1 The Ritual

"Being with you is great, but I am an immortal after all. It breaks my heart that the elders above are calling me home. However, in favor of our child, must we make balance the home we once made… I will not take the child whole; yours is a part of it as well as mine…"

"I am only a man waiting for my days to come. But as you wish, Bugan, daughter of the moon, I cannot do anything…" the man said being helpless. He knew since the beginning that this time will come, perhaps a mistake he made or fate had been playing on him. But what should a mortal like him do?

"Aliguyon, my dear husband, my most adored hunter, I'm so sorry, but I need to go back home. We must divide the child." She insisted without having any regret.

"All choices, I leave it to you. I am is but a mortal man and I cannot do anything. What mortal man can do compared to a daughter of a god? Do what you think is good for both of us." He said and his heart pumped hard then his chest became heavy.

"Aliguyon, it will be easy for you to re-create the lower part. So yours is the child's lower part, from feet to waist. You can easily create all his upper body 'till the head. I will take the half part to heaven…" then she whispered some few words making the child fell into a deep sleep and mercilessly divided the child by waist. The ground was flooded with blood while the mere mortal has nothing to do in his presence as a father. He felt useless now, what can he do as a mortal to a half corpse without body and head. Though hard to accept the fate of his son, he must try to let it go, but never will emotion give a break to pacify his agony until his heart can no longer bear the pain… then he yelled…

"Mark Anthony!" Mrs. Zyra Pumbakhayon said in a worried tone and poured water in a glass. "You have a bad dream I think; here take a glass of water." She lowered her tone and took back the empty glass and held it awhile. "What's your dream anyway? Seems troublesome."

He looked at her for some time and wiped his lips. "A divided child… I saw a goddess named Bugan, the daughter of the moon god and she called me Aliguyon in my dream… wait…" He kept quiet for a moment and tried to remember carefully. "The Ifugao legend of the divided child." He looked at her, then took a deep breath.

"Mark Anthony…" his wife Zyra said and put the glass on a table near the bench, sat beside him and rubbed her palm over his back. "It's just a dream. You are tired or, so worried… Mark Angelo will be fine."

"I trust you, but I cannot just ignore the dream I saw. I saw how the goddess cuts the child." He insisted. "It's a weird dream."

"It is only an Ifugao legend from the past Mark Anthony. The Ifugao belief was forgotten. You should not put your worries on it. Such fantasy has nothing to do with the illness of our son." Zyra explained.

He stood from the bench, looked down to her then at Mark Angelo sleeping on the bed. It was almost over a couple of weeks that Mark Angelo was laid in the Ifugao Provincial Hospital. The doctors found it hard to diagnose his illness, but the child cannot walk anymore. He cannot move his feet; however, his heart and his upper body are in good health.

"Any update from the doctor?" He sighed and brushed his hair.

"No results yet. They cannot recommend any other medicines, unless they discover first Mark Angelo's illness. I am afraid Mark Anthony," she said and hugged him, surrounding his belly with her two hands and lean her cheek against his back. He held her hands and took a deep breath. "Only God can save him. God should not forget his promise to first-born. Let us entrust him Mark Angelo's fate."

"I'm always fasting for him…." She released him, looked at his worried face, then to Mark Angelo.

"Zyra, you need to be strong. Mark Angelo needs you so much." He turned back, held her chin and kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his husband penetrated her. His breath fountained down her chest. However, deep in her heart, she fears the fate of their son. There might be a connection with Mark Anthony's dream, but she refused to fathom on it further, it can only make her worries to the grave. She rather let it go by then and just hope the doctors will finally give them some good news.

"Mom, Dad…" Mark Angelo spoke softly, and rubs his eyes. He looked at his mother who seemed troubled, then to his father. He was very curious at them.

"Mark Angelo…" Mark Anthony said. He got near him and sat on the left side of the bed. Zyra got near and sat on the other side. "How are you?"

"I'm fine mom. Dad, mom, when will we go home? I miss home." He looked at both of them moving his head on both sides.

