ravine they wrestled. The giant’s intestines stretched and broke, stretched and snapped, and blood sputtered about as they gripped each other in terrible combat. Datu Tayong’s men ran downhill following them.

WHEN they reached the shore the stones roared under their feet. The giant was struggling for dear life and was putting up his last strength. Stones were thrown several paces away as their feet moved about. In the final moment, there was a terrible roar like thunder and stones flew about. Powdered rock rose like dust, filling the air with the odor of pulverized stone. Datu Tayong’s men stood a distance away, awe-stricken.

THEN, Batbatan Otang let out a loud moan and fell heavily on the stones. Datu Tayong slowly rose from his foe and stood beside the dying giant—a mite beside an enormous being. He called out his men, "Come here with the axe!" the men ran down the beach to their chiefteain.

BATABATAN Otang’s chest was still heaving up and down as they gathered around him. His eyes were half closed. His abdomen was a gaping hole, ugly and empty. Blood was sputtered about. One of the warriors handed their datu the stone axe. Taking the axe, Datu Tayon called out, "Batbatan Otang, this is your day to pay for the abuses you had inflicted upon my people. Fare you well." Otang let out a terrible yell, which made the young man jump backward. Tayong let down the stone axe on the giant’s neck, almost completely severing the head. The giant gave a strong kick and his arms waved about. Then his body shivered and lay limp. They looked at his face. The eyes opened in a fearful stare. "Get the head for our trophy," said Tayong. The men severed the head completely and mounted it on one of their spears. The intrepid datu went to the beach to wash his face and hands with seawater. He also washed his body, which was also stained with blood. But the cloth around his waist was also stained with blood. He did not wash it. Laying his right hand over the young man’s shoulder, he said, "My young man the death of your parents has been avenged. Let us return to our village now." Tears rolled down the young man’s cheeks. He raised one of his hands to brush away his tears. One of the warriors hoisted the giant’s head on top of the spear and led the group. The others followed in single file, chanting a song of victory. Then followed the orphan with the brave datu behind him. The body of the giant lay cold on the stone beside the pounding breakers as the victors took the trail up the hills to their village in Dipnaysuhuan.

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ORAYEN AND PUDALAN

ON the island of Itbayat there once lived a woman with her two sons. Although her boys were of different ages, they looked so much alike that it was hard at times to tell who of them was the older. Both of them were healthy, active and industrious. Both loved their mother well. Yet it was surprisingly noticed that although they showed the same love for their mother, she did not treat them equally. Orayen, the Younger, was very much loved by their mother while Pudalan, the elder, was treated differently.

PUDALAN was twelve years old and Orayen was barely eight when they became goat herders. The great outdoors was an open book from which they derived much pleasure and enlightenment. How often they sat singing among the wild flowers while they watch their goats graze in the meadow! How often they waded in the clear, cool waters of the rippling brooks. Their young lives were almost perfect bliss had it not been for the unequal treatment done them by their mother.

THEY usually spend the whole day in the fields so that their mother often prepared lunch for them. It was in the manner their mother prepared their food that the boys first sensed the unequal treatment done them. Orayen’s lunch was always of the choicest food—rice or millet with pork or fish, placed in a well-shaped and polished coconut shell. Pudalan’s food consisted of boiled yam or camote with a piece of ginger wrapped in banana leaves. When they ate at noon they cried over their food. Pudalan was too virtuous to envy Orayen. Orayen was equally virtuous not to feel proud. Instead, they united their hearts in the spirit of true brotherhood and grieved over the unequal treatment done them by their own mother. Often did Orayen offer his lunch to Pudalan with the hope that they eat together. But Pudalan would not eat of it. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Orayen would lay his comforting hands over his brother’s shoulders and both would try to sob away their grief simply would not get away. This happened everyday for many months. The young boys could not understand why their mother treated them so.

IN the course of time, Pudalan fell ill and died leaving Orayen inconsolable. Orayen’s eyes were always brimming over with tears. He always broke in solvulsive sobs whenever he recalled hoe their mother prepared their lunch—two different packages for two sons who loved their mother equally.

