faramos

2017 JFDMNHS Scrabble Tournament

2017-12-05T10:53:00.001+08:00

The Origin of This World (Maranao) by Damiana L. Eugenio

2017-05-24T22:57:00.002+08:00

1 According to Maranaw folklore, this world was created by a great Being. It is not known, however, who exactly is this great Being. Or how many days it took him to create this world.

2 This world is divided into seven layers. The earth has also seven layers. Each layer is inhabited by a different kind of being. The uppermost layer, for example, is the place we are inhabiting. The second layer is being inhabited by dwarfs. These dwarfs are short, plump, and long-haired. They are locally known as Karibanga. The Karibanga are said to possess magical powers. They are usually invisible to the human eye. The third layer of the earth which is found under the sea or lake is inhabited by nymphs. These nymphs also possess certain magical powers. It is stated in the story of Rajah Indarapatra that he met and fell in love with the princessnymph with whom he had a child.

3 The sky also consists of seven layers. Each layer has a door which is guarded day and night by huge mythical birds called garoda. The seventh layer of the sky is the seat of heaven which is also divided into seven layers. Every layer in the sky is inhabited by angels. Maranaws believe that angels do not need food. They all possess wings with which they fly.

4 Heaven which is found on the seventh layer of the sky is where good people‘s spirits go after death. Saints are assigned to the seventh layer while persons who ―barely made it‖ are confined to the lower most layer which is found at the bottom of heaven.

5 It is in heaven where we find the tree-of-life. On each leaf of the tree-of-life is written the name of every person living on earth. As soon as a leaf ripens or dries and falls, the person whose name it carries also dies.

6 The soul of every person is found in tightly covered jars kept in one section of heaven. This particular section of heaven is closely guarded by a monster with a thousand eyes, named Walo. Walo, in addition to his thousand eyes, has also eight hairy heads. The epic Darangan speaks of Madale, Bantugan‘s brother and, Mabaning, Husband of Lawanen, entering this section and retrieving the soul of Bantugan.

The Three Princes

2016-01-25T22:12:00.000+08:00

Long ago on the Arabian Peninsula, when cities flourished along the major trade routes that stretched across the desert to transport spices, almonds and dates, there ruled in one of those cities a king whose daughter had come of marriageable age.

Three princes of nearby cities came to court her. But the princess looked at them with alarm. One prince was bossy, the second prince was unclean in his habits, and the third suitor was vain.

"Father, I beg you, don't make me marry any of them!" she cried.

The king loved his daughter, but he didn't want to offend her suitors and risk angering his neighboring city-states.

"I'll think about it," he said. "Come back tomorrow."

The next day, he summoned the three suitors and the princess to his throne room.

"Each of you is a perfectly worthy suitor for my daughter's hand," he said. "Therefore, to make the correct decision I have determined that the three of you must venture into the world for one year and a day. Whoever returns with the most wondrous item will win my daughter's hand in marriage."

The princess was glad for the one-year extension and the king was equally glad to postpone the matter.

The three princes set out together. After traveling for one week they came to a well that was located before a fork in the road, beyond which the road branched into three separate paths.

"Obviously, this is where we should part," stated the first prince.

"Don't you think we know that?" said the second prince, wiping his dirty hands on his cloak.

"Listen carefully," the first prince continued. "One week before we return to the palace, let's all meet at this well to compare what we found. I only hope the maidens don't slow me down by falling in love with me," said the third prince, throwing back his hair. "It's such a nuisance."

And so the three princes went their separate ways. When the time came to return to the well, each one followed his separate path that led back to the well.

"You look a little the worse for wear," said the first prince to the second. "I'm fine," said the second prince, blowing his nose onto his sleeve. "What did you find?"

"Only a crystal ball," said the first prince, as nonchalantly as he could, "that shows anything you want to see that's happening anywhere in the world."

The other two were impressed (and a bit worried). Said the first prince to the second, "What wondrous item did you find?"

From under his cloak the second prince unrolled a carpet. "A flying carpet. People who sits on it can be transported anywhere in the world they wish to go in minutes."

"If they don't mind sitting next to you," another prince murmured, holding his nose. And now it was the third prince's turn to show what he had brought.

"This vial," said the third prince, "holds a magical healing ointment. One dab of it will restore the health of anyone, no matter how sick. And they say if it's rubbed with true love, can even restore youth."

"Speaking of health," said the second prince to the first, "since you have a crystal ball, let's take a look at our princess and see how she fares."

The first prince waved his hands over the crystal ball; its cloudiness disappeared and was replaced with an image of the princess lying in her bed, still as death. Her father and the court physicians hovered over her. "Isn't there anything you can do?" said the king. "Sire, we have done everything," said the head court physician. "I'm sorry, but she has very little time left."

The three princes leapt up, alarmed. "Alas!" cried the third prince. "My ointment would heal her, but we're too far from the palace - we'll never get there in time!"

"Quick, everyone on my magic carpet," said the second prince. "We'll get there in a flash!"

Indeed, moments later the three princes were standing in the very room they had viewed through the crystal ball only minutes before. Everyone was so distraught they didn't notice the three princes had suddenly appeared in the room. Without a word, the third prince stepped up to the princess' bed and with his finger touched a dab of ointment on her forehead and set the ointment by her bed stand. She blinked and seconds later opened her eyes. Then she moved her head, and sat up.

"I feel better," she said.

"It's a miracle!" cried the father, and he embraced his daughter.

Later that night, the three princes appeared before the king. "Your majesty," said the first prince, "each of us may have located a magical item. But there is no doubt that my crystal ball is the most wondrous item of all. Without it, none of us would have known the princess was sick in the first place. I submit that mine is the most wondrous item and therefore I deserve the hand of the princess."

"With all due respect," said the second prince, stepping forward, "While it was informative to learn that the princess was sick, had we had not been able to travel a week's journey in a blink of an eye on my flying carpet, that knowledge would have done us no good. I submit that mine is the most wondrous item and therefore I deserve the hand of the princess."

"Good sire," said the third prince. "While it may have been useful to learn the princess was sick and was helpful to arrive here as quickly as we did, had we not had my magical ointment, all that knowledge and all that quickness would have been in vain. I submit that mine is the most wondrous item and therefore I deserve the hand of the princess."

The king was perplexed. Each of the princes made a good argument. And since the question was so close, no matter which prince he selected, he was sure to raise the ire of the other two and their neighboring city-states.

"I'll think about it," he said, "Come back tomorrow."

That night, the king summoned his viziers to ask their advice. "Sire," said his head vizier, "there is a wise old man who lives amongst us who hails from very far away, a distant country called Russia. He is well known for his sage advice, and if we allow him to make the decision, the communities of the princes who aren't chosen will get angry at a country far away, and not at us."

"Excellent thought," said the king. "Summon him to court tomorrow."

The next day when the three princes arrived to hear which of them would be selected, at court stood a very old man. He hobbled on his cane and spoke in a whisper. The three princes repeated why they thought they deserved the hand of the princess.

"As far as I'm concerned," asserted the king, "each of these fine young men has an equal claim to my daughter's hand. And so," he turned to his guest, "I am interested. You come from a faraway land. What is your opinion?"

The old man coughed and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, first allow me to say that it is an honor to be in your court." He raised a shaky hand toward the princes. "There's no doubt that each of you brought a wondrous item that saved the life of the princess. But in my country, when it comes to marriage, there are those who say that the young woman, whose happiness is at stake, should have a say in the matter. And so I would ask our royal highness." He turned to her. "Princess, whom do you wish to marry?"

The princess was silent a moment. She raised her head and faced the three princes. "Each of you saved my life and for that I will always be grateful. Yet this old man is the only one," she said, looking at the Russian, "who understands that the choice is one that should be mine to make. And so, father, if you please," and here the princess stepped toward the old man, "I choose him."

Gasps of shock throughout the court. Some ladies fainted and were carried out. The king blustered, "But, but you can't!" The princess picked up the magic ointment, took the old Russian's hand, and with a dab of the ointment rubbed the back of his hand. Instantly a haze surrounded him. When she removed her hand, incredibly, the old man had straightened up to become tall and dark, with the lines of an earnest young man chiseled on his cheeks. Restored to the strength and handsome stature of his youth, he smiled at the princess.

"Each of you will have large tracts of land to rule," the king quickly said to the three princes. "We will never forget what you did for our royal family." The three princes, of course, still had in their possession the magical items of the crystal ball, the flying carpet, and the vial of healing ointment, and it wasn't long before they attracted lovely princesses from neighboring lands to marry.

And so they all lived happily ever after, as may you.

Telephone Conversation By Wole Soyinka from Nigeria

2016-01-25T22:04:00.001+08:00

     The price seemed reasonable, location
     Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
     Off premises. Nothing remained
     But self-confession. "Madam" , I warned,
5   "I hate a wasted journey - I am African."
     Silence. Silenced transmission of pressurized good-

          breeding. Voice, when it came,
     Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
     Cigarette-holder piped. Caught I was, foully.
10 "HOW DARK?"...I had not misheard...."ARE YOU LIGHT

          OR VERY DARK?" Button B. Button A. Stench
     Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
     Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red double-tiered
     Omnibus squelching tar.
     It was real! Shamed
15 By ill-mannered silence, surrender
     Pushed dumbfoundment to beg simplification.
     Considerate she was, varying the emphasis-
     "ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT" Revelation came
          "You mean- like plain or milk chocolate?"

20 Her accent was clinical, crushing in its light
     Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted
     I chose. "West African sepia"_ and as afterthought.
     "Down in my passport." Silence for spectroscopic
     Flight of fancy, till truthfulness chaged her accent

25 Hard on the mouthpiece "WHAT'S THAT?" conceding

     "DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS." "Like brunette."
     "THAT'S DARK, ISN'T IT?"
     "Not altogether.
     Facially, I am brunette, but madam you should see the

          rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet.
30 Are a peroxide blonde. Friction, caused-
     Foolishly madam- by sitting down, has turned
     My bottom raven black- One moment madam! - sensing
     Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap
     About my ears- "Madam," I pleaded, "wouldn't you rather
35 See for yourself?"