"Don't worry Mark Angelo", his mother said, gave him a fascinating smile, and brushed his hair tenderly. His father held his hands and massage them softly.

"When you are strong enough to walk out of that door," she looked at the door, "we will go home… your grandmother missed you so much as your friends do."

"Hmm!" Angelo nodded. "But when? I do not like here anymore."

"Be patient Mark Angelo. And, you must be strong like dad." Mark Anthony said, showing his muscles. "Look at me…"

"Believe me dad, I will," Mark Angelo replied proudly. "You're still my superhero dad."

"Oh – I bought you some grapes and apples, you must eat them. We have the same wants and likes."

"Thank you, mommy,", he said, and woke up. She helped him slowly.

"Which is which?" His father asked presenting him a platter of fruits he took from the table laid between the bed-header of Mark Angelo's Bed and the other patient on the left bed.

"I want all. Uhmmm… delicious…" he commented eating some grapes, and then held an apple. He was five years old. He's as handsome as his father with a mother's dove's eye.

Mark Anthony Pumbakhayon his father shook his head, smiled and took an apple from his plate and ate it. However, his dreams kept on haunting him. As a father who had been so careful could not rest from his thoughts since his son's fate was on the line. 'Perhaps there's a deeper meaning behind it.' He thought and looked at his son, then to his wife Zyra. Zyra might have guessed what he's thinking, but she remained calm not to give him more troubles. 'I also worry, about our son's fate,' she thought.

Grandma, where have you been?" Mark asked his grandmother three days later. It was already 3:00 0'clock in the afternoon of Friday, 20th of June 2060. "I had been looking for you, I cannot even contact your cell phone."

"I have been to Barangay Linge. It is so hard these days to seek a Native priest. However! I found one; he'll be coming tomorrow…" She replied and took a seat.

Mark Anthony was shocked and kept quiet for the mean time. He never thought of anything regarding the old Ifugao ritual that only evolved in Ifugao books and stories. "For what grandma? Don't you trust God...or, lost faith? I can't believe you're going weird!" He commented.

"Mark, when the doctors, with God-given wisdom cannot recommend any medicine, it is time to seek the ancestor's requirements should one may understand." His grandmother explained. "We already harbored enough of the so-called modern medicines and advance technology, but what the outcome has all these changes shown you as proof. There may be at least more than one hundred ways to cook a chicken."

"But grandma, the Ifugao belief was forgotten. Christianity prevailed…" Mark insisted and scratched his head, then brushed his hairs with his fingers. Sigh. "How can old people insist on what their elders have buried in the graves? We no longer exist in a world of rituals and traditions, Ifugao now is different from before, and the church bell already is ringing sweeter than looking at the bile sack of a chicken!"

"As long as the Ifugao mountains exist, so does the belief from our ancestors. You can never find life without reconsidering what benefit it." His grandmother defended. "Young generations are now spoiled with what technology has achieved, but at least you sometimes chew betel nut. It reflects reasons that put you under old Ifugao traditions." Her grandmother laughed.

"If you are right, I shall trust you, but please, if you doubt, turn back to your Bible… Ok? Its cover is no longer stained with saliva from chewing betel nuts." He looked at her, "It is still possible for a camel to pass through the eye of the needle."

His grandmother laughed. "Mark, we are talking about the condition of your only son not to have so many argumentations. Life is short, God holds everything. We run our fate seventy times seven."

Mark shook his head, smiled, then looked up checking the wall clock. It's about a quarter over and made a little adjustment in his wristwatch. "Grandma, I need to go to the hospital. Zyra should come home tonight…"

"Ok, take care my grandson…"

He bent and kissed his grandma's forehead. "Before I forget, when will the native priest come?" He finally asked his grandmother that stunned her for the moment. She never thought his grandson, after a long debate would finally accept her offers. She now felt comfortable and looked at him. He was looking at her, perhaps curious about what she's thinking. He's been waiting for her replies.

"Oh – yes, tomorrow morning." His grandmother replied.

���I should come back early. I need to go." He said, grabbed his bag and held it helplessly.

