The Story of the Sun-Child

Every day she bathed herself in the salt water, till she grew wondrous fair; and amongst all the daughters of men there was not one so beautiful as the Mother of the Sun-child. After bathing it was her custom to lie down for a time upon the clean white sand within the fence, that she might rest for a while, and that her body might be dry. So it came to pass that the Sun looked upon her, and saw her, and loved her; and in the course of time a child was born to her, whose name she called the Sun-child.

And the child grew up into a fine lad, comely and strong; proud, too, was he, and given to strike other children, like the son of a great chief. So one day, when all the town lads were playing together in the public square, some of them did something that was displeasing to the Sun-child, whereupon he beat them with a stick till his arm was weary and their bodies were sore.

Then the lads rose up against him, saying, “Who perchance, then, are you, child of the Sun? Why should you take upon yourself to beat us? We know who are our fathers; but you — you have no father: you are but a ‘child of the path,’ a bastard!”

Then was the boy eaten up by a devouring rage. Gladly would he have leaped upon them and killed them, but he could not stir, so great was his rage; his voice, too, was choked, and his eyes filled with angry tears.

Thus he stood, glaring upon them, till, with a sudden cry, he turned and fled away to his home. And seeing there his mother within the house, he rushed up to her, seizing her by the arm, and cried aloud, “What is this, mother, that the boys of the town have been saying to me? Who, then, is my father?” and, with a loud and bitter cry, he burst into a passion of tears.

“Hush, my son,” said his mother. “The boys of the town are liars. Let not your soul be small because of their words, for you are the child of a greater chief than they.”

“Who, then, is my father?” asked the lad once more, looking up with streaming eyes; and his mother laughed a scornful laugh as she answered.

“Who, then, are the boys of the town, that they should despise my son? They are the children of men, but you are the child of the Sun; he is your father.” And she told him all.

Then was the heart of the Sun-child glad within him, and, dashing away his tears, he cried: “I scorn them, these children of men! No more will I talk with them, or live with them. Good-bye, mother, for I am going to my father.” And, with a proud step, he went on his way, not even turning his head when his mother called after him; so she watched him going, till the forest hid him from her sight, and after that she saw him no more for ever.

For the lad went along through the dark wood till he came to where his canoe was lying on the beach, and there, sitting down, he made for himself a sail of magi-magi or sinnet, plaited out of coconut fibre, and, when the tide came in, he launched his canoe and sailed away to visit his father the Sun.

It was morning when he hoisted his sail and steered towards the east, where the sun was rising; but, as he sailed along, it rose higher and higher above his head; and he shouted aloud, but his father heard him not. Then he tacked, and stood over to the west, whither the sun was hastening; but, though the wind was fair, he was too late, and his father dived down beneath the waters before he could come near enough to speak with him; so that he was left alone in the midst of the sea.

Then he thought within himself: “It is in the east that my father climbs up out of the water. I will now go back and wait for him there.” So he tacked again, sailing all night towards the east, and when morning dawned he saw the Sun close to him, and shouted aloud, just as it was rising above the waves, “Father, father; here am I!”

“Who are you? “ asked the Sun, still climbing up into the sky.

“I am the Sun-child,” cried the lad. “You know me. I am your son, and my mother is left behind in Tonga. Stay but a little, my father, and talk with me.”

“I cannot stay,” said the Sun, still rising higher and higher, “for the children of earth have already seen my face, and how then can I stay to talk with you? If you had only been here a little earlier! Farewell, my son, for I must go.”

“Stay, my father,” cried the Sun-child. “It is easy, even though the children of earth have seen you. Hide but your face behind a cloud, and then you can come down to me here.”

Then the Sun laughed, and said, “Truly you are wise, my child; great is your wisdom, though you are but a boy.” So he called up a cloud, behind which he slipped down again to the sea, and there greeted his son, asking him about his mother, and telling him many useful things, which it would be well for us to know, but the knowledge whereof we have lost through this lad’s disobedience.

At last he told him that he could stay no longer. “And now, my son,” said he, “listen to my words. Stay about here till the night comes over the waters, and then you will see your aunt, the Moon, my sister. When she begins to rise out of the sea, call out to her and tell her to give you one of the two things which she has in keeping. One of them is called ‘Melaia,’ and the name of the other is ‘Monuia.’ Ask her for ‘Melaia,’ and she will give it to you. Remember now my words, and follow them, that it may be well with you; for know that evil will assuredly befall you if you are disobedient.”

