Indeed, in a swishing motion went that fan that night, the first of February, during the Pagana Maranao hosted by Governor Mamintal "Mike"Adiong and his wife Soraya Alonto (the eldest daughter of Papa Domeng, once (and forever) Lanao del Sur’s great Senator Domacao Alonto) at the provincial cultural hall.
My eyes were swimming, you might say dancing too, as I watched excerpts from the Darangen, the popular Maranao epic. It was accompanied by a kulintang and drums. Bayoks were sung intermittently, flavored by the equally colorful Maranao dances performed by 20- to 25-year-old boys and girls, who also danced the internationally-acclaimed singkil. It is admirable that many are continuously trained to perform this historically and mythologically resplendent epic and its repertoire.
The performance was taken from Karaget sa Larangan, the tragedy of Princess Lawanen’s love affair who begot Lomena by Prince Bantogen, which turned out to be an incestuous relationship.
As an infant, Lawanen was carried by a cloud into the garden of Ina Aka Bayaw. There, a tonong (spirit) took care of her. In that area, angels from heaven landed on their Tonga Sana Bulawan, a form of tornado Dr. Abdullah Madale described it to me, with their descent as a "swirling down" from heaven. In a previous reading of the Darangen, I learned that the rainbow was also a mode of transport for people from the Skyworld to move up and down the earth. Vikki Bangcola injected that it was not only "from heaven" but "from paradise" where they swirled down to bathe in preparation for their Sambaya (Friday prayers).
To shorten this epic of a thousand years: Bantogen met Lawanen in the Skyworld and fell in love with her. Then the story’s coup de grace: long ago, to remove lice from a man’s head was an act of love. To show her love for Bantogen, Lawanen made him rest his head on her lap to remove his lice. Something on her finger accidentally hurt his head. He took her hand and saw the ring that identified her as his missing sister. He left Lawanen without telling her of his discovery and went away forever.
Like the long epic that Darangen is, another episode was dramatized that Maranao cultural night with yards and yards of cloth formed into a boat by the dancers. This is to indicate that Bantogen, "a big man, like a giant," was on his way to Lanao from another kingdom. He set sail on his Rinamuntao ma palao (meaning a ship with a bow as high as a hill). He sailed with 200 men ready for battle against the people of the lake. Entering the mouth of the Agus River, the lookout had spotted his ship and ran to Lanao to report of Bantogan’s impending arrival. The identity of these men of the lake is unknown but they sought the help of their spirit ancestors, the tonongs who sent down tremors and thunders causing Bantogan’s boat to sink inside an earthquake’s fault in the river Agus by the Maria Cristina Falls.
That special night women came in golden threaded or plain abiertos (a Spanish word, right?), as how the Maranao women call their native blouses. Gold coins, irrespective of the number, were sewn on these abiertos. Malongs were held securely over their left arm as their right hand held little evening handbags. Both arms had numerous bangle bracelets, and on their fingers, many rings of gold.
Emerald green, which in M’ranao signifies peace, was just one of the dazzling colors of the malong with maroon okir strips in between the green cotton cloth. A lady in purple was asked: "Ino ka mararambayong"? (meaning, "Are you lonely?" because for the Maranaos purple signifies sadness). Yellow malongs, dyed bright like the early sun and once reserved for royalty, was worn by 20 females dancers and 20 males performers with their musala or scarfs over their left shoulders. Musalas, as their myth narrates, were ridden by Sharif Kabungsuan from one kingdom to the other.
All around the room hang manandiangs and round ampots from the ceiling. These manandiangs are endless yards of fabric with the sun, moons, sarimanok, stars, seahorses and okir designs done in sequins. The more recent manandiangs have Quo’ran verses and phrases (like Bismillah and Mohammad) sewn or pasted on them. The Arabs and the Pakistanis buy this kind of manandiangs from the Maranaos.
Below all that glitter we sat barefooted on rugs from Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, our tabaks with sequined yellow cotton mantles. On top of that were little plates with portions of food: fried chicken, beef, croquets, curried chicken – all spicy dishes that we ate with our fingers. Silver bowls from Bangkok or Saudi Arabia held the rice. While on other silver bowls we washed our hands in with mineral water before and after our meal. Eating with the fingers has always been customary here.
Oh! I almost forgot the men. The men sat separately from us, never together with the women. They wore malongs, too, and their native shirts called bangkala.
There is history to discover in Lanao Sur through long and winding highways that made me feel like I was riding on a masala, especially the 200 curves from Pualas to Malabang. Thanks to the Army Engineering Brigade. With my group of researchers, Professor Lino Dizon of TSU, geographer Jean-Christophe of HAU, Elsie, and Ed, we dared ride little awangs (bancas) in the open seas. We went to the Barangay Butig where we climbed the Penjaman mountain to find the mythical kingdom of Bumbaran and for petrified human figures inside a rock that opens during enchanted nights.
We arrived at the former MILF Camp Bushra, now occupied by the Philippine Army under Lt.Col. Felix Castro. We sighted a lamen at a torogan (royal house) in Poona Bayabao, one of the few remaining, as they were mostly burned due to different wars and family feuds. The lamen is a small house, three meters by three meters, where the Maranao virgins of the Royal Blood were prepared for marriage and live with their attendants.
The following days we walked on bamboo bridges over Lake Lanao to reach the legendary rocks where Raja Sulaiman, brother of Raja Indrapatra, cooked his food, climbed and fell over moss-covered rocks on the lake to photograph the huge foot prints of the giant Omakaan. The native children who followed us jumped like frogs so easily, notwithstanding the depth of the lake below. Never have I been so filthy since those Tawi-Tawi days. So many adventures to write about for my Ph.D., and to remember for the rest of my life.