His grandma shook her head following him by sight until he has gone out of the house. 'Oh God!' She whispered and looked up to a picture frame hanged on the wall. Her failing sight could still visualize Mark Anthony on the picture frame when he was five years old. Looking at it, tears rolled down her wrinkled face. "It shall not happen again… Lord, not a child… have mercy…" She prayed to God at last. She wiped her tears, but her mind kept on rewinding the tragedy of the past and tried to relate it to Mark Angelo's condition. "Lord, if fate can be changed, take me instead, not the child…" however, she cannot control herself until she started crying loud.

Deep in her heart, she knew that the trouble that kept on appearing in her life is no trial from God. But she cannot make her own reason to have some excuses. However, sometimes, she always relates most things to what great scholars of Ifugao belief have written many years ago with what is happening in Ifugao, in her daily life, in her family. Though Christianity subdued Ifugao belief, omens from the forgotten days kept on running with time as long as there is day and night. Never had she thought of referring to a native priest, but she thought it would be better and perhaps she was right or just her worry of her only grandchild.

If the effect of technology changed Ifugao so fast with great buildings and establishments while the Ifugao rice terraces lost her crown, Ifugao is still Ifugao from before in values and manner, politics and values. That's why the nation endorsed Ifugao as a model in governance, clean politics, and wise in governing…

Is this the house of Mrs. Nathalia Pumbakhayon?" A man asked Mrs. Zyra Pumbakhayon. He's not so old, but he's holding a staff and has an Ifugao attire hanged over his shoulder.

"Yes, uncle, please come inside," Mrs. Pumbakhayon replied politely. "Feel at home uncle…" she led him inside. "Want a cup coffee?" She offered.

"Yes," he replied and sat on the sofa. He noticed the guest room was very simple, lively, and fresh. He put the red garment he was carrying on the sofa and lean his back.

"Kindly wait," she said, turned back and pressed the power button of the TV placed on the table in front of the man.

"You came early as you told me yesterday." Mrs. Nathalia Pumbakhayon interrupted. She was coming down from upstairs. "Thanks for coming home," she continued and sat beside him. She took the native attire, stretched herself and place it beside the TV. "Morning birds are like rooster chirping before sunlight, you might be tired my brother."

"It is my task to comply with the request that ask my obligation should this servant of the ancestor fail not before too late," he replied. "How is the child's condition anyway?" Nathalia looked at him a few seconds, "well," she finally breathed, "the doctors could not give us a good finding to what illness made my grandson have him under his blanket prolong over his shaking body at the house of wards. It's hopeless to wait for observations and recommendations. Perhaps, we can find it with what our elders have told us to do. That's the only remedy I thought."

"Your coffee," Mrs. Zyra Pumbakhayon said and put down two cups of native coffee on the table in front with some cakes on a platter her grandmother had prepared earlier.

"Thank you," the two old folks said in duet and looked at each other. Let us warm ourselves. Coffee is always nice while the day is too young." Nathalia said.

Zyra left them, took a towel and headed to the bathroom.

Zyra's Cell phone rang and vibrated drumming the table where she laid it. The old woman stood and pick it up and gave a reply, "Mark, good morning!"

"Good morning too grandma, is Zyra not coming here?" He asked.

"She's taking a shower; she'll be here in a few seconds… I'll inform her, how is your son anyway?"

"Not good, not bad, no results yet, I'm worried." He replied in a hurried tone.

"Before I forgot, Mr. Pedro is here."

"The native priest!"

"Yes, are you not coming?"

"Tell Zyra to hurry, I must witness, I want to know the process of the ritual…"

"Good, ok, I'll tell her…"

"Thanks, bye," Mark finally ended his call.

"Bye," she replied and put back the cell phone on the table, "my grandson wants to witness the ritual…" she told Pedro.

"Good," Mr. Pedro replied. "You know, it is so hard these days to have a successor. Time will come when foreigners will perform it for us. It will be a shame on us, our ancestors, and the generation after us will surely curse our selfishness. But we cannot blame our young ones when they have no interest with that Ifugao pride that caused the erection of the world known Ifugao rice terraces."

