The Monkey, the Turtle, and the Crocodile.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario, a Tagalog from Batangas. He heard the story from his father, who said that it is common among the country people around Batangas town.

There was once a monkey who used to deceive everybody whom he met. As is the case with most deceivers, he had many enemies who tried to kill him.

One day, while he was walking in the streets of his native town, he met in a by-lane a turtle and a crocodile. They were so tired that they could hardly breathe. “I’ll try to deceive these slow creatures of the earth,” said the monkey to himself. So said, so done. He approached the crocodile and turtle, and said to them, “My dear sirs, you are so tired that you can hardly move! Where did you come from?”

The two travellers were so much affected by the kind words of the monkey, that they told him all about themselves with the greatest candor imaginable. They said, “We are strangers who have just made a long journey from our native town. We don’t know where to get food or where to spend this cold night.”

“I’ll conduct you to a place where you can spend the night and get all you want to eat,” said the monkey.

“All right,” said the two travellers. “Lead on! for we are very hungry and at the same time very tired.”

“Follow me,” said the crafty monkey.

The turtle and the crocodile followed the monkey, and soon he brought them to a field full of ripe pumpkins. “Eat all the pumpkins you want, and then rest here. Meanwhile I’ll go home and take my sleep, too.”

While the two hungry travellers were enjoying a hearty meal, the owner of the plantation happened to pass by. When he saw the crocodile, he called to his laborers, and told them to bring long poles and their bolos. The turtle clung to the tail of the crocodile, and away they went.

“Don’t cling to my tail! Don’t cling to my tail!” said the crocodile. “I cannot run fast if you cling to my tail. Let go! for the men will soon overtake us.”

“I have to cling to your tail,” said the turtle, “or else there will be no one to push you.”

But their attempt to escape was unsuccessful. The men overtook them and killed them both. Such was the unhappy end of the turtle and the crocodile.

MORAL: Never trust a new friend or an old enemy.

Notes.

I know of no exact parallels for this story, though the character of the monkey as depicted here is similar to that in No. 55. Compare with it the rÔle of the deceitful jackal in some of the South African stories (e.g., Metelerkamp, No. v; Honeÿ, 22, 24, 45, 105, etc.). This may be a sort of “compensation story,” manufactured long ago, however, in which the monkey gets even with his two traditional opponents, the crocodile and the turtle.

The Iguana and the Turtle.

Narrated by Sixto Guico of Binalonan, Pangasinan, who says that the story is fairly common among the Pangasinanes.

Once upon a time there lived two good friends,—an iguana and a turtle. They always went fishing together. One day the turtle invited the iguana to go catch fish in a certain pond that he knew of. After they had been there about two hours, the old man who owned the pond came along. The iguana escaped, but the turtle was caught. The old man took the turtle home, tied a string around its neck, and fastened it under the house.

Early in the morning the iguana went to look for his friend the turtle. The iguana wandered everywhere looking for him, and finally he found him under the old man’s house, tied to a post.

“What are you doing here, my friend?” said the iguana.

“That old man wants me to marry his daughter, but I do not want to marry her,” said the turtle.

Now, the iguana very much wanted a wife, and he was delighted at this chance. So he asked the turtle to be allowed to take his place. The turtle consented. So the iguana released the turtle, and was tied up in his place. Then the turtle made off as fast as he could.

When the old man woke up, he heard some one saying over and over again, “I want to marry your daughter.” He became angry, and went down under the house to see who was talking. There he found the iguana saying, “I want to marry your daughter.” The old man picked up a big stick to beat its head, but the iguana cut the string and ran away.

On his way he came across the turtle again, who was listening to the sound produced by the rubbing of two bamboos when the wind blew. “What! are you here again?” said the iguana.“Be quiet!” said the turtle. “I am listening to the pipe of my grandfather up there. Don’t you hear it?”

The iguana wanted to see the turtle’s grandfather, so he climbed up the tree, and put his mouth between the two bamboos that were rubbing together. His mouth was badly pinched, and he fell down to the ground. The turtle meanwhile had disappeared.

