Tag: 12. Prophecy and Fate

Destiny shaping characters’ lives

The Maiden of Unai

The Maiden of Unai, hidden for years to avert a tragic prophecy, grew into unparalleled beauty. Despite her seclusion, two noble warriors—one from near, the other from afar—sought her love. To end their strife, she sacrificed herself, leaping into a river. The warriors followed, drowning alongside her. Together in death, their story became one of beauty, love, and sorrow that reached even the heavens.

Source
Japanese Fairy Tales
by Grace James
Macmillan & Co., London, 1912

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative is driven by a soothsayer’s prophecy foretelling the maiden’s beauty and the tragic events it will incite, highlighting the inescapable nature of destiny.

Sacrifice: To end the strife between her suitors and prevent further discord, the maiden sacrifices herself by leaping into a river, an act of selflessness aimed at restoring peace.

Tragic Love: The love triangle culminates in sorrow, with all three characters meeting their demise, underscoring the devastating consequences of unfulfilled love and rivalry.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Japanese Mythology & Folklore

The Maiden of Unai was fair as an earthly deity, but the eyes of man might not behold her. She dwelt in a hidden place in her father’s house, and of what cheer she made the live-long day not a soul could tell, but her father who kept watch, and her mother who kept ward, and her ancient nurse who tended her. The cause was this.

When the maid was about seven years old, with her black hair loose and hanging to her shoulder, an ancient man, a traveller, came, footsore and weary, to her father’s house.

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He was made welcome, served with rice and with tea, whilst the master of the house sat by, and the mistress, to do him honour. Meanwhile the little maid was here and there, catching at her mother’s sleeve, pattering with bare feet over the mats, or bouncing a great green and scarlet ball in a corner. And the stranger lifted his eyes and marked the child.

After he had eaten, he called for a bowl of clear water, and taking from his wallet a handful of fine silver sand he let it slip through his fingers and it sank to the bottom of the bowl. In a little he spoke.

“My lord,” he said to the master of the house, “I was hungry and weary, and you have fed me and refreshed me. I am a poor man and it is hard for me to show my gratitude. Now I am a soothsayer by profession, very far-famed for the skill of my divination. Therefore, in return for your kindness I have looked into the future of your child. Will you hear her destiny?”

The child knelt in a corner of the room bouncing her green and scarlet ball.

The master of the house bade the soothsayer speak on.

This one looked down into the bowl of water where the sand was, and said: “The Maiden of Unai shall grow up fairer than the children of men. Her beauty shall shine as the beauty of an earthly deity. Every man who looks upon her shall pine with love and longing, and when she is fifteen years old there shall die for her sake a mighty hero from near, and a valiant hero from afar. And there shall be sorrow and mourning because of her, loud and grievous, so that the sound of it shall reach High Heaven and offend the peace of the gods.”

The master of the house said, “Is this a true divination?”

“Indeed, my lord,” said the soothsayer, “it is too true.” And with that he bound on his sandals, and taking his staff and his great hat of rice-straw, he spoke no other word, but went his ways; neither was he any more seen nor heard tell of upon that country-side.

And the child knelt in a corner of the room, bouncing her green and scarlet ball.

The father and mother took counsel.

The mother wept, but she said, “Let be, for who can alter the pattern set up upon the looms of the weaving women of Heaven?” But the father cried, “I will fight. I will avert the portent; the thing shall not come to pass. Who am I that I should give credence to a dog of a soothsayer who lies in his teeth?” And though his wife shook her head and moaned, he gave her counsel no heed, for he was a man.

So they hid the child in a secret chamber, where an old wise woman tended her, fed her, bathed her, combed her hair, taught her to make songs and to sing, to dance so that her feet moved like rosy butterflies over the white mats, or to sit at a frame with a wonder of needlework stretched upon it, drawing the needle and the silken thread hour after hour.

For eight years the maid set eyes upon no human being save her father, her mother, and her nurse, these three only. All the day she spent in her distant chamber, far removed from the sights and the sounds of the world. Only in the night she came forth into her father’s garden, when the moon shone and the birds slept and the flowers had no colour. And with every season that passed the maid grew more beautiful. Her hair hung down to her knees and was black as a thundercloud. Her forehead was the plum blossom, her cheek the wild cherry, and her mouth the flower of the pomegranate. At fifteen years old she was the loveliest thing that ever saw the light, and the sun was sick with jealousy because only the moon might shine upon her.

In spite of all, the fame of her beauty became known, and because she was kept so guarded men thought of her the more, and because she might not be seen men longed to behold her. And because of the mystery and the maiden, gallants and warriors and men of note came from far and near and flocked to the house of Unai; and they made a hedge about it with themselves and their bright swords; and they swore that they would not leave the place till they had sight of the maid, and this they would have either by favour or by force.

Then the master of the house did even as he must, and he sent her mother to bring the maid down. So the mother went, taking with her a robe of grey silk and a great girdle of brocade, green and gold; and she found the maid, her daughter, sitting in her secret chamber singing.

The maid sang thus:

“Nothing has changed since the time of the gods,
Neither the running of water nor the way of love.”

And the mother was astonished and said, “What manner of song is this, and where heard you of such a thing as love?”

And she answered, “I have read of it in a book.”

Then they took her, her mother and the wise woman, and they tied her hair and pinned it high upon her head with gold and coral pins, and held it with a great lacquer comb. She said, “How heavy it is!”

While they dressed her in the robe of grey silk, and tied the girdle of brocade, first she shuddered and said, “I am cold.” Then they would have thrown over her a mantle broidered with plum blossom and pine, but she would have none of it, saying, “No, no, I burn.”