"Even for me, I was thinking of it sometimes. Lovers of Ifugao culture, tradition, and belief from abroad already have learned our traditions and cultures so fast. What a shame anyway. We let foreigners trespass the boundary should every Ifugao must treasure best, the origins of it."

"Too late to argue now, but to tell you the truth, I'm the last Ifugao native priest. I was trying to track if there are other native priests in our province, but not on the mountains and I could track foreigner who knew things of ours. They are swift with gold on their claws taken from our mountains. But at least I live as a living legacy of our past and at the same time a witness of this fact."

"I understand. Business today is business, money is money. How fool we are, we let them learn our customs… now; they will buy us through the tradition we have forgotten."

"However, since I became a native priest, I always receive a strange vision..." Pedro changed the topic.

"What is it?" Nathalia curiously asked.

"The morning genre will shine while the sun and the moon renew the past…"

"Can you explain?" Nathalia became more curious and put on the table her cup of coffee. "I never heard such kind, nor ever watched it on movies."

"I do not know. Even for me, I cannot understand, but I always see it clearly. Perhaps, our ancestors have held something this time must be well concern to what may happen. It sometimes confused me, but I always kept my faith on what I see."

"We are held responsible. If you say you're the last native priest then perhaps it's your responsibility to uncover what the past has put into seclusion. It's now more than a century or more since we attempted to change Ifugao belief and Christianity prevailed after all. But it sometimes takes us to embrace our forefather's ways when necessary. We always will."

The old man laughed. "Though Ifugao will, nothing ado will nourish the natives own, unless we learn it from foreigners. And their time will be honored while original owners shall attempt to bargain. What a fool anyway!" He shook his head, make a sip and held tight the cup of coffee, playing his other fingers around it then looked at her a while. "The thing I can do only takes the remnant of my breath, after, nothing forever. I will try to make a bargain with all munkontad gods, not to answer when foreign language calls."

"If in the part of a native priest your longings are possible then why not. Better have something done and take the rest to the grave that it will be only the grave that will hold the wealth of Ifugao tradition and its replica on books." Nathalia added.

It took them a little bit busy ere they prepared everything. However, the native priest was surprised to see in the future the long-told woven chest being mentioned in the past days. Time has kept it safe, but still he cannot understand how the woven chest was kept throughout the years. His joy exceeds his expectations and he found himself in a good mood to pursue the task he is about to do. Never yet in his lifetime was such antique revealed for so many were of such kind, but were sold or have been made few decades past. It is a boon anyway for someone like him to use the most powerful woven chest on a ritual he has to perform.

"I never imagined that I could see the woven chest. It is only rumors that told me about this, but now I believe." The old man said as he was checking the chest curiously. "It was handed from our neighbor village Cudog through a desperate man running away from home. Now kept for safety until now, lucky are the descendants of the keeper. It served the keeper since it was taken by Ballituk of Kiyyangan from the underworld-god Umangob. It has many mysteries untold, but thanks to the chants and folklore, this woven chest is immortalized."

It was made of fine rattan interwoven beautifully. A squared woven chest… of its age, it's still strong and its color became black as if placed over a hearth for many years that the layers of its natural coat made it smooth and bit shiny.

"It has been passed down to our family from generations…" Nathalia replied. "It was never used before, since I became the keeper of it. For many years, it was kept unused. Who dare to use such when in every house treasures the crucifix of Christian faith? I should have sold it a long time ago, antiques now are too precious, but what an old woman I am, I just thought of keeping it as a legacy and sometimes for decoration." She laughed.

The old man laughed with her. "The last native priest of Ifugao is still worthy of his task." The old man said. "It is my fate, perhaps that once and for all, I shall bring forth what we have forgotten and save a life."

However, Mark Anthony Pumbakhayon came in and stood parallel at the door. He was tall, not so stout and thin and was very handsome in his checkered polo. "Good morning…" The two old folks replied in a duet, "good morning Mark Anthony…"

"Am I late?" He asked and sat on the sofa in front of them and on top of the table, threw his bag and removed his polo. Only his sweat shirt left. He took a deep breath and checked the things on the floor Pedro has laid in preparation for the ritual.