IN her effort to prevent Orayen’s grieving too much over the death of his brother the mother made a different schedule for him. He was not to roam the woods and files with their goats anymore. Instead, the goats were to be kept in their stable day in and day out while Orayen would go to the fields everyday to get food for the animals. But this new arrangement made Orayen grieve all the more for, besides being sorry for having lost his brother, he also lost his chance in seeking solace, enjoyment and enlightenment in the pathless woods where, to him, Nature acted as a kind mother teaching him the secrets of the great outdoors.

YOUNG Orayen, bent under a heavy load of leaves going down the beaten path from the hills to the village at the end of the day invited tears even from the hardest heart. Every evening as he tied the bundles of fresh leaves for the goats to eat in the stable he would pat the goats and ask them, "Please help me pray for the return of my dead brother." Then he would go to bead with a heavy heart. This he did everyday for many weeks.

ONE morning as he went to the stable to feed the goats he was surprised to find the goats already feeding on bundles of fresh leaves which had just been tied. He also found, to his amazement, new footprints on the mud at the doorway. He immediately concluded that his dead brother was coming back every night to help him feed the goats. He did not reveal what was happening to his mother. Instead, he decided to keep careful tract of events that would come next. The same thing happened every morning for many weeks—new bundles of leaves, new footprints on the mud at the doorway.

UNABLE to bear the suspense any longer, he decided to verify with his own eyes who was feeding the goats. That night, without telling his mother where he was going, he went to sleep in the stable concealed by the pile of fresh leaves. He stayed awake until midnight when he finally dropped off to sleep, weary of waiting. At dawn he was awakened by the sudden rustling noise around the stable. He trembled with fear and his hair stood on end. He sat trembling and waiting with his eyes peering into darkness.

THE next moment found him beholding his own brother coming. He was whistling gaily, while he walked carrying a bundle of fresh leaves. He entered the stable and began tying up the food for the goats. Young Orayen, filled with joy at seeing once more his departed brother, forgot his fear. He jumped from his hiding place and made a dash for his brother, catching him by the shoulders. "Pudalan! Pudalan!" he exclaimed.

PUDALAN tried to wrench himself free but Orayen held him with all his might. Pudalan was forced to speak, "Orayen, you know that I died many weeks ago. I am still your brother but I am no longer mortal. I am now a spirit. If you want to be with me, come here every night just before dawn for I will always come here to help you feed our goats. But, please do not tell our mother about my coming back here. You know how she treated me. Do you promise?

"YES, brother," replied Orayen. "But, please stay for awhile. I feel so lonely without you." Orayen clung desperately to Pudalan. But it was fast getting to daylight. In the wink of an eye a sudden gust of wind came out and blew across the stable door. Pudalan was gone. From that time Orayen and Pudalan had their clandestine meeting regularly at the stable every night. Orayens world of gloom turned again into the spring of life and joy.

AS time went on their mother wondered where Orayen was spending the nights. It did not take her long to notice that the young boy sneaked out of the house as soon as he thought that she was asleep. She asked him where he was going every night but he always gave clever excuses.

BUT one time their uncle noticed the strange meeting between the dead and the living. He could not hold his tongue and soon he was talking about it. Soon his mother knew it. Upon knowing of it she got very angry and scolded her son for the whole day. She whipped him, kicked him, and shouted at him. The poor boy kept silent. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as the world once more turned dark to him.

THAT night after the scolding, Orayen was still able to escape from the house at midnight to meet his dead brother. Pudalan still showed up but seemed much changed. He said, "Pudalan, I thought you could keep your promise, but you can not. I feel sad about my leaving you but such is the mandate of our Great Master. Come, let us share our goats for I am returning to our land far away.

ORAYEN was overcome with grief and cried bitterly, telling him that it was not he who broke the promise. Pudalan said, "Please do not grieve so much for we have been together long enough. If our mother would not know of my coning here the death of my physical body, we would be together all the time. Let us not lose time for the sun is about to rise. And, I must be gone before the sunrise."

