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The Serpent’s Shadow: Bakunawa, the Lost Moons, and the Sorrow of Makiling
An Important Note: The following article explores a myth from the rich folklore of the Philippines. It is a traditional story created by ancient peoples to explain their world. This narrative is presented for cultural, historical, and educational understanding only and is not intended to be believed, worshipped, or practiced.
Introduction
From the sun-drenched islands of the pre-colonial Philippines, particularly among the Visayan peoples, comes a story of cosmic scale—a tale of immense beauty, profound loss, and the eternal struggle between light and darkness. This is the legend of the Bakunawa, the great sea serpent and moon-eater. Long before the advent of modern astronomy, ancient Filipinos looked to the skies and saw not just celestial bodies, but a divine drama unfolding. This traditional story was their explanation for one of nature’s most awe-inspiring and terrifying events: a lunar eclipse. It is a powerful narrative that speaks to a time when the heavens and the earth were believed to be intimately and spiritually connected.
Origins and Cultural Background
To understand the myth of Bakunawa, one must first imagine the world of its storytellers. The setting is the archipelago of the Philippines centuries ago, a vibrant tapestry of coastal villages, dense jungles, and towering mountains. Life was deeply intertwined with the rhythms of nature: the turn of the seasons, the moods of the sea, and the cycles of the moon. The people of this era held an animistic worldview, believing that the world was alive with spirits. Rivers, trees, mountains, and animals all had their own spiritual essence, their own guardians or diwata.
In this society, myths were not mere children’s tales; they were the science, history, and philosophy of the time. They explained why the tides rose, why volcanoes erupted, and why the moon sometimes vanished from the sky. These stories provided a framework for understanding a world that was often unpredictable and dangerous, reinforcing social values, and connecting the community to both their environment and their ancestors. The Bakunawa legend is a prime example of this narrative tradition, a story born from the deep sea and the even deeper night sky.
The Creature: The Great Moon-Eater
The Bakunawa is described in folklore as a colossal sea serpent, a creature of immense size and power. Its form varies in different regional tellings, but it is most often depicted as a dragon-like snake with a mouth as wide as a lake, gills on the side of its head, and two sets of wings that allowed it to soar from the depths of the ocean into the heavens. Its scales were said to shimmer like black pearls, reflecting the starlight as it moved through the cosmic void.
Symbolically, the Bakunawa was not merely a monster; it was an embodiment of the unknown and the primordial chaos that lurked in the world’s deepest places. As a sea creature, it represented the immense, untamable power of the ocean, a force that could give life through its bounty but also bring destruction with its storms. Its insatiable hunger for the moons symbolized the ever-present threat of darkness, despair, and the disruption of cosmic order. It was the ultimate antagonist to the light and tranquility that the ancient gods had established.
The Main Narrative: The Aftermath of Mount Makiling
In the beginning of time, the supreme creator, Bathala, filled the world with light and beauty. To illuminate the night, he created not one, but seven magnificent moons, each casting a soft, pearly glow upon the earth. The world below bathed in their gentle light, and the spirits of nature, the diwata, rejoiced in the constant, serene twilight. The seven sisters of the sky were a symbol of perfection, of a world in perfect balance.
But from the deepest, darkest trench of the sea, a colossal creature stirred. It was the Bakunawa, who had slumbered for eons in the abyss. Drawn from its dark domain by the irresistible light, it became mesmerized by the celestial jewels. An immense envy and a profound hunger grew within it—a desire to possess that light for itself. One night, it uncoiled its massive body, shot from the waves like a living storm, and opened its cavernous mouth to swallow the first moon. The world watched in horror as one of the seven lights was extinguished forever.
Night after night, the serpent returned. With each ascent, another moon vanished into its gullet. The world grew progressively darker, and a creeping fear settled over the hearts of humanity. The nights became longer, colder, and more dangerous. After the sixth moon was devoured, only one remained, a solitary beacon of hope in a sky now dominated by shadow.