MORAL: This teaches that the one who believes foolishly will be injured.

Notes.

This story is doubtless native. A Tinguian tale related to ours is given by Cole (No. 78), whose abstract runs thus:—

Some of the incidents found in the Tinguian story we have met with in No. 55; e.g., episodes K, J, L, and “king’s bell.” Indeed, there appears to be a close connection between the “Monkey and Turtle” group and this story. A Borneo tale of the mouse-deer (plandok), small turtle (kikura), long-tailed monkey (kra), and bear contains the “king’s necklace” incident, and many other situations worthy of notice. A brief summary of the droll, which may be found in Roth, 1 : 342–346, is here given:—

The escape of snared animals and birds by shamming dead, and then making off when the bunter or fowler throws them aside as worthless, is commonly met with in Buddhistic fables.

The Trial among the Animals.

Narrated by Domingo Pineda of Pampanga.

In ancient times Sinukuan, the judge of the animals, lived in one of the caves of Mount Arayat. He had formerly lived in a neighboring town; but, since he was so brave and strong, the people began to envy him, then to hate him. At last they made so many plots against his life, that he gave up all his property and friends in the town, and went to live in Mount Arayat, where he devoted all his time to gaining the friendship of the animals there.

Now, it was not hard for Sinukuan to win the love of the animals, for he had the power of changing himself into whatever form he pleased; and he always took the form of those animals who came to him. It was not long before all the animals realized the power, wisdom, and justice of their good companion, so they made him their judge.

One day a bird came to Sinukuan’s court, and asked Sinukuan to punish the frog for being so noisy during the night, while it was trying to sleep. Sinukuan summoned the troublesome frog, and asked him the reason for his misbehavior. The frog answered respectfully, “Sir, I was only crying for help, because the turtle was carrying his house on his back, and I feared that I might be buried under it.”

“That is good enough reason,” said Sinukuan; “you are free.”

The turtle was the next to be summoned to Sinukuan’s court. On his arrival, he humbly replied to the question of the judge, “Honorable Judge, I carried my house with me, because the firefly was playing with fire, and I was afraid he might set fire to my home. Is it not right to protect one’s house from fire?”

“A very good reason; you are free,” said Sinukuan.

In the same way the firefly was brought to court the next day, and when the judge asked him why he was playing with fire, he said in a soft voice, “It was because I have no other means with which to protect myself from the sharp-pointed dagger of the mosquito.” This seemed a reasonable answer, so the firefly was liberated too.

Finally the mosquito was tried; and, since he did not have any good reason to give for carrying his dagger, Sinukuan sentenced him to three days’ imprisonment. The mosquito was obliged to submit; and it was during this confinement of the mosquito that he lost his voice. Ever since, the male mosquito has had no voice; and he has been afraid to carry his dagger, for fear of greater punishment.

The Pugu’s Case.

Narrated by Bienvenido Tan of Manila, who got the story from Pampanga.

“Why, horse,” said the pugu (a small bird), “did you touch my eggs, so that now they are broken?”

“Because,” said the horse, “the cock crowed, and I was startled.”

“Why, cock,” said the pugu, “did you crow, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”

“Because,” said the cock, “I saw the turtle carrying his house; that made me crow.”

“Why, turtle,” said the pugu, “did you carry your house with you, so that the cock crowed, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”

“Because,” said the turtle, “the firefly was carrying fire, and I was afraid that he would burn my house.”

“Why, firefly,” said the pugu, “did you bring fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, and the cock crowed when he saw him, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”

“Because,” said the firefly, “the mosquito will sting me if I have no light.”

“Why, mosquito,” said the pugu, “did you try to sting the firefly, so that he had to carry fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, so that the cock laughed at the turtle, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?”

“Because,” said the mosquito, “Juan put up his mosquito-net, and there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly (alipatpat.)”

“Why, Juan,” said the pugu, “did you put up your mosquito-net? The mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs.”

“Because,” said Juan, “I did not care to lose any blood.”

Why Mosquitoes Hum and Try to get into the Holes of our Ears.