PUDALAN, looking at Orayen from head to foot, took out from his pocket a small silver trumpet, which he blew on. Out came all their goats. He blew again and all the black goats assembled before him. All the white ones plus the big mother goat with long horns that shone like gold gathered behind Orayen.

"ORAYEN," said Pudalan, "you will have all the white goats and the big mother goat with long horns. Take them and be happy with them. I will have all the black ones for my pets. I am going away now but I am leaving you good luck.

"BUT," pleaded Orayen, wiping his tears away, "may I follow you up to the place where you will be off?"

"YES," answered Pudalan, "you may watch me from where I will be off. But beware! Do not follow beyond that."

THE brothers walked side by side with their goats following each of them in single file across the woods and fields, across brooks and over the hills. Sweet were the thoughts and soft their words as they trod across the grassy glades toward the seacoast in the solemn stillness of the dawn. They presented a beautiful picture, which made the heart wax poetic.

AS they reached the top of the hill overlooking the sea on the eastern side and over verdant hills on the western side. Pudalan motioned Orayen to stop. "Let’s stop here," said he. Then, after a brief pause, he continued, " I am going away forever. Do not follow me now for will be drowned in the sea. Return to our mother with your goats and live a peaceful and useful life.

"SHALL we see each other again?" asked Orayen.

"YES, we will. But not soon. It will take long, long time," replied Pudalan.

"WHEN and where? Orayen asked again.

"IN the hereafter. Goodbye!" said Pudalan.

BEFORE Orayen could speak again, Pudalan stretched his arms, leaped and glided down to the sea. Orayen was awe-stricken. As he looked down he saw Pudalan standing on the crest of the foaming billow. Pudalan took out again his silver trumpet and blew a blast that resounded over the regions around. All his black goats glided down to the sea beside him.

THE two brothers, the dead and the living, waved to each other. Then Pudalan led his goats over the sea towards the eastern horizon, which was beginning to brighten at the approach of sunrise. The gray shadows played upon the dancing waves as they departed for the unknown land.

AS Orayen sat upon the cold rocks he knew within his heart that tears were futile in an event of such kind. Turning to his goats, he patted the big mother goat with long horns, which shone like gold and said softly, "Let us go home now." He faced once more the gorgeous cast, lifted his hands in salutation and turned to the land his flock back to the village.

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THE ORIGIN OF THE "NATO"

THE "nato" is a kind of tree growing wild in Batanes with milk-white sap and bearing small zeppelin-shaped fruits with sweet luscious pulp. The edible fruit ripes in midsummer and is relished by children. The following story is an account of how the first "nato" came to exist.

LONG before the Spaniards came to Batanes, the natives grouped themselves in tribes and lived in villages. A village was called an "idjang" in the native dialect. The tribes were hostile to one another and tribal wars were often waged among the villages.

IN one of the idjangs situated near the present site of the town of Basco there lived a young couple. This couple had a beautiful young daughter. Though she was yet of a tender age, her beauty and charm made her popular in Ivatan song and story.

ONE day their village was invaded by an extremely hostile tribe so that all the men had to take up arms against the foe while the women, the sick, the aged, and the children had to evacuate to the woods. The young mother and her daughter ran to hide in the forest. Day after day as the battle raged on hunger and suffering held the refugees in an ever-tightening grip. At last the young mother and her daughter could hold no longer. Unable to retreat further into the woods, the mother, summoning all her knowledge of incantations and charms, turned herself into a "vasong" tree and told her daughter to hide among her branches. Seeing themselves almost perfectly safe, the mother and her child stood upon the hillside to watch the fight go on. When the battle was over, the mother and her child waited and waited for the father. But the waiting was in vain for the poof man perished in the fight. As their waiting was in vain the mother decided to remain a tree and enclosed her child in the hollow of her trunk. There the daughter and her mother lived enchanted lives.