They painted her lips with beni, and when she saw it she murmured, “Alack, there is blood upon my lips!” But they led her down and out on to a balcony, where the men who were assembled might see her. She was fairer than the children of men, and her beauty shone like the beauty of an earthly deity. And all the warriors who were there looked upon her and were silent, for already they were faint with love and longing. And the maid stood with eyes cast down, and slowly the hot blush rose to her cheek and she was lovelier than before.

Three or four score men of name sought her hand, being distraught for love of her, and amongst them were two braver and nobler than the rest. The one came from afar and was the champion of Chinu, and the other came from near, the champion of Unai. They were young, strong, and black-haired. They were equal in years, in strength, and in valour. Both were girded with great swords, and full-charged quivers were upon their backs, and six-foot bows of white wood were in their hands. Together they stood beneath the balcony of the maiden of Unai, like twin brothers in beauty and attainments. Together they cried aloud with passionate voices, telling of their eternal love, and bidding the maiden choose between them.

She lifted up her eyes and looked fixedly upon them, but spoke no word.

Then they drew their swords and made as if to fight the matter out there and then; but the maid’s father spoke: “Put up your swords, fair sirs; I have devised a better way for the decision of this thing. If it please you, enter my house.”

Now part of the house of Unai was built out upon a platform over the river that flowed past. It was the fifth month and the wistaria was in blossom upon the trellis, and hung downwards nearly into the water. The river was swift and deep. Here the master of the house brought the champions, and the maiden was there also. But the mother and the wise woman stood a little way apart, and hid their faces in their long sleeves. Presently a white water-bird dropped from the blue sky, and rocked to and fro upon the water of the river.

“Now, champions,” cried the father of the maiden, “draw me your bows and let fly each of you an arrow at yonder white bird that floats upon the river. He that shall strike the bird and prove himself to be the better marksman, he shall wed my daughter, the peerless Maiden of Unai.”

Then immediately the two champions drew their bows of white wood and let fly each of them an arrow. Each arrow sped swift; each arrow struck true. The champion of Chinu struck the water-bird in the head, but the champion of Unai struck her in the tail so that the white feathers were scattered. Then the champions cried, “Enough of this trifling. There is but one way.” And again their bright swords leapt from their scabbards.

But the maid stood trembling, holding the gnarled stem of the wistaria in her hands. She trembled and shook the branches so that the frail flowers fell about her. “My lords, my lords,” she cried, “oh, brave and beautiful heroes of fame, it is not meet that one of you should die for such as I am. I honour you; I love you both–therefore farewell.” With that, still holding to the wistaria, she swung herself clear of the balcony and dropped into the deep and swift-flowing river. “Weep not,” she cried, “for no woman dies to-day. It is but a child that is lost.” And so she sank.

Down sprang the champion of Chinu into the flood, and in the same instant down sprang the champion of Unai. Alack, they were heavy with the arms that they bore, and they sank and were entangled in the long water weeds. And so the three of them were drowned.

But at night when the moon shone, the pale dead rose, floating to the surface of the water. The champion of Unai held the maiden’s right hand in his own, but the champion of Chinu lay with his head against the maiden’s heart, bound close to her by a tress of her long hair; and as he lay he smiled.

The three corpses they lifted from the water, and laid them together upon a bier of fair white wood, and over them they strewed herbs and sweet flowers, and laid a veil over their faces of fine white silk. And they lighted fires and burned incense. Gallants and warriors and men of note who loved the maiden, alive or dead, stood about her bier and made a hedge with themselves and their bright swords. And there was sorrow and mourning, loud and grievous, so that the sound of it reached High Heaven and offended the peace of the gods.

A grave was dug wide and deep, and the three were buried therein. The maid they laid in the middle, and the two champions upon either side. Idzumo was the native place of the champion of Chinu, so they brought earth from thence in a junk, and with this earth they covered him.

So the maid slept there in the grave, the champions faithfully guarding her, for they had buried with them their bows of white wood and their good armour and their spears and their bright swords. Nothing was forgotten that is needful for adventure in the Land of Yomi.

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The Star Lovers

The Weaving Maiden and the Herd Boy of Heaven fell in love but were separated by the Bright River as punishment for neglecting their duties. Once a year, on the seventh night of the seventh moon, magpies form a bridge for their reunion. If rain falls, the lovers are kept apart. True lovers are urged to pray for clear skies on this sacred night.

Source
Japanese Fairy Tales
by Grace James
Macmillan & Co., London, 1912

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: The Weaving Maiden and the Herd Boy’s love is restricted by divine decree, leading to their separation across the Bright River.

Sacred Spaces: The narrative is set in the celestial realm, with the Milky Way (Bright River) serving as a significant and sacred location.

Prophecy and Fate: The Maiden’s belief in the saying, “Sorrow, age-long sorrow, shall come upon the Weaving Maiden when she leaves her loom,” underscores the role of prophecy and destiny in their lives.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Japanese Mythology & Folklore

All you that are true lovers, I beseech you pray the gods for fair weather upon the seventh night of the seventh moon. For patience’ sake and for dear love’s sake, pray, and be pitiful that upon that night there may be neither rain, nor hail, nor cloud, nor thunder, nor creeping mist.

Hear the sad tale of the Star Lovers and give them your prayers.

The Weaving Maiden was the daughter of a Deity of Light. Her dwelling was upon the shore of the Milky Way, which is the Bright River of Heaven.

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All the day long she sat at her loom and plied her shuttle, weaving the gay garments of the gods. Warp and woof, hour by hour the coloured web grew till it lay fold on fold piled at her feet. Still she never ceased her labour, for she was afraid. She had heard a saying:

“Sorrow, age-long sorrow, shall come upon the Weaving Maiden when she leaves her loom.”

So she laboured, and the gods had garments to spare. But she herself, poor maiden, was ill-clad; she recked nothing of her attire or of the jewels that her father gave her. She went barefoot, and let her hair hang down unconfined. Ever and anon a long lock fell upon the loom, and back she flung it over her shoulder. She did not play with the children of Heaven, or take her pleasure with celestial youths and maidens. She did not love or weep. She was neither glad nor sorry. She sat weaving, weaving … and wove her being into the many-coloured web.

