The River

The town of Tagudin lies in the southernmost tip of the province of Ilocos Sur. It got its name from the Ilocano word "Tagudan" which means "the place where threads of cotton are laundered, bleached, starched, dyed and made ready for the weaving looms". The noun "tagud" is the tool or implement made of coconut shell and husk used to scour the cotton threads. The verb "agtagud" describes the action of scouring the stretched threads of their excess starch as part of the processing. The people of Tagudin were once expert weavers and merchants. Theirs was a thriving business community. Tagudin was once the center of religious activity for the region of Nueva Segovia. But all that changed when the Amburayan River, a major river that runs between the provinces of Ilocos Sur and La Union, decided to change its course.

Much of the neighboring town of Bangar in the province of La Union was spared as a result of the river making a right turn towards the town of Tagudin. It was not too good for the town of Tagudin because that turn eroded much of Tagudin's southeastern flank. A concrete dike was constructed to keep the river from inundating the town in the future. Today this huge concrete dike stands silent and mute covered with thick green moss, much of its visible surfaces decaying and completely covered with vines and various tropical shrubs. It is so hidden now that I doubt many of the town's folk would even know it's there. Perhaps only those who use the remaining stream for washing clothes still know it's there. Of course those who must traverse the dry river bed to go back to their villages after spending the day in town surely must know it's still there.

There were rumors this huge dike was constructed in haste. The town labored day and night to finish this huge wall. They poured concrete at all hours and it was rumored that it was at night that the mortar mixed with the blood of innocent young children kidnapped throughout the neighboring villages was poured under cover of darkness. This was horrifying to hear and at six years of age I was petrified with terror each time I heard of these accounts. I remember this "cautionary tale" was one of the biggest deterrents with which my parents discouraged us kids from going to the dike and engaging in activities such as diving and swimming in the deep waters.

It is a known fact that over the years many a young person had drowned in that swimming hole. Some say the water was so deep you can vertically submerge three, thirty-foot poles of bamboo tied end to end and still would not touch the bottom of the hole. Some declared the water to be as deep as 20 fathoms. Some claimed that at 50 feet there was a cross current of cold water that would pull a swimmer down so deep into the cold that it would be impossible for the swimmer to swim back up. None of the drowning victim's bodies were ever found. The popular notion was that those who drowned are forever entombed in the depths of the waters. To my knowledge no divers were ever dispatched to check what could be underneath this water hole.

Today both the river and the dike still hold on to their secrets. I stood on that dike that last time I went home for a visit. I still felt chills as my feet touched that moss-covered mortar. The once rampaging river has now been reduced into a small stream. The dry riverbed is strewn with polished rocks and bleached stones. I could still hear the wind whistle through the hardy banyan trees that once stood at the foot of the dike. Now there was only quiet. I walked away wondering what that old, moss covered concrete dike knew, what the river remembers.