THE termination of hostilities was followed by a period of reconstruction as most of the houses in the villages were burned.

ONE day a young man went to the woods to get timber for building his house. He found the enchanted "vasong" tree. Not knowing that the tree was enchanted he soon started cutting it down. But, as he was chopping at the trunk he was disappointed to find it hollow. In it he was surprised to find a pair of human feet. He turned away. Then curiosity made him gather courage and he got nearer again to the tree to investigate. He was soon chopping again at the tree trunk, now, with much care lest he hurt the human feet inside. When the tree fell, he cut off the branches and proceeded to split the trunk open. When the trunk was cut open there was released the beautiful maiden of eighteen summers, at last, to behold again the beauty of nature around her – the foliage of the woods, the blue of the sky, the fleecy white clouds sailing across the heavens, the chirping of the birds, and the soft breeze sighing among the leaves.

THE young man laid down his ax and fell upon his face, to worship her. "I am no goddess!" she said. "I am a human being. I had been imprisoned in that tree-trunk for the last three years by the cruelties of man." The young man rose to behold the beauty and charm of the maiden. Love conquered his heart. Losing no time, he asked her to be his wife. She consented on condition that he should never tell anyone the strange story of where she came from. They went down to the village and lived her happily together with the man’s mother.

LATER on a baby boy was born to them. As the child grew older he was often left under the care of his grandmother whenever the parents went to work in the fields. Whenever the child cried the grandmother sang a lullaby, part of which ran thus, "Stop crying, little one. Sleep soundly, little one. Your mother was chopped out of a "vasong" tree in the woods." As if by magic, the child would stop crying immediately upon hearing the song, laugh or smile and then drift off to dreamland.

BUT, one day, the child’s mother heard the grandmother singing the song. This made her very, very sorry. With tears rolling down her cheeks she took the child and departed for the woods. Her husband followed them at a distance. He lost sight of them as she rounded the ridge of a hill where she had been formerly chopped out from her wooden prison. When he reached the place he last saw her then he found her already on the other side of the hill nursing the child. He was about to speak to her when she said, "Please take our child now, or else he will become a tree also." He saw that from her feet up to her waist was already changed into a tree trunk. He wept saying, "How shall I take care of our child at such a tender age?"

HIS wife replied, "Fear not. Although I will never come back to you, my love for you and our child shall continue forever. As he is still young, feed him with my white sap for this is milk. When he will grow older, I will give him my sweet fruit to eat. But, beware! Let no other child drink of my sap after our child shall have eaten of my fruit. Goodbye!"

AS she said the last word she placed her loving arms tenderly around the shoulders of the grieving father and child. Then, all of a sudden, her arms stretched out and stiffened. She was completely changed into a tree.

THE father took the child in his arms and plucked off a twig from the new tree from which milk-like sap oozed. This he gave to the child. Then followed an everyday visit of the father and child to the tree. After a year the tree bore fruits which later ripened in midsummer. They were sweet, nourishing fruits that the seeds were spread out over the land by both man and animals to grow and bear fruits. That was the first "nato" tree.

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THE ORIGIN OF THE PEOPLE OF SABTANG

DURING pre-Spanish times there were no definite codes of laws to guide the people of Batanes. The tribes scattered in different places over the land, lived in little villages under the rule of chiefs or datus who were chosen not for their mental ability but for their physical prowess. Such chiefs had unlimited power, so they ruled as they pleased. They even had the power to take away the lives of their subjects.

IVANA and Sabtang were continually at war with each other. The conflict dragged on for several years so that both sides, including their intrepid datus, feared extinction.

THE datu of Sabtang, with the aid of his dwindling followers who survived a terrible battle with the warriors of Ivana, constructed an underground house for his only child, a beautiful young girl. They stored in that underground room the choicest food in the village. Taking their daughter by the hand one late afternoon, the datu with his wife led her to the entrance of the dugout. "Child," the datu told her, "here is a safe hiding place for you. At the sound of the alarm for battle, you should make haste and run to hide here while our warriors ward of the enemy. We have here in store enough food and everything you want. You should not venture out of this hiding place until we come to get you." The child nodded her head.