The Wonder Tree (An Arabian Folktale)

2015-03-01T00:21:00.002+08:00

Far out in the desert of Arabia lived a chief called Ali Ben Ahmed and his tribe. Their tents were pitched on the trackless sand where the blazing sun beat down all day. Month after month, they saw no stranger for the paths of the travelers lay far to the south.

One evening, however, little Zuleika, the chief’s daughter, ran to her father for she has seen someone riding their way from the south.

Ali Ben Ahmed came out of his tent and stood beside his beautiful little daughter. The chief scanned the southern horizon until his eyes found a little yellow cloud of dust in the far distance.

Zuleika danced with delight. She loved visitors who told stories of the wonders which her eyes had never seen. They had talked of cities with great stone houses, of lovely green gardens, of sparkling rivers, and cool blue seas. To the little girl who had lived all her life in the desert, these stories were marvelous fairy tales.

Ali Ben Ahmed called his men to welcome the new comer for the desert Arabs is very hospitable. They bowed their turbaned heads almost to the ground to a low salaam as the rider pulled up his sweating mount.

The stranger, who was proud and dignified, returned the salute and said that the great sheik Ben Nedi will visit their tribe the next day.

The whole camp bustled with excitement, Ben Nedi was a very great sheik indeed, known far and wide for his power and goodness, and to have him visit the remote tents of Ali Ben Ahmed was an honor. Every Arab in the camp busied himself in preparing a gift for the coming sheik for it is an Arabian custom to give gifts of welcome and hospitality.

Only little Zuleika sat alone and idle. Tears stood in her lovely dark eyes because she had no gift to give the great man who would come the next day.

Her mother, busy in the women’s tent unrolling a beautiful piece of silk that would be her gift the next day, tried to comfort the child and told her that children are not expected to give gifts.

Then the shining figure faded away, melting into the misty light like a pale moonbeam. Zuleika ran back to her tent, but she could sleep little that night. As soon as dawn broke, she hurried out into the sand to find the gift which she was to give that day.

Only little Zuleika sat alone and idle. Tears stood in her lovely dark eyes because she had no gift to give the great man who would come the next day.

She came to the well and stopped in amazement. Where yesterday there had been nothing but bare sand, today there was a tall tree. It was straight and bare except the top, where it carried a tuft of branching leaves and a cluster of brownish fruit.

Zuleika rushed back to her father’s tent and told him everything that had happened.

Her father would not believe that there was a tree in the desert until he had seen the tree for himself and tasted its fruits.

In the afternoon, the caravan of the great sheik Ben Nedi arrived. Gifts were brought and laid before him – gifts of jewels, of gold, of silk and of beautiful steel swords from Damascus. The great man received them with gratitude and praise.

Ali Ben Ahmed smiled then led Ben Nedi to the rock by the well where the date palm grew from the spot on which Zuleika’s tears had fallen upon the ground and explained how the wonder tree had sprung up miraculously in the night.

Upon knowing everything, Ben Nedi softly exclaimed, “Yes, that is the most precious gift of all, for it springs from the desire of the heart.”

And sure enough, the date palm spread until it became the great friend of the desert tribes. As long as it lifts its stately head above the sands, the Arabian knows that it will furnish him with food from its fruit, cloth form its fiber and cool shade from its leafy palms.

Bumboat Cruise on the Singapore River by Miriam Wei Wei Lo

2015-03-01T00:12:00.001+08:00

Rhetoric is what keeps this island afloat.
Singaporean voice with a strong American accent,
barely audible above the drone of the bumboat engine:
“Singaporeans are crazy about their food.
They are especially fond of all-you-can-eat buffets.
Why not do as the locals do and try out one of the buffets
at these hotels along the waterfront.” The Swissotel looms.
The Grand Copthorne. The Miramar. All glass
and upward-sweeping architecture. Why not do
as the locals do. Here in this city where conspicuous consumption
is an artform. Where white tourists wearing slippers and singlets
are tolerated in black-tie establishments. Dollars. Sense.

How did I ever live in this place? Sixteen years of my life
afloat in this sea of contradictions, of which I was, equally, one;
half-white, half-Chinese; the taxi-driver cannot decide
if I am a tourist or a local, so he pitches at my husband:
“Everything in Singapore is changing all the time.”
Strong gestures. Manic conviction. “This is good.
We are never bored. Sometimes my customers
ask me to take them to a destination, but it is no longer there.”

Strong gestures. Manic conviction. “This is good.
We are never bored. Sometimes my customers
ask me to take them to a destination, but it is no longer there.”
We tighten our grip on two squirming children and pray
that the bumboat tour will exist. Nothing short of a miracle
this small wooden boat which is taking us now past Boat Quay,
in its current incarnation, past the Fullerton Hotel

To the mouth of the Singapore river, where the Merlion
still astonishes: grotesque and beautiful as a gargoyle.
The children begin to chafe at confinement. My daughter wails
above the drone of the engine. There’s talk of closing the mouth
of the river. New water supply. There’s talk of a casino.
Heated debate in the Cabinet. Old Lee and Young Lee
locked in some Oedipal battle. The swell is bigger out here
in the harbour, slapping up spray against the sides of the boat,
as if it were waves that kept it afloat, this boat,
this island, caught between sinking and swimming,
as I am caught now. As if rhetoric mattered.
As if this place gives me a name for myself.

THE “SINGA”

2015-03-01T00:06:00.000+08:00

Sang Nila Utama, an imaginative and adventurous king was restless by nature and wanted to travel to faraway places. He loved hunting wild animals, so when he heard that there were stags in the jungles of Tanjong Bentam, which were not easy to hunt, he was excited and took with him a great fleet of ships to Tanjong Bentam.

When the king arrived upon the island, he and his subjects had a hunting expedition that lasted several hours, slaying many wild and savage beasts, but no stags. This disappointed the king, for he had a sense of unfulfillment in his heart.

Suddenly, a large stag darted out of the bush in front of Sang Nila Utama, giving the king a shock…but the king drew his silver dagger and hurled it at the stag, only grazing the animal. The stag began to run and the king pursued it (in those days, it was either your feet or nothing).

The stag run through the jungle and darted up a knoll. The king followed the stag up the hill, but upon reaching the summit, the stag was nowhere to be seen. There was a large rock, so the king climbed it and looked at the land and the sea spread out around him. In the distance, he saw a stretch of white sand- an island.

Sang Nila Utama was fascinated by the sight of the island. He turned to one of his subjects who had followed him.

“What is the name of that island?”

The subject looked into the distance and smiled.

“That is Temasek, Your Highness.”

Then we are going there.”

The king ordered his fleet to set sail and they began on their journey towards the island.

Suddenly the once clear blue skies were covered with black clouds, heavy rain poured from them, and strong bursts of wind threatened to tear the ships apart. The ship carrying Sang Nila Utama was in the very eye of the storm. The crew lowered the sails, started to bail the water from the ship and get most of the cargo for jettisoning.

However, an idea came to the king’s head. He remembered a story his grandfather told him of how one of his ancestors became the Sea-King and that his crown was the only thing which belonged to his ancestor. He removed his crown immediately and threw it into the sea.

All at once, the storm broke. As suddenly as it started, the skies began to clear and the crew gave a shout of joy and set sail once more to the island of Temasek.

When the king stepped upon the island, a creature stepped out of nowhere, and the king and his men were awe-struck by the magnificent creature. It was large and moved with grace, had a black head, covered in a furry mane, a whitish neck and a red body. When the king drew his bow and arrow, the beast stared back at him with golden eyes and let out a deafening roar before leaping into the jungle.

“What sort of animal was that?”, the king asked.

A wise old man stepped forth.

“I have seen animals in portraits from the Far West. Perhaps this is a “singa” but I wonder how he got all the way here.”

“This must be a great place if it breeds such a beautiful animal. Let us live here…here in the island of Singapura.”

(Singa — The word “singa” is actually the Malay word for “lion”. Therefore Singapore is sometimes referred to as the “Lion City.”)

Bible: The Story of Ruth

2015-02-05T22:42:00.000+08:00

The book of Ruth contains an interesting story about a Moabite woman who was redeemed into a Hebrew family. The book may have been written by Samuel and was probably penned during the time of David.

A Dreadful Time in a Strange Country

Because of a famine in Israel, a Hebrew family moved to Moab. This was a country not far from Israel on the east side of the Dead Sea. The family was from the city of Bethlehem-judah in Israel. Elimelech and his wife Naomi had two sons, Mahlon and Chilion. Each of them married a wife from Moab. In time Elimelech and his two sons died which left the three widows in Moab.

A new beginning

After her husband’s death, Naomi planned to return to Bethlehem-judah to be with family. She prepared to leave her two daughters-in-law. However, they begged to be able to go with her. She said that she had no more children and even if she were to marry again and bear sons that the two daughters would not be able to wait for them to grow up. She planned to return to Israel alone and empty.

True love and selfless giving

One of the daughters-in-law, Orpah, returned to her people in Moab. The other daughter-in-law, Ruth, said that she would stay with Naomi. It was during this conversation that Ruth said these words which have become the basis for many Christian wedding vows: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.”

Ruth and Naomi returned to Bethlehem-judah together. Naomi was financially and emotionally despondent, but her family and friends accepted her with joy.

As they had no money and no men to take care of them, Ruth went into the fields to gather whatever grain she could. One land owner, Boaz, noticed Ruth and asked his workers to be kind to her and leave plenty of grain for her and her mother-in-law. He did not know at the time who Ruth was, but out of kindness he chose to care for the new stranger in their land.

Ruth returned to Naomi and told her about the generous landowner. Naomi asked about the man and was pleased to learn that it was Boaz. Boaz was a near family member of Elimelech, her late husband. This meant that Boaz had the opportunity to take Naomi and Ruth into his care as well as free them from their financial debt.

A husband for Ruth

Naomi instructed Ruth on how to ask for Boaz’s help in the matter. She approached Boaz and asked him to become the kinsman-redeemer for them. Before Boaz could accept the care of these two ladies he had to negotiate with another kinsman for the privilege. This other man was closer to Elimelech and therefore had the responsibility to care for the ladies. This man chose not to exercise his duty for their care which left Boaz with the opportunity to buy them out of their debt and take Ruth as his wife.