It was during this time of encroaching darkness that a great sorrow fell upon the land itself. On the island of Luzon, the benevolent mountain goddess, Maria Makiling, had long been a guardian of the forests and a friend to humankind. She provided for the local villagers, leaving them fruits and healing herbs, and her presence ensured the mountain’s bounty. But the people grew greedy and disrespectful. They hunted her protected animals, cut down her sacred trees without permission, and betrayed her trust. Heartbroken by their cruelty and avarice, Maria Makiling retreated deep into her mountain, withdrawing her grace from the world. Her sorrow was so profound that it created a spiritual blight; the flowers on her mountain drooped, the animals hid in fear, and a palpable sadness seeped from the forest, spreading like a mist across the land.
This wave of human-caused despair resonated through the spiritual world. The imbalance on earth emboldened the chaos of the heavens. The Bakunawa, sensing this weakness and drawn by the deepening gloom, saw its chance. It rose from the sea for its final prize: the last moon.
As the serpent’s shadow began to consume the final light, the world was plunged into a terrifying, absolute blackness. This was a darkness unlike any before it—a physical and spiritual void. In that moment of total eclipse, the people finally understood the consequence of their actions. The loss of Maria Makiling’s light on earth had made them vulnerable to the loss of the final light in the sky. They realized that their disrespect for the earth was mirrored in the heavens’ destruction.
Driven by a desperate, primal fear, they did the only thing they could. They ran from their homes, banging pots, pans, gongs, and drums. They shouted and wailed, creating a deafening cacophony. This was not just noise; it was a collective plea, a sonic shield against the encroaching void. It was an alarm sounded to wake the gods, a cry of repentance to the spirits of the world, and a defiant roar against the serpent. The sheer volume of their unified clamor startled the great Bakunawa. The beast, unused to such resistance from the small creatures below, hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, it loosened its jaw, and the last moon slipped free, once again illuminating the world. The serpent, thwarted, retreated to its abyssal home, and the final moon was saved.
Symbolism and Meaning
The story of Bakunawa is rich with symbolism. At its most direct level, it is a mythological explanation for lunar eclipses. The gradual "disappearance" of the moon was seen as it being swallowed, and the noise-making tradition to "scare" the creature away reflects ancient practices that persist in some cultures today during an eclipse.
On a deeper level, the myth represents the struggle between order and chaos, light and darkness. The seven moons symbolize a lost golden age or a state of perfection that was corrupted. The Bakunawa is the personification of natural disaster, cosmic fear, and the destructive forces that threaten human existence. The act of the community coming together to make noise is profoundly symbolic; it represents human agency and the power of collective action in the face of overwhelming disaster. It suggests that even when faced with cosmic threats, humanity is not helpless.
The inclusion of Maria Makiling’s sorrow adds another layer: an ecological and moral warning. It connects humanity’s actions on earth directly to the fate of the heavens. It teaches that disharmony with nature and a lack of respect for the spiritual world can invite larger, more catastrophic forces of chaos.
Modern Perspective
Today, the Bakunawa has been reclaimed from a figure of ancient fear and transformed into a powerful symbol of Philippine cultural heritage. It is no longer just a monster from a myth used to explain eclipses; it is a celebrated icon in modern Filipino pop culture. The serpent appears in contemporary literature, epic fantasy novels, graphic novels like Trese, and as formidable bosses in video games. Artists and designers frequently use its imagery, re-imagining its majestic and terrifying form. In this modern context, the Bakunawa represents the depth, richness, and imaginative power of pre-colonial Philippine mythology, a source of national pride and creative inspiration.
Conclusion
The legend of the Bakunawa and the seven moons is a testament to the storytelling genius of the ancient peoples of the Philippines. It is a cultural artifact, a window into a time when the universe was understood through grand, poetic narratives. This story, and others like it, are not presented as literal truths but as cherished parts of a diverse cultural heritage.
As Muslims, we recognize that only Allah is the true Creator and Sustainer of the heavens and the earth, the one who sets the moon and the sun in their precise orbits. These ancient myths, while not reflecting our theological beliefs, are valuable for understanding human history and the ways different cultures have sought to make sense of the world’s wonders and mysteries. They remind us of the universal power of the human imagination and the enduring tradition of storytelling that connects us to our past.
