SUBSCRIBEInfanta flagellant-penitents, 3
continued from Infanta flagellant-penitents, 2
The click clacking of the panghampas woke me from my slumber. Not that it was deafeningly loud but ironically, it reverberated in my head, faint but eerie, floating above the slight din of occasional tricycles passing by as some of the denizens of Infanta are slowly awakening and preparing already for the coming day, a Good Friday. 0300H, and the cocks are starting to crow like imploring the town to arise even if the sun haven’t yet arisen. But only a few, heeded their call.
The image of the flagellant is something that stays in your mind, searing deep into one’s consciousness, ever present, like an apparition. I can’t just forget the sight: a starless and moonless night, the rather narrow streets illuminated with the yellowish glow of sodium lamps while people, albeit few, are going about their pre-dawn business. Some are tricycle drivers, smoking a few sticks of cigarette while chatting with fellow drivers while some are just lying on the top of their motorcycles, dozing off. The bakery is already well lighted, busy as the first batch of fresh pan de sal is finding its way to the glass display. Farther off the road, much less lighted, a lone figure, skirted with wilted banana leaves and hooded, is slowly trudging, hitting his back and bruising it. The click clacking breaks the silence as the flagellant turns left at a dim corner on his way to the church.
Not just one but three flagellants were already gathered in front of the church. Praying, kneeling with heads bowed down as curious bystanders and early church goers are looking on. They don’t go inside, just at the steps or a few inches from the portal. On the other hand, I was busy clicking, setting my camera at slow shutter speed with the flash, set at second curtain, blowing off. I followed one as it went back its way, passing the hotel, passing people looking at the flagellant and turning their sights on me, strangely and sort of half smilingly amused at the sight of a tall man busily clicking off. I turned a corner and lo and behold, almost a dozen more flagellants were already gathered at a spot, lining both sides of the street flagellating themselves, dipping their panghampas on a basinful of 
water turned red with the blood of a dozen flagellants. Just infront of a store, still closed, teenage boys were kind of circling a penitent, bowed down slightly as an older man with blade in hand skillfully maneuvering it on a few centimeters of skin, drawing blood. It’s a sight not for the faint of heart but I should say a fascinating one.
Cutting the skin with a sharp object, in most cases, a thin blade induces blood. However, this is not done when the self flagellation starts. The skin of the back is first bruised with the panghampas. Until it is all swollen and numb, or as the one doing the cutting assess it as ready, then a few strokes of the blade, gliding somewhat roughly on the skin, is performed. Neatly done in two rows at both sides of the back, the blood, with its deep red hue flows rather reluctantly. This is done as many times as needed during the course of the flagellation.
A middle aged lady called me and shared me a shot of lambanog (local vodka and very much potent that is quite popular in this part of Luzon) and a piece of hard boiled egg. They have been doing this for years now, offering the flagellants to keep them not too hungry and as they say, to liven up their blood circulation with the alcohol.
To be continued…