Boaz and Ruth were married became the great-grandparents of King David.

Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves

2015-02-05T22:35:00.001+08:00

Ali Baba and his elder brother Cassim are the sons of a merchant.

After the death of their father, the greedy Cassim marries a wealthy woman and becomes well-to-do, building on their father's business—but Ali Baba marries a poor woman and settles into the trade of a woodcutter.

One day Ali Baba is at work collecting and cutting firewood in the forest, and he happens to overhear a group of forty thieves visiting their treasure store. The treasure is in a cave, the mouth of which is sealed by magic. It opens on the words "iftah ya simsim" (commonly written as "Open Sesame" in English), and seals itself on the words "Close, Simsim" ("Close Sesame"). When the thieves are gone, Ali Baba enters the cave himself, and takes some of the treasure home.

Ali Baba and his wife borrow his sister-in-law's scales to weigh this new wealth of gold coins. Unbeknownst to them, she puts a blob of wax in the scales to find out what Ali Baba is using them for, as she is curious to know what kind of grain her impoverished brother-in-law needs to measure. To her shock, she finds a gold coin sticking to the scales and tells her husband, Ali Baba's rich and greedy brother, Cassim. Under pressure from his brother, Ali Baba is forced to reveal the secret of the cave. Cassim goes to the cave and enters with the magic words, but in his greed and excitement over the treasures, he forgets the magic words to get back out again. The thieves find him there, and kill him. When his brother does not come back, Ali Baba goes to the cave to look for him, and finds the body, quartered and with each piece displayed just inside the entrance of the cave as a warning to anyone else who might try to enter.

Ali Baba brings the body home, where he entrusts Morgiana, a clever slave-girl in Cassim's household, with the task of making others believe that Cassim has died a natural death. First, Morgiana purchases medicines from an apothecary, telling him that Cassim is gravely ill. Then, she finds an old tailor known as Baba Mustafa whom she pays, blindfolds, and leads to Cassim's house. There, overnight, the tailor stitches the pieces of Cassim's body back together, so that no one will be suspicious. Ali Baba and his family are able to give Cassim a proper burial without anyone asking awkward questions.

The thieves, finding the body gone, realize that yet another person must know their secret, and set out to track him down. One of the thieves goes down to the town and comes across Baba Mustafa, who mentions that he has just sewn a dead man's body back together. Realizing that the dead man must have been the thieves' victim, the thief asks Baba Mustafa to lead the way to the house where the deed was performed. The Tailor is blindfolded again, and in this state he is able to retrace his steps and find the house. The thief marks the door with a symbol. The plan is for the other thieves to come back that night and kill everyone in the house. However, the thief has been seen by Morgiana and she, loyal to her master, foils his plan by marking all the houses in the neighborhood with a similar marking. When the forty thieves return that night, they cannot identify the correct house and their leader in a furious rage, kills the unsuccessful thief. The next day, another thief revisits Baba Mustafa and tries again, only this time, a chunk is chipped out of the stone step at Ali Baba's front door. Again Morgiana foils the plan by making similar chips in all the other doorsteps. The second thief is killed for his failure as well. At last, the leader of the thieves goes and looks for himself. This time, he memorizes every detail he can of the exterior of Ali Baba's house.

The chief of the thieves pretends to be an oil merchant in need of Ali Baba's hospitality, bringing with him mules loaded with thirty-eight oil jars, one filled with oil, the other thirty-seven hiding the other remaining thieves. Once Ali Baba is asleep, the thieves plan to kill him. Again, Morgiana discovers and foils the plan, killing the thirty-seven thieves in their oil jars by pouring boiling oil on them. When their leader comes to rouse his men, he discovers that they are all dead, and escapes. The next morning Morgiana tells Ali Baba about the thieves in the jars, they bury them and Ali Baba shows his gratitude by giving Morgiana her freedom.

To exact revenge, after some time the Chief of thieves establishes himself as a merchant, befriends Ali Baba's son (who is now in charge of the late Cassim's business), and is invited to dinner at Ali Baba's house. However the thief is recognized by Morgiana, who performs a dance with a dagger for the diners and plunges it into his heart when he is off his guard. Ali Baba is at first angry with Morgiana, but when he finds out the thief tried to kill him, he is extremely grateful and rewards Morgiana by marrying her to his son. Ali Baba is then left as the only one knowing the secret of the treasure in the cave and how to access it. Thus, the story ends happily for everyone except Cassim and the forty thieves.

The Anatomy of a Filipino by Prof. Felix Bautista

2015-01-26T21:37:00.000+08:00

All: I like to think that I am a Filipino, that I am as Good, a Filipino as anyone.

Girls: My heart thrills, when, I Hear, the National anthem, being played.

Boys: And my Blood Rises, when, I see our flag, Fluttering in the breeze.

All: And Yet, I find myself asking, How Filipino Am I, Really?

Boys: My First Name is American.

Girls: My Last Name Is Chinese.

Boys: When I am with Girlfriends or more correctly, when, I am with my Friends, who happen to be girls- I talk to them in English.

Girls: If they are thirsty, I buy them, a Bottle of American coke.

Boys: If they are hungry, I treat them, to an Italian Pizza pie.

All: And when I have the money, I give them a real Chinese Lauriat.

Boy (solo): Considering all these, considering my taste, for many things foreign, what right do I have, to call myself, a Filipino?

Girls (solo): Should I not call myself, a culture orphan? The illegitimate child of many races?

All: Rightly or wrongly, whether we like it or not, we are the end products of our history. Fortunately or unfortunately, our history is a co-mingling, of polyglot influences.

Boys: Malayan and Chinese.

Girls: Spanish and British.

Boys: American and Japanese.

All: This is historic fact we cannot ignore, a cultural reality we cannot escape, for to believe otherwise is to indulge in fantasy.

Boy (solo): I must confess, I am an extremely confused, and Bewildered young man. Wherever I am, whatever I may be doing, I am Bombarded, on all sides, by people who want, me to search for my national identity.

All: Tell me the Language I speak should be replaced by Filipino. They urge me to do away with things foreign to act and think, and buy Filipino.

Girl (solo): Even in art, I am getting bothered and Bewildered.

All: The Writer should use Filipino, as his medium, the nationalists cry.

Boys: The Painter should use his genius in portraying themes purely Filipino, they demand.

Girls: The Composer should exploit endless Possibilities of the haunting kundiman, they insist.

All: All these sound wonderful. But Rizal used Spanish, when he wrote, Noli and Fili.

Boys: Was he less of a nationalist, because of it? Must the artist, to be truly Filipino, paint with the juice of the duhat?

Girls: And must he draw picture of topless Muslim women or Igorot warriors in G-String

All: And if the composer deserts the kundiman, and he writes song faithful to the spirit of the Youths of today, does he become unFilipino? We are what we are today, because of our history.

Boys: In our veins pulses blood with traces of Chinese and Spanish and American, but It does not stop being Filipino, because of these.

Girls: Our culture is tinged with foreign influences, but it has become rich thereby.

All: This mingling, in fact, could speed us on the road, to national greatness. Look at America, it is a great country, and yet it is the melting pot of Italian, and German, British, and French, or Irish and Swedish.

Boy (solo): Filipinism, after all, is in the heart.

All: If that heart beats faster, because the Philippines is making progress, if it fills with compassion because its people are suffering, then it belongs to a true Filipino; and it throbs with pride in our past, if it pulses with awareness of the present, if it beats with a faith in the future, then we could ask for nothing more; all other things are unimportant.

Boys: I have an American First Name.

Girls: And I have, a Chinese Last Name.

All: And I am proud, very, very proud, - because underneath these names beats a Filipino heart.

A Love Letter

2014-01-28T21:42:00.000+08:00

Dear Ana,

I wrote to let you know how much you mean to me. Yesterday I saw you walking and laughing with your friends and I hope that soon you’d want me to walk along with you, too. I love you so I painted you a sunset to close your day; likewise, I whispered a cool breeze to refresh you. I waited but you never called. However, I just kept on loving you.

Last night, I saw tears trickling down you cheeks. I knew you were hurt and unhappy; consequently, I wanted so much to comfort you. Unfortunately, you didn’t think of Me nor ask for My help. To ease your pain, I spilled moonlight onto your face and made the stars burn their brightest, but you were so filled with self-pity, you didn’t even notice.

This morning, I exploded a brilliant sunrise into glorious morning to cheer you up. But you woke up late and rushed off to school unaware of it. My sky became cloudy and My tears were the rain.

I Love you, I truly and really care. I try to essay the intensity of My love not only in the silence of the green meadows but also in the splendor of the blue sky. The wind whispers My concern throughout the treetops; in addition, I spill it into the vibrant colors of all flowers. I shout My love to you in the thunder of the great waterfalls; furthermore, I compose love songs for the birds to sing to you. I warm you with the clothing of My sunshine and I perfume the air with Nature’s sweet scent. My love for you is deeper than any ocean and it is greater than any need in your heart. If you’d only realize how much I love and care.

My Father sends His love. I want you to meet Him – He cares, too. So, please call on Me soon. No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait because I love you.

Most sincerely,

Jesus

Vision by Feraya

2014-01-15T23:32:00.000+08:00

A country of great beauty
People so gentle and kind

There is also ugliness
And cruelty
Fleeing and hiding
And foraging for food
To survive

Our people are in pain
Suffering like no hell on earth
Darkness and despair
Surround them

And freedom is out of reach

Beaten and battered by life
Death and diseases
Of the mind and spirit

Swallowed up by gloominess
And bitterness
How can they carry on?

Each of us has a role to play

To help our countrymen
Not by hatred and blame
Not by giving false hope
Or ideas
Or concepts

But to see the big vision

A vision that’s not small or limited
A vision that’s vast and spacious

So that Burma’s people may rise up

Like a beautiful lotus
From a muddy pond.

Sijos

2014-01-15T23:00:00.000+08:00

Tree of Unhappiness

Kim Sang – yong (1592 – 1637)

(Translated by Graeme Wilson)

On broad leaves of pau-low-nia

The one and only tree

Whereon the phoenix will set foot

The rain falls heartlessly.

