Showing posts with label bathala. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bathala. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 19, 2025

Bathala or Meykapal?

 Bathala or Meykapal?

“Others,” continues Morga, “worshipped the sun and the moon, holding feasts and drunken revelries during conjunctions. And some worshipped a bird in the mountains painted yellow (1), which they called Bátala. Commonly, they also revered crocodiles; when they saw one, they knelt and worshipped it in order to appease it. There were no temples, and each person kept and made his anitos in his own house, without fixed ceremonies or priests only old men and women called Catalonas, who were great sorcerers and witches, made prayers and ceremonies for the sick. They believed in another life with rewards for the brave, though they did not know how or where this would be (2). They buried their dead in their own houses, keeping the bodies and skulls as if they were still alive and present.”

According to the Jesuit Quirino, the Filipinos did not use their writing to preserve their religion, but only for correspondence. Thus nothing was found written on religious matters, and all that could be known was based on oral tradition, passed from parents to children, preserved in usage, and in songs they memorized. These songs they repeated during voyages to the rhythm of rowing, and in their celebrations, funerals, and even in their labors when many worked together. In these chants they recounted the fabulous genealogies and various deeds of their gods.

“Among their gods,” he writes, “there was one principal and superior to all, whom the Tagalogs called Bathala Meykapal, which means the Maker or Creator God, and the Visayans Laon, which denotes antiquity. Concerning the creation of the world, the origin of humankind, the flood, glory, punishment, and other invisible things, they told a thousand tales, often varying some in one way, others in another. One of their fables was that the first man and woman came out of a bamboo tube that split open. Afterwards arose disputes about whether they could marry, because of the prohibition against close kinship, which was inviolable among them and only permitted that first time out of necessity for the propagation of mankind.”

The Jesuit Colin (in his Labor Evangélica, Madrid 1663) admits that he took his reports from Quirino, and indeed he copies almost literally this whole part. However, he expands this cosmogony, adding his own details, which to us seems a falsification. What is lamentable is that others Gaspar de San Agustín, Francisco de San Antonio, Moya, Marsden (History of Sumatra), Lubbock, and others copied him literally and even expanded it in turn.

Fr. Colin, perhaps in order to invent a Filipino cosmogony that would support the credibility of Genesis, and mistakenly believing that the blue bird (called also Badhala as an omen) was the Bathala Meykapal, the Creator God of the Filipinos, distorted Quirino’s simple and plausible cosmogony, saying: The world began with only sky and water, and between them a kite bird (the Holy Spirit dove of the Romanists) flew about searching for a place to perch. Finding none, it stirred the waters. The water grew angry, raising waves. The sky, to calm it, covered it with islands on which the bird landed. Then the waves threw up at its feet a piece of bamboo with two nodes. It pecked it open, and from one end came out a man, and from the other a woman. Difficulties arose because of their kinship, but by the counsel of fish and birds (1), one of their gods, the Earthquake (2)—called linog in Tagalog and limog in Tiruray dispensed with the prohibition and married them, and they had many children. Tired of feeding them to no purpose, the father took a stick and pretended to chastise them for their mischief so they would earn their own living. The children fled and hid: some inside the chambers of the house, and these became the nobles; others outside, who became freemen; those in the kitchen became servants; and those who went far away became foreigners. And Moya invented further, saying that those who penetrated into the earth to the region of fire became the Negritos.

“The Tagalogs,” says Quirino, “worshipped a blue bird the size of a thrush, and they called it Baihala, which among them was a divine name.” (4)

In Pampango traditions, Bátala also appears as the name of a bird taken as an omen.

The word Bathara in Sanskrit (the sacred language of the Hindus) means “Lord.” The Bataks of Sumatra, the Bugis, and the Makassarese call their god Bathara (Lord) Guru (Master), which is an epithet of Shiva, the third person of the Brahmanic Trimurti.

A Hebrew, on hearing the word Bathala, told us it was the same as Bethel—House of God, or God of the Semites, by another name Allah so that Bathala would mean house or incarnation of Allah (Genesis XII, 8; XIII, 3–4).

According to the 1572 Relation, the Christians’ God was also called Batala. We believe that the true name of the Creator God among the Tagalogs was Meykapal (as it is now), and not Bathala. In fact, until six years ago the latter was not even used, until Filipinos revived it after learning from those hastily written chronicles that the Filipino God was called Bathala.