So the Sun leaped up above the black cloud, and the world was glad, but the children of men said one to another —

“Surely the Sun is climbing up into the sky more slowly to-day than on other days;” and the Sun-child furled his sail, and, lying down in the folds thereof, slept till evening.

Then he woke up again and hoisted his sail, in readiness to hasten to the spot where he should first see the brightness of his aunt’s face, so that he was close upon the Moon before she could rise above the waters; and she cried, “Luff! Luff! child of the earth. Luff! or you will pierce my face with the sharp stem of your canoe,”

But the Sun-child kept his canoe away a little with the steering-oar, so that he almost touched the Moon’s face in passing; and then luffing suddenly into the wind, he shot up alongside of her, and caught her with a firm hold, saying, “I am no child of the earth. The child of your brother, the Sun, am L My name is the Sun-child, and you are my aunt.”

“Are you indeed the Sun-child?” asked the Moon in great surprise. “Truly this is a wonderful thing. But loosen your hold, my nephew, for you are pinching me.”

“Ah, but,” said the lad, “ if I let you go you will leave me; and then how am I to get that from you for which my father told me to ask?”

“Indeed I will not leave you, my nephew,” said the Moon with great earnestness. “Truly my heart is glad that you are come. Only let go your hold, for indeed it hurts.” So the Sun-child loosed his hold.

“But what was it,” continued the Moon, “ that your father told you to ask of me?”

Now the Sun-child had made up his mind not to act according to his father’s words; for indeed it was his custom to be disobedient — a high-spirited, headstrong boy was he — so he said —

“My father told me to ask for ‘ Monuia.’ “

“For ‘Monuia ‘!” cried his aunt. “’Monuia’! Do you not perhaps forget, my nephew, your father’s words? Was it not ‘Melaia’ that he told you to ask for?”

“Indeed it was not,” said the lad stoutly. “He told me that ‘Melaia’ was to stay with you, and that I should have ‘Monuia.’ “

“Truly that is strange,” said the Moon musingly. “Surely the Sun cannot hate the boy, and wish to kill him. Nevertheless I must obey his commands. You shall have ‘Monuia,’ my nephew. See, it is but a little thing. It is here wrapped up in this piece of cloth. Now I wrap it in another wrapper, and fasten it with this string, winding it many times around, so that it cannot come loose of itself. Take it, my nephew, and remember these my words: Loose not the string, neither unfold the wrapper while you are at sea; but hoist your sail at once, and steer for Tonga. When you have landed then look at ‘Monuia,’ but not before, or a great and terrible evil will befall you.

So she bade him farewell, and climbed up into the sky, whereupon all who were sailing in the midst of the waters shouted for joy, and said, “There is our friend, the Moon. It is only we who go sailing by that know how good she is.”

The girls also, and the boys in the towns, came running out of the houses, crying aloud, “Here is the Moon; come, let us dance together in the public square.” And the Sun-child hoisted his sail and steered away for Tonga.

All that night, and the next day, and the following night also went he sailing over the waters, till on the morning of the second day he saw the land. Then he could wait no longer, for the Sun-child was of a self-willed, impatient spirit; and so he lifted the parcel which his aunt had given him from the bottom of the canoe, and untied the string wherewith it was bound. Then he unrolled the cloth, fold after fold, till he held “Monuia” in his hand. It was a pearl shell, beautiful exceedingly; not white like the shells in our land, but of a shining red, such as had never been seen before, and the like whereof no man has since beheld; and his heart was glad as he thought how the boys of his town would envy him when they saw it hanging round his neck. But while he was thus gazing upon it he heard a great rushing and splashing over the waters, and, looking up, he saw a multitude of fishes swimming hastily towards him — great whales, and sharks, and porpoises, and dolphins, and turtle, and every other kind of fish — a vast multitude. And they leaped upon him in their eagerness to get at “Monuia,” so that in one moment his canoe sank beneath the waves, and the sharks tore him to pieces, so there was an end of the Sun-child.

Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page