Now her father, the Deity of Light, grew angry. He said, “Daughter, you weave too much.”

“It is my duty,” she said.

“At your age to talk of duty!” said her father. “Out upon you!”

“Wherefore are you displeased with me, my father?” she said, and her fingers plied the shuttle.

“Are you a stock or a stone, or a pale flower by the wayside?”

“Nay,” she said, “I am none of these.”

“Then leave your loom, my child, and live; take your pleasure, be as others are.”

“And wherefore should I be as others are?” she said.

“Never dare to question me. Come, will you leave your loom?”

She said, “Sorrow, age-long sorrow, shall come upon the Weaving Maiden when she leaves her loom.”

“A foolish saying,” cried her father, “not worthy of credence. What do we know of age-long sorrow? Are we not gods?” With that he took her shuttle from her hand gently, and covered the loom with a cloth. And he caused her to be very richly attired, and they put jewels upon her and garlanded her head with flowers of Paradise. And her father gave her for spouse the Herd Boy of Heaven, who tended his flocks upon the banks of the Bright River.

Now the Maiden was changed indeed. Her eyes were stars and her lips were ruddy. She went dancing and singing all the day. Long hours she played with the children of Heaven, and she took her pleasure with the celestial youths and maidens. Lightly she went; her feet were shod with silver. Her lover, the Herd Boy, held her by the hand. She laughed so that the very gods laughed with her, and High Heaven re-echoed with sounds of mirth. She was careless; little did she think of duty or of the garments of the gods. As for her loom, she never went near it from one moon’s end to another.

“I have my life to live,” she said; “I’ll weave it into a web no more.”

And the Herd Boy, her lover, clasped her in his arms. Her face was all tears and smiles, and she hid it on his breast. So she lived her life. But her father, the Deity of Light, was angry.

“It is too much,” he said. “Is the girl mad? She will become the laughing-stock of Heaven. Besides, who is to weave the new spring garments of the gods?”

Three times he warned his daughter.

Three times she laughed softly and shook her head.

“Your hand opened the door, my father,” she said, “but of a surety no hand either of god or of mortal can shut it.”

He said, “You shall find it otherwise to your cost.” And he banished the Herd Boy for ever and ever to the farther side of the Bright River. The magpies flew together, from far and near, and they spread their wings for a frail bridge across the river, and the Herd Boy went over by the frail bridge. And immediately the magpies flew away to the ends of the earth and the Weaving Maiden could not follow. She was the saddest thing in Heaven. Long, long she stood upon the shore, and held out her arms to the Herd Boy, who tended his oxen desolate and in tears. Long, long she lay and wept upon the sand. Long, long she brooded, looking on the ground.

She arose and went to her loom. She cast aside the cloth that covered it. She took her shuttle in her hand.

“Age-long sorrow,” she said, “age-long sorrow!” Presently she dropped the shuttle. “Ah,” she moaned, “the pain of it,” and she leaned her head against the loom.

But in a little while she said, “Yet I would not be as once I was. I did not love or weep, I was neither glad nor sorry. Now I love and I weep–I am glad, and I am sorry.”

Her tears fell like rain, but she took up the shuttle and laboured diligently, weaving the garments of the gods. Sometimes the web was grey with grief, sometimes it was rosy with dreams. The gods were fain to go strangely clad. The Maiden’s father, the Deity of Light, for once was well pleased.

“That is my good, diligent child,” he said. “Now you are quiet and happy.”

“The quiet of dark despair,” she said. “Happy! I am the saddest thing in Heaven.”

“I am sorry,” said the Deity of Light; “what shall I do?”

“Give me back my lover.”

“Nay, child, that I cannot do. He is banished for ever and ever by the decree of a Deity, that cannot be broken.”

“I knew it,” she said.

“Yet something I can do. Listen. On the seventh day of the seventh moon, I will summon the magpies together from the ends of the earth, and they shall be a bridge over the Bright River of Heaven, so that the Weaving Maiden shall lightly cross to the waiting Herd Boy on the farther shore.”

So it was. On the seventh day of the seventh moon came the magpies from far and near. And they spread their wings for a frail bridge. And the Weaving Maiden went over by the frail bridge. Her eyes were like stars, and her heart like a bird in her bosom. And the Herd Boy was there to meet her upon the farther shore.

And so it is still, oh, true lovers–upon the seventh day of the seventh moon these two keep their tryst. Only if the rain falls with thunder and cloud and hail, and the Bright River of Heaven is swollen and swift, the magpies cannot make a bridge for the Weaving Maiden. Alack, the dreary time!

Therefore, true lovers, pray the gods for fair weather.

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

The Beginning of Death

This myth recounts the origins of humanity, mortality, and the earth’s creation. Maui, a god, fished islands from the sea, including Tonga, and brought life to them. However, rebellion led by Maui’s son, Ata-longa, severed the gods’ connection to Bulotu, the divine land, resulting in sickness and death. Earthquakes signify Maui holding up Tonga. Mortals, descended from worms, serve the gods as soulless beings.

Source
Tales from Old Fiji
by Lorimer Fison
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
at the Ballantyne Press
by Alexander Moring Ltd
London, 1904

► Themes of the story

Creation: It narrates the origin of the world and humanity, detailing how the god Maui fished islands from the sea, including Tonga, and introduced life to them.

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative explains the predetermined fate of humans to experience sickness and death due to the severed connection with the divine realm, Bulotu.

Eternal Life and Mortality: The story addresses the transition from immortality to mortality for humans, marking the beginning of death and the human condition as we know it.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Fijians

as told by Ma’afu, a Chief of Tonga

This is the account of how men came upon the earth, and of how they became subject to decay and death.

