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Disclaimer: This article explores a traditional myth from the Philippines for cultural, historical, and educational understanding. The story and its characters are part of a rich folkloric tradition and are not presented as factual or to be believed, worshipped, or practiced. It is a product of ancient human imagination seeking to explain the world.
Introduction
From the sun-drenched shores and deep, turquoise waters of the Visayan islands in the pre-colonial Philippines comes a tale born of darkness and light, of a cosmic battle that echoes in the rhythm of the tides. This is the story of the Bakunawa, a colossal sea serpent, and its insatiable hunger for the moon. It is a myth, a traditional narrative crafted by ancient peoples to explain one of the sky’s most awe-inspiring and terrifying events: a lunar eclipse. Passed down through generations of oral storytelling, this legend offers a profound glimpse into the worldview of a culture deeply connected to the sea and the sky.
Origins and Cultural Background
To understand the myth of the Bakunawa, one must step into the world of the pre-colonial Visayans. Their society was a maritime one, living in coastal communities called barangays. Their lives were governed by the sea—its bounty, its dangers, and its ever-present rhythms. Their worldview was animistic, believing that the natural world was alive with spirits and forces beyond human comprehension. The sky was not merely a void but a celestial canvas upon which divine dramas unfolded.
In this time, it was said that the supreme deity had created seven beautiful moons to illuminate the night sky, each one a radiant pearl that brought joy and guidance to the world. The moons were not just distant orbs; they were seen as companions, their gentle light a source of comfort and a guide for fishermen navigating the dark waters. The world was in a state of pristine, luminous balance, a harmony that was destined to be broken.
The Creature of the Abyss
The Bakunawa, according to these ancient stories, was a creature of immense scale and primordial power. It was often described as a gigantic sea serpent or dragon, with a mouth as wide as a lake, a tongue the color of lightning, and scales that shimmered like polished obsidian. Some tales gave it wings, allowing it to breach the ocean’s surface and ascend into the heavens.
Symbolically, the Bakunawa was the embodiment of the unknown depths and the destructive power of nature. It represented the chaos that lurked beneath the calm surface of the world—the typhoons that could shatter a village, the earthquakes that could reshape the land, and the deep, dark ocean that could swallow ships whole. It was not a creature to be worshipped but a personification of a cosmic force, a narrative tool to explain events that seemed to defy all logic.
The Narrative: When the Seventh Moon Vanished
The story begins in an age of celestial splendor. For a time, the seven moons graced the night, and the world below bathed in their collective, silvery glow. The Bakunawa, slumbering in the deepest trenches of the sea, was captivated by their beauty. It watched them from the abyss, and a profound envy, a deep and gnawing hunger, grew within it. One night, driven by this irresistible urge, it surged from the water, its massive body uncoiling toward the heavens. It opened its cavernous mouth and, in a single, swift motion, swallowed one of the moons.
The people below watched in horror as the sky dimmed. But the serpent’s hunger was not sated. On subsequent nights, it rose again and again, devouring the moons one by one until only six had vanished into its gullet. The world grew progressively darker, and a palpable fear settled over the islands. Only one moon, the bravest and most beautiful named Bulan, remained.
The final act of the cosmic tragedy unfolded on a night that was supposed to be still and clear. As Bulan cast its gentle light upon the Visayan seas, the water began to churn. A great shadow emerged, larger and more menacing than ever before. It was the Bakunawa, returning for the last of the celestial jewels. It ascended, its form eclipsing the stars, and swallowed Bulan whole.
Total darkness fell. This was the aftermath.
The world was plunged into an unnatural silence. The tides, once the faithful breath of the ocean, fell still, their lunar guide gone. The sea became a flat, black mirror, reflecting nothing. Fishermen, who used the moon to navigate, were lost in a featureless expanse of water. On land, the nocturnal creatures fell silent, confused by the oppressive, unending night. Fear, cold and sharp, settled in the hearts of the coastal villages. It felt as if the world’s spirit had been extinguished, its final light consumed by an ancient, unknowable hunger.
Despair began to take root. But among the people, the babaylan—the community’s spiritual leaders and keepers of lore—remembered the old ways. They knew that passivity meant defeat. They instructed the people that to save the moon, they must break the terrifying silence. They must show the creature in the sky that the world below was not dead, that its people would not surrender their light.
A great noise began to rise from the islands. Villagers ran from their homes, banging pots, pans, and anything that could produce a sound. Warriors struck their shields with their swords, creating a rhythmic, clanging beat. Children shouted and cried, their voices adding to the cacophony. The sound was a desperate, unified plea—a clamor of defiance against the suffocating darkness. They shouted at the Bakunawa, pleading for it to release their moon, to spit out the light it had stolen.
In the heavens, the serpent was disturbed by the jarring noise. The unified cry of humanity was a sound it could not digest. The cacophony grew louder, an unrelenting wave of sound rising from the earth. Annoyed and agitated, the Bakunawa finally opened its great maw and regurgitated the final moon.
Bulan, the seventh moon, was free. But it was not the same. On its surface were the marks of the serpent’s teeth and the scars from its time in the beast’s belly—the dark spots and craters we see today. Light returned to the world, scarred but resilient. The tides began to move again, the rhythm of the world restored. And the people learned that whenever a shadow began to consume the moon, they must raise their voices together to save it from the serpent’s eternal hunger.
Symbolism and Meaning
This powerful narrative served multiple functions for the ancient Visayans. On the most direct level, it was a proto-scientific explanation for lunar eclipses. The gradual covering of the moon by the Earth’s shadow was interpreted as the slow swallowing by a celestial beast, and the noise-making was a ritual to "scare" it away, coinciding with the eclipse’s natural end.
Deeper than that, the myth is a story about balance, loss, and resilience. The seven moons represent a perfect, idyllic past, while their destruction symbolizes the inevitable intrusion of chaos and tragedy into life. The Bakunawa itself is a metaphor for forces beyond human control—death, disaster, and the fear of the unknown.
Most importantly, the story carries a powerful message about community. When faced with overwhelming darkness, the people in the myth do not scatter in fear. Instead, they unite, their collective action becoming the very tool that restores light to the world. The myth taught that in times of crisis, the strength of a community lies in its unified voice and shared purpose.
Modern Perspective
Today, the Bakunawa has been reclaimed as a potent symbol of Philippine culture and pre-colonial identity. It has slithered out of oral tradition and into modern art, literature, and entertainment. Filipino artists depict the serpent in stunning visual works, celebrating its fearsome beauty. It appears in fantasy novels and role-playing games, including an official Dungeons & Dragons adventure, introducing a global audience to its legend. For many Filipinos, the Bakunawa is no longer just a moon-eater but a powerful icon of their rich, indigenous heritage—a reminder of a time when their ancestors crafted their own explanations for the mysteries of the universe.
Conclusion
The myth of the Bakunawa and the moon is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling. It is a cultural treasure, a narrative woven from the threads of observation, fear, and imagination to make sense of the cosmos. It is vital to remember that this is a story from the past, a piece of folklore, not an article of faith. As Muslims, we recognize that only Allah is the true Creator and Sustainer, the sole power who governs the heavens and the earth, including the precise and magnificent orbits of the sun and moon.
Yet, in studying such stories, we gain a deeper appreciation for the human experience across different cultures and eras. The tale of the Bakunawa is more than an explanation for an eclipse; it is a timeless reflection on the human struggle against darkness, the beauty of resilience, and the profound strength found when a community raises its voice as one. It is a heritage of imagination, a story that continues to echo from the ancient Visayan seas into the modern world.