Moreover, the Tagalogs no longer even remembered the word Bathala or Bátala, but only Badhala, which is probably the true form keeping in mind that Spaniards always pronounce d as l at the end of a syllable. In the old Tagalog dictionary of Fr. Noceda (1754), Meykapal is the same as Meygawa: “the one who made or created.”

Monday, November 21, 2011

Bakunawa and the seven moons

 In ancient times, the night sky was graced by seven luminous moons, each one a pearl of light that danced across the heavens. The moons were gifts from Bathala, the Supreme God, who watched over the world and ensured the balance of light and dark. Under their silver glow, the world thrived in peace, the night illuminated with their soothing light.

But in the deepest depths of the ocean, there lived a creature of insatiable hunger—Bacunawa, a giant eel-dragon whose massive body undulated like a living wave. Her scales were as dark as the abyss, and her eyes burned with an unquenchable desire. For countless nights, Bacunawa gazed up at the seven moons, mesmerized by their brilliance. Her envy grew with each passing night, turning into a consuming obsession. She wanted to possess the moons, to bring their light into her shadowy realm and make them her own.

One fateful evening, Bacunawa could no longer resist her desire. As the night fell and the moons began their celestial dance, Bacunawa emerged from the ocean, her colossal form slicing through the sky like a dark comet. The first moon, shining brightly, caught her eye. With a roar that shook the heavens, she opened her gaping maw and swallowed it whole. The night darkened slightly, and the people on earth looked up in shock.

But Bacunawa was far from finished. She continued her ascent, her hunger driving her forward. She devoured the second moon, then the third. Each moon that disappeared into her cavernous belly caused the sky to dim further, and fear began to spread among the people.

By the time Bacunawa had swallowed the fourth moon, the darkness was almost total. The people, now in a state of panic, realized that if she continued, the remaining moons would soon be devoured, plunging the world into perpetual night. As Bacunawa consumed the fifth moon, they knew they had to act quickly.

Desperate and terrified, the villagers recalled the ancient stories told by their ancestors. It was said that in times of great peril, when the gods were called with enough fervor and noise, Bathala himself would intervene. The people had no choice but to trust in the old legends. They gathered together, grabbing whatever instruments they could—drums, gongs, pots, and pans. With a unified effort, they began to create an overwhelming cacophony.

Their cries and clamor filled the night. They shouted to the heavens, their voices rising in desperate plea. “Bathala! Great Bathala! Hear our cries! Save the moons and stop Bacunawa!”

The noise was so intense that it reached the very heavens. Bathala, in his celestial abode, heard the desperate call of his people. His divine heart was moved by their plight, and he saw Bacunawa rising ever higher, her hunger now fixated on the sixth moon.

With a flash of divine light, Bathala descended from the highest realms. His presence was overwhelming, a radiance that cut through the darkness. The very sky seemed to part as he appeared, his form glowing with the brilliance of the sun. His voice, powerful and commanding, reverberated across the heavens.

“Bacunawa!” Bathala’s voice was like rolling thunder. “You dare to consume my gifts and plunge the world into eternal darkness? Your greed will not be tolerated. Return what you have taken, or face the consequences of your actions.”

Bacunawa, now halfway through devouring the sixth moon, was startled by Bathala’s sudden appearance. She hesitated, her great maw still open as she considered the final moon. Her hunger was intense, but the sheer force of Bathala’s presence was even more formidable. She hissed defiantly, “I will have the last moon! The darkness will be mine to command!”

But Bathala’s divine power was overwhelming. He raised his hand, and a blinding light erupted from his fingertips. Bolts of celestial energy and divine fire streaked across the sky, striking Bacunawa with an intense force. The serpent-dragon roared in pain as the divine light seared her scales, forcing her to release her hold on the sixth moon.

The people, seeing the light and hearing Bacunawa’s cries, renewed their clamor. Their noise, now joined with Bathala’s power, reached a deafening crescendo. Bacunawa, writhing in agony, was driven back from the heavens. The final moon, untouched by her grasp, shone brightly once more.

Bathala’s gaze was stern as he addressed Bacunawa. “You will not consume the last moon, nor will you ever again threaten the balance of the night. Return to the depths of the ocean and remain there, where you belong.”

With a final flash of divine light, Bathala banished Bacunawa back into the sea. The serpent-dragon, defeated and humiliated, sank into the dark waters, her hunger unfulfilled

The people rejoiced, their voices still echoing with gratitude. They knew that their cries had reached Bathala and had been answered. The last moon is safe, the light shining over the world, and the night was once more illuminated.