In the beginning there was no land, save that on which the gods lived; no dry land was there for men to dwell upon; all was sea; the sky covered it above, and bounded it on every side. There was neither day nor night; but a mild light shone continually through the sky upon the waters, like the shining of the moon when its face is hidden by a white cloud. Thus it was in the beginning.

The gods dwelt in Bulotu; but we cannot tell where that island is, though some say that the words which have come down from our fathers declare it to be where the sky meets the waters in the climbing-path of the sun.

► Continue reading…

Here dwelt the gods, Maui, the greatest of them all, with his two sons [Ata-longa and Kiji-kiji] and his brothers [Tanga-Ioa, Hemoana-uli-uli, and Hiku-Ieo].

There are many others — a countless host — some small, and some great, but gods all. The gods whose names I have told you are the rulers; all the others are under subjection to them, gods though they too be.

A fine land is Bulotu, and happy are its people; for there, close to the house of Hiku-leo, is Vai-ola, the Water of Life, which the gods drink every day. Oh that we had it here on earth, for it will heal all manner of sickness! Moreover, near the brink of the fountain stands Akau-lea, that wondrous tree, the Tree of Speech, under whose shadow the gods sit down to drink kava, the tree acting as master of the ceremonies, and calling out the name of him to whom the bowl shall be carried.

THE FISHING OF MAUI

Here once upon a time they sat drinking kava; and after the bowl had gone round the circle, then outspake Maui, the king of them all —

“I am weary, ye gods,” he cried. “I am weary of this life of ours. We eat, and drink, and sleep, and do nothing. My soul is stirred within me. Let my canoe float. Drag it down to the water, and let the crew get ready for sailing.”

“Whither are you going?” Hiku-leo asked in a mocking tone; for a saucy god was he; angry too, and evil of soul. “What will you do? What do you want? This is a fool’s business truly.” And he laughed a scornful laugh.

“Stay you behind, Hiku-leo,” answered Maul. “ We know you of old, how peevish are your ways. When was a word ever spoken by others to which you said, ‘It is good’? Stay therefore at home, and watch lest any of the boys should steal your tail.” For Hiku-leo was known among the gods by his tail, which had eyes in it, he alone of them all being thus adorned. And when Maui had spoken, there was a chorus of smothered laughter, which none could help; only they were afraid to laugh aloud, because they feared Hiku-leo. But the Tailed One shook with rage; fierce was his anger.

“Go then!” he cried, “and may evil go with you! May you never return! May the waters swallow you up! May the fogs hide the land from your eyes! May you find it no more, but wander for ever to and fro on the face of the sea! Go quickly, fools that you are, hateful to my eyes! As for me, I shall stay behind, and reign here in Bulotu, for you will return no more.”

Then, with a loud shout of fierce anger, the two sons of Maui leaped to their feet; but before they could say a word, there was a rustle and a stir among the leaves of the Tree of Speech, as if a sudden blast were sweeping through its branches; and all the gods kept silence, for they knew it was going to speak.

“Hear my words, Maui,” it said. “Hear my words, Hiku-leo, and gods all. Go not! Evil will come to ass if you go — an evil so great and terrible, that you 3uld not understand if I were to tell you what it is. I pray you not to go.”

“Let it come! “ cried Maui, for his spirit was roused. “Let those who are afraid stay with Hiku-leo. Come, my sons, both of you. And are not both of you also coming, O my brothers?”

“We are going,” they answered with a shout; and all the other gods clapped their hands, and cried.

“Good is the sailing!” Then Hiku-leo rose with an angry growl, and went on his way snarling.

So the gods ran down to the beach, and dragged the great double canoe into the water. But when the two brothers of the god Maui were going on board, Maui drew them aside. “Look you, my brothers,” he said, “it will be well for you to stay behind and watch that evil one, lest he do mischief while we are away. I will take the two lads and a full crew. Why should I take more? They would only burden the canoe. Do you keep the rest together, and have a care of Hiku-leo. What if he should cut down the Tree of Speech, or defile the Water of Life! There is nothing too evil for him when he is in one of his raging moods.”

“Good are your words,” the two gods replied. “Go you then with the lads. As for us, we will stay here and watch. Go in peace and fear not; we shall not sleep.”

So the King went on board with his two sons and a picked crew, whom he chose from among the Bulotu folk, all of whom were eager to go; and, hoisting the sail, they stood out to sea before a fresh breeze that was blowing over the waters. For a long time they ran before the wind; for how long we cannot tell; but we know that they must have gone far, very far, from Bulotu; because many of our heroes have sailed far and wide in search of it, but none have been able to find it, as they would have done if it had not been so far away, unless indeed some of those whom we mourned as lost at sea may perhaps have escaped thither alive, and returned to us no more. But however this may be, when the gods had sailed over a very great stretch of water, Maui ordered the sail to be lowered.

The crew sprang willingly to the work, for they had never been so far away from Bulotu before, and fear was growing upon them. The sail was soon lowered upon the deck, and made fast. Then Maui came down from his seat on the top of the deck-house, holding in his hand an enormous fish-hook, which he threw far away from him into the sea, paying out the line as the hook sank, and the gods looked on in wonder.

“Have we come all this way to fish?” cried Ata-longa. “Are there no fish in the waters of Bulotu that we must sail thus far over the sea to catch them? What is the meaning of this, my father?”

“Wait and see,” answered Maui. “Know this, moreover, my son, that it is not seemly for youths to question the doing of their elders.”

“But so foolish a thing as this!” cried Ata-longa.

