The Story of Búgan and Kin͠ggáuan, or the Marriage of a Goddess with a Man53

The Story of Búgan and Kin͠ggáuan, or the Marriage of a Goddess with a Man53

Having arrived at Kián͠gan, they took up their lodging in the house of Kin͠ggáuan’s mother—the man entering first and then Búgan. The mother of the former was surprised, and asked him: “Who is this woman?” The son answered: “I was at the hunting place and she presented herself to me there and I do not know whence she comes.” The aged mother after having looked at them a little while—when seated—addressed herself to Búgan and asked: “Who art thou? How dost thou call thyself? From whence dost thou come?” The maiden replied that her name was Búgan, that she was the daughter of Hinumbían and Dakáue, and that she belonged to the sky region of Luktág. But the reason of her descent to that terraqueous region, and of accompanying her son, was her having seen him so poor and deserted * * * “for which reason I took pity on him and came down to visit him and to furnish him with an abundance of game” * * * and she added that on the following day the mother should send many people to collect the dead game which they had left in the lonely hut of her son. By a coincidence, the mother of the young man was also called Búgan, with the addition of na kantaláo.

During all this, the young couple had already been united in the bond of matrimony—without any of the prescribed formalities—at the place called Pan͠gagáuan, and Búgan gave birth to a vigorous son to whom she gave the name Balitúk. The little pigs, also, which they had brought, gave forth their fruit. The child grew a little, but he did not yet know how to walk. His mother, Búgan, as a being from the Sky World, did not eat like the rest of the people of Kián͠gan, but desired only boiled rice, birds, and meat of game. Those of that region bore her much envy because of her being a stranger; and, because they knew she did not like certain vegetables of theirs, they strove to make her depart from their town and to betake herself to her birthplace of Luktág in the sky. Their envy toward her increased upon their seeing the abundance of her fowls and pigs. With the object, then, of disgusting her, and of driving her away, they attempted to surround her house with certain garden stuffs, greens, and fish. With these they succeeded effectively in making Búgan fall sick with an intense itch and fever; for which reason she abandoned that house and went to another place, while her husband moved to a rice granary. But they persecuted her again in her new place of lodging, surrounding it with the vegetables and other things spoken of above, and causing her nausea in a stomach accustomed to other food. In view of such wearisome tricks, Búgan proposed to Kin͠ggáuan her desire to return to her land with the new blossom of spring, their child. Her husband answered her: “I should well like to accompany thee, but I am afraid of ascending to so high a place.” “There is no reason to be afraid,” replied Búgan, “I myself shall take thee up in the áyud (a kind of hammock).” She accordingly strove to persuade him, but Kin͠ggáuan did not lay aside his fear; then she attempted to take him up bound to a rope, but neither did she effect this. During these labors, she soared aloft with the child to the heights of Luktág, but upon perceiving that her husband had not followed her she went down again, with her son in the band which the Ifugaos use for that purpose. (Plate III, fig. 2.) After conferring with Kin͠ggáuan, she said to him: “Thou seest the situation. I cannot continue among thy countrymen, because they hate me unto death. Neither dost thou dare to ascend unto Luktág. What we can do is to divide our son,” * * * and, seizing a knife, Búgan divided her son Balitúk in the middle, or just above the waist, and made the following division: The head and the rest of the upper trunk she left to Kin͠ggáuan—that it might be easier for him to give a new living being to those upper parts—and she retained for herself the lower part of the trunk unto the feet; and as for the entrails, intestines, heart, liver, and even the very excrement, she divided them—leaving the half for her husband. The partition having been completed, Búgan mounted to her heavenly mansion, taking with her the part of her son which fell to her lot, and, giving it a breath of life, she converted it into a new celestial being retaining the very name of Balitúk. On the other hand, the part which she had left to her husband, on the earth, began to be corrupted and decayed, because he, Kin͠ggáuan, had not been able, or did not know how, to reanimate it. The foul odor of the putrified flesh reached unto the dwelling place of Búgan in Luktág, and, having been perceived by her, she descended to Kabúnian in order to better acquaint herself with the happening. From Kabúnian she saw that the evil odor issued from the decomposition of the part of the entrails which she had left on the earth in charge of her husband, and which he had not reanimated. Then she broke forth in cries of grief, pity, and compassion—and, descending to Kián͠gan, she severely accused Kin͠ggáuan, saying unto him: “Why hast thou allowed our son to rot? And why hast thou not quickened him to life?” Upon which he answered that he did not understand the art of reanimation.

From the putrified tongue she produced a malady, or swelling, of the tongue in men, which is cured with a hot egg, or with a chicken, which they offer to their mother, Búgan.

From the bones of the breast she created a venomous serpent. From the heart she made the rainbow. From the fingers she made certain very long shells, after the form of fingers. From the hair, thrown into the water, she created certain little worms or maggots. From the skin she drew forth a bird of red color, called kúkuk. From the half of the blood she created the small bats (litálît). From the liver she drew forth a certain disease of the breast. From the intestines she formed a class of somewhat large animals, resembling rabbits or rats (amúnîn?). From the bones of the arms she made pieces of dry or rotted wood that fall from trees upon passers-by who approach them.

The myth just given is an example of one of the most interesting processes in the early development of literature. It is probable that originally it was only a simple origin myth, but it has been elaborated and developed until now it is worthy of its little niche in the world’s literature.

Central Ifugao Beliefs

The exact difference between the Central Ifugao and the Kián͠gan beliefs is not an easy matter to determine. There has been much mixture between the two peoples accompanied by a corresponding exchange of ideas. The effect of this exchange in some cases has been to produce a deceptive similarity in beliefs and myths that originally were fundamentally different; while in other cases myths that were originally the same have been so greatly differentiated in the two areas that their unity can scarcely be recognized.

However, it would seem that some basic differences really exist, and the probability is that they are survivals from the ancient cultures of the peoples who went to make up the present distinctly composite Ifugao group. But the evidence at hand is not sufficient to warrant a full discussion of this question here, and I shall merely cite one example. Kián͠gan myths are nearly always told from the standpoint of the gods, and have to do with the dealings of the gods with one another and with men. On the other hand, Central Ifugao myths are told from the standpoint of men in their relations and dealings with the gods. This will be made plain by a comparison of the following Central Ifugao myth with the Origin of the Ifugaos previously given.