The rain’s sad tapping overhead

Compounds my weight of grief.

Who now could have the heart to plant

Trees of so broad a leaf?

Pomegranates

Sin Hum (1566 – 1628)

(Translated by Graeme Wilson)

It rained last night, the pomegranates

Red and oranges

Have all burst into flower.

Not to be comfort,

I sit in this cool pavilion

Set in a lotus lake

And under its glass-bead curtains wait

For my closed heart to break.

Girl in the Rain

Anonymous (18th century)

(Translated by Graeme Wilson)

Her violet cloak clutched round her head,

As quickly as she can

She runs through rain-fall to the pear bloomed

Village and a man.

What blandishments, I wonder,

What whispers, what untrue

But wonderful promises

Have soaked that silly through.

The Tale of the Woodcutter and the Tiger

2014-01-12T21:49:00.003+08:00

Korean folklore recalls the tale of a woodcutter who encounters a tiger in the woods. Fearing that he would soon be the tiger’s dinner, he exclaimed: “You must be my long lost brother! Our mother cried for you when you left home. She had dinner ready for you every night, waiting for your return. Sadly, out mother has just passed away. How happy she would have been had she known you are alive and well!” The woodcutter took out his handkerchief and pretended to wipe at his eyes. The tiger turned away, as tears fell down his cheeks, leaving the woodcutter unharmed.

Every year thereafter, on Chesa, the memorial day of the woodcutter’s mother’s death, an offering appeared on her grave - sometimes a peasant, or even his mother’s favorite mountain berries. The woodcutter did not know where these offerings came from.

One year, the woodcutter noticed that the customary offering had not been placed on his mother’s grave, and he wondered what had happened. Out from the bush, three baby tigers appeared, carrying offerings. They approached the woodcutter and cried: “You must be our uncle! Mother tiger is gone now, and we know how important it is for her to honor grandmother by bringing an offering to her Chesa table beside her grave. We are here to bring offerings for our grandmother in loving memory of our mother.” The woodcutter noticed that his face had turned suddenly warm and realized that it was his own tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tale of Ch’unhyang

2014-01-06T23:11:00.002+08:00

Formerly there lived in the province of Cholla, in the town of Namwon, a magistrate's son named Yi Mong-Yong. He had much literary talent, and grew up to be a handsome young man.

One beautiful morning, Master Yi Mong-Yong called his servant, Pangja, and asked him to show him a place where he might see wild flowers. Pangja led him to a summer pavilion near a bridge called "Ojak-kyo," or the "Magpie Bridge." The view from the bridge was as beautiful as the summer sky, and thus was named after the tale of the Herdboy and the Weaving Maid.

Looking at the distant mountains, Yi Mong-Yong caught sight of a young maiden swinging beneath one of the trees. He asked Pangja about the lovely maiden and her attendant. He replied that she was Ch'unhyang (Spring Fragrance), a daughter of Wolmae (Moon Plum), the retired kisaeng entertainer. Pangja related to his young master that this young girl was not only beautiful but also virtuous. Yi Mong-Yong insisted that Pangja inform Ch'unhyang that he wished to meet her. "Don't you know the butterfly must pursue the flower, and the geese must seek the sea?" retorted Ch'unhyang.

The wind blew back her hair and long ribbon over her rosy face, and she glowed with virtue and happiness. "This good fortune is offered me today. Why wait until tomorrow? Should I not speak to this pretty girl now?" Yi Mong-Yong said to himself.

Just then Ch'unhyang, frightened at being watched, jumped down from her swing and ran toward her house. Stopping under a peach tree at her garden gate she plucked a blossom and kissed it, her lips and cheeks redder than the bloom, and was gone. Pangja urged his master to hasten home so that his father might know nothing of his adventure, and then punish Pangja for allowing Yi Mong-Yong to wander so far. The youth returned home in a trance, and went immediately to sit at dinner with his parents.

With the meal finished, Yi Mong-Yong went to his room, lit a candle, and opened a book. Reading proved impossible. The words blurred before his eyes and every word and every character was "Spring" and "Fragrance"- Ch'unhyang, Ch'unhyang, Ch'unhyang. Calling Pangja, he said, "Tonight I must see Ch'unhyang. Did she not say that the butterfly must pursue the flower?"

They went to Ch'unhyang's house, stopping under the peach tree in the garden as they approached. At that moment Ch'unhyang's mother was telling her daughter that she had had a dream in which a blue dragon coiled itself around Ch'unhyang's body and, holding her in its mouth, flew up to the sky. Looking up, instead of the dragon in the clouds, the girl's mother saw a dragon on earth, for Yi Mong-Yong walked out of darkness and spoke to her.

On learning the purpose of his visit she called Ch'unhyang to meet the young yangban, and Yi Mong-Yong asked Ch'unhyang's mother for the hand of her daughter. The old woman, thinking her dream had come true, gladly consented, and said, "You are a yangban's son and Ch'unhyang is the daughter of a kisaeng, so there cannot be a formal marriage. If you give us a secret marriage contract, writing your pledge not to desert her, we shall be contented."

Yi Mong-Yong seized a brush and set down the following lines: "The blue sea may become a mulberry field, and the mulberry fields may become the blue sea, but my heart for Ch'unhyang shall never change. Heaven and earth and all the gods are witnesses."

In their sleep that night they dreamed of Mandarin ducks swimming together. For several nights he visited his beloved, until she teased him, saying that he should go home and study hard to become a great official like his father. Unfortunately, their time together did not last.

Not long after the secret marriage, the servant brought Yi Mong-Yong a message saying that his father, newly appointed to the King's cabinet, was being recalled to the capitol. Yi Mong-Yong, who was to accompany his father, went that evening to Ch'unhyang and told her the bad news. The young couple was forced to say a tearful goodbye at the Magpie Bridge. "Since there is no way to change our fate, let us embrace and part," said Ch'unhyang, throwing her arms around her lover.

She then gave him a ring. "This is my token of love for you. Keep it until we meet again. Go in peace, but do not forget me. I shall remain faithful to you and wait here for you to come and take me away to Seoul." With these words, they parted.The new Namwon magistrate arrived soon afterward, and among his first words to his servant were, "Bring me Ch'unhyang, the pretty girl I have heard of."

"This is difficult sir," replied the retainer, "for she is already married secretly to Yi Mong-Yong, the son of the former magistrate." Angered, the new magistrate ordered Ch'unhyang summoned at once. Too terrified to disobey an order by the magistrate, Ch'unhyang accompanied the servant. The magistrate looked at her attentively. "I heard much of you in Seoul, and today I see you are very beautiful. Will you come to me?"

Choosing her words carefully, Ch'unhyang replied, "I am committed to Yi Mong-Yong. That is why I cannot do as you ask. The King has sent you here to take care of the people. You have a heavy responsibility to the throne. It would be better to fulfill your duties and apply justice according to the laws of the country." Ch'unhyang's defiance enraged the magistrate, and he ordered her taken to prison. "Why put me in prison?" Ch'unhyang protested, "I have done no wrong. A married woman must be faithful to her husband, just as a magistrate should be faithful to the king." This merely served to anger the magistrate further, and before long Ch'unhyang found herself in a prison cell.

Meanwhile, Yi Mong-Yong had arrived in Seoul, where he studied hard and learned all the famous Chinese classics. He passed the government examinations with the highest distinction, thereby qualifying for a position in the king's service. In congratulating him after the munkwa examinations, the king asked Yi Mong-Yong. "Do you wish to be a magistrate or a governor?"

"I should like to be appointed amhaengosa," replied Yi Mong-Yong. Yi Mong-Yong, as an amhaengosa, traveled around the country with his attendants, disguised as beggars. They inquired everywhere after the needs of the people in order to assess the quality of local districts' administrations. Soon he arrived near Namwon, and came to a small farming village where the people were planting rice.

While working, the peasants sadly chanted: "We come out in the scorching heat, plough our fields, sow our seeds, and make the rice grow. First we must pay tribute to the king, give a part to the poor, a part to travelers who come knocking at our doors, and save money for ancestral services. This would be all right if the magistrate did not squeeze us for even more, leaving us with hardly anything to eat."

Much interested, Yi Mong-Yong approached and said, "I have heard that the magistrate of Namwon has married Ch'unhyang and that they live together happily."

"How dare you speak like that?" retorted one of farmers. "Ch'unhyang is faithful, true and pure, and you are a fool to speak thus of her and that tyrant, who is cruel to her. No, her fate is even worse than that because the son of the former magistrate seduced and deflowered that poor girl, and then abandoned her, never coming back to see her. He is a bastard, the son of a dog, the son of a pig!"

The farmer's anger shocked Yi Mong-Yong. He found that many villagers felt the same way. The local yangban aristocrats shared the people's wrath. Yi Mong-Yong happened on a spot where some yangban were having a picnic, comparing poems and conversing on a hillside. He listened as a scholar presented a poem railing against the unjust provincial government. When he was done, another picnicker said, "These are sad days! I've heard that a young woman called Ch'unhyang is to be executed in two or three days." "Oh! This Magistrate is a wretch!" said another.

"He is thinking only of overpowering Ch'unhyang, but she is like the pine and bamboo, which never change. She has remained faithful and true to her husband."

Another added, "She was married to the son of the old magistrate. What a pig her husband is! He abandoned the poor girl." These comments made Yi Mong-Yong, weary and ashamed, hasten to Namwon.

Meanwhile, Ch'unhyang, in prison all this time, remained faithful to the memory of Yi Mong-Yong. She had grown thin, feeble, and sick. One day she had a dream, in which she saw her house. In her garden, the flowers that she had planted and loved had faded. The mirror in her room was broken. Her shoes were hanging on the lintel of the door. She called to a blind man who happened to be passing by her cell window, and asked him the significance of her dream.

"I shall tell you what it means. These dried flowers shall bear fruit, the noise of the broken mirror will be heard throughout the world, and the shoes on the door indicate a large crowd visiting to offer congratulations."

