There once lived at the foot of a mountain a widow, Balligokan, and her son, Agkon. Every morning the rooster would wake up Agkon by crowing: “Kook-ko-ko-oook! Agkon, come and trap me.”

Agkon would answer, “Wait, I’ll first look for some fibers to make up my snare.”

The next day, the rooster again jumped on Agkon’s window and crowed: “Oo-oo-oo-o! Agkon, come and snare me.”

And Agkon said, “Wait, I’ll get some strings for my snare.”

On the third day, the rooster flapped his wings loudly and cried out: “O-oo-ook! Agkon, when will you come?”

Agkon jumped out of his house and said, “I’m coming!”

Agkon ran out, laid his snare with care, and after a few moments it caught a wild fat rooster, which he proudly showed to his mother.

“What a nice fat rooster, Agkon! Now we shall have some nice food,” his mother said happily when she saw the rooster.

Agkon burned the feathers of the rooster, cut it into pieces, and began to cook it. When it was almost cooked he dropped the ladle. “Mother,” Agkon cried, “I dropped the ladle.”

‘”Never mind, Agkon,” his mother said as she quickly went out of the house, “I’ll pick it up.”

As soon as his mother was down, Agkon quickly drew up the ladder. Then he asked for the ladle and after telling his mother that he would eat first and call her later, he proceeded to do so.

After a while the mother said, “Agkon, please leave the wings for me.”

“But the wings are delicious, mother,” Agkon said and started to eat them.

“Leave me the claws, my son,” the mother pleaded.

“They are just what I want, mother,” he said.

“But surely, you will leave me the neck, Agkon.”

“It is just what I am eating, mother,” Agkon said.

Only the head was now left. “Agkon, my son, will you not give the head to your mother?”

“But, mother,” Agkon answered, “you know very well that I need to eat the brains.”

When nothing was left of the rooster, Agkon put back the ladder, and the mother wearily went up the steps. She looked at the pot and found a little soup left, which she took, and mashing some rice in it, ate in tears. She decided to revenge herself on her son. She went down and said, “Agkon, I’ll go and look for some ripe bananas.” Her son was already sleeping after his heavy meal and did not hear her.

The mother went upstream and after walking for a long time she heard loud weeping and found a family mourning over a man who had been dead three days. She moved on until further up she found another man who had been dead five days. She was not satisfied, however, because the dead man’s tongue and eyes were not yet bulging out and she continued her search. In the third village there was loud crying and lamentations because no one could go near the dead man since he was very black, swollen, and distended, with his tongue out, his eyes bulging, and blood dripping out of the pores of his body.

Balligokan offered to buy the dead man, but the relatives were already happy to have someone take care of the dead so that they gladly gave it to her free. Balligokan offered to carry the dead man and said, “Apo Ladag [Sir Dead Body], I will carry you on my back.” The dead man climbed on her back and she brought him to her granary where she covered him with rice-on-the-stalk. Then going to the house she called her son and said, “There are some ripe bananas in the granary.”

Agkon went down and peeped inside the granary where the Ladag caught him and proceeded to eat him. He shouted to his mother, “Mother,” he cried, “the Ladag is eating my feet.”

“That is for the claws of the chicken that you would not share with your mother,” the mother answered.

“”Mother, the Ladag is eating my arms.'”

“”But you did not give me the wings either, my child,” his mother said.

“”Now he is eating my breast, mother.”

“”Neither did you share the breast of the rooster with me, my son.'”

“He is beginning to feed on my neck, mother.”

“Well, you ate the neck of the rooster, Agkon.”

“Go ahead, Ladag,’ said the mother, “eat his head.”

That night, Balligokan felt lonely; there was no one to talk with. The following day, there was no one to carry fuel, no one to help her. Her loneliness was worse, and, feeling sad, she went to the granary to look for any remains of her son. She found a little blood on the floor, which she took, and going to the river began to perform some ritual. She took some water and began to bathe the blood and said, “May I bathe Agkon! May I bathe his hands!” At once his hands were formed. And as she said, “Legs, feet, arms,” all were formed into a man. But the crows were there flying around crying: “Wak, wak, mahurak!” [May it be scattered!]. As they cried so, whatever was being formed of Agkon would be disengaged. The mother cried, “Go away, crows, to the woods. The papayas there are just ripe.” The crows flew away but before she could finish forming Agkon they were back again, crying.

“Go away, crows,” she cried, “The bananas upstream are just ripe for eating.” The crows flew away and when they returned, Agkon was completely formed. When the crows began to cry, Agkon picked up a stone and threw it at them, driving them away.

Then mother and son were reconciled and both resolved to love each other truly. And Agkon said, “Mother, from now on, we shall always eat together!”