Sandig

Third Person's Point of View

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Year: Between the 14th and 15th century.

Place: The banua of Datu Laki, on the island of Singhapala.

Many people already lived in the Pearl of the Orient, across its different islands. Their culture was rich: communities were well-organized, with diverse religious beliefs, knowledge of medicine, blacksmithing of weapons and tools, cooking, weaving of cloth, and active trade.

The surroundings were dark, with only the full moon serving as light for the two guards standing outside a house made of wood and palm thatch. The house had stairs and an underfloor area, its structure reflecting the culture of its inhabitants. Old earthen jars could be seen, as well as a foot-washing area before ascending the steps.

The two guards standing at the entrance of the house wore no upper garments, only bahag covering their loins, and they were barefoot. At their sides hung long weapons called kampilan, while on their heads were colorful cloths known as potong.

Inside the house, in the stillness of the night, the cries of a woman in labor pierced through as she endured the pain. Around the chamber where she lay stood her bana (husband), the hayohay (household slaves), and the mara’am (midwife), all gathered to assist her.

"Honored Dian, push! Push! Your child is about to be born!"

“Endure it, my love. I can hardly wait to behold our firstborn,” said Datu Laki, his face filled with unmeasurable anticipation. “…my heir!”

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!” Another powerful cry escaped the woman. Moments later, the wail of a newborn filled the room.

“A girl,” announced the mara’am. “…your child is a girl, honored datu. A most beautiful baby girl.”

“A g-girl?” the datu’s voice carried his dismay. “How can this be? The himalad (reading of fate through the lines of the palm) foretold… that in due time, my child would grow into a valiant sandig and become a wise and great leader!”

“My bana,” Dian Danya gently rebuked, “do not grieve if our child is a girl. She is a blessing, one we must give thanks for.”

The datu forced a smile, though the disappointment on his face was plain.

“Give me my child,” the dian requested of the mara’am. “…I long to hold her.” Without delay, the mara’am laid the infant beside her mother.

“My beloved child, you are so beautiful. Thus… I shall name you Sari.” The baby seemed to smile faintly at her mother’s words.

“Do you like it, anak? Do you like the name I have given you?” The mother cooed with delight at her daughter, but their tender moment was suddenly broken by a strange noise outside.

“What is that sound?”

“They are striking the agong—a signal that danger approaches,” the datu replied gravely. “Stay here! I will go out and see what is happening!” Without waiting for his wife’s answer, he rushed from the chamber to learn what threatened his banwa.

“Danger! Danger! All must prepare!” cried the umalohokan, sounding the alarm among the villagers. The datu came upon the scene just as several of his skilled sandig (warriors) were assembling.

“What is happening?”

The sandig first paid respect to the datu before answering, “Honored datu, we are under attack by a great band of mangangayaw from the North. From what I know, this band is the most formidable of all, for never have they been defeated nor suffered loss in battle.”

“Is that so? Then prepare yourselves!” declared the brave datu with unwavering resolve. “We shall not yield to them! Tonight, they shall taste their first defeat!” With that, he rallied all his finest sandig to arms.

Amidst the growing chaos, fear gripped the heart of Dian Danya. Weakened by childbirth, she yet struggled as though to rise from her bed, desperate to ensure the safety of her bana. Swiftly, the mara’am restrained her attempt to stand.

“Honored dian, remain here in this chamber. Your strength has not yet returned. Do not force yourself—you now have a child who depends upon you.”

“What is happening outside?”

A newly arrived uripon (slave) reported to the dian, “We are under siege, my lady, by a great band of mangangayaw from the North— from the banwa of Opong. It would be best for you to remain in this chamber to ensure your safety.”

Terror spread across the face of the lady upon hearing the words of the uripon. “Mangangayaw? From the banwa of Opong? That settlement is famed for its wealth, for their ruler is not only cunning but also ruthless. None would ever wish to make them an enemy. Why would they attack us—our small and peaceful banwa?”

For a moment she fell silent in thought, then suddenly commanded, “Please, obey what I am about to order you!”

“What is it, honored dian?”

“I want you to go to the house of the babaylan and summon the high priestess in my name. Bring with you the finest sandig of my bana. Hurry! There is no more time to waste.”

“As you command, Dian Dan-Ya!”

In but a short while, the uripon returned, bringing with him the high babaylan, Digna, and Gaban, one of Datu Laki’s most skilled warriors. Both paid respect to the noble dian before inquiring, “What service may we render you, honored dian?”

“Gaban,” she looked straight into the warrior’s eyes, “…you are one of my bana’s finest sandig. I will place my trust in you. Save my child. Take her far from here. Defend her against anyone who would seek her life.”

“Honored dian, you mean… you wish me to take the infant away?” the sandig asked, his gaze fixed upon the newborn wrapped in fine cloth.

“You heard what I said. Take my child away,” the lady’s voice grew more commanding. Then she turned to the high babaylan. “Uray Digna, will you grant them your blessing? I want to be certain of my daughter’s safety.”

“Honored dian…” the babaylan seemed reluctant, as though wishing to object.

“She was not welcomed by her own father. I cannot be sure of her safety here. I would rather have her taken far away than see her disowned by her very own father!”

At these words, the high babaylan seemed convinced. “If this is your will, then so be it, Dian Dan-Ya!”

Before entrusting the infant to the care of the sandig, the lady cradled her child, kissed her, then removed a necklace from her own neck and placed it around the baby’s. “Receive this, my beloved child—the gift of your mother.”

“Honored dian,” the babaylan spoke, “why do you bestow upon the infant your haban-haban (amulet)?”

“This haban-haban will preserve her life while I am not by her side. Go now—flee! Take my child away. The enemies must never claim her life!”

“Where shall I bring her?” Gaban asked the lady.

“To the banwa of my parents. At the shore, a baroto awaits you to carry you there. Guard my child well. Do not stain the trust I have placed in you.”

“You have my word, honored dian. I will never allow harm to befall Bai Sari (Princess Sari).”

With haste, the sandig stepped quickly out of the chamber, the babaylan beside him. Outside the datu’s house, chaos unfolded before their eyes. Many of the townsfolk had already begun to flee, while others charged forward brandishing their kampilan. As the enemies pressed from the sea, Gaban chose instead to take the path along the river.

“May the diwata and umalagad grant you mercy. May they keep the child safe and strong. I give you my blessing,” declared the babaylan before Gaban boarded the baroto. The elder watched as the small vessel slowly drifted away from the riverbank, Gaban rowing with haste while cradling the precious infant in his arms.

“You’re finished, old one!” A foreign man suddenly emerged and rushed toward the babaylan, ready to strike with his long kampilan—but in an instant, another man’s kampilan blocked the blow. “Do not harm her.”

“And why not? She belongs to the people of this banwa. Do not stand in my way. Step aside!”

“I know she is one of our enemies, but she carries no weapon!” the second man retorted as he continued to parry his companion’s kampilan. “We can take her captive without bloodshed! She is old and defenseless!”

The first man let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “Hmph! True enough—it would be foolish to waste my blade on this old one. Bind her! I will pursue the baroto. Surely it hasn’t gone far!”

“No! Have mercy, I beg you!” Uray Digna pleaded desperately, but the warrior seemed deaf to her cries. His gaze remained fixed on the river, on the baroto drifting there. Without looking away, he reached behind for the bow slung at his back, raised it, and aimed toward the boat. After carefully sighting his mark, he loosed the arrow—striking the man aboard the baroto and sending him plunging into the water.

“Bai Sarriiii!” the babaylan screamed upon witnessing what had happened. But she could do nothing, for she was already bound and dragged away by the two men.