Ch'unhyang thanked the blind man and prayed that his prophecy would come true. In reality, however, Ch'unhyang's doom was near. That very day the evil magistrate called his attendants together and said to them, "In three days I shall celebrate a great feast, to which I wish to invite all the magistrates of the nearby towns, and on that day Ch'unhyang shall be executed.

"Meanwhile, Yi Mong-Yong arrived in the town and went to Ch'unhyang's house. At first, her mother did not recognize him. "I do not know who you are," she said. "Your face reminds me of Yi Mong-Yong, but your clothes are the clothes of a beggar." "But I am Yi Mong-Yong," said he.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Every day we have waited for you, but alas, in two or three days Ch'unhyang will be dead."

"Listen to me, Mother," replied Yi Mong-Yong. "Even though I am a miserable beggar, I still long for Ch'unhyang, and I want to see her.

"With Yi Mong-Yong following, she knocked at the prison window, calling her daughter, who was asleep. Awakened, Ch'unhyang asked immediately if anyone had seen Yi Mong-Yong or heard news of him.

The mother replied that in place of Yi Mong-Yong, a beggar had come who claimed he was Yi Mong-Yong, and was there now to see her.

Yi Mong-Yong appeared at the window and Ch'unhyang looked at him. It seemed to make no difference to her that he was badly dressed, and seemed to have failed at life in Seoul. Instead, she reached for him through the bars and struggled to be as close to him as possible.

"I may be a beggar in dress," replied Yi Mong-Yong, "but I have no beggar's heart!"

"Dear heart," said Ch'unhyang, "how hard your journey must have been. Go back with my mother and get some rest. Only please - since I am under a sentence of death and must die tomorrow after the feast - come to my window again in the morning so I may have the joy of seeing you once more before I die."

Yi Mong-Yong went home and slept in Ch'unhyang's room. But the next morning, when his mother-in-law opened the door, she was surprised to find that he was gone. In fact, he had gone early to collect his attendants, all disguised as beggars like himself. He gave them strict orders. Then, as the magistrate received his guests and presided over the banquet, Yi Mong-Yong managed to get into the palatial office compound and approach the host.

"I am a poor man," he said, "and I am hungry. Please, give me something to eat." It was customary in Korea, during big feasts in the countryside, for a number of beggars to show up for handouts, but the furious magistrate commanded his servants to kick the intruder out.

Then Yi Mong-Yong entered the palace a second time, by climbing on the shoulders of his servants and going over the wall. The first guest he encountered was the magistrate of Unbong, named Pak Yong-Jang. He said to him, "I am hungry, could you not let me have something?" Yong-Jang, feeling some compassion called one of the kisaengs and asked her to bring something to the beggar.

Yi Mong-Yong then addressed Yong-Jang: "I am obliged to you for giving me good food, and I wish to repay you with a little poem." Then he extended a paper on which Yong-Jang read the lines:

This beautiful wine in golden goblets

Is the blood of a thousand people

This magnificent meat on these jade tables

Is the flesh and marrow of a thousand lives

Burning in this banquet hall,

The tears of the hungry people

Pour from their sunken eyes.

Even louder than the noisy song of these courtesans

Resound the complaints of the oppressed peasants.

Yong-Jang, greatly alarmed, cried, "It is against us," and he passed the paper to the host, who asked, "Who wrote this poem?" "It is the young beggar," said Yong-Jang, pointing to Yi Mong-Yong, but he was frightened, thinking that whoever wrote such a poem must be more than a common beggar. Rising up, he suddenly pretended to have urgent business elsewhere and fled. The other officials likewise sprang to their feet and stampeded out of the room, only to be stopped by Yi Mong-Yong's men, who were waiting outside with their swords. The officials soon understood that the beggar-poet was in fact an amhaengosa. As they cowered together in a corner of the courtyard, Yi Mong-Yong revealed his ma-p'ae and ordered the magistrate's runners to fetch Ch'unhyang from her cell and to say to her, "The King's envoy has sent for you. He is going to hear your case and pronounce judgment.

In the jail, Ch'unhyang was greatly frightened.

"Oh!" she cried. "I am going to die! Please, may I see my mother?" Ch'unhyang's mother ran to her daughter. "Mother, now is the hour of my death. Where is Yi Mong-Yong?"

"The King's officer is waiting. Do not stop to chitchat!" snapped the runners, and before Ch'unhyang's mother could speak, they carried her away to the magistrate's courtyard. They removed the wooden cangue from around her neck and placed her in the presence of the Royal Secret Inspector, who, sitting behind a screen, questioned her sternly: "If you do not love the magistrate, will you love me and come to me, the King's envoy? If you refuse I shall order my men to strike off your head immediately."

"Alas!" exclaimed Ch'unhyang. "How unhappy are the poor people of this country! First the injustice of the magistrate, then you, the King's Inspector, who should help and protect the unhappy people - you think immediately to condemn to death a poor girl whom you desire. Oh, how sad we common people are, and how pitiful it is to be a woman!"

Yi Mong-Yong then ordered the courtesans to untie the cords that bound the hands of Ch'unhyang. "Now raise your head, and look at me," he said to her.

"No," she answered, "I shall not look at you, I shall not listen to you. Cut my body into pieces if you like, but I shall never go to you."

Yi Mong-Yong was deeply touched. He took off his ring and ordered a courtesan to show it to Ch'unhyang. She saw that was the very ring she had given to her husband Yi Mong-Yong and, lifting her eyes, recognized her lover.

"Oh," she cried in joy and surprise. "Yesterday my lover was only a beggar and today he is the King's officer!"

Yi Mong-Yong ordered a sedan chair to be brought at once and saw that Ch'unhyang was safely carried home. The people shouted joyfully and cheered for Ch'unhyang and Yi Mong-Yong. Then he summoned the magistrate of Namwon and said, "The King gave you instructions to feed the people well, and instead you fed upon them. I condemn you in the name of the King to forfeit your position. I banish you to a faraway island without meat, without wine, and without company. I give you permission to eat the wild grass till your stomach repents for the way you have fed off the people of Namwon!"

When all this was done, Yi Mong-Yong took his bride back to Seoul and wrote out the story Ch'unhyang as an appendix to his official report. The King read it and was surprised to find such fidelity in a country girl of low birth. He made her ach'ungnyolpuin, or a faithful wife, and declared that her loyalty was proof that she was just as good as any yangban daughter, even though her mother was a lowly kisaeng, and that her conduct should be a model for all women. Ch'unhyang was then officially presented to the parents of Yi Mong-Yong, and they accepted her as a proper daughter-in-law. In time, Ch'unhyang bore three sons and two daughters, and they all lived happily for many years come.

Music Video "I Want To Know" Jo Seung Woo

MOUSEDEER AND THE CROCODILE

2013-11-14T09:53:00.002+08:00

ONCE UPON a time there was a mousedeer. One day, Mousedeer went for a walk along the bank of a river. He saw Crocodile in the water and said to him, "Good morning, Mr. Crocodile. I hope you are well this morning."

Mr. Crocodile snapped at Mousedeer. Luckily, Mousedeer was not near him.

"It would be a good morning if I could catch you and have you for my breakfast," said Crocodile.

Mousedeer laughed, "My dear Friend, you are too weak to catch me; you do not know how strong I am."

Crocodile looked at little Mousedeer and laughed loudly. Mousedeer said, "Do not laugh at me. I may be small but I can show you that I am stronger than you." Then Mousedeer showed him a piece of rope and said:

"I will take one end of this rope and you can take the other end. Then we will pull. We will pull as hard as we can. We will see which one of us is the stronger. If you can pull me into the water, then you can eat me."

Mousedeer threw one end of the rope to Crocodile. Crocodile took the end of the rope.

When Crocodile was not looking, Mousedeer quickly climbed up a tree. He tied his end of the rope to a big branch at the top of the tree. Then he came down and sat behind the tree.

Crocodile now held his end of the rope. He thought that Mousedeer was holding the other end. He did not know that Mousedeer was just sitting behind the tree.

"Are you ready. Mr. Crocodile?" called Mousedeer. "One, two, three, P-U-L-L!"

Crocodile pulled as hard as he could.

The tree bent a little towards the river. Crocodile stopped to take a breath. At once the tree went back and became straight. As it went back and became straight. As it went back the rope pulled Mr. Crocodile. He was afraid. He began to think that Mousedeer was pulling him out of the river.

So Crocodile pulled again very, very hard. Again the tree bent a little. Crocodile was very tired. He stopeed to take a breath once more. At once the tree went back again. Crocodile thought the Mousedeer was really going to pull him out of the water this time!

Mousedeer saw that the Crocodile was afraid. He shouted to him, "You look tired Mr. Crocodile. Do you want to rest?" Crocodile agreed and gladly let go of the rope.

Mousedeer ran happily along the bank. He did not look tired at all. He said to Crocodile, "Did you like the pull, Mr. Crocodile? It was a good pull. You pulled very well, but I am sure that next time I shall pull you out of the river. Come, let us try again."

Crocodile looked at mousedeer. He saw that Mousedeer did not look tired at all. He was afraid that if he tried again, Mousedeer would win. Mousedeer was small but he must be very, very strong. Crocodile said, "No, no, Mousedeer. I cannot pull any more. You are stronger than I am," and he swam slowly away, down the river.

Ramayana: A Summary

2013-09-17T22:24:00.000+08:00

1. Dasharatha, King of Aydohya, has three wives and four sons. Rama is the eldest. His mother is Kaushalya. Bharata is the son of his second and favorite wife, Queen Kaikeyi. The other two are twins, Lakshman and Shatrughna. Rama and Bharata are blue, perhaps indicating they were dark skinned or originally south Indian deities.

2) A sage takes the boys out to train them in archery. Rama has hit an apple hanging from a string.

3) In a neighboring city the ruler's daughter is named Sita. When it was time for Sita to choose her bridegroom, at a ceremony called a swayamvara, the princes were asked to string a giant bow. No one else can even lift the bow, but as Rama bends it, he not only strings it but breaks it in two. Sita indicates she has chosen Rama as her husband by putting a garland around his neck. The disappointed suitors watch.