Narrated by Fermin Torralba, a Visayan from Tagbilaran, Bohol. He heard the story from an old man of his province.

A long time ago, when the world was much quieter and younger than it is now, people told and believed many strange stories about wonderful things which none of us have ever seen. In those very early times, in the province of Bohol, there lived a creature called Mangla;1 he was king of the crabs.

One night, as he was very tired and sleepy, Mangla ordered his old sheriff, Cagang,2 leader of the small land-crabs, to call his followers, Bataktak,3 before him. Although the sheriff was old, yet he brought them all in in a very short time. Then Mangla said to the Bataktak, “You must all watch my house while I am sleeping; but do not make any noise that will waken me.” The Bataktak said, “We are always ready to obey you.” So Mangla went to sleep.

While he was snoring, it began to rain so hard that the guards could not help laughing. The king awoke very angry; but, as he was still very tired and sleepy, he did not immediately ask the Bataktak why they laughed. He waited till morning came. So, as soon as the sun shone, he called the Bataktak, and said to them, “Why did you laugh last night? Did I not tell you not to make any noise?”

The Bataktak answered softly, “We could not help laughing, because last night we saw our old friend Hu-man4 carrying his house on his shoulder.” On account of this reasonable reply, the king pardoned the Bataktak. Then he called his sheriff, and told him to summon Hu-man. In a short time he came. The king at once said to him, “What did you do last night?”

“Sir,” replied Hu-man humbly, “I was carrying my house, because Aninipot5 was bringing fire, and I was afraid that my only dwelling would be burned.” This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he pardoned Hu-man. Then he told his sheriff Cagang to summon Aninipot. When Aninipot appeared, the king, with eyes flashing with anger, said to the culprit, “Why were you carrying fire last night?”Aninipot was very much frightened, but he did not lose his wits. In a trembling voice he answered, “Sir, I was carrying fire, because Lamoc6 was always trying to bite me. To protect myself, I am going to carry fire all the time.” The king thought that Aninipot had a good reason, so he pardoned him also.

The king now realized that there was a great deal of trouble brewing in his kingdom, of which he would not have been aware if he had not been awakened by the Bataktak. So he sent his sheriff to get Lamoc. In a short time Cagang appeared with Lamoc. But Lamoc, before he left his own house, had told all his companions to follow him, for he expected trouble. Before Lamoc reached the palace, the king was already shouting with rage, so Lamoc approached the king and bit his face. Then Mangla cried out, “It is true, what I heard from Bataktak, Hu-man, and Aninipot!” The king at once ordered his sheriff to kill Lamoc; but, before Cagang could carry out the order, the companions of Lamoc rushed at him. He killed Lamoc, however, and then ran to his home, followed by Lamoc’s friends, who were bent on avenging the murder. As Cagang’s house was very deep under the ground, Lamoc’s friends could not get in, so they remained and hummed around the door.

Even to-day we can see that at the doors of the houses of Cagang and his followers there are many friends of Lamoc humming and trying to go inside. It is said that the Lamoc mistake the holes of our ears for the house of Cagang, and that that is the reason mosquitoes hum about our ears now.

A Tyrant.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel of Jaen, Nueva Ecija. This is a Tagalog story.

Once there lived a tyrannical king. One of his laws prohibited the people from talking loudly. Even when this law had been put in force, he still was not satisfied: so he ordered the law to be enforced among the animals.

One of his officers once heard a frog croak. The officer caught the frog and carried it before the king. The king began the trial by saying, “Don’t you know that there is a law prohibiting men and animals from making a noise?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the frog, “but I could not help laughing to see the snail carrying his house with him wherever he goes.”

The king was satisfied with the frog’s answer, so he dismissed him and called the snail. “Why do you always carry your house with you?” asked the king.

“Because,” said the snail, “I am always afraid the firefly is going to burn it.” The king next ordered the firefly to appear before him. The king then said to the firefly, “Why do you carry fire with you always?”

“Because the mosquitoes will bite me if I do not carry this fire,” said the firefly. This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he summoned the mosquito. When the mosquito was asked why he was always trying to bite some one, he said, “Why, sir, I cannot live without biting somebody.”

