The Miracle in the Tree: How Bani Got Its Name

Long before the coastal winds carried the name Bani across the lands of western Pangasinan, there was a quiet fishing and farming village called San Simon — named in honor of a solemn saint and watched over by the image of the Immaculate Conception, the village’s beloved patroness.

The people of San Simon were deeply faithful. The small church in the heart of the village stood as a symbol of that devotion, where candles burned from morning until dusk, and old women recited in hushed voices rosaries in corners worn smooth by time. Above the altar stood the statue of the Immaculate Conception, clothed in blue and white, her gaze cast downward in gentle grace. The villagers believed she protected them — from storms, from sickness, from invaders. She was Ina, Apo, Ina ti San Simon.

But one morning, something unimaginable happened.

The statue was gone.

There was no sign of forced entry. The doors were locked, the windows intact. Yet the altar stood empty — cold, barren, abandoned. Panic swept the town like wildfire. Men searched the hills. Children peeked under nipa huts and riverbanks. Women sobbed in prayer, fearing it was a sign — of punishment, of divine anger, of coming doom.

For three days, San Simon fell into silence and sorrow. On the fourth morning, an old man named Dado, known more for his naps under trees than for visions, came running down from the southeastern part of the village, which was called Namagbagan, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Iti rabaw a kayo iti Bani.” he cried. “On top of the bani tree!”

The villagers followed him across the fields and along a winding path that led to the foot of a towering bani tree, its branches wide and regal, its leaves rustling even without wind. Perched among the uppermost limbs, untouched and radiant in the morning light, was the statue of the Immaculate Conception.

No rope, no ladder, no evidence of human hand.

She sat cradled in the arms of the tree, as if nature itself had lifted her to safety. The villagers knelt. Some wept. Others fell silent in awe.

The priests deemed it a miracle, a divine sign. The tree, once an ordinary fixture of the land, was now sacred. They built a chapel beneath it. Pilgrims came from faraway towns, bringing candles, prayers, and offerings.

Over time, the name San Simon faded, and the place came to be called Bani — not for a man, nor a saint, but for the tree that carried the Virgin, the tree that held a mystery no one could explain.  The present poblacion had moved to where the present church now stands – the place where the image of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception was found.

Even now, the original tree no longer stands, having lived its years and returned to the soil. But the town of Bani remembers. They still speak of that morning — when faith vanished from stone and reappeared in leaves.

And perhaps, they say, the Blessed Mother simply chose a better place to look over her people — not behind walls and candles, but high above, where she could see the entire town.

Reference:

https://www.pangasinan.gov.ph/city-municipalities/bani/