Bangan, the First Pine Tree
Magnificent pine trees grow on the rugged and sloping terrain of Cordillera Central, Philippines. So lofty are these trees that at day, they seem to reach the heavens. So tall are they that at night, stars seem to hang from their boughs.
Pine trees have a delicate scent. Locals say it is Bangan’s. A legend tells how Bangan turned into a most beautiful pine tree.
Bangan was an orphan. She lived alone in a hut that stood near the edge of the forest. She made a living by gathering and selling firewood, a trade that she learned from her parents.
Except for buying her firewood, people left Bangan alone, which was a pity. The girl was not ill-tempered. She’d cheerfully greet anyone she’d meet. She always had a kind word for everyone. She had a helping hand for all at all times.
People stayed away from Bangan, and it was not because she smelled awful. On the contrary, she had this delicate scent.
But this didn’t matter. People would rather avoid her.
She was not even ugly. She may be the plainest girl in the village, but her face was a pleasant sight. Her eyes glowed with warmth. Her lips appeared to burst into a smile.
No one liked her company. Everyone in the village would cringe when they see her. Why? Because Bangan had the most abominable skin, it was covered with needle-like warts.
Of course, that bothered Bangan. Not only were her warts unsightly, they also itched terribly that her skin bled from too much scratching.
Bangan had tried many cures. She visited a wart charmer. She tried snail slime, onion juice, buried potatoes, and fresh rainwater. But none worked. The warts kept growing on her skin.
In time, Bangan accepted the way people had been treating her because of her ghastly skin. It did not make her feel any better because she knew that she was a nice girl. “Yet, all they could see is my ugliness,” she poured her heart out to her friends, the birds.
The birds though would chirp differently. “How pretty! How beautiful! Oh, isn’t she lovely?”
“Praise the god Kabunian for friends like you,” Bangan would tell the birds whose shining eyes were looking straight at her. The next she knew was finding herself whistling a happy tune, joining in the merriment.
The birds so loved Bangan. Just her nearing steps would make their wings flutter in eager anticipation. Yes, they were always happy to see their kind-hearted friend.
Every day, Bangan would spend hours and hours with her friends. She’d feed them seeds and breadcrumbs. She’d help them gather dry twigs and leaves for their nests. She’d help birdlings get back on their feet when they fall from their nests.
So saying good-bye to her friends was always a sad time for Bangan. How she wished she would be able to spend all her time with them.
One twilight, she prayed hard to the god Kabunian. “O most merciful one, please turn me into a tree,” she cried. “Then my friends can build nests among my branches and I can keep them safe from strong winds and rains.”
Darkness came so suddenly. Bangan felt trembling on the ground on which she was standing. She tried to run but could not do it. Her feet seemed to be rooted to the earth. Then her rough skin began to grow more needlelike warts. “O Kabunian, what are you doing to me?
The following morning, a big tree grew on the exact spot where Bangan had stood the night before. It was a strange-looking tree. Its branches were arranged so that they looked like fingers clasped together in prayer. In each of the branches hung small golden cones that when looked upon closely resembled like hearts. But what was most striking about the tree were the needlelike leaves that grew in bundles.
The strange-looking tree did not bother the birds. They came flying, lit on the boughs, and built their nests there. Oh, how the new tree pricked her needles! She was so happy.
When the birds grew tired, they perched on the branches and pecked on the cones of the tree. After eating, the birds began to chirp. And the tree happily swayed along with the singing.
Now the splendid wind heard the merrymaking. It came blowing and singing through the forests. “Who is this tree that is the cause of your joy?” the wind asked the birds.
“It’s our friend Bangan!” they chirped in harmony. “The great Kabunian answered her prayers and so she is among us now.”
“Oh, dear wind, come play with us,” invited Bangan.
“I think I have a better idea,” said the wind. It then moved through the boughs, through the needles, carrying Bangan’s fragrance. When the people in the village got a whiff of it, they remembered the girl with the horrid skin and wondered about her. One by one, they followed the scent until they came upon the new tree in the forest.
Seeing the people gathered around her, Bangan stood tall as she could and shuddered in every needle. Then as one voice, the people exclaimed, “This is the most beautiful tree in the forest!”
Bangan then again quivered, this time, for joy. She was glad, through and through. Kabunian had blessed her.
In time, the tree grew in numbers until the village was speckled with them. No one knew how and when the tree became known as a pine tree. Everybody remembered though that the pine tree — like Bangan — sends out the most delicate scent.