4) King Dasharatha, Rama's father, decides it is time to give his throne to his eldest son Rama and retire to the forest to seek moksha. Everyone seems pleased. This plan fulfills the rules of dharma because an eldest son should rule and, if a son can take over one's responsibilities, one's last years may be spent in a search for moksha. In addition, everyone loves Rama. However Rama's step-mother, the king's second wife, is not pleased. She wants her son, Bharata, to rule. Because of an oath Dasharatha had made to her years before, she gets the king to agree to banish Rama for fourteen years and to crown Bharata, even though the king, on bended knee, begs her not to demand such things. Broken-hearted, the devastated king cannot face Rama with the news and Kaikeyi must tell him.

5) Rama, always obedient, is as content to go into banishment in the forest as to be crowned king. Sita convinces Rama that she belongs at his side and his brother Lakshman also begs to accompany them. Rama, Sita and Lakshman set out for the forest.

Bharata, whose mother's evil plot has won him the throne, is very upset when he finds out what has happened. Not for a moment does he consider breaking the rules of dharma and becoming king in Rama's place. He goes to Rama's forest retreat and begs Rama to return and rule, but Rama refuses. "We must obey father," Rama says. Bharata then takes Rama's sandals saying, "I will put these on the throne, and every day I shall place the fruits of my work at the feet on my Lord." Embracing Rama, he takes the sandals and returns to Aydohya.

6) Years pass and Rama, Sita and Lakshman are very happy in the forest. Rama and Lakshman destroy the rakshasas (evil creatures) who disturb the sages in their meditations. One day a rakshasa princess tries to seduce Rama, and Lakshmana wounds her and drives her away. She returns to her brother Ravana, the ten-headed ruler of Lanka (Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon), and tells her brother (who has a weakness for beautiful women) about lovely Sita.

Ravana devises a plan to abduct Sita. He sends a magical golden deer which Sita desires. Rama and Lakshman go off to hunt the deer, first drawing a protective circle around Sita and warning her she will be safe as long as she does not step outside the circle. As they go off, Ravana (who can change his shape) appears as a holy man begging alms. The moment Sita steps outside the circle to give him food, Ravana grabs her and carries her off the his kingdom in Lanka.

7) Rama is broken-hearted when he returns to the empty hut and cannot find Sita. A band of monkeys offer to help him find Sita.
Ravana has carried Sita to his palace in Lanka, but he cannot force her to be his wife so he puts her in a grove and alternately sweet-talks her and threatens her in an attempt to get her to agree to marry him. Sita will not even look at him but thinks only of her beloved Rama. Hanuman, the general of the monkey band can fly since his father is the wind, and Hanuman flies to Lanka and, finding Sita in the grove, comforts her and tells her Rama will soon come and save her.

8) Ravana's men capture Hanuman, and Ravana orders them to wrap Hanuman's tail in cloth and to set it on fire. With his tail burning, Hanuman hops from house-top to house-top, setting Lanka afire. He then flies back to Rama to tell him where Sita is.

9) Rama, Lakshman and the monkey army build a causeway from the tip of India to Lanka and cross over to Lanka. A might battle ensues. Rama kills several of Ravana's brothers and then
Rama confronts ten-headed Ravana. (Ravana is known for his wisdom as well as for his weakness for women which may explain why he is pictured as very brainy.) Rama finally kills Ravana.

10). Rama frees Sita. After Sita proves here purity, they return to Ayodhya and Rama becomes king. His rule, Ram-rajya, is an ideal time when everyone does his or her dharma and "fathers never have to light the funeral pyres for their sons."

The Two Brothers

2013-09-17T09:54:00.002+08:00

¹Once there were two brothers. Anpu was the elder, and Bata was the younger. When their parents died, Anpu was already married and had a house of his own, and so he took his little brother with him and treated him like his son. When the little brother grew to be a young man, he was an excellent worker; he did the plowing; he harvested the corn; there was not his equal in the whole land. Behold, the spirit of a god was within him!

²Every morning, the younger brother followed his oxen and worked all day in the fields, and every evening, he returned to the house with vegetables, milk, and wood. He laid all these before his elder brother and at dawn, he took with him which he had baked and laid it before his elder brother; and he tookwith him his bread and he drove the cattle into the field.

³Because Anpu loved his younger brother very much, his wife became very jealous and she wanted to destroy Bata.

One day, when Anpu and Bata were in the fields, they needed some corn, so Anpu sent Bata home to get some. The younger brother found the wife combing her hair and said to her, “Get up and give me some corn that I may run to the field for my elder brother is in a hurry. Do not delay.”

⁴At eventide, Anpu returned home earlier than his brother because Bata had much work to do in the fields. Anpu was met by his wife who was crying bitterly. She showed him her arms and legs, which she had painted black and blue and accused Bata of having beaten her up. She pretended to be in great pain. She did not give him water to wash his hands with; she did not light the fire for him; she pretended that she was very sick.

⁵And Anpu became very angry; he sharpened his knife and waited for Bata in the stable.

When the sun went down, Bata came home as usual loaded with herbs, milk, and wood. As he entered the door he saw the feet of his brother and the sharp knife hanging by his side. The brother sprang at him and Bata fled praying to the god Ra. “My good Lord! Save me from death, thou who divines the evil from the good.” And Ra heard his cry; he made a river flow between one brother and the other and filled it with crocodiles.

⁶And Bata said to his elder brother, “Why do you seek to kill me? Am I not your brother and have you not always treated me as if you were my father? And has not your wife been as a mother to me? Now, since you want to kill me, I shall go to the Valley of the Acacia.”

⁷Anpu answered, “Why did you beat up my wife and almost kill her?”

⁸Bata answered, “I did no such thing. Have I not told you that I have always looked upon her as my mother?”

⁹So, Anpu went home. He found his wife near the river washing off the black and blue dye with which she had painted herself. Filled with great anger, Anpu killed his wife and cast her to the dogs. Then, he sat down, poured ashes on his head and mourned for his younger brother.

¹⁰Bata reached the Valley of the Acacia. There was no one with him; he slew wild beasts for food; he built himself a house under the Acacia tree, which is sacred to the gods.

One day as he walked out of his house, he met the Nine Gods who knew of his innocence and goodness. Ra said to the god Khunumu, “Behold, frame a woman for Bata that he may not remain alone.” And Khunumu made for Bata a wife to dwell with him. She was indeed more beautiful than any other woman in the whole land. She was like a goddess, and Bata loved her very much.

Makato and the Cowrie Shell (A Thai Folktale)

2013-09-17T09:50:00.000+08:00

¹Once upon a time there was a boy whose name was Makato. He was an orphan, for his father and mother had died when he was very young. He had no brothers, sisters, cousins, or friends to take care of him, so he had to make a living for himself. He did every kind of work—carrying heavy things, clearing away the forest, or feeding pigs. He never idled over his work, and although he was paid only a small wage, he was satisfied. He knew that if he did not work, he would starve. Wherever he went, his employers praised him for being sensible, hardworking, good-tempered, and cheerful.

²One fine evening after he had finished chopping up a big pile of wood, he sat down for a rest and thought of all he would like to do in the future. He wanted to try his luck in far-off strange lands for he longed for exciting adventures.

³“What are you thinking about so deeply, my boy?” asked his employer.

⁴“I would like to go on a journey for adventure,” said Makato pointing to the northeast. “I’ve heard that the land over there is fertile and the people are kind. I wish I could see that land for myself.” His eyes sparkled with excitement.

⁵“The land you wish to go to is called Sukhothai,” said his employer. “They say PraRuang of Sukhothai is a very kindhearted king. You might be lucky if you could go there.”

⁶Some time later, Makato decided to try his fortune. He left his village and set out into the wide world. He walked along cheerfully, enjoying new sights and talking to the people he met on the way. After a month’s journey, he reached a village on the frontier of the kingdom of Sukhothai.

⁷“Please can I have some water to drink?” Makato asked an old woman with a big water pot on her head. “I’m so thirsty.”

⁸“Where did you come from? Why are you here alone? You look as if you’d come a long way,” said the old woman, pouring cold water from her pot into a small cup and handing it to Makato.

⁹“Thank you so much,” said the boy.

¹⁰“Who are your father and mother? Haven’t you any family?” the old woman asked again.

¹¹“I have neither father nor mother. I come from the city of Mon over there,” replied Makato.

¹²“Good heavens! Have you really come from Mon? How is it that you are traveling alone, such a young boy as you are?”

¹³“I wanted to see PraRuang of Sukhothai,” replied Makato. “They say he is a very kindhearted king.”

¹⁴“You are a determined boy!” said the woman. “Come along with me. Who knows, you might see PraRuang someday.”

¹⁵Makato was glad to go with her. If he could work for this kind woman, he would have a place to sleep, some food to eat and, perhaps, someday he might be lucky enough to see the king.

¹⁶The old woman’s husband was one of PraRuang’s mahouts, which meant that he helped look after the hundreds of elephants that the king owned. Makato helped the mahout find food for the elephants and clean out the elephant sheds. He worked hard and well and the mahout and his wife were fond of him.

¹⁷One day the sky was so clear and the weather so fine that it seemed to Makato that it must be a lucky day. As he worked in the elephant sheds, a tall young man in a splendid costume, followed by attendants, came in. It was PraRuang himself. Makato bowed low at once with his hands clasped together before him. His heart beat fast.

¹⁸“Where did that boy come from?” The king asked the old mahout, who was attending him.

¹⁹“He came all the way from the city of Mon,” said the old mahout, bowing. “He heard so much about Your Majesty that he longed to see you.”

²⁰“How old is he?”

²¹“Twelve years old, Your Majesty.”

²²“A good-looking and hard-working boy,” said the king. “Take good care of him.”

²³As the king walked away, Makato saw a little cowrie shell lying on the ground. He ran to pick it up and held it out to the king, but the king said with a smile: “You may keep it.”

²⁴“How wonderful!” Makato thought. “The king has given me a cowrie shell.”

²⁵At that time the people of Sukhothai used cowrie shells as money. Although one cowrie shell had little value, Makato wanted to make as much use of it as possible, for it was the king’s gift. For a long time he could not think of a way to use it so that it would earn more money for him.

²⁶One day he passed by a stall in the market where the seeds of many different plants were sold. He looked along the stall and caught sight of a basket full of lettuce seed.

