Ethnic resurrection

I  have a deadline to meet or my editor may end up with a blank space saved for me. So, I’m doing this column blindfolded with a very painful retina … and black and blue from pulling a weak muscle. But that’s a longer story. So here, I’m rattling out instructions not knowing if there’s anyone close by. I hope I am surrounded by an active household ready to obey an immobilized master. I even have to be guided to bed!

“Che-Che, anong date noong Easter Sunday?” I want to finish my column on time. The doctor said it would take three days for my eyes to heal. “Ma’am 12th.”

“Nurse Ana, take down this dictation. Last Easter Sunday was like Christmas to me … I felt a cleansing and re-birth. My thoughts drift, as I dictate these following lines over and over again … It appears evil cries louder than good, but we can discover many men and women sowing goodness and consequently reaping fruits.

Natandaan mo Sally sa Tarlac or was that Inday of 20 years na sumama sa akin sa mga Aeta? To add to the misery of bandaged eyes, I’m sitting by my desk tearing because I’m sneezing and blowing my running nose because of dust mites that I think are hovering in the air.

“Okay, sa Aetas na tayo … We were discussing right? Pencil ready, Ann?”

Aetas in Tarlac lived by a wonderful saying: “I have a half ganta of rice, enough for so many, but not enough for one person.” Ah, huh? Now, that was philosophical and it means there is always enough for everybody’s needs but never enough for anyone’s greed. Puroy, the Aeta, the displaced security officer of some Americans in Crow Valley, Capas, was now working with me. We shared the goodness in his life. It became mine, too, as we enjoyed the spread on his table. It was a meal in solidarity — as one family, urban and hillside, my Aeta friend and I. How we enjoyed the buro and roasted catfish. What a way to resurrect our hope in brotherhood by nourishing our hunger through a practical banquet!

Resurrect. I will tell you a story about a frightening resurrection.

“Kunin ang Southern Woman Northern Seas.” “Eh ma’am, di ba Northern Woman Southern Seas?” “Ayun na nga. Basta ’yan. Ah hindi pala Handful of Pearls. Open to Tabawan Woman.” “Ma’am, ito ba din yon? Woman from Tabawan?” “Right. Ang hirap palang to be blind! Go ahead.”

I repeated those lines four times for Sally, but I forgot what I was saying. In exasperation, I returned two hours later after directing the sorting out of my books. First cabinet left side near the door in the first shelf uppermost, put general studies on Mindanao. Second shelf, Lanao Sur. Third shelf, Maguindanao and Islam. Got it, girls? Tony’s included among the girls, too. Dapat naman, Tony who’s been with me 20 years and Sally, 15 years, and Che-che, five years, should be researchers, too! “They are ... where’s my recibo, saan ang eyeglasses ko, black shoes with ribbon, James Warren’s Sulu Zone at the Balangingi – Ilanun, etc. etc. Let’s begin tayo uli.”

“In Tabawan, an island in Tawi-Tawi, there was a woman named Inda. No change that sentence to … I met a woman named Inda Taas Hukson. Continue mo na … She was around 60 years old and a celebrity on the island because of her ability to foretell the future by her mediumship of a local jin or spirit who guarded Tubig Mahiya, a sacred place in Languyan, another island in Tawi-Tawi. The jin entered her to cure and foretell the future.”

Inda told me she acquired her extraordinary powers when her son Binoy, then aged 20, died. Coming from school one day, her son went to sleep and never woke up again until ... but I’m getting ahead of my story ... “Tony, no side comments like high fever… Me, first, it’s my article.”

Binoy was pronounced dead for unknown reasons and following Muslim custom, the boy had to be buried before sunset of the same day. In her mourning, Inda played the gong and an unidentified jin/spirit entered her. When she broke out in a cold sweat, she knew that the spirit had entered her. The jin, as the Muslims call an unknown guardian in South Ubian, instructed her not to bury Binoy for he would be resurrected in three days. Beng Matba said it was true, he was resurrected. I did not see Binoy. He had already migrated to Sabah and Inda’s neighbors attested to her story. That’s a real resurrection of the physical. Hard to explain, but neither can I explain the ancient thoughts of our forefathers, except faith. They believed in the power of a supreme being who could cause a man to live or die. They were animistic yet in the right track about a power that caused things to happen and provided remedies… even life everlasting above the skies.