WHILE the royal family of Sabtang and their subjects were preparing for the coming danger, those of Ivana were also ware of and preparing for the same danger. Said the Ivana chief to her queen one evening, "At sunset I saw a bad sign above the mountains – three long bars of blood-red clouds through which the setting sun passed. That means three dangers that spell disaster for our kingdom. The first may be terrible battle, the second, a strong typhoon, and the third I fear, may be pestilence.

"ALAS! Is that so?" gasped the queen.

"YES. And, we must prepare for it," replied the datu.

"OUR son! Let us prepare for him a safe place," said she.

THE Ivana chief stamped his feet on the floor thrice. In came the messenger from the adjoining room. "At you service, Apo!" said he, bowing.

"CALL in here the village housebuilder," commanded the datu. The messenger flew out at his command.

A middle-aged man with a piece of gray cloth wrapped around his head and holding a reed cane, symbolic of his position as the village housebuilder, stepped in followed by the messenger. As they approached the datu, the messenger took a step ahead of the housebuilder, bowed before the datu, and retired to the next room. The housebuilder bowed in salutation, saying, "At your service, Apo."

"TAKE your seat, please," replied the datu, motioning him to a low stool.

THE man sat and prepared to listen.

"I want a safe room for my son in which to hide during battles. A very safe place where he can live with enough food and other necessities for the duration of a long war, a typhoon, and pestilence," said the ruler.

"WILL an underground cave do? One with a natural spring?" asked the village housebuilder.

"EXACTLY," replied the chief. "And I want it ready in seven days. By the way, how many able bodied young man do we have yet?"

THE man looked up to recall the facts and replied, "Only seventy men, Apo. Most of the workers I have now are old men, children and women."

"I want only fifteen man to do it for the sake of secrecy. You may begin it immediately at sunrise tomorrow," the datu instructed.

"YES, Apo." And the village housebuilder took his leave.

AT noon of the seventh day the housebuilder bowed before the master to report the completion of the project. The royal family—datu, queen and young son—was led by the housebuilder to the place. It was a natural underground cave. Inside the cave was a natural spring of clear, cool water, which first collected in a small pool and then flowed out to the sea through an underground canal. The cave was illuminated at daytime by sunlight reflected by the great cliffs opposite the entrance of the cave. The chief was pleased and patted the man on the shoulders, as he said, "Fine work, man. I shall reward you with one big goat." The datu ordered food and other provisions to be stored in the grotto. He and the queen instructed their young son to make use of the hideout during the coming disasters.

IT was the end of the day when the royal family stood at the door of the hideout, looking at the setting sun. "Look!" said the queen, pointing to the western horizon. "The sign in there again."

"THAT’S the same bad sign I saw seven days ago," replied the datu. That means disaster."

JUST then, seven crows flew overhead, rending the stillness of the evening sky with their dreaded, "Quack! Quack!" The datu shook his head and said, "In seven days it shall come."

THE datu drew out his short knife, spat on it, and raised his left fist clenched as if to tell the birds that he was ready for the challenge. Before the datu retired that evening he ordered the people to prepare for the coming disasters.

SEVEN days passed and the expected disasters did come. Across the channel the Sabtang warriors, riding in little rowboats, came. They had come to put up revenge. The datu of Ivana commanded his warriors to put out to sea in their rowboats. Thus, the terrible battle began—first in the sea and then on land. Warriors fell like mown grass. Not a man was left of the expeditionary force from Sabtang. The remaining warriors of Ivana, led by the datu and his wife, crossed the channel for Sabtang. There another battle was fought but with indecision. Only a few warriors were left on each side.

A few days after the terrible conflict, a strong typhoon swept over the land. It was so strong that the hills were barren. It claimed some more lives from the survivors of the war.