The king was tired of the long trial, so with the mosquito he determined to end it. After hearing the answer of the mosquito, he said, “From now on you must not bite anybody. You have no right to do so.” The mosquito tried to protest the sentence, but the king seized his mallet and determined to crush the mosquito with it. When the mosquito saw what the king was going to do, he alighted on the forehead of the king. The king became very angry at this insult, and hit the mosquito hard. He killed the mosquito, but he also put an end to his own tyranny.

MORAL: It is foolish to carry matters to extremes.

Notes.

A fifth form (e) of this “clock” story is “The Bacuit’s Case,” narrated by W. Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. As I have this tale only in abstract, I give it here in that form:—

There is a striking agreement of incident in all these stories, as may be seen from the following abstracts of the versions.

1. Version a (Pampango), “Trial among Animals.” Bird vs. frog; frog vs, turtle; turtle vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.
2. Version b (Pampango), “The Pugu’s Case.” Pugu vs. horse; horse vs. cock; cock vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly, firefly vs. mosquito; mosquito vs. Juan.
3. Version c (Visayan), “Why Mosquitoes Hum.” Crab vs. frogs; frogs vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.
4. Version d (Tagalog) “A Tyrant”. King’s officer vs. frog; frog vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.
5. Version e (Pampango), “The Bacuit’s Case.” Bacuit vs. frog; frog vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly.

With the exception of the substitution of snail for turtle, and crab for bird, in the Tagalog and Visayan versions, four of these forms (a, c, d, e) are practically identical. Pampango e lacks the fourth link in the chain (firefly vs. mosquito). Pampango b adds one link (horse vs. cock), and substitutes cock for frog; the method of narration varies somewhat from the others, also. The punishment of the mosquito differs in a, c, and d. “The Trial among Animals” develops into a “just-so” story, and may be a connecting link between a Tinguian fable (Cole, No. 84) and two Borneo sayings (Evans, 447). In the Tinguian, a mosquito came to bite a man. The man said, “You are very little, and can do nothing to me.” The mosquito answered, “If you had no ears, I would eat you.” The Bajan (Borneo) saying is, “Mosquitoes do not make their buzzing unless they are near men’s ears; and then they say, ‘If these were not your ears, I would swallow you.’” The Dusun version (Borneo) is, “The mosquito says, ‘If these were not your horns, I would swallow you.’” The “killing fly on face” droll episode, which terminates the Tagalog version (d), we have already met with twice, Nos. 9 and 57 (q.v.). The link “firefly vs. mosquito” is found in the Visayan story “The Ape and the Firefly” (JAFL 20 : 314).

There can be no question but that this cycle is native to the Islands, and was not imported from the Occident. A Malayan story given by Skeat (Fables and Folk-Tales from an Eastern Forest, 9–12), “Who Killed the Otter’s Babies?” is clearly related to our tales, at least in idea and method:—

Another Far-Eastern story from Laos (French Indo-China), entitled “Right and Might” (Fleeson, 27), is worth notice:—

The Greedy Crow.

Narrated by Agapito O. Gaa, from Taal, Batangas. He heard the story from an old Tagalog man who is now dead.

One day a crow found a piece of meat on the ground. He picked it up and flew to the top of a tree. While he was sitting there eating his meat, a kasaykasay (a small bird) passed by. She was carrying a dead rat, and was flying very fast. The crow called to her, and said, “Kasaykasay, where did you get that dead rat that you have?” But the small bird did not answer: she flew on her way. When the crow saw that she paid no attention to him, he was very angry; and he called out, “Kasaykasay, Kasaykasay, stop and give me a piece of that rat, or I will follow you and take the whole thing for myself!” Still the small bird paid no attention to him. At last, full of greed and rage, the crow determined to have the rat by any means. He left the meat he was eating, and flew after the small creature. Although she was only a little bird, the Kasaykasay could fly faster than the crow—so he could not catch her.While the crow was chasing the Kasaykasay, a hawk happened to pass by the tree where the crow had left his meat. The hawk saw the meat, and at once seized it in his claws and flew away.