My memory should serve me well, as I can’t find my book now, but I will tell you of another epic resurrection.

Indarapatra and Sulayman of Maguindanao were brothers. See how beautiful and extraordinary their names are? Giants and royals you could fall in love with. They could walk over mountains in an instant! My grandson’s Pablo’s slit eyes grow larger when I tell him that story. “Kapre?” My Che-che said. “Mayroon pa bang kapre hanggang ngayon?” Anyway sige na … to continue … Sulayman died when he fought the gigantic bird Garuda. That’s why so many carvings of Garudas abound in Moro tales. Everyone wants to conquer around there. Everyone wants to be carried around the world up to the sky on a Garuda or sarimanok.

Sulayman, after a battle with the bird, succeeded in cutting its wings off. However, he was crushed to death when the severed wing hit him. At that time, Indarapatra, sitting at his window and looking out, saw the little tree, which both brothers promised to keep as a sign of good health until it withered. And it did.

“Alas,” he cried, “he is dead.” Then he was filled with the desire to avenge his loss. Buckling on his sword, he started for Maguindanao in search of his brother. He arrived at Mount Bita in Lanao where the bird Garuda lay dead on the ground. When he lifted the severed wing, he saw the bones of Sulayman with his sword by his side.

Indarapatra wept out loud and long. Then suddenly, he saw a small jar of water nearby. This he knew was heaven-sent and he poured the magic water over his brother’s bones. Lo and behold! Like the faith we have in blessed holy water, right? Well, Sulayman came back to life again.

Can you imagine when you tell your children a story like that? How intently they would listen! Mine would be wide-eyed and you’ll know them even better. I’d invent stories of my own, but Cinderella was Liaa’s favorite and Mai’s because her plain dress became an iridescent gown worn with sparkling shoes. I told Pin, Mikee, and China stories about Pinocchio and lying so his nose got bigger and bigger to make them obedient girls and scare the daylights out of them about lying.

There you are, two resurrection stories from our Moro brothers. If we teach children early enough about our southern brothers, we can make peace reign between Muslims and Christians for our country to end the discrimination of a hundred years!

As I have an ardent devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe, here is a resurrection of a Mexican Indian who lived through our Lady of Guadalupe’s intercession, another miracle about an ethnic majority. 

For centuries, Mexicans have experienced Our Lady of Guadalupe’s intervention. Foremost among these is the actual Image of Our Lady on the tilma of Juan Diego. Its miraculous appearance on his clothes at the Bishop’s residence in 1531 was an unprecedented miracle in the history of the Church. The image has been preserved over centuries and remains perfectly intact and unchanged for 465 years now. While solemnly transferring the sacred image from Bishop Zumarraga’s church to its new home at Tepeyac, an Indian involved in the celebration was accidentally killed when an arrow pierced his neck. The dead man was taken to the foot of Our Lady’s image before the whole congregation of low and noble birth. Aztecs and Spaniards alike besieged Our Lady for a cure. As the arrow was removed, the dead man was instantly restored to life. A fresh scar on either side of his neck, where the arrow had passed, was the only evidence of his brush with death. He lived!

Never doubt Our Lady of Guadalupe’s intercession with the Almighty. She will not let you down.

Lastly, speaking of resurrection, we pray for Malou Frostrum for life everlasting … the lady who was quick to laugh and emphasized desired details of the President’s once-a-year visit to the Police, Fire and Jail Academy … the appointment secretary who turned a tense situation into a cool joke with her Visayan accent, relaxing everyone as we enumerated the sequence of the Philippine National Police Academy graduation rites a year later … the woman who uncovered a remedial measure under a possible misguided situation whispering, “Peace be with you. Don’t kiss PGMA!” And we laughed at the thought because many would come up to kiss the President, if anyone began it in church full of northern tribes from Mt. Province! “Just hold her hand.” Protective to the end … that was comadre Malou — candid, sincere, and practical.