Myths and legends of Polaqui

 

The Tale of Polangui's Name

Long ago, in a lush settlement, a grand tree called Oyangui stood proudly with its red leaves glowing under the sun. The tree was so striking that the early villagers used it as a landmark, calling their home Oyangue in its honor. Over time, as more settlers arrived and trade grew, the name Oyangue spread far and wide. Eventually, as the years passed, the name evolved into Polangue and later Polangui, which became the town's lasting name.

Another story tells of a beautiful maiden named Pulang Angui, which means "Red Maria." She was known for her beauty, modesty, and love for the arts. When the Spaniards first arrived and asked the name of the place, the villagers, thinking they were asking about the maiden, told them "Pulang Angui." The Spaniards recorded this name, which eventually became Polangui over time.

Oral myths and legends

Long ago, in a time when the land was untamed and lush with ancient beauty, there stood a tree unlike any other. The tree was called Oyangui, and its leaves shimmered with a deep, crimson hue, as though each one held a drop of the sun's last light at dusk. It towered over the small village, its majestic branches reaching toward the heavens. The villagers revered the tree, for it was not only their protector from the sun’s scorching heat but also a symbol of life and endurance. Beneath its wide canopy, children laughed, lovers whispered, and elders shared stories of the past.

The village, nestled at the tree’s roots, came to be known as Oyangue, a name whispered in awe by travelers who passed through the region. They marveled at the red-leafed giant that stood watch over the people, and soon the fame of Oyangue spread beyond the hills and valleys, reaching faraway lands. To the villagers, the Oyangui tree was more than just a landmark; it was a guardian spirit, a living heart of their home.

But as with all stories of beauty, this one held the seeds of tragedy.

One fateful day, foreign ships arrived on the shores, carrying men who spoke a strange language and wore heavy armor that gleamed in the sun. These were the Spaniards, and they brought with them new customs, a foreign god, and an insatiable hunger for power. Led by the friar Baltazar de Magdalena, they sought to claim the land and its people. They were not moved by the stories of the Oyangui tree, nor did they care for the deep roots it had in the hearts of the villagers. Instead, they saw only a new place to conquer, to mold into their own image.

The Spaniards renamed the village Binanuaan, and though the villagers reluctantly accepted the new name, the spirit of Oyangue lingered in their hearts. They continued to call their home by the tree’s name, keeping its memory alive with every whispered prayer beneath its branches.

For years, the Oyangui tree stood tall, silently watching over the village as more and more settlers arrived, drawn to the rich land and the stories of the crimson giant. But as the village grew, the delicate balance between man and nature began to falter. The settlers cut down nearby trees to make way for their homes, and soon the Oyangui tree, once surrounded by a forest of life, stood alone, a towering reminder of a world that was slowly fading.

The day of the tree’s doom came without warning. A great storm swept through the village, its winds howling like a beast unleashed from the depths of the earth. The villagers sought shelter, but the Oyangui tree stood firm, bending but never breaking under the storm’s wrath. Yet when the winds ceased, the damage was done. The once-vibrant leaves had turned brittle, and the mighty branches, though still reaching for the sky, were weakened.

The villagers wept, for they knew the tree was dying. Though they cared for it, wrapping its ancient trunk in offerings and prayers, the Oyangui tree withered with each passing day. The settlers, indifferent to its plight, saw no reason to preserve the old giant. It was a symbol of the past, a past they wished to erase. And so, with axes sharp and hearts unmoved, they felled the great tree.

As the mighty trunk crashed to the ground, a silence fell over the village. It was as though the soul of Oyangue had been torn from the earth. The crimson leaves, once so full of life, lay scattered and crushed beneath the feet of the settlers.

But the villagers did not forget. Though the tree was gone, its spirit lived on in the name they continued to speak. Oyangue became a memory carried on the wind, and as the years passed, the name changed, like a whispered secret traveling through time. From Oyangue, it became Polangue, and finally Polangui—a name that endures to this day, long after the last of the Oyangui leaves have turned to dust.

Though the tree is no more, its tragic tale remains in the hearts of the people of Polangui. The red leaves may have fallen, but the spirit of the Oyangui tree still lingers, woven into the very name of the town, a reminder of what was once and what was lost.

The Story of the Red-Leafed Tree Oyangui

he name of Polangui back to a majestic red-leafed tree. In the earliest days of the town’s settlement, a giant tree called Oyangui stood proudly in the village. Its vibrant red leaves made it a striking landmark, and its presence was so significant that the early settlers often referred to their home as Oyangue in honor of the tree. The Spanish colonizers, when they arrived, also noticed the towering tree, and the settlement became known far and wide by its name.

Prior to this, the town was called Binanuaan, a name given by a Spanish friar, Baltazar de Magdalena, who lived among the 500 indigenous people of the area. But the name Oyangue began to spread beyond the village, especially as trade grew and more people came to settle. Over time, the name Oyangue morphed into various forms, from Polangue to its final version, Polangui. Though the Oyangui tree is now extinct, its legacy lives on in the name of the town

Red Maria 

Long ago, in a village surrounded by lush hills and flowing rivers, there lived a young woman named Pulang-Angui. Her name, which means "Red Maria" or "Beautiful Maiden," came from her love of the color red, which she wore in her clothing and adorned her life with. With flowing dark hair and a radiant smile, she was admired not only for her physical beauty but also for her many talents. Pulang-Angui was modest, skilled in the arts, and deeply devoted to her faith, often leading her tribe in joyous celebrations and religious festivities. Her lively spirit and graceful manner made her the object of affection among many men, though she remained humble in the face of such admiration.

As the years passed, Pulang-Angui's name became synonymous with beauty, kindness, and leadership. The people of her village looked up to her, not just as a maiden of beauty, but as a symbol of harmony and culture in their community.

Then, one fateful day, the Spaniards arrived in the region, bringing with them their language and customs. A group of Spanish soldiers, exploring the area, came across the village where Pulang-Angui lived. They were curious about the name of the place and asked the locals. However, the villagers, misunderstanding the foreigners’ question, thought they were asking about the maiden Pulang-Angui. And so, they answered, "Pulang-Angui."

As time passed, the name began to evolve, as foreign tongues struggled with the local sounds. "Pulang-Angui" slowly became Polangui, the name we know today. The maiden’s legacy lived on, not only in the name of the town but in the cultural memory of its people.