Although the crow pursued the Kasaykasay a long time, he could not overtake her: so at last he gave up his attempt, and flew back to the tree where he had left his meat. But when he came to the spot, and found that the meat was gone, he was almost ready to die of disappointment and hunger. By and by the hawk which had taken the meat passed the tree again. He called to the crow, and said to him, “Mr. Crow, do you know that I am the one who took your meat? If not, I will tell you now, and I am very sorry for you.”

The crow did not answer the hawk, for he was so tired and weak that he could hardly breathe.

The moral of this story is this: Do not be greedy. Be contented with what you have, and do not wish for what you do not own.

Notes.

This fable appears to be distantly related to the European fable of “The Dog and his Shadow.” More closely connected, however, is an apologue incorporated in a Buddhistic birth-story, the “Culladhanuggaha-jātaka,” No. 374. In this Indian story,—

The same story is found in the “Pancatantra” (V, viii; see Benfey, I : 468), whence it made its way into the “Tūtī-nāmeh.” It does not appear to be known in the Occident in this form (it is lacking in the “Kalilah and Dimnah”).Although the details of our story differ from those of the Indian fable of “The Jackal and the Faithless Wife,” the general outlines of the two are near enough to justify us in supposing a rather close connection between them. I know of no European analogues nearly so close, and am inclined to consider “The Greedy Crow” a native Tagalog tale. From the testimony of the narrator, it appears that the fable is not a recent importation.

The Humming-bird and the Carabao.

Narrated by Eusebio Lopez, a Tagalog from the province of Cavite.

One hot April morning a carabao (water-buffalo) was resting under the shade of a quinine-tree which grew near the mouth of a large river, when a humming-bird alighted on one of the small branches above him.

“How do you do, Friend Carabao?” said the humming-bird.

“I’m very well, little Hum. Do you also feel the heat of this April morning?” replied the carabao.

“Indeed, I do, Friend Carabao! and I am so thirsty, that I have come down to drink.”

“I wonder how much you can drink!” said the carabao jestingly. “You are so small, that a drop ought to be more than enough to satisfy you.”

“Yes, Friend Carabao?” answered little Hum as if surprised. “I bet you that I can drink more than you can!”

“What, you drink more than I can, you little Hum!”

“Yes, let us try! You drink first, and we shall see.”

So old carabao, ignorant of the trick that was being played on him, walked to the bank of the river and began to drink. He drank and drank and drank; but it so happened that the tide was rising, and, no matter how much he swallowed, the water in the river kept getting higher and higher. At last he could drink no more, and the humming-bird began to tease him.

“Why, Friend Carabao, you have not drunk anything. It seems to me that you have added more water to the river instead.”

“You fool!” answered the carabao angrily, “can’t you see that my stomach is almost bursting?”

“Well, I don’t know. I only know that you have added more water than there was before. But it is now my turn to drink.”

But the humming-bird only pretended to drink. He knew that the tide would soon be going out, so he just put his bill in the water, and waited until the tide did begin to ebb. The water of the river began to fall also. The carabao noticed the change, but he could not comprehend it. He was surprised, and agreed that he had been beaten. Little Hum flew away, leaving poor old Carabao stupefied and hardly able to move, because of the great quantity of water he had drunk.

Notes.

That this story was not imported from the Occident is pretty clearly established by the existence in North Borneo of a tale almost identical with it. The Borneo fable, which is told as a “just-so” story, and is entitled “The Kandowei [rice-bird] and the Kerbau [carabao],” may be found in Evans (pp. 423–424). It runs about as follows:—

I know of no other Philippine versions, but I dare say that many exist between Luzon and Mindanao.

The Camanchile and the Passion.

Narrated by Fernando M. Maramag of Ilagan, Isabella province. He says that this is an Ilocano story.

Once upon a time there grew in a forest a large camanchile-tree1 with spreading branches. Near this tree grew many other trees with beautiful fragrant flowers that attracted travellers. The camanchile had no fragrant flowers; but still its crown was beautifully shaped, for the leaves received as much light as the leaves of the other trees. But the beauty of the crown proved of no attraction to travellers, and they passed the tree by.