²⁷Lettuce! He could grow small plants like that. He asked the jolly-looking woman at the stall: “Can I buy some lettuce seed?”

²⁸“Oh yes, my boy. How much do you want?” said the woman.

²⁹“I have one cowrie shell,” said Makato.

³⁰“One cowrie shell!” said the woman laughing. “That won’t buy anything. I can’t even measure that much.”

³¹“Look!” said Makato eagerly. “I’ll dip my finger into a pile of seeds; then I’ll take the seeds that stick to it—that must be about right for one cowrie shell.”

³²“Well, why not?” said the woman amused at his suggestion. “All right, boy. Help yourself.”

³³Makato paid the woman his one cowrie shell. Then he put his finger into his mouth and dipped it into a pile of seeds. When he pulled his wet finger out, it was covered with seeds. He carefully scraped them off his finger into the palm of his hand and went away happily, clutching the seeds.

³⁴Now that he had seeds, Makato broke the soil and sowed them at once. He watered the seed bed every day and soon the young plants appeared. Day by day, he cleared more ground and planted more lettuce seedlings until the kitchen garden was covered with them. He was very proud of himself because he had done so well.

³⁵“I wish I could give the king some of my fine lettuce,” he thought.

³⁶One day the king passed by the elephant sheds again. Makato waited for his opportunity, then knelt down and proudly presented his biggest bunches of lettuce to the king.

³⁷“Where did you get these?” the king asked, surprised.

³⁸“I grew them from the cowrie shell you gave me, Your Majesty,” answered Makato with a beaming smile.

³⁹“How could you do that?” asked the puzzled king.

⁴⁰Makato told the king the whole story. The king was impressed with his intelligence and industry. So much so that later on he gave Makato a job in the palace.

⁴¹As the years passed, Makato grew tall and handsome. He mastered every grace and served the king well. He was so loyal that the king trusted him absolutely. He was promoted to higher and higher positions until he was given the title of KhunWang, which meant that he was the most important person in the king’s court.

⁴²He was also happily married to a beautiful young daughter of the king. After that, the king made him the ruler of Mon.

⁴³So it was that Makato, who had once been a poor orphan, became the king of a prosperous kingdom.

Shakuntala by Kalidasa (Act IV) (excerpts)

2013-09-17T09:31:00.000+08:00

Sharngarava (listening to the song of koïl-birds).

Father,

The trees are answering your prayer

In cooing cuckoo-song,

Bidding Shakuntala farewell,

Their sister for so long.

Invisible beings.

May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye;

May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease;

May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh;

May all your path be pleasantness and peace.

(All listen in astonishment.)

Gautami.

My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell. For they love the household. Pay reverence to the holy ones.

Shakuntala (does so. Aside to Priyamvada).

Priyamvada, I long to see my husband, and yet my feet will hardly move. It is hard, hard to leave the hermitage.

Priyamvada.

You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell. See how the whole grove feels at parting from you.

The grass drops from the feeding doe;

The peahen stops her dance;

Pale, trembling leaves are falling slow,

The tears of clinging plants.

Shakuntala(recalling something).

Father, I must say good-bye to the spring-creeper, my sister among the vines.

Kanva.

I know your love for her. See! Here she is at your right hand.

Shakuntala (approaches the vine and embraces it).

Vine sister, embrace me too with your arms, these branches. I shall be far away from you after to-day. Father, you must care for her as you did for me.

Kanva.

My child, you found the lover who

Had long been sought by me;

No longer need I watch for you;

I’ll give the vine a lover true,

This handsome mango-tree.

And now start on your journey.

Shakuntala (going to the two friends).

Dear girls, I leave her in your care too.

The two friends.

But who will care for poor us? (They shed tears.)

Kanva.

Anusuya! Priyamvada! Do not weep. It is you who should cheer Shakuntala. (All walk about.)

Shakuntala.

Father, there is the pregnant doe, wandering about near the cottage. When she becomes a happy mother, you must send someone to bring me the good news. Do not forget.

Kanva.

I shall not forget, my child.

Shakuntala (stumbling).

Oh, oh! Who is it that keeps pulling at my dress, as if to hinder me? (She turns round to see.)

Kanva.

It is the fawn whose lip, when torn

By kusha-grass, you soothed with oil;

The fawn who gladly nibbled corn

Held in your hand; with loving toil

You have adopted him, and he

Would never leave you willingly.

Shakuntala.

My dear, why should you follow me when I am going away from home? Your mother died when you were born and I brought you up. Now I am leaving you, and Father Kanva will take care of you. Go back, dear! Go back! (She walks away, weeping.)

Kanva.

Do not weep, my child. Be brave. Look at the path before you.

Be brave, and check the rising tears

That dim your lovely eyes;

Your feet are stumbling on the path

That so uneven lies.

Sharngarava.

Holy Father, the Scripture declares that one should accompany a departing loved one only to the first water. Pray give us your commands on the bank of this pond, and then return.

Kanva.

Then let us rest in the shade of this fig-tree. (All do so.) What commands would it be fitting for me to lay on King Dushyanta? (He reflects.)

Anusuya.

My dear, there is not a living thing in the whole hermitage that is not grieving to-day at saying good-bye to you. Look!

The sheldrake does not heed his mate

Who calls behind the lotus-leaf;

He drops the lily from his bill

And turns on you a glance of grief.

Kanva.

Son Sharngarava, when you present Shakuntala to the king, give him this message from me.

Remembering my religious worth,

Your own high race, the love poured forth

By her, forgetful of her friends,

Pay her what honour custom lends

To all your wives. And what fate gives

Beyond, will please her relatives.

Sharngarava.

I will not forget your message, Father.

Kanva (turning to Shakuntala).

My child, I must now give you my counsel. Though I live in the forest, I have some knowledge of the world.

Sharngarava.

True wisdom, Father, gives insight into everything.

Kanva.

My child, when you have entered your husband’s home,

Obey your elders; and be very kind

To rivals; never be perversely blind

And angry with your husband, even though he

Should prove less faithful than a man might be;

Be as courteous to servants as you may,

Not puffed with pride in this your happy day:

Thus does a maiden grow into a wife;

But self-willed women are the curse of life.

But what does Gautami say?

Gautami.

This is advice sufficient for a bride. (To Shakuntala.) You will not forget, my child.

Kanva.

Come, my daughter, embrace me and your friends.

Shakuntala.

Oh, Father! Must my friends turn back too?

Kanva.

My daughter, they too must someday be given in marriage. Therefore they may not go to court. Gautami will go with you.

Shakuntala (throwing her arms about her father).

I am torn from my father’s breast like a vine stripped from a sandal-tree on the Malabar hills. How can I live in another soil? (She weeps.)

Kanva.

My daughter, why distress yourself so?

A noble husband’s honourable wife,

You are to spend a busy, useful life

In the world’s eye; and soon, as eastern skies

Bring forth the sun, from you there shall arise

A child, a blessing and a comfort strong—

You will not miss me, dearest daughter, long.

Shakuntala (falling at his feet).

Farewell, Father.

Kanva.

My daughter, may all that come to you which I desire for you.

Shakuntala (going to her two friends).

Come, girls! Embrace me, both of you together.

The two friends (do so).

Dear, if the good king should perhaps be slow to recognise you, show him the ring with his own name engraved on it.

Shakuntala.

Your doubts make my heart beat faster.

The two friends.

Do not be afraid, dear. Love is timid.

Sharngarava (looking about).

Father, the sun is in midheaven. She must hasten.

Shakuntala (embracing Kanva once more).

Father, when shall I see the pious grove again?

Kanva.

My daughter, When you have shared for many years

The king’s thoughts with the earth,

When to a son who knows no fears

You shall have given birth,

When, trusted to the son you love,

Your royal labours cease,

Come with your husband to the grove

And end your days in peace.

Gautami.

My child, the hour of your departure is slipping by. Bid your father turn back. No, she would never do that. Pray turn back, sir.

Kanva.

Child, you interrupt my duties in the pious grove.

Shakuntala.

Yes, Father. You will be busy in the grove. You will not miss me. But oh! I miss you.

Kanva.

How can you think me so indifferent? (He sighs.)

My lonely sorrow will not go,

For seeds you scattered here

Before the cottage door, will grow;

And I shall see them, dear.

Go. And peace go with you. (Exit Shakuntala, with Gautami, Sharngarava, and Sharadvata.)

The two friends(gazing long after her. Mournfully).

Oh, oh! Shakuntala is lost among the trees.

Kanva.

Anusuya! Priyamvada! Your companion is gone. Choke down your grief and follow me. (They start to go back.)

The two friends.

Father, the grove seems empty without Shakuntala.

Kanva.

So love interprets. (He walks about, sunk in thought.) Ah! I have sent Shakuntala away, and now I am myself again. For

A girl is held in trust, another’s treasure;

To arms of love my child to-day is given;

And now I feel a calm and sacred pleasure;

I have restored the pledge that came from heaven.

(all exit)

About Kalidasa

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam Translated by Edward Fitzgerald

2013-09-12T08:54:00.000+08:00

Wake!

For the Sun, who scattered into flight

The Stars before him from the Field of Night,

Drives Night along with them from Heav'n and strikes

The Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes -- or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face

Lighting a little Hour or two -- is gone.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,

How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp

Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:

To-morrow! Why, To-morrow I may be

Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best

That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,

And one by one crept silently to rest

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into the Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!

One thing at least is certain--This Life flies:

One thing is certain and the rest is lies;

The Flower that once is blown for ever dies

THE STORY OF THE AGED MOTHER A Japanese Folktale by MATSUO BASHO

2013-07-11T12:12:00.000+08:00

Long, long ago there lived at the foot of the mountain a poor farmer and his aged, widowed mother. They owned a bit of land which supplied them with food, and their humble were peaceful and happy. Shinano was governed by a despotic leader who though a warrior, had a great and cowardly shrinking from anything suggestive of failing health and strength. This caused him to send out a cruel proclamation. The entire province was given strict orders to immediately put to death all aged people. Those were barbarous days, and the custom of abandoning old people to die was not common. The poor farmer loved his aged mother with tender reverence, and the order filled his heart with sorrow. But no one ever thought a second time about obeying the mandate of the governor, so with many deep hopeless sighs, the youth prepared for what at that time was considered the kindest mode of death.