“Silence!” interrupted his father. “How do you know that it is foolish? You have been too much with that little-father [uncle] of yours, Hiku-leo, and it will be well for you to curb your tongue, lest I have to teach you that I am your king as well as — Ha! Here it is! I have

it! Come hither, all of you. Quick! Haul on the line! Haul steadily, lest it break!” And, pulling on the line, they were aware of something very heavy that the hook had caught. “Truly a monster of a fish is here!” said one, as they tugged and strained. “What can it be?” cried another. “It is no fish, for it makes no struggle,” said a third. But then the waters rose bubbling and foaming around the canoe, and smoke came from them with a thunderous rumble and roar, and the gods cried out in deadly fear. But Maui cheered them on. “Haul away, my lads!” he cried. “You shall take no harm. Put your strength on the rope, my children, and we shall soon see what it is.”

So they pulled and hauled with all their might, and presently the sea grew dark; and, looking down, they saw, as it were, a great black shadow beneath the waves. “What is this, Maui?” they cried. “We are afraid,” and some of them ran away from the rope, and crouched down and hid their faces.

“Fear not!” shouted Maui, seizing the rope with both hands, and hauling lustily upon it. “Fear not! Come back, little-livered cowards that you are! There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Then the gods shouted, pulling with a mighty will; and from the midst of the waters rose a land, mountain after mountain, till there were seven mountains in all, with valleys between, and flat lands lying at their feet.

“Here is something worth sailing for,” cried Maui. “This is better than staying at home in Bulotu and drinking kava. What about its foolishness now, my sons? What do you think of it?”

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” they rephed. “True are your words, my father. Here indeed is something worth sailing for. But is there not one little thing that might perhaps be mended. Those seven hills, are they not too high? I, for one, should not like to have to climb them.”

“Is that all? “said Maui. “That is easily mended.” And, leaping ashore, he sprang to the top of the highest mountain, and stamped upon it with his feet. And, as he stamped, the earth shook, and the mountain crumbled away beneath his feet, and rolled down into the valleys below, till they were filled up to the level on which he stood. This he did to four of the seven hills, leaving the other three untrodden, for he grew weary of the work. Now this land was Ata, the first land that Maui fished up from the depths of the sea.

Thence they sailed away again, and Maui threw out his hook once more, and raised this land of Tonga above the waves. Here he trod all the hills down into rich and fertile plains; on which, even as he trod, there sprang up grass and flowers and trees, while the earth swelled into hillocks round his feet, bursting with yams, and sweet potatoes, and all manner of food, so that the gods shouted aloud for joy.

Next he fished up Haabai and Vavau and Niua and the other islands near them; but whether he raised Samoa and Fiji at this time, or after his return to Bulotu, is not clear to us; for herein the words of our fathers do not agree. Some say one thing, and some another. There are some indeed who declare that it was Tanga-loa who brought Papa-langi (Whitemansland) to the surface, but we cannot tell whether it was so or not. One thing only is certain, that it was Maui who fished up Tonga from the bottom of the sea.

After a long stay in this fruitful land, Maui and his crew sailed back in great glee to Bulotu, where he triumphed over Hiku-leo to his heart’s content, making him tenfold more spiteful than he was before. But, when the gods met together round the Water of Life to hear the report of the voyage, Akau-lea gave forth the most pitiful sighs and groans, such as had never before been heard in Bulotu, so that Maui had no heart to tell his tale. The kava was drunk in silence, and they went to their homes with heavy hearts, fearing they knew not what of evil.

ATA-LONGA’S REBELLION

Now Ata-longa’s soul was very sore because of his father’s words, which had put him to silence and shame before all the younger gods who had sailed with them. Great was his shame, great was his anger, and his soul grew ever darker and more evil towards Maui, as he thought upon his words on that day. At last he hatched a scheme by which he could at once vex his father and escape from under his control. He gathered together a number of the younger gods, his companions, and spoke to them of the tyranny of Maui; how they were checked and curbed by him, and how much better it would be for them to flee away, and to live in peace and plenty in the new land, where they would be free from the continual interference of tyrannical elders.

“This we could not have done aforetime,” he went on to say; “but now it is easy enough. Maui himself has made it easy, for he has fished up a beautiful land from the bottom of the sea. And if you would know what manner of land that is — those of you who stayed behind when we went sailing — ask any one of the crew. It is a land of plenty; no evil is there, and nothing good is wanting. Why then should we stay here in Bulotu, to be for ever snubbed by our elders? Are we not gods as well as they? Let us go — let us go to the new land, and leave Bulotu to the stay-at-homes.”

Then followed a long silence, and Ata-longa’s hearers looked inquiringly at one another. They were all minded to follow him; but no one cared to be the first to speak.

“It is my mind to go,” said one of them at length, Fifita by name. “True are the words we have heard about the goodness of the new country. I saw it with my own eyes. Happy should we be if we were there. But how then are we to go?”

“How are we to go!” cried the son of Maui. “That truly is a small thing. Is there not my father’s canoe? What should hinder us from taking it when he is sleeping heavily after the kava drinking? There is no difficulty if we only hold our tongues, and say nothing about it to the women and children till it is time to go on board with a rush. Get you the canoe ready for launching, with all its fittings, and I will see that Maui will not wake to-morrow till the sun is high over the land. We will sail to-night.”

So they bound themselves by an oath to silence and secrecy, and went to their homes to make ready for the flight. But Ata-longa went to his plantation, and dug up the largest root of kava he could find; and when he had washed it, he took it to Maui, presenting it with great humility, and with much respect.

“Be not angry with me, my lord,” he said, “because of my foolish words when you were fishing up Ata. My soul is very sore because of my offending; therefore have I brought this root of kava to be my offering of atonement, that my wrongdoing may be buried, and that you may remember it no more.”

“Why should you bring me an offering, my son?” Maui replied. “Am I not your father? Is it then so hard a matter to forgive the hasty word of a youth? I take the kava, not as a peace-offering, but as the love-gift of my son. Truly a fine root! Come, let us drink! Call my brothers and Kiji-kiji, and let some of your people sit down and chew it.”

