The Moon, a woman called “Ka-bi-gat′,” was one day making a large copper cooking pot. The copper was soft and plastic like potter’s clay. Ka-bi-gat′ held the heavy sagging pot on her knees and leaned the hardened rim against her naked breasts. As she squatted there—turning, patting, shaping, the huge vessel—a son of the man Chal-chal′, the Sun, came to watch her. This is what he saw: The Moon dipped her paddle, called “pĭp-i′,” in the water, and rubbed it dripping over a smooth, rounded stone, an agate with ribbons of colors wound about in it. Then she stretched one long arm inside the pot as far as she could. “Tub, tub, tub,” said the ribbons of colors as Ka-bi-gat′ pounded up against the molten copper with the stone in her extended hand. “Slip, slip, slip, slip,” quickly answered pĭp-i′, because the Moon was spanking back the many little rounded domes which the stone bulged forth on the outer surface of the vessel. Thus the huge bowl grew larger, more symmetrical, and smooth.
Suddenly the Moon looked up and saw the boy intently watching the swelling pot and the rapid playing of the paddle. Instantly the Moon struck him, cutting off his head.
Chal-chal′ was not there. He did not see it, but he knew Ka-bi-gat′ cut off his son’s head by striking with her pĭp-i′.
He hastened to the spot, picked the lad up, and put his head where it belonged—and the boy was alive.
Then the Sun said to the Moon:
“See, because you cut off my son’s head, the people of the Earth are cutting off each other’s heads, and will do so hereafter.”
“And it is so,” the story-tellers continue; “they do cut off each other’s heads.”
Image Source: "Gang′-sa, showing human-jaw handle", by Charles Martin
Story Source: "The Bontoc Igorot", by Albert Ernest Jenks.
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