From that day forward, the people remembered the power of their collective voice and their faith in Bathala. Whenever the moons began to dim or Bacunawa threatened to rise again, they would gather and make their noise, calling out to the Supreme God to protect their celestial gifts.

The Legend of Bakunawa and the Seven Moons

 

The Legend of Bakunawa and the Seven Moons

In the ancient days of the Philippines, there were seven moons that graced the sky, each one glowing with a distinct and radiant light. These moons brought beauty to the night, illuminating the lands, seas, and forests with their silvery glow. The people adored the moons, believing them to be divine gifts, symbols of life and harmony.

But beneath the deep, dark waters of the ocean, a creature of immense size and power slumbered. His name was Bakunawa, a giant eel-like dragon with scales as dark as the deepest night and eyes that burned like smoldering embers. He was an ancient being, filled with envy for the beauty of the moons, longing to devour them and claim their light for himself.

Night after night, Bakunawa would rise from the depths of the ocean to gaze at the seven moons, his heart filled with desire. Their brilliance only fed his hunger, and the thought of swallowing them became an obsession he could no longer resist.

One fateful evening, as the moons aligned in the sky in their full glory, Bakunawa made his move. He surged out of the ocean with a mighty roar, his enormous body coiling up into the heavens. His jaws opened wide, and with one swift motion, he swallowed the first moon whole.

The people below looked up in horror as the first moon disappeared from the sky, its light extinguished in an instant. Darkness began to creep over the land, and a cold fear spread among the people. They cried out in terror, praying to the gods to save the remaining moons.

But Bakunawa was not finished. His hunger only grew stronger as he tasted the moon's light. He lunged for the second moon, devouring it just as quickly as the first. Then, the third moon vanished into his maw, followed by the fourth. One by one, Bakunawa consumed the moons, plunging the world deeper into darkness.

As Bakunawa prepared to devour the sixth moon, the Supreme God Bathala, the creator and protector of the universe, felt the balance of the heavens tipping into chaos. Bathala, watching from his throne in Kaluwalhatian, the realm of the gods, knew he had to act swiftly before Bakunawa could consume the final moon and bring eternal darkness upon the world.

With a flash of divine power, Bathala descended from the heavens, his presence filling the skies with radiant light. His form was mighty and vast, draped in robes of shimmering stardust, and his eyes gleamed with the light of a thousand suns.

“Bakunawa!” Bathala’s voice thundered across the sky, causing the oceans to churn and the winds to howl. “Cease your destruction, and return to the depths from which you came!”

But Bakunawa, emboldened by his feast of moons, snarled at Bathala. “I am the master of the seas and the skies,” Bakunawa hissed, his long body writhing through the clouds. “The moons belong to me now, and I will devour the last of them to bring darkness to your creation!”

Undeterred, Bathala raised his hand, and from it, a brilliant beam of light shot forth, striking Bakunawa and halting his advance toward the sixth moon. The light was so intense that it burned through the darkness Bakunawa had spread, forcing the dragon to recoil in pain.

Roaring in fury, Bakunawa lashed out at Bathala, his enormous body twisting and curling as he tried to strike the god down. But Bathala was far too powerful. With a wave of his hand, Bathala summoned chains of lightning, which wrapped around Bakunawa’s body, binding him and pulling him away from the moons.

“You are a creature of darkness, Bakunawa,” Bathala said, his voice filled with both sorrow and command. “You were never meant to possess the light of the moons. Your hunger shall be your downfall.”

Bakunawa, enraged and defiant, fought against the chains, his eyes still locked on the final moon. But no matter how hard he struggled, he could not break free from Bathala’s divine power.

With a final burst of energy, Bathala cast Bakunawa down from the sky, hurling him back into the depths of the ocean where he belonged. The moons Bakunawa had swallowed were freed from his belly, returning to their rightful places in the heavens, their light restored. The world was once again bathed in the serene glow of the seven moons, and peace returned to the night.

Yet, Bathala knew that Bakunawa’s hunger would never truly be quenched. From time to time, the serpent would rise again, reaching for the moons in his endless desire to consume them. During these moments, when the people saw the moon beginning to disappear, they knew it was Bakunawa trying to swallow it once more. They would beat drums, clang pots and pans, and shout into the night, hoping to scare the dragon away and protect the moon.

Though Bakunawa would forever try to steal the moons, Bathala’s power ensured that he would never succeed. The seven moons remained in the sky, a symbol of light’s eternal triumph over darkness and a reminder of Bathala’s vigilance over his creation.

And so, the legend of Bakunawa and the seven moons lived on, passed down from generation to generation