“NANGAYENG kami.”
That was how my father-in-law responded to a query from the family during breakfast on why we came home late last night (yesterday, Saturday.)
In English, the phrase means, “we joined the community elders in chanting the 'Ayeng' for the newly wedded couple.” I joined my father-in-law in this event and participated in singing the overnight chant, my first. In between, the elders also played the “pattong,” or round dance with the beating of the gongs.
The beating of gongs and drums, along with the singing of chants and songs are an indispensable part of the people’s lives in Mountain Province. They chant or sing their prayers, stories, history, or how they do things at work in the fields, in the home, or during social gatherings like wakes, weddings, and festivals.
“Kha-aaa-awis, na-a-a-an si-i-i-n-in-agi ya-a-a-sin-fa-fa-fa--yaw, men-kha-kha-kha-yong, a-a-ay ma-ur-nong, ta en ta-ko ragsaken nan an-an-ak ay tako ay sin-fa-nga-fanga-fong…”
In Tucocan, the “Ayeng,” or “Liwa” in Northern Sagada, is a warrior’s chant, delivered in a martial tune. In northern Sagada, the “Liwa,” is drawn deep from the soul and delivered in a mild tune.
The above quote is part of an elder’s introductory note to his portion of the chant that is soon joined by others throughout the night in an exchange of wit and wisdom among the old. The chant started at dusk. It continued until the wee hours of the morning.
I asked the elder beside me why the “Ayeng” is chanted in a robust, snappy, strong, and manly voice.
He responded: “You are from the western side of this mountain and your “Liwa,” is a prayer like ours. The difference is that in your “Liwa,” you put more importance and emphasis on compassion, good health, and wealth. For us, we ask to be more courageous and brave against our enemies or other people.”
“We have learned from your practice. We have since chanted the “Ayeng” not as a chant to be strong against others, but to become strong in the right ways, and like you, to be blessed with good health, wellbeing, and wisdom” he added.
The “Ayeng,” as I heard it last Saturday night as part of the wedding celebration of our nephew and his wife, was an exchange of insight and wisdom, on various topics being deliberated in this participatory and engaging chant.
Why is it a prayer?
Among elders in the tribe, a man utters his words that “make a man or woman.” When they say, “speak sensibly,” it is out of their understanding of the power of words that curses or enlivens, encourages, or blesses people.
And so an elder participating in the “Ayeng,” prayerfully contributes, and supports his fellow elders in making the chant to be entertaining, challenging, and a continuing story flowing with ideas and words in time that blesses and gives life to its hearers. An elder does not join the “Ayeng” to perform for himself or to prove how good he is - to show that he is over and above the rest in this gathering of elders in the circle chanting, sacred words. Such an attitude ultimately brings out curse words (nafuting which means someone drunken and uttering worthless words).
Here is another quote from last Saturday’s “Ayeng.” Let me deliver it straight, not in the way it was chanted but as sentences: “Uray kuam amin ay payew, med serfina no med seg-ang mo’s ka ib-am. Uray no kuam nan rubong, no maid kes respitom as nan besat mo wenno ka-arubam, med serfin nan kanam en kuam, nan semek wenno panangfigfig mo as nan kaipugao mo ay fanuren ngen Kabunian ad tongcho.
It means: “Even if you own all the rice fields, it is useless if you do not have compassion for others. Even if you own the world, if you do not respect your brothers and sisters, what you own has no value at all and Kabunian in the heavens does not respect your outlook of yourself as a very important person.
There is yet something I learned about this practice, which makes the circle of elders conveniently share information and insight into the practice. I kept asking both elders on my left and right what I needed to understand.
For instance, from your choice between the “basi” and those other liquors and wine bought from the store and placed in the circle, the most learned among the elders can tell whether you are simply a drunkard or a man who drinks in good taste; a learned man who distinguishes the ways of the world with good understanding or somebody who imposes on others.
They will not tell you which one among the basi, wine, and liquor is the best choice of drinks, for that is something a man has to figure out by himself. But if you find an equal in that circle, you debate the case in the “Ayeng,” draw out the lesson from your discussions and deliver them as bits and pieces of advice that the wise in the circle can discern.
Listening to the exchange, I figured why the basi is a good drink because you indulge it in its season. It does not come every day and have you addicted to it. It does not corrupt you, or destroy your health because its proof is just appropriate – not too high, not too low. It is the right drink for the “Ayeng,” the chant for brave souls who must remain to be sober and strong throughout the night of the wedding and express brilliant words and ideas that would help and make their young healthy, wise, and wealthy.