For those who are unfamiliar with the words "vinta" and "caracoa," these were warships. The vinta has a prow made for ramming other ships with and was propelled by both wind in their sails and rowing, as was the caracoa. The difference between the two is that the caracoa was larger, had two decks and carried a poet on board who served as both timekeeper and lore-keeper. He beat the rhythm to which the oarsmen moved on a drum while chanting the epic of his people's oral history-no mean feat, I will tell you, especially in a pitched battle. If push came to shove, the poet had to be a warrior as well and he was proficient with spear, short sword and shield.
I also introduce you to my favorite dessert: Halo-halo (direct translation is "mix-mix") and the pronunciation is hah-loh-hah-loh. Just in case you do decide to visit and give it a try. :)
*****
"Sinukuan used to be the most beautiful of us all," Adora began slowly. "She was the most open-hearted and joyful of us. If you were sad, she would dance and sing to cheer you up. If you were hungry, Sinukuan knew and she responded quickly by bringing you food prepared by her own hands. She was a very good cook, something that went well with her generous soul."
"You said she
used
to be the most beautiful of you," Jinx said when Adora paused for breath. "Why the use of the past tense?" Her brow furrowed in confusion, Jinx met the sadness in Adora's eyes with the puzzlement in hers.
"Well, changeling, we are tied to our mountainsβor volcanoes, as the case may be," Adora began fidgeting with an ornate black and gold fountain pen she'd taken from atop a short, metal filing cabinet to the right of her desk, the motion betraying how disturbed the Diwata was with this part of her tale. "When our homes suffer, so do we. Mt. Arayat, which is Sinukuan's home, has been neglected, abused, even. Its flanks have been shorn of its old glory of forest. Some parts near its base have been pocked deeply with mine shafts for the minerals and metals deep in the roots of Arayat. She is no longer the beauty she once was when the people she sheltered had loved her well."
"Wait a minute, I thought Diwatas were goddesses, immortal? How can mortals harm them?" Cocoy couldn't help shooting this question, but he knew he needed answers, if only to keep Jinx from suffering the same fate if he could.
"Being immortal is not the same as being invincible," Adora said as she smiled ruefully at the trio, flipping the fountain pen in her hand yet again. "If only it were so. Sometimes it is a curse, immortality. Especially when you are as badly hurt as Sinukuan, who loved the people who lived at the base of Arayat as if she'd given birth to them herself."
"These people had come to her seeking shelter, for the goddess Bulan no longer answered their appeals for help and protection, for it was usually Bulan who sheltered the gentle folk when the warriors clashed," Adora said with a sigh. "I understand that Bulan was battling her brother Arao then, and so could not help for she herself was sorely besieged. Thus were the tribal wars killing these people, simple farmers and fishers who fled the spears, arrows and spells cast by the warriors of both tribes intent on annihilating one another. You have to remember that these islands we live in were once peopled by warrior tribes, headhunters, cannibals, even soldiers who went out on the sea in their
vintas
and
caracoas
to patrol and battle pirates along the sealanesβas well as by gentle folk who tilled the land and went out on the ocean's breast to catch fish. This archipelago, after all, is the cradle of the brave."
The Diwata of Mt. Mayon closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she continued, her face strained, as if she were reliving a very bad memory.
"These people arrived at the foot of Mt. Arayat with nothing but whatever rags they wore and small packs of food that would, at best, last them ony a day or less. They were rail-thin from the forced rationing of extended conflict that had left their fields and boats scorched, their skins broken with scratches from trekking through rainforest and leech-bites from traversing streams and they bore infections in those wounds. They were limping from the distance they'd walked across forest and plain and Sinukuan saw them, her tender heart melting in pity," Adora's voice was threaded through with something close to sad pride, as if she admired Sinukuan, even if she thought the Diwata had acted foolishly.
"Sinukuan healed their hurts and brought them fruit from her own gardens. She sent clear, cool water down to them, forming the Pampanga river while she was at it. Eventually they settled down in peace and welcomed her when she walked among them. They danced with her and some of their strong young men worshipped her body as it was meant to be adored when she needed their touch. They even made songs in her name that are still sung today, but not so often anymore," Adora said, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"So what happened to Sinukuan?" Kidlat was losing patience for the long-winded tale, but he did his best to inject some respect in his tone as he uttered the query. It would not do to piss off Mt. Mayon's guardianβhe'd just seen how hot she could get and that kind of heat would be deadly to him, considering that he remained mortal and untamed.
"The descendants of the
Taga-Lupa
Sinukuan sheltered and cared for forgot her," Adora said, her voice bitter and angry. The temperatures inside her office began to rise subtly, air-conditioning notwithstanding. "The people of the town began to think of her only as a myth, a legend lost in the mists of the past. They inter-married with the Spanish colonists, and the Americans who bought the Philippines from Spain, with the Chinese traders, with travelers from India and the Arabian peninsula who had come to trade or spread their own religions as evangelists."
"By this time, some of the men had lost their respect for their women and Sinukuan's trysts when she sought out the men she needed became brutal assaults on her body instead of worship. They treated her like a whore instead of the goddess she is," Adora's body vibrated with remembered anger as she spoke, bitterness giving her voice a hard edge.
"That was bad for Sinukuan and it resulted in her assailants burning to death before she was sated. Though even that was not as bad as Sinukuan's beloved townsfolk forgetting their own roots, their own history, and Sinukuan with those things. They lost who they were as the blood of their tribal ancestors became more and more diluted," the Diwata added, her voice wry and pitchy as she continued with the harsh fate Sinukuan suffered.
"They stopped passing the stories of their ancestors from parent to child. They forgot who they were and they forgot who she was as they lived and died and had children who now live in these modern times. They brought in massive illegal logging and pit-mining and forgot the debt of lives they owed to gentle, sweet Sinukuan."
Again, Adora drew a breath and looked each member of the trio in the eye to make sure they'd absorbed what she said as she gently set the fountain pen down on her desk. Then she continued her story, her shoulders a bit less proud than when she'd begun the tale.