“Nay, my lord,” said Ata-longa. “If you are indeed of a good mind towards me, drink you the kava and you only, for you only have I offended.”

“Chew then,” said Maui, “and let it be as you say.”

So Ata-longa’s young men whom he had brought with him to carry the big root, and to wait upon him, cut up the root, and chewed it, and when it was watered and strained, Ata-longa passed the drink to his father, cup after cup, till the kava bowl was empty. And when Maui had drunk it all up to the dregs, he lay down, and sank into a deep sleep; whereupon the deceitful youth hastened to the beach; and when it was dark, he and some of his followers dragged the canoe down to the water and poled her over the shallows to a place where the rest of the plotters were in hiding with their wives and their little ones, some two hundred in all. These were hurried on board, the sail was hoisted in silence with all speed, the great canoe moved swiftly over the waters, and none of the gods in Bulotu saw the fugitives as they sailed away. Alas! alas! for the Beginning of Death!

Maui slept heavily for many hours. He had drunk so much kava that the day had risen over the land long before he awoke, and not till he had been astir for several hours did any one observe that the canoe-house was empty; for Bulotu is a sleepy land, a land of rest, and its people are not for ever astir, as are we dwellers on the earth. But at length a messenger came to the great house reporting that the canoe was gone, and that Hiku-leo, with Ata-longa and many others, was missing.

THE TWISTING OF HIKU-LEO’S TAIL

Now, Hiku-leo had been so enraged by the mocking words of Maui that he could not endure to stay near him; so he had gone far away into the forest, where he hid himself in a cave; and there, bursting with spite, he remained for many days. So when Maui heard that he was absent, what should he think but that it was he who had taken the canoe?

“Aha!” said he to Tanga-loa, who was with him when the messenger came, “Hiku-leo has gone fishing, has he? Good be his sailing! Let us wait, and see what sort of fish he will catch. But is Ata-longa gone with him? “

“He also is gone, my lord,” the messenger replied. “He and many more.”

“That is bad, Tanga-loa,” said Maui, when the messenger had departed. “The lad is always with Hiku-leo, and nothing but evil will he learn from him.”

“It is true, my brother,” said Tanga-loa; “but this thing, after all, is no great matter. Is it to be wondered at that he should be eager for a sail? He is but a boy, you know. However, it will be well for us to scold him when he comes back, and to warn him against that evil-souled brother of ours.” And so the matter dropped.

But after another long while, one day, as the gods were sitting under the shade of the Tree of Speech, drinking kava as their manner was, who should step into the ring but Hiku-leo himself! Sulkily, and without a word of greeting, he stepped within the ring, and sat down on the grass in his accustomed place. The gods looked behind him, expecting to see Ata-longa and the others; but he was alone.

“The lads are ashamed to come,” whispered Maui to his two brothers, who were sitting with him. “They have had no luck. Good is your sailing, Hiku-leo! Good is your sailing; but where are the lads?”

“Have done with your fooling!” growled Hiku-leo, his tail wagging angrily behind him. “Do you think you have a right to be for ever mocking me, because you went fishing and hooked up a bit of dirt? Let there be an end of it, for I will suffer it no longer.”

“Mocking you!” cried Maui. “I am not mocking you. Where have you been? Where is Ata-longa?, Where are the lads? And where is the canoe?”

“What do you mean?” snarled Hiku-leo. “What do I know about Ata-longa and his following of fools? And what do I know about your canoe? Am I your slave that you should ask me? Where is your canoe, indeed 1 Ask your slaves.”

“Look you, Hiku-leo!” cried Tanga-loa in a rage, “we have had enough of your evil ways.” And, springing nimbly behind him, he seized his tail, and twisted it till the surly god bellowed with pain. “Where is Ata-longa?” cried Tanga-loa, keeping ever behind him, as he writhed, and spun round and round. “Where is the canoe? Where have you been? What have you been doing?” And at every question he gave the tail a fresh twist, till it was curled closely up into a hard lump.

“Are you mad?” roared Hiku-leo, kicking viciously. “Let me go, Tanga-loa! You wretch, let me go!”

“Not till you answer,” said Tanga-loa, keeping a firm hold of the tail.

“I know nothing about them,” yelled the miserable god in his agony. “Oh, wretch that you are! Let me go, I say! Wah-h-h! Make him let go, Maui! Help, brother of Maui! Help, ye gods! I never saw them. I’ve been in the forest all by myself. Ah-h-h! I swear it! True are my words! Have mercy, Tanga-loa!”

“Let him go, Tanga-loa!” said Maui. “Let him go! It is enough. There! Sit down, Hiku-leo. Sit down, and let us talk the matter over.”

“Sit down, indeed!” cried Hiku-leo, foaming with rage as he rubbed himself. “How can I sit down? No, Tanga-loa! Be quiet! I will sit.” — For Tanga-loa had moved as if about to make another spring for his tail. — “What is it all about, my lord? What wrong have I done?”

“What wrong?” cried Maui. “Is it no wrong to take the canoe without asking me? and Ata-longa? and all the crew?”

“None of this have I done,” Hiku-leo declared with great earnestness. “If they are gone, and the canoe, I have had no part therein. I hear of it now for the first time. Ever since your coming back from the sailing I have been in the forest. I fled thither from your jeering words.”

“Is this true, Hiku-leo?” Maui asked.

“It is indeed true. I swear it. Why should I lie to you?” was the reply.

“Where then is Ata-longa?” asked the King in great perplexity. And all the gods were silent, each looking in wonder upon his neighbour’s face.

Then a deep groan from the Tree of Speech broke in upon the silence, and a wailing sound was heard among its branches, whence a sprinkling, as of rain, fell down upon the surface of the Water of Life, like the falling of many tears.

“It has come,” said a mournful voice. “The evil, of which I warned you, has come! Why did you go, Maui? Why did you go?”