IMMEDIATELY following the typhoon, the third of the disasters struck a final blow. Pestilence walked over the land taking by the hand the remaining survivors of the two proceeding disasters, and led them to the land where no one ever returns.

AFTER the three disasters struck, desolation ruled over the land like a mighty monarch. Silence reigned over the villages of Sabtang and Ivana. A lone flying swallow swooping down to have a look at the once populated earth uttered a lonely cry at the still air of the evening.

YET, from every scene of desolation hope springs out.

This little maiden of Sabtang made a stir in her cozy bed down in her underground home. She rose as if from a long sleep. She moved about her room preparing her food. Life burst forth anew. She contented herself by moving about in her well-provided room, unaware of the desolation above her, thinking that the battle was still raging, and that her parents were still living, and that they would finally come to fetch her out of her hiding place.

THE little prince of Ivana contented himself by playing with the spring in his grotto. Unmindful of the deplorable conditions obtaining on the land above his, he waited and waited for his parents to come and get him. To him was always the day of future happiness.

BUT days passed and no parents came. He grew impatient and depressed. To add to his disappointment, the stock of food he had grew smaller and smaller until, finally it was exhausted. He had to go hungry. But the preservation of dear life is inborn in every human being. Therefore, he resorted to kindling a fire, lighting a torch and went out to the beach at night. There he gathered crabs that he roasted for food. This he did every night whenever the weather permitted.

MEANWHILE, the beautiful maiden at Sabtang grew lonely and restless. She had yet in stock plenty of food and she never got hungry. But though she had with her plenty of good food, her heart was empty. She would often say to herself, "I wonder when shall I see my parents again. Are they still alive? When shall this war end?" In the course of time she ventured to climb out of her hideout to take a view of the land. To her surprise, not a soul met her as she walked through the streets of the village. When she reached their house, the roof had fallen and the floor was rotting.

THERE was no sign of human life within. She had not expected these conditions. She had at last found the situation she was in. She was alone in the island. She sat down to cry. As the sun hid her face behind the mountains in the west she returned to her underground shelter. Every morning after that she would clamber out of her dugout and roam over the land with the hope of meeting a person. But no person came in sight. "Perhaps there are other children like me who had been provided with underground dwellings. Unlike me they must be roaming the land at night instead of at daytime or I should have met them. I shall try another way. I shall go out tonight using a torch on the beach so that they will run to see who goes with the light," she said in soliloquy.

SO said, so done. That very night, she clambered out of her house with a big torch that gave off brilliant light. She went to the beach.

FATE has willed it so for that very same night the lonely young man of Ivana was out on the beach gathering crabs, using a torch of reeds. The girl saw the distant light and her heart leaped with joy. "But that must be on the opposite island," she observed. "I shall move about so that that person may know I am here." She walked on the beach, waving her torch to provide more brilliance.

IT happened that the young man who was catching crabs along the shore of Ivana was not only looking for food. He was also eager to meet a human companion in such a desolate earth. The light on the beach of Sabtang attracted his attention. "Surely, that must be a person for it is moving," said he. "I shall go to sleep now so that I shall wake up early tomorrow morning. I shall look for a boat in which to ride to Sabtang.

THE following morning the young man was out on the beach looking for a boat. He looked into every dilapidated boathouse along the shore; but he was disappointed to find every boat in unserviceable condition. They had decayed. Other boathouses were empty for the waves must have washed the boats away. In other places he saw only the posts of boathouses or rotting wood that were once parts of boats. He was about to abandon his plan when his searching eyes espied the prow of a rowboat concealed among the pandan groves. He ran to the place and found a rowboat in good condition. Its oars were lying at the bottom with a pile of human bones. He was freightened to find the bones and he jumped further away. Picking up courage, he came nearer again. He pulled the boat out to the beach, threw the bones away and fixed the oars.

THAT night he left Ivana in the little rowboat directing the prow towards the mysterious light on the beach of Sabtang. He had with him a bright torch mounted on a tall pole in the middle of the vessel. He rowed with all his might across the channel.

