They were an odd trio. The husband’s name was Bondoy and
the wife’s was Panta. Their daughter, who, I estimated to be my age (although
she was taller than me), was named Perpetua. They arrived in our village in
Calamba one day and became regular visitors since then---usually on weekends. When I first saw them, their clothes were
worn-out and they wore no shoes. Their skin were darker and coarse.
Bondoy was reserved and would only say a word or two when
talked to while Panta was gregarious and talked a lot. It did not take long for
them to befriend most of the villagers including my parents who were very
accommodating with strangers. Perpetua, on the other hand, was very shy and
would not talk at all. When we invited her to play with us, she would run back
to her parents and would not wander away again.
One time, I overheard my father telling a neighbor that
Panta and Bondoy were living in the hinterlands about half day’s walking
distance from our village. They had no neighbors. Our village was the nearest
community that could be reached from their home. I surmised that since our
village was the nearest that they could go to, Perpetua would have attended the
same village school that we children were attending. And since we were of the
same age, we would have been classmates in the third-grade class under Mrs.
Ala-an. But I had not seen her in our school and that was how I realized that
she was not attending school. My young mind was wondering whether she ever had
been to school at all.
Their weekly visits were both time for socialization and
for buying their household necessities for the week like kerosene, salt and
sugar. Our village had three stores where we could buy our immediate house
needs. Just like in many rural areas in
the Philippines, these stores contain a little of almost anything, that’s why
we call them “sari-sari store.” The three sari-sari stores in our village had
no signboards and no names so we simply referred to them after their owners’
name. One was Panyang’s store, the second was Femia’s store and the third one
was owned by an elderly lady named Colet.
We, villagers, do not really buy our groceries from the
village stores. On Saturdays and Sundays we usually go to the town proper of
Cabadbaran to get our needs in bulk from larger stores at lower prices. And if
you patronize a single store, its chinese owner would even give you more
discounts. We only buy from the village store anything that we run out during
the week. Many a time while preparing our meals, my mother would request me to run to Panyang’s
store to buy, say, a packet of edible oil or a bottle of soy sauce. That Panta
and Bondoy would buy their groceries in the village stores and not in the town
added one more oddity of their existence.
One day, while Panta was walking alone along a foot path,
she encountered a stray, mad dog. Its eyes were fierce, its tail was between
its hind legs, it’s tongue was sticking out, dripping with rabid saliva. Of
course, this description is just my imagination because that is how a mad dog
looks like. Any ordinary person would have fled for one’s life, but Panta was a
brave woman who would not back out from a fight. She picked up a big enough
stone and held her ground.
The crazed animal lunged at her and they struggled for a
while. Eventually, she was able to strike the dog by the forehead with the
stone she was holding. The dog fell to
the ground, its body shuddering and blood was gushing out of its mouth. In a
matter of minutes, the dog was dead. But Panta did not come out of that battle unscathed.
Her forehead had sustained a bleeding wound left open by the sharp canine
incisors.
That Sunday, when they arrived in our village, Panta’s
wound on her forehead was still raw. The villagers were curious to know what
happened and she told us the whole story. The villagers, especially the
women, were worried. They advised Panta
to go to the town to see a doctor. But we, rural folks, seldom go to the doctor for we have an
assemblage of herbal medications for every kind of illness. Panta dismissed
their suggestions and assured everyone that she was fine.
By mid-afternoon, Panta became ill. She was so feverish
that her closest friend in the village invited the trio to stay in her house
for Panta to rest for a few hours until the fever subsided before they would
start their trek toward their home in the mountains. But Panta’s fever never
subsided and her condition only grew worse and worse. The next day, Panta was
delirious. Her mouth was dry and she kept asking for water, but every time she was
given a cup of water, she was frightened to look at it and pushed the cup away.
Her behavior was akin to a wild, wounded beast, She became so strong that it
required three or four muscled men to subdue her.
Panta expired on the morning of the third day. Like a
wedding, death in our village was a community affair. Everyone was involved.
The men started fashioning a wooden coffin. The women congregated in the
kitchen to cook and prepared meals. The young girls gathered flowers and
arranged them. Embalming was not practiced so the dead had to be brought to the
cemetery to be buried within 24 hours.
The cemetery was situated at the outskirts of the town of
Cabadbaran some 8 kilometers away. Every burial was a long procession of
villagers walking by foot toward the cemetery. The wooden coffin had to be
borne on the shoulders of six to eight
men which were rotated and replaced regularly by other waiting men all the way
to the burial place.
The following Sunday, Bondoy and Perpetua returned to the
village and went to see Colet. Later on we learned that Bondoy offered to sell
Perpetua to Colet for 80 pesos but Colet turned him down. That was the last
time, the villagers saw Bondoy and Perpetua. Wherever they went, nobody knew.
A few years later, after I completed my elementary
education, our family moved to Bayugan a town some 50 kilometers away down
south where my father bought a small farm. But I remained in Cabadbaran to pursue
my secondary education in a school of my choice. I lived with my aunt and when
out of school, I helped tend her store in the market.
Today, the Panta and Bondoy episode must just be a blip
in the collective memory of our village. They are just one of the countless
faces of people who existed in this world, crossed our paths at some points in
time and vanished without really leaving
significant imprints in our lives. And
if I write about them today, it is because I would like to preserve bits and
pieces of my childhood before age and forgetfulness will overtake me.