"No! We're about to prepare for it…" His grandma replied. "Brother, he's my grandson Mark Anthony," she introduced him to Pedro.

"Nice to meet you, son…" the old man said. "You resembled your father, handsome and tall. He once asked me to work on the foundations of the stonewalls below your house. He was a cheerful man, I missed him."

"Nice to meet you too, uncle." He replied. "I almost forgot my father's face; it's almost more than two decades ago. The days when I know not how to make my hairdo." He smiled.

"Mark Anthony, he's Pedro from Barangay Linge…"

"You told me yesterday… nice to meet you uncle."

"Yes, I forgot," she smiled. "Anyway, he needs a bottle of wine to address our ancestors and the dieities of the three realms."

"Wait for me here, I'll go and buy." Mark stood immediately, checked his pocket and run out of the door.

Pedro took his native garment, folded it and place it on the woven chest with betel nuts, lime, betel leaves, some coins while a bound live chicken lied beside. A while later, Mark Anthony returned with a bottle of wine. Then the old man started chanting. It took him a little longer to address all ancestors from both sides of the family starting five generations back then conjured the individual messenger gods (munkontad) from the different places. Munkontad from Heaven (Kabunyan), from the East (Lagud), from West (Daya), from the Underworld (Dalom): munkontad in behalf of the Tay-yabban (Shooting-star like deities flying in the form of fire), in behalf of the Manah-haut (Misleading deities), in behalf of the Mamag-gayon (deities who are always prevented from being first before the chosen), in behalf of the Manganup (hunters from Heaven, West, East, and Underworld) then the rest of the same kind.

The munkontad are highly acknowledged because they are the messenger gods. Each munkontad as addressed must answer the native priest and must follow orders as fast as they could. Their task is very special and it's their solemn duty to protect, deliver, and fetch back the blessings of the gods and ancestors. However, their power was limited, the ancestors are powerful than them should they always obey in whatever call in which their intercession is needed.

When the old man has done most part of the ritual, the time of knowing the child's illnesses must take part. He has many words to utter, conjuring, citing, and chanting, and then he allowed the chicken to be slaughtered. Nathalia and her grandson Mark Anthony butchered the chicken. They drained its blood in a bowl while the priest kept on chanting. When he was finished chanting, the chicken died and he yelled once. He checked the blood; he was shocked to discover that the reproof is neither not common nor ordinary.

He put the bowl of blood on the floor where there was sunlight entering through the window. "This is the vision I always receive… what a coincidence!" He said. He was shocked yet he has fear in his heart, then his skin hairs started to stand while something cold was lurking on his veins.

"The moon, the sun, and a star… what does it mean?" Mark Anthony asked curiously. He never has witnessed anything like this, though he watched many movies on conjuring spirits. His heart started to pump as he was looking at it.

"Look, the moon is moving…" The old woman said and moved down her head to watch closely.

The moon slowly moved and covered the sun, then only the star was left. "Oh my God, a morning eclipse. That's the morning star, Venus!" Mark Anthony said. "Impossible!" Then he started to question himself, but pondering over it cannot give him a good answer.

"Time will come, when in one morning; there will be an eclipse to let the morning star shine. It only means a new era in Ifugao times, but I am not clear on this." Pedro explained, he was also amazed to witness for the first time in all the rituals he had. "Such omen has never appeared in our time, but it has something to tell about the child's condition or this family."

"Have you any doubt?" Nathalia asked and looked at him.

Pedro kept quiet a while. He thought of some stories told a long time ago about celestials. "Relating stories, the moon was deceived by the sun god. The sun god put a bunch of lime at the entrance of the moon god and told her to pierce it when she passes. She really pierced it, less to her own folly she was caught by the trap the sun god laid for her; her eyes were covered with the lime as it showered down. She's in revenge. In other stories, the moon god daughter came down to earth and has fallen in love with a mere mortal. They bore a son and later, when she thought of going back to heaven her home…"

"They divided the child by his waist…" Mark continued and stretched his back.