MEANWHILE the lonely maiden on the beach at Sabtang saw the light tossing on the waves. She stood on the rock and held her torch to guide the coming voyager. Her heart beat with joy at the sight of the approaching craft.

JUST as the young rower covered half of the distance between Ivana and Sabtang, his hopes run low. He shook his head in despair as his torch went out. His supply of reeds had gone out. "What shall I do?" he asked himself. He rowed and rowed with all his might towards the light on the beach of Sabtang.

THE young maiden on the beach saw the light vanish. She cried, thinking that the voyager must have gone down with his boat. She shouted but the distance was yet great so that the man did not hear her. Hearing no response, she sat down dejected.

MEANWHILE the young man was approaching in his little craft. Fearing lost the torchbearer would be a hostile warrior, he directed his boat a few degrees away from the light and landed a place about fifty fathoms away from the torchbearer. Quietly he laid his oars in the boat and set foot upon the sand. Taking cautious steps he drew nearer the light. He was ever ready to spring in flight if the torchbearer turn out to be a savage warrior. Little by little he drew nearer. He was within calling distance when he found out that the torchbearer was a little maiden. His heart beat faster as he gazed upon the lovely maiden. He fell in love at first sight. He stood for awhile thinking. Then, recalling a song he learned once from a warrior in his late father’s household, he soon started singing. It was a beautiful love song he was singing. His clear voice took wing into the night and fluttered like wounded birds across the waters. The maiden held her torch higher as she heard the sweet voice float through the air. "Who could be this singer coming here with a beautiful song during the quiet watches of the night?" she asked herself.

AND the man was getting nearer and nearer with every word of his song. He was a few meters away when he hid himself behind a stone and stopped singing.

THE maiden saw the man disappear behind the stone. Hearing him sing no more she laid her torch aside and started singing a soft sweet song. The man wept with love as he heard the sweet voice of the maiden. She was singing a beautiful love song telling of her lonely life on the desolate island. When the maiden finished her song there followed a mystic silence. In the silence that ensued both man and maiden heard their own heartbeats.

THE strange silence continued for several minutes as the pairs of eyes scouted each other. Then as the waves made a low murmur among the rocks and made a soft hiss upon the sand, the man rose and sang again another song. Nearer and nearer he drew to the spot where the maiden was sitting. The little maiden held upon the rock as her heart throbbed mightily in her breast.

IT was a beautiful meeting that happened on the beach of Sabtang that night. The young man lifted the torch and held it high with his left hand to light the way. In the crook of his right arm was the hand of the little maiden. They walked across the dewy grass towards her house. They were the ancestors of the people of Sabtang.

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THE LEGEND OF LAYIN

ABOUT a quarter of a kilometer southeast of the present site of the town of Mahatao there stands a stone figure in human form among the coral reefs. Passersby often pause to wonder how and why nature formed this stone figure in the shape of a girl. The following legend tells of its origin.

ONE morning a middle-aged mother was scraping the bottom of an earthen jar with a clamshell for the last grains of salt. It was not enough for the kangkong leaves she was cooking for viand. Their supply of salt had run out for many weeks since summer. Unlike in summer the making of salt on the beaches was no longer possible for the northeast monsoon had set in. Firewood was scarce and often wet or damp.

THE family was not pleased with the taste of the vegetables that mother prepared. They asked for more salt. "Suppose one of may please run to the beach to fetch sea water," the father suggested. Without a word, the obedient Layin rose from her seat, passed behind her brothers and sisters, and run to the shore with a big squash shell.

THE tide was coming in when the girl arrived at the beach. The surf was breaking upon the reefs and dashing on the sandy beach, sending up sprays of foam into to breeze. As she was dipping her container into the brine she was attracted by the wavelets that rippled and glistened like silver in the early morning sunlight and made faint whispers as they kissed the cool white sand.

THE moment Layin forgot all about the errand as she engaged herself in playing with the waves. She stood upon the rocks and sang songs. Then, she waded into the sea. She ran ashore with breaking of each wave, mingling her laughter and shouting with the roar and splash of the breakers. She swam with great agility, describing a circle over the waves. That was a moment of bliss to her.

