The Tambuli
Alvaro
L. Martinez
Nanoy sat one of
the big boulders on the hillside overlooking extensive rice fields below. To hi
ears came the sound of tambuli, long
and mellow. Three times it sounded and he knew that it was Kuyang Endong who was blowing the horn, calling back the carabao
and cattle from beyond the creek.
How he longed to
have a horn which he could call his own – one which he could carry along with
him and show to his friends and playmates! He had long dreamed of having one
which he could blow as much as he wished. But his father had time again said
that was too young to own a tambuli.
To hill people, the tambuli was a
precious piece of property. They used it for gathering their domestic animals
together, and, on stormy nights, in locating a lost or belated member of the
family.
He recalled the
day when he received a severe scolding and spanking from his father on account
of tambuli. He had sneaked into his
father’s bedroom and, placing a chair near the wall and standing tiptoe on it,
he reached for the tambuli which was
hanging from a bamboo peg. He had carefully taken it down, and out of the
house, and once in the field, began blowing it with all his might. The sound
which he produced scared the carabaos and caused them to run away instead of
gathering together. His father, coming home from the cockfight, caught him
unaware, and putting him over his knee, beat him till he shouted for mercy. He
was given a long sermon and made to promise not to touch the tambuli again.
But Nanoy was
not daunted by this. So strong was the fascination of the tambuli over him that the spankings and the warning did not deter
him from learning how to blow it properly. He continued to his father’s room
and get the tambuli from its hanging
place. He would sit for hours softly blowing it. Patience brought him his
reward, foe he soon found himself capable of producing the desired sounds. But
this made him long all the more for tambuli
which he could claim as his own.
The shrill voice
of his mother stirred him from his silent reverie and sent him scampering down
the narrow path. He found his mother standing at the head of the stairs,
shading her eyes with her hand.
“Where have you
been, Nanoy?” She greeted him. “I have been calling for you a long time.”
“I was just down
there, Inay,” Nanoy replied with
downcast eyes.
“Run down to Dikong Juan’s house.” You are wanted
there. They have killed a cow and Dikong Juan
wants you to help in skinning it,” came his mother’s command.
Nanoy’s face
lighted up with a smile. There was a twinkle in his eyes. a cow. A sudden
thought entered his mind, which made him happy. Away he went, his legs carrying
him at top speed, while his heart beat in wild expectations. He found the house
in great excitement. Everyone was busy. In the yard lay the cow with its throat
cut.
“Get the sharp kampilan from the batalan,” commanded his Dikong.
With what ease and willingness Nanoy did all the work, for his father was a
believer in the need of preparing children for the struggle for existence in
early life. How skilfully helped remove the hide! How adept he was I cutting!
His hands were guided by the great purpose brewing in his mind.
At last the work
was ended. The beef had been distributed among the different members of the
family. The things which had been used were cleansed, and the space where they
had worked was cleared of refuse. Nanoy blushed and fumbled with his clothes.
But his eyes were set on the pairs of horns which hung dangling from the beam
of the shed in front of the house. His Dikong
divined his thoughts and patted him on the back, smiling.
“So you want one
of those horns, eh?” his Dikong said,
looking at him in the face.
Nanoy nodded.
“Go and get it
then,” Dikong Juan said.
Nanoy did nt wait for a second command. He was off,
and in a moment was standing on the bamboo bench beneath the shed where the
horns hung. He looked them over and after much hesitation made his choice.
Jubilant he ran home after thanking his Dikong,
and went to fetch his sharp knife and his father’s chisel. He knew where the
chisel was hidden, and did not meet with any difficulty in obtaining it.
“Where did you get this tambuli?” asked his
mother. “How many times must ypu be told not to play with this?”
“I made it, Inay,” answered nanoy timidly.
“Go upstairs and stay there. You will ear
from your father when he comes home,” she said.
“But Inay, I did not….” protested Nanoy.
“Shut up and do as I tell you,” interrupted
his mother.
Nanoy was very sad after that. His sorrow
heightened when he saw his precious tambuli handed to tandang sora as present.
How he wanted to burst out in protest; but caution got the better of him, and
he kept quiet. He became secretive and often wore a guilty look.
“I wonder what the child is up to now,” his
mother once remarked.
But no amount of spying or scolding could
make Nanoy come out into the open. He became still more mysterious in his
actions.
One night a sudden storm descended over the
hills. The farmers, including Nanoy’s father, were all out in the fields,
belated by a season’s heavy work. It became so dark that it was impossible for
them to find their way home without a light or sound of a tambuli to guide
them.
The women’s lamp were blown out as fast as
they were out infront of the windows.
“ A tambuli…..A tambuli……” was everyone’s cry.
But who had a tambuli? The farmers had
taken their tambulis with them and none were left in the little settlement.
Nanoy sat at the head of the stairs staring
into the darkness before him. His thoughts was of his father who was out in the
storm. His mother sat beside him, his thoughts in line with his.
“Nanoy,” she said, misgivings in her voice,
“how I wish you had your tambuli tonight.”
“if I had, Inay, would you let me blew it?”
asked Nanoy peering into her face.
“it would help your Itay find his way
home,” she replied.
“would you take my tambuli again, if I had
one Inay?” he asked.
She shook her head. Nanoy stood up abruptly
and was gone. After a while he came back and stood beside her mother. A long,
mellow sound issued forth from the tambuli eagerly pressed to his lips.then
came another, longer and louder. From the distance came the reply. On and on,
again and again, Nanoy blew his tambuli, each timeto be answered by his father.
The sound of the tambuli from the field came nearer and nearer.
“My son, you have done well this night,”
said his father, clasping Nanoy in his arms.
Nanoy said nothing, but held his tambuli,
made of the butchered cow’s other horn,closer to his breast.