"Yes," Pedro agreed. "You know it." He said, he was surprised by his answer. The legend was then rare, those books published a long time ago stopped from circulation due to copyright not transferred to the beneficiaries of former Ifugao authors.

"My god! It was my dream. I saw it clearly. The goddess really cuts the child. I saw it…" He said unanimously. "The lady called me Aliguyon in my dream and I'm being troubled until now. I'm afraid it has something to do with me, my son, my family." He moved his throat up and took a deep a breath.

"Mark Anthony!" Nathalia said… she felt fear and her heart started to pump harder. She already got the clue. The illness of her grand-grandchild has something in relation to this old, old story; however, she tried to hide her fears. Mark Anthony must not be affected; she feared her grandson might not bear it.

"My dear God! It has a connection with the morning star, the moon, and the sun. Mark Anthony!" Pedro said, "You're the sun…" he looked at him. At a sudden, Mark Anthony was shocked. His grandmother hid it from him; however, Mr. Pedro made it clear.

"You mean…" he shook his head. He is now being confused and does not know what to do. He cannot accept and believe either that in a time of Christian era should something like this happen. He might be, by now, losing his faith but his love for his only child is making him accept anything to save him at any cost. He is a father after all. Saving his son at such critical stage is not easy since even the great doctors cannot prescribe medicines, only some sorts of vitamins. If there should have been any developments at the hospital, then he should doubt this ritual, but thinking back, he cannot think of anything better than the suggestion of his grandmother and the way of an un-educated man who rather has his faith on his rituals. "Yes. Your son is the morning star. I am sure of it." The native priest said. "It must be a replica of the past but how. The story was just a legend told a long time ago. Or perhaps, your family belonged to the descendant of the man of Pangaggawan then there could have been some hidden agenda behind it. I never heard of such occurrence."

"If so, how can your ritual deal with this? What I mean the tradition? We cannot dig up the bones when the man is still here with us." Nathalia said.

"We need to conjure one of your ancestors to explain to us the matters of your family. A thing like this doesn't concern the dead. But if, they can give guidance." Pedro said, "In Christian belief, this is something the Lord prohibits and it's a grave sin, but I shall take the responsibility for we are facing this grave problem and it's my sole responsibility as a Native priest."

"Impossible! Only legend says that." Mark Anthony doubted and looked at his grandma a matter of seconds. "How?" He changed his thought. His fear is becoming worse. Losing a precious son at an early age, in him is not easy to accept. He loves Mark Angelo as much as he loves Zyra who has been his young teacher in college. And having had her had he undergone through many heartaches, so how much more to lose a five-year-old child. Such sudden occurrence of an unknown illness, sometimes, made him ponder and asked the Lord why it did not fall on him, why a child would suffer such unknown illness that even the chief doctor cannot diagnose what kind of illness he has. As a father, of course, is a great pain to see a son lying all day long at the hospital and it haunted him. It took him some minutes of muteness before he uttered some words, "do what you seem good, I am becoming helpless as a father to my only son. And, whatever requirements I need to do, I am willing, just for the sake of my son, I want to see him grow as I am."

His grandmother moved closer to him and tried to pacify him. "My grandson, when I was young, I witnessed some rituals since your grand-grandfather was a native priest like your uncle Pedro. Though Christianity condemns the act of conjuring the gods and the ancestors, when necessity requires, we cannot turn a blind eye. And those that I witnessed were successful. Now, we are facing something different than those rituals I witnessed from the past. But I know that there's a glimpse of hope waiting for us, your uncle Pedro will perform the rest of the ritual for us to know what should we do should the burden on your shoulders be not so heavy for you to carry until it will be over for good."

Mark Anthony Pumbakhayon kept quiet. Deep in his heart, however, it is not easy to accept, but he does not know what to do, the situation has gone far worse than what he expected. Knowing the unexpected result is a myth that cannot just be believed, though he has heard a lot of Ifugao traditions and cultures, but still, such fantasy is not what he wanted to discover.