Just at sundown, when his day’s work was ended, he took a quantity of unwhitened rice which is principal food for poor, cooked and dried it, and tying it in a square cloth, swung and bundle around his neck along with a gourd filled with cool, sweet water. Then he lifted his helpless old mother to his back and stated on his painful journey up the mountain. The road was long and steep; the narrowed road was crossed and recrossed by many paths made by the hunters and woodcutters. In some place, they mingled in a confused puzzled, but he gave no heed. One path or another, it mattered not. On he went, climbing blindly upward Â– ever upward towards the high bare summit of what is known as Obatsuyama, the mountain of the “abandoning of aged”.

The eyes of the old mother were not so dim but that they noted the reckless hastening from one path to another, and her loving heart grew anxious. Her son did not know the mountain’s many paths and his return might be one of danger, so she stretched forth her hand and snapping the twigs from brushes as they passed, she quietly dropped a handful every few steps of the way so that they climbed, the narrow path behind them was dotted at frequently intervals with tiny piles of twigs. At last the summit was reached. Weary and heart sick, the youth gently released his burden and silently prepared a place of comfort as his last duty to the loved one. Gathering fallen pine needle, he made a soft cushion and tenderly lifting his old mother therein, he wrapped her padded coat more closely about the stooping shoulders and with tearful eyes and an aching heart said farewell.

The trembling mother’s voice was full of unselfish love as she gave her last injunction. “Let not thine eyes be blinded, my son. A” She said. “The mountain road is full of dangers. LOOK carefully and follow the path which holds the piles of twigs. They will guide you to the familiar way farther down”. The son’s surprised eyes looked back over the path, then at the poor old, shriveled hands all scratched and soiled by their work of love. His heart smote him and bowing to the grounds, he cried aloud: “oh, Honorable mother, thy kindness thrusts my heart! I will not leave thee. Together we will follow the path of twigs, and together we will die!”

Once more he shouldered his burden (how light it seemed no) and hastened down the path, through the shadows and the moonlight, to the little hut in the valley. Beneath the kitchen floor was a walled closet for food, which was covered and hidden from view. There the son his mother, supplying her with everything needful and continually watching and fearing. Time passed, and he was beginning to feel safe when again the governor sent forth heralds bearing an unreasonable order, seemingly as a boast of his power. His demand was that his subject should present him with a rope of ashes. The entire province trembled with dread. The order must be obeyed yet who in all Shining could make a rope of ashes?

One night, in great distress, the son whispered the news to his hidden mother. “Wait!” she said. “I will think. I will think” On the second day she told him what to do. “Make rope twisted straw,” she said. “Then stretch it upon a row of flat stones and burn it there on the windless night. ” He called the people together and did as she said and when the blaze and died, behold upon the stones with every twist and fiber showing perfectly. Lay a rope of whit head ashes.

The governor was pleased at the wit of the youth and praised greatly, but he demanded to know where he had obtained his wisdom. “Alas! Alas!” cried the farmer, “the truth must be told!” and with deep bows he related his story. The governor listened and then meditated in silence. Finally he lifted his head. “Shinano needs more than strength of youth, ” he said gravely. “Ah, that I should have forgotten the well-know saying, “with the crown of snow, there cometh a wisdom!” That very hour the cruel law was abolished, and custom drifted into as far a past that only legends remain.

About Matsuo Bashō

The Soul of the Great Bell by Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904)

2013-07-10T07:49:00.000+08:00

The water-clock marks the hour in the Tachung sz’, in the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the metal monster—the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the sacred Fa-hwa-King, from the chapters of the holy Ling-yen-King! Hear the great bell responding!—how mighty her voice, though tongueless! KO-NGAI!

All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas quiver with desire to speak. KO-NGAI—all the green-and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! KO-NGAI!—What a thunder tone was that!

All the lacquered goblins on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-coloured tongues! And after each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan, and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense tone faints away in broken whispers of silver, as though a woman should whisper, “Hiai!” Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh five hundred years—Ko-Ngai: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring of “Hiai!” And there is not a child in all the many-coloured ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story of the great bell, who cannot tell you why the great bell says Ko-Ngai and Hiai! Now this is the story of the great bell in the Tachung sz’, as the same is related in the Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue, written by the learned Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.

(1) Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the “Illustrious” or Ming dynasty, commanded the worthy official Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred li. And he further ordained that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass, and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face and the great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should be suspended in the centre of the imperial capital to sound through all the many-coloured ways of the City of Pe-King.

(2) Therefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for the alloy, and treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. And they laboured exceedingly, like giants neglecting only rest and sleep and the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of Heaven.

(3) But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labour and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had rebelled one against the other—the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard and was angry, but spake nothing.

(4) A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still the metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all the labour had to be repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written upon lemon-coloured silk and sealed with the seal of the dragon, containing these words:

(5) “From the Mighty Young-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the Celestial and August, whose reign is called ‘Ming,’ to Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to place in thee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!”

(6) Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness whose name—Ko-Ngai—was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home desolate by her absence; and when she had seen the awful yellow missive, sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for her father’s sake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for thinking of her parent’s danger, until she had secretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so obtained had hastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what means her father might be saved from the peril impending over him. So the astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined the signs of the Zodiac—the Hwang-tao, or Yellow Road—and consulted the table of the Five Hin, or Principles of the Universe, and the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made answer to her, saying: “Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the metals in their fusion.” So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart; but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what she had done.

(7) At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a platform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of liquefied metal. All the workmen wrought at their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold, and the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal to cast.

(8) But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a bird’s song above the great thunder of the fires—“For thy sake, O my father!” And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and spattered monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the earthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-coloured fires, and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders and with mutterings.

(9) Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away, and they could bear him like one dead to his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers—the shoe of her beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad.

(10) But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon and perfect in form, and wonderful in colour above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell, reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name, the name of Ko-Ngai.

And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “Hiai!” And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence, but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of “Hiai!” then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-coloured ways of Pe-King whisper to their little ones: “Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for her shoe!”

About Lafcadio Hearn

Why Sinigang? By Doreen G. Fernandez

2013-06-13T22:26:00.001+08:00

Rather than the overworked adobo (so identified as the Philippine stew in foreign cookbooks), sinigang seems to me the dish most representative of Filipino taste. We like the lightly boiled, the slightly soured, the dish that includes fish (or shrimp or meat) vegetables and broth. It is adaptable to all tastes ( if you don’t like shrimp, then bangus, or pork), to all classes and budgets, (even ayungin, in humble little piles, find their way into the pot), to seasons and availability (walang talong, mahal ang gabi? kangkong na lang!).

But why? Why does sinigang find its way to bare dulang, to formica-topped restaurant booth, to gleaming ilustrado table? Why does one like anything at all? How is a people’s taste shaped?

But still, why soured? Aside from the fact that sour broths are cooling in hot weather, could it be perhaps because the dish is meant to be eaten against the mild background of rice? Easy to plant and harvest, and allowing more than one crop a year, rice is ubiquitous on the landscape. One can picture our ancestors settling down beside their rivers and finally tuning to the cultivation of fields, with rice as one of the first steady crops.

RICE

Rice to us is more than basic cereal, for as constant background, steady accompaniment; it is also the shaper of other food, and of tastes. We not only sour, but also salt (daing, tuyo, bagoong) because the blandness of rice suggests the desirability of sharp contrast. Rice can be ground into flour and thus the proliferation of puto; the mildly sweet Putong Polo, the banana leaf-encased Manapla variety; puto filled with meat or flavored with ube; puto in cakes or wedges, white or brown eaten with dinuguan or salabat.

THE GREENERY

The landscape also offers the vines, shrubs, fields, forest and tress from which comes the galaxy of gulay with which we are best all year round. “Back home,” an American friend commented.” All we use from day to day are peas, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, and very few others.”

The dietarily uninhibited Filipino, on the other hand, recognizes the succulence of roots (gabi, ube, kamote); the delicacy and flavor of leaves (pechay, dahong bawang, kintsay, pako, malunggay) and tendrils (talbos ng ampalaya, kalabasa, sayote); the bounty of fruits (not only upo and kalabasa, talong and ampalaya, but also desserts like langka and banana, which double as vegetables; and the excitement of flowers like katuray and kalabasa

About Doreen Fernandez

What is an Educated Filipino? by Francisco Benitez (An Excerpt)

2013-06-05T09:21:00.002+08:00

What is an educated Filipino and what qualities should distinguish him today? The conception of education and of what an educated man is varied in response to fundamental changes in the details and aims of society. In our country and during this transition stage in our national life, what are the qualities which an educated man should possess?

Great changes have taken place in the nature of our social life during the last forty years. The contact with Americans and their civilization has modified many of our own social customs, traditions, and practices, some for the worse and many for the better. The means of communication have improved and therefore better understanding exists among the different sections of our country. Religious freedom has developed religious tolerance in our people. The growth of public schools and the establishment of democratic institutions have developed our national consciousness both in strength and in solidarity. With this growth in national consciousness and national spirit among our people, we witness the corresponding rise of a new conception of education – the training of the individual for the duties and privileges of citizenship, not only for his own happiness and efficiency but also for national service and welfare. In the old days, education was a matter of private concern; now it is a public function, and the state not only has the duty but it has the right as well to educate every member of the community – the old as well as the young, women as well as men – not only for the good of the individual but also for the self-preservation and protection of the State itself. Our modern public school system has been established as a safeguard against the shortcomings and dangers of a democratic government and democratic institutions.

In the light of social changes, we come again to the question: What qualities should distinguish the educated Filipino of today? I venture to suggest that the educated Filipino should first be distinguished by the power to do. The Oriental excels in reflective thinking; he is a philosopher. The Occidental is the doer; he manages things, men and affairs. The Filipino of today needs more of his power to translate reflection into action. I believe that we are coming more and more to the conviction that no Filipino has the right to be considered educated unless he is prepared and ready to take an active and useful part in the work, life, and progress of our country as well as in the progress of the world.

About Francisco Benitez