“What is it, O Tree of Speech?” cried Maui in a startled tone. “What is this great evil? For that a great evil has befallen us I feel within my soul, though I know not what it is.”

“They are gone!” said the Tree with a groan. “Ata-longa has taken them away to the new land. They are gone, never to return. Alas! alas! for the folly of the disobedient ones. Evil is now their lot — hunger and thirst — trouble and sorrow — sickness and Death!”

At this dreadful word the voice of the Tree ceased, and an awful silence fell upon the host — a silence of dread — broken only by the low moan of wailing among the branches, and by the falling as of tear-drops into the Water of Life. And a shudder ran round the circle of gods, with the sound of a deep-drawn breath; nor did any one ask the meaning of the word, for they felt its meaning within their hearts, though they had never heard it before.

Then a chill blast came sweeping through the branches, mingling a sound of sobbing and sighing with the wailing moan; and many of the leaves, evergreen heretofore, faded, and withered, and fell, scattered hither and thither by the sudden blast. And the gods, looking up in awestruck wonder — for never before had such a thing been known — saw that the branch, from which the leaves had fallen, was sapless and dead. And, even as they looked, a dismal groan sounded from the midst of the Tree, and the branch dropped into the Water of Life, breaking into three pieces, two large and one small, as it fell. Then the fearful gods beheld a wondrous thing; for, as the pieces sank down into the waters, they took the form of three canoes, two large and one small; so sank they slowly down till they were lost in the depths. Then with a heavy sigh rose Maui and the rest of the gods, and in mournful silence they went to their homes.

THE DEATH-CANOES

Merrily over the waters went Ata-longa in the stolen canoe with his crew of runaways. Merrily sailed they over the waters; the son of Maui, and those who had been with him on the former voyage, telling of all the wonders they had seen, and they who had stayed at home listened with greedy ears. Pleasant was the breeze, and swiftly glided the canoe over the laughing waves, till Tonga rose out of the waters in their course; and they soon reached the shore, shouting aloud at the beautiful prospect before them; for of all lands under the heavens this Tonga of ours is the loveliest and the best, even as we, its people, are foremost among the sons of men.

The gods were full of joy, and made the whole island ring with their merry laughter and shouts of glee, as they rambled about in companies, and found new beauties to admire, or more and more abundant food supplies, ripe and ready to their hands, yams and breadfruit, and coconuts in all stages of growth, with shoals of fish leaping out of the water here and there. The women sat on the seashore watching the children as they gambolled along the sands, some of them rushing into the water and spearing fish with their little spears. Fires were soon lit, food was baked, and all were full of delight. “This is a better land than that we have left,” they said. “Here will we stay. Never more will we return to Bulotu.” Little did they think what a fearful truth lay in those gladsome words!

They took the big canoe to pieces, and made out of it eight smaller ones, with which they explored the coast, fishing as they went, and catching good fish, more than they could eat. Thus they lived happily for a long while; but at length there came upon them a terrible woe, changing their joy and gladness into deadly fear and deep anguish of soul.

Thus it came about. The fine young god, Fifita, of whom you have heard before, was a great friend of Ata-longa’s, and came with him as a matter of course; he and his wife Moa, and their little girl, their only child. A loving couple were they, and dearly they loved their little one, the darling of their hearts. So it fell upon a day that Fifita, coming home from the fishing, wondered that his wife and his little daughter had not come down to the seashore to welcome him according to their wont; for they were always waiting on the beach when he came back. looking out for him. And, when he landed, the little girl would run to meet him with glad cries of “Father! my father!” that he might lift her in his arms, and kiss her, and carry her on his shoulders up to the house; while she would pull his hair and his beard, shouting aloud for joy, and laughing at her mother, who walked smiling behind them, with the fish-basket on her back. Therefore Fifita wondered greatly because they were absent; and leaping ashore, he went hastily up to the house, where he found his wife stretched upon the mats, with the child lying beside her.

“Ah, lazy ones!” he cried. “Must you then be always sleeping, that you cannot welcome me home from the fishing?”

Languidly then his wife looked up at the sound of his voice; and Fifita saw that her eyes were dim — those eyes that were wont to sparkle so merrily.

“What is wrong with you, Moa?” he cried in sudden terror. “What ails you? Why are your eyes so dim?”

“I know not,” she replied in a low tone and faint. “I know not what has befallen me, but it is not with me as it was. Come nearer, and let me take you by the hand while I speak. Give me your hand; sit down here beside me; nearer still; for strange are the thoughts I find within my soul. It is to me as if I were drifting away on a strong current; but whither I know not, nor why. What is it, my husband? Are you also going, or do you remain behind?”

“What words are these?” cried Fifita. “Why do you speak thus? Surely you have been dreaming, and are not yet fully awake?”

“It is no dream,” she replied, “for I have not been sleeping. We two went together down to the beach to wait for your return as our manner is, and I sat on the grass while our little one played with the other children to and fro on the sand. As I sat watching her, she suddenly stopped in her play; and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked out seaward. Then she ran to me; and climbing on my lap, she threw her arms round my neck, crying, “Ah, the canoe! the little canoe! Clasp me in your arms, for I am cold. Oh mother! Oh my dear mother!” And holding her tight in my arms, I felt that she was intensely cold; so I rose, and carried her up to the house, for she had fallen asleep upon my breast. She has been sleeping ever since; and I too, I would fain sleep, for I am weary. What is it, my husband? What can it be? And what is this chill which I feel creeping upwards to my heart? Come nearer to me, for it is growing dark, and I cannot see your face.”

Her voice grew ever fainter as she spoke, till it died away in a low whisper; and Fifita sat by her side, holding her hand, with a sickening terror at his heart. Then, suddenly, she started, and raised her head. “What is this?” she cried in a full-toned voice. “ How can this be? Is not this my child that I hold in my arms? How then do I see her yonder sitting on that little canoe? She smiles, Fifita, and beckons me away. There also is another canoe, larger than hers. Ah! I see it now! I am going. Farewell, my husband! I must leave you. I come, my child, I come!” Then, with a long-drawn sigh, her head sank again upon the mats, her eyes closed, and she was still.

