Mayari is the goddess of the moon. She, along with her sisters Tala and Hanan, was born as the fruit of love between Bathala and a mortal woman who passed away shortly after she brought to life the three beautiful deities. 

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    At a young age the siblings’ divine powers started to manifest. Right after they got their divine forces, they performed their duties on earth as divinities. Soon, Tala became the goddess of the stars, Hanan became the goddess of the morning, and Mayari became the goddess of the moon. Other gods who were pure-blooded automatically manifested their powers upon being born. 

 

    The natives worshiped all of Bathala’s offspring, especially Mayari due to her exceptional beauty and the bright light she provides during the dark nights. The three of them got along with each other until one of the elder gods, Sitan became greedy for power as he realized that Mayari and her other sisters were only demi gods who were revered too much by the natives. Sitan slowly started his schemes to them, even more with Mayari. He was so angry and jealous of Mayari as the natives seemed to like her better and praised her more often for the light that the moon gave during the dark nights which is the time that he could have tormented the people even more.

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   One night, Sitan decided to visit Mayari in the sky. He knew she was fond of sampaguitas so he picked the most beautiful sampaguita he could find on earth to offer it as a gift for her. He went to the moon and when he found Mayari, he knelt down on one knee and gave her the flower. The goddess was stunned but kind as she was, she gladly and unhesitantly  took it. However, the flower’s petals immediately wilted upon touch. It was no ordinary flower— within it was a curse that intensified a demigod’s mortal blood so as to weaken his or her divine blood and divine power. Mayari suddenly felt weak and she noticed that the moonlight grew dull and duller. Sitan smirked and whispered in her ear, “Sinusumpa kita, Mayari” before vanishing into thin air.

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    From then on, the natives’ nights were filled with darkness and only darkness with a hint of light from Tala’s stars. Desperate for bright light, they offered their second-born sons to Mayari. It was in their belief that if they courted Bathala’s daughter and gave her a corsage of extravagant flowers,  light would be brought back to the whole world. If the goddess accepted the corsage and wore it, that would mean that they have successfully acquired her heart. Years and years passed, and hundreds and hundreds of men were offered,  yet no one ever moved the goddess’ heart. The men who tried to court her always said the same thing, “I was expecting to meet a beautiful goddess but I met an unsightly old hag instead.” Little did they know that aging was one of the side effects of having stronger mortal blood. Along with Sitan’s curse, the natives  started cursing her as well. She grew weaker and weaker and as a result, the already dark night was now  filled with frigidity.

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    Disheartened, Mayari went down to earth in her human form and hid in Batala, a reappearing mountain realm located in the middle world. To escape from the harsh reality, she grabbed her faglong and started playing a series of melancholic melodies. Upon finishing her third piece, she heard someone trample upon a fallen branch of a tree. A native man had been watching her play.

 

    He said to the goddess, “I apologize if I startled you, it was not in my intention to do that. When my ears heard you play, my feet unconsciously brought me here. You made such a beautiful and tender sound but why did it feel like your soul was screaming? Is something bothering you?”

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     Mayari said nothing and just stared at the ground.

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     The native man approached her and asked, “May I have the honor to sit beside you?”

 

     Mayari nodded in response. The native sat and they both gazed quietly in the sky. For a while, the forest was filled with only the sounds of the river flowing, birds chirping, and leaves rustling until the native started talking. 

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“That moon over there…”

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   “My great-grandmother would always tell me how bright the moon used to be. She said that the goddess who took care of the moon was the most charming in Bathala’s celestial court—they worshiped her as much as they worshiped Bathala himself. The people loved her until suddenly, her light faded away and eventually disappeared. They were furious. Not a single night passed without them cursing at the moon. Useless, lazy, and coldhearted were just some of the names they called her. In an attempt to bring back her light, families forced their second sons to court the goddess but their effort proved to be futile.

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    I have two older sisters and a younger brother. Among my siblings, I was closest to my second elder sister. I remember her spending some time studying and picking up flowers instead of playing outside. I hated the goddess of the moon because I felt like she was taking away not just my sister’s but also the other guys’ youth.

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     I resented her until one night while I was collecting water from the river in this forest, I saw a raindrop. There were no signs of a downpour that day and what was even more strange is that the droplet was not followed by another one. I heard a very faint sound of a lady crying in the direction of the moon. Perhaps that was not a raindrop, perhaps it was a teardrop from the goddess of the moon, I thought. Perhaps the reason why she did not radiate light anymore was because of us, ourselves—because we kept on cursing and hurting her without even trying to understand her. So from then on, every night, I would dedicate some of my time apologizing for all the pain we have given her and talking to her about the ups and downs of my everyday life so she would feel less lonely. I did not know if she heard me but I hope she did…”

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    “Oh, I am sorry, that must have been a boring stor… huh? Why is your face filled with tears? Are you alright?” he asked with a panicky voice as he placed his hands on top of Mayari’s.

 

     “Thank you…” the goddess expressed in a soft voice.

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    “You have nothing to thank me for. In fact, I should be the one thanking you for spending your time listening to my story. I truly appreciate it,” the native man stated.

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     The native suddenly remembered that he came to the forest to do something, “Ah! I forgot about the water I was collecting! I will be excusing myself for now, binibini. I shall come back tomorrow. Have a good night! And oh yes, I have yet to give you my name. I am Dalisay and I want you to know that both you and your music is a work of art!”

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     He waved his hand, ran back to the woods, and disappeared from Mayari’s blurry sight. Feeling like a thorn on her heart was removed, Mayari came back to the moon. As she was flying to the moon, she could hear her heart beating rapidly because for the past years, she finally heard one comforting voice from the earth and it turned out the man he met today was the one talking to her all this time.

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     During the day, he would observe Dalisay from the sky and during the night she would go to the same forest to meet him. Every day, for two years, they talked and talked and became close friends. As time passed by, the light of the moon returned— slowly but surely. The natives were confused as no man had tried to court her lately but they did not complain as they were now receiving their most-awaited night light.

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     One lovely morning, Dalisay stumbled across a field full of pure white flowers. He did not know what kind of flowers he picked up but he thought it smelled like Mayari.  So he brought home some to give to her later on that night. After some time, the sun slept and the moon finally rose. He gave the goddess the white flower he found earlier. Mayari smiled and gladly accepted it. As she touched the flower, the moon shone— its light was the brightest it has ever been. She said in a warm voice, “Pinagpapala kita, Dalisay.” The flower she gave was Mayari’s most loved flower, sampaguita. Within the sampaguita is something greater than Sitan’s curse—within it is the native man’s everlasting and genuine love for the goddess. The curse was lifted and Mayari regained her youthful look and divine powers. Together with Dalisay, Mayari lived peacefully throughout the years as true friends and eventually as lovers. The natives stopped cursing her and started praising her once again like they used to. Their nights, as well as their hearts, were filled with light and warmth. Mayari and Dalisay’s story has become the reason why the tradition of pledging one’s love to his or her lover on a full moon, exists.