One day Camanchile exclaimed aloud, “Oh, what a dreary life I lead! I would that I had flowers like the others, so that travellers would visit me often!” A vine by the name of Passion, which grew near by, heard Camanchile’s exclamation. Now, this vine grew fairly close to the ground, and consequently received “only a small amount of light. Thinking that this was its opportunity to improve its condition, it said, “Camanchile, why is your life dreary?”

“Ah, Passion!” replied Camanchile, “just imagine that you were unappreciated, as I am! Travellers never visit me, for I have no flowers.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” said Passion. “Just let me climb on you, and I’ll display on your crown my beautiful flowers. Then many persons will come to see you.” Camanchile consented, and let Passion climb up on him. After a few days Passion reached the top of the tree, and soon covered the crown.

A few months later Camanchile realized that he was being smothered: he could not get light, so he asked Passion to leave him. “O Passion! what pain I am in! I can’t get light. Your beauty is of no value. I am being smothered: so leave me, I beg of you!”

Passion would not leave Camanchile, however, and so Camanchile died.

MORAL: Be yourself.

Note.

With this story compare the “Palāsa-jātaka,” No. 370, which tells how a Judas-tree was destroyed by the parasitic growth of a banyan-shoot. The general idea is the same in both stories, though I hardly suspect that ours is descended from the Indian. The situation of a tree choked to death by a parasite is such a commonplace in everyday experience, that a moral story based on it might arise spontaneously almost anywhere.

Auac and Lamiran.

Narrated by Anastacia Villegas of Arayat, Pampanga. She heard the story from her father, and says that it is well known among the Pampangans.

Once Auac, a hawk, stole a salted fish which was hanging in the sun to dry. He flew with it to a branch of a camanchile-tree, where he sat down and began to eat. As he was eating, Lamiran, a squirrel who had his house in a hole at the foot of the tree, saw Auac. Lamiran looked up, and said, “What beautiful shiny black feathers you have, Auac!” When he heard this praise, the hawk looked very dignified. Nevertheless he was much pleased. He fluttered his wings. “You are especially beautiful, Auac, when you walk; for you are very graceful,” continued the squirrel. Auac, who did not understand the trick that was being played on him, hopped along the branch with the air of a king. “I heard some one say yesterday that your voice is so soft and sweet, that every one who listens to your song is charmed. Please let me hear some of your notes, you handsome Auac!” said the cunning Lamiran. Auac, feeling more proud and dignified than ever, opened his mouth and sang, “Uac-uac-uac-uac!” As he uttered his notes, the fish in his beak fell to the ground, and Lamiran got it.

A heron which was standing on the back of a water-buffalo near by saw the affair. He said, “Auac, let me give you a piece of advice. Do not always believe what others tell you, but think for yourself; and remember that ‘ill-gotten gains never prosper.’”

Notes.

This is the old story of the “Fox and Crow [and cheese],” the bibliography for which is given by Jacobs (2 : 236). Jacobs sees a connection between this fable and two Buddhistic apologues:—

(1) The “Jambu-khādaka-jātaka,” No. 294, in which we find a fox (jackal) and a crow flattering each other. The crow is eating jambus, when he is addressed thus by the jackal:—

The crow replies,—

Buddha, in the form of the genius of the jambu-tree, comments thus on their conversation:—

(2) The “Anta-jātaka,” No. 295, in which the rÔles are reversed, the crow wheedling flesh from the jackal; here, too, the Buddha comments as above.

Our Pampangan story is of particular interest because of the moralizing of the heron at the end, making the form close to that of the two Jātakas. Possibly our story goes back to some old Buddhistic fable like these. The squirrel (or “wild-cat,” as Bergafio’s “Vocabulario,” dated 1732, defines lamiran) is not a very happy substitution for the original ground-animal, whatever that was; for the squirrel could reach a fish hanging to dry almost as easily as a bird could. Besides, squirrels are not carnivorous. Doubtless the older meaning of “wild-cat” should be adopted for lamiran.