THEN, she waded among the corals and stood upon a big stone. While she was there a big wave approached. She waved her hand and shouted, "You big wave, if you can catch me before I reach the shore I a willing to turn into a stone." That said, she leaped and made a dash for the shore. But, her young feet could not match the speed of the rolling wave. She was caught while she was only a quarter of her way.

AS the foaming sea dripped from her young body she turned rigid and black. Meanwhile, her family came in search for her. The squash shell filled with seawater and left by her on the shore was caught by the rising tide. It was floating in the sea. They strained their eyes to look farther out the harbor. There they beheld the stone figure in human form, an eternal sentinel gasping blankly across the sea.

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THE TWO FISHERMEN

IT was a momentous nigh many, many years ago when a weather beaten craft was tossed upon the beach at Nakanrauan, the present site of the barrio of the same name on the island of Sabtang, in the province of Batanes, by the big waves.

AS daylight came the storm subsided but the sea was still rough. The two couples set out to look for their boat with the hope of using it for returning to Ilocos, their homeland, as soon as the weather would permit them. They soon found it, but to their dissapointment, the little boat was damaged beyond repair. They had no tools with which to make a new one.

BECAUSE of this they were forced to start life anew on the island of Sabtang. They built rude huts of wood, reeds and cogon beside the sea. They lived on fish, crabs and wild yam. In the course of time they found out that there were people on the other side of the island. By communicating and trading with these people they were able to improve their lot.

ONE night the two men caught a strange fish, which they brought home. The curious wives immediately set about preparing the fish for food. After they cooked it they tasted it. Misfortune struck at them like a thunderbolt from the skies. Both of the poor women fell dead after tasting the fish, poisoned. The two men lamented over the death of their wives. The dead wives left no children to lighten the grief of the two widowers.

NOT contented with the already miserable lot of the two men, misfortune struck again and hard at them. Taho became blind and Tuhod became lame. Life became harder and harder for them every day. There was no alternative for them. They had to live the life of beggars. Every few days the two men had to travel over the steep hills to seek the help of the people on the other side of the island. The blind had to depend on the sight of the lame, while the latter had to depend on the foot of the former. This made them move about in pick-a-back fashion. In the villages much pity and sympathy was in store for them. They even asked them to move to the village so that help could be rendered them everyday. But they would not say yes for they vowed to spend the rest of their lives over the sacred spot where they buried their wives.

ONE day they were invited to attend a fiesta in the village about three kilometers away. They traveled in their usual way, pick-a-back. On their way they stopped to bathe in a pool of clear water which was fed by a small waterfall from a great cliff. While they waded in the water blind Taho slipped over a stone and fell headlong into the deepest part of the pool kicking accidentally the lame leg of Tuhod. Tuhod lost his balance and followed Taho into the depth of the pool. In their struggle to get out of the water, lame Tuhod accidentally scratched with his fingers the sightless eyes of Taho. A miraculuous event followed as they reached the edge of the pool. A world of brightness and healt reappeared to them. Taho regained his sight and Tuhod could stand again with his feet unaided. Could they believe it? Taho rubbed his eyes and looked about. Yes, the familiar world he had long lost sight of came back to him. "Tuhod," he called. "I have regained my sight!" Tuhod rose and started about, first walking, then running about and laughing at times. He came back to Taho, exclaiming, "Taho, I can now move about!" The two men felt exceedingly happy. For a moment they huddled close together, looking up at the pale blue sky from where they believed a great power had showered on them their new happiness, not saying a word, not winking an eye. Then one of them broke the silence, "Let us proceed now to the village. The villagers met them with surpise and open arms, leading them to the place where the best food was served.

SHORTLY after that miraculous incident happened, the two men fell in love, courted and married two young and beautiful sisters from the village. They brought them to the Nakanrauan where they lived happily ever after.

01/10/99