Fifita sprang to his feet with a cry of horror. “Wake, Moa, wake!” he cried, shaking her violently by the hand. “Sleep not thus, my wife! Open your eyes, and look upon me!” But she heard him not.

Startled by his frantic cries, all the gods came running together to his house. “What is the matter, Fifita?” asked the foremost. “What has befallen you, that you are crying thus?”

“My wife! My wife, and my child also! Look at them! Wake, Moa, wake!” he cried, shaking her again, and dragging madly at her hand. “Oh! what is this dreadful sleep? Her hand is cold. What is this terrible coldness? Help, my friends! Help me to waken them! Moa! Moa!” But still she heard him not.

Suddenly, with a start, he raised his head, and turning quickly round,he gazed out seaward, while there stole over his face a bewildered look, which brightened into a happy smile.

“Here now is a wondrous thing!” said he, speaking slowly and in an altered tone. “Have I then been dreaming too? Ah, Moa, how could you frighten me so? But how did you get there to the canoe?”

“What canoe, Fifita?” asked one of the gods. “Here lies Moa, and here is her child. To whom then are you speaking? There is no canoe.”

“Nay, but there are three,” Fifita said; “two big ones and a little one, and one of them is empty. It is for me. Do you not see them? Look! There sits Moa; never before was her face so beautiful. And our child — she too is there on the small canoe. They call me; smiling, they call me. I come, my wife! I come, my darling! Stand aside, my friends, that I may go.”

Then the gods saw a strange look pass athwart his face; a lofty and solemn look, such as they had seen never before. And the light faded from his eyes, over which the lids closed wearily; and with a deep-drawn breath, he sank down by the side of his wife, whom he had loved so well.

Then, as they stood, gazing in awestruck wonder on the prostrate forms, suddenly a shrill cry rose in their midst; and one of them fell to the ground, writhing and shrieking as if in mortal agony, his hands clutching the air, his eyeballs rolling, his muscles twisted into knots, foam flying from his lips, which were drawn apart, showing his teeth set in a horrible grin, his flesh twitching and quivering beneath his skin, and his whole body convulsed, a fearful sight to see. And through the gathering darkness came a wailing moan, mingled with sobbing and sighing, and a faint rustling as of leaves. Then deep groans came struggling from the chest of him who was smitten down, and among them words, awful words, which the gods had never before heard spoken, but the meaning of which they felt in their hearts; and the boldest of them shuddered as they heard; for they knew the voice — it was the voice of the Tree of Speech!

“Subject to disease and death! Subject to disease and death! That is the doom of the disobedient ones who have left the Waters of Life. Bury the dead! Let the earth hide them! Thus shall ye all be, for now you are all given over to Disease and to Death.”

Ah then, the loud wailing, the loud wailing and the bitter fear! But the evil was done; it was past recall; neither tears nor wailing could awaken the dead. So they dug a grave deep and wide for Fifita and Moa, and the child they laid upon its mother’s breast.

When they had filled the grave with sand, they sat down in the Council-ring with heavy hearts; and they resolved to build another canoe, in which some of them might go sailing to Bulotu, and ask pardon of Maui for their evil deeds, praying also that they might be allowed to return to the land of the gods, and that the awful doom of “disease and death” might be taken from them. So they built the canoe; but those who sailed in her came back after a long absence, weak and worn with hardship and fasting. They told of storms and roaring waves, and fearful monsters of the deep; but Bulotu had been hidden from their eyes. Thus also has it been with us ever since that woeful day. Many of our heroes have sailed far and wide in search of the good land, but never have they reached its shores. Some of them, indeed, have told us that they saw it lying in the sunlight with its wooded hills, and its white ring of surf on the coral reef around it; but it has always faded away as they sailed onward, till they have passed over the very spot where they saw it lying, green and beautiful, in the midst of the sea.

* * * * *

Though their crime was very great, Maui did not utterly forsake the rebel gods; for their fire having gone out in the time of trouble, he sent his son Kiji-kiji to Tonga with some of the sacred fire of Bulotu, that they might be able to cook their food. So Kiji-kiji brought the sacred fire to our land, and shut it up within a tree, from which we can bring it forth by rubbing two pieces of the wood together. And when he had done this, he went back to his father, taking Ata-longa with him — him and none other.

Moreover, Tanga-loa went up to the sky, where he now reigns as its king; and he drew aside the cloud-curtain, that the sun might shine down upon the earth more clearly, the moon also and the stars. And Maui’s brother took up his abode in the sea, of which he is the ruler. As for Maui, it was his mind to stay in Bulotu; but, after many days, he heard a great outcry, and shrieks for help from Tonga, whose people were crying to him in their distress, because their land had begun to sink again below the waves. Our fathers did not tell us how their cry reached his ears; but we think it must have been reported to him by the Tree of Speech. This, however, we know — that he dived beneath the waters, and took the land upon his shoulders, that he might hold it up. And there he stands to this day holding up our land. When there is an earthquake we know that it is Maui nodding in his sleep; and we shout, and stamp, and beat the ground with our clubs, that we may waken him. And when he is roused from his sleep, the earth trembles and shakes no more.

So Hiku-leo became King of Bulotu; and an evil king is he, for he delights in tormenting the souls of the dead, all of whom have to go to him when the Death-canoe brings them from the earth. They have no chance of escaping him; for the canoes must land in front of his house, where he sits watching for their unhappy souls; and whenever he goes out, he leaves his tail behind to keep watch in his place. None can escape him; for he seizes the souls of the dead, making some of them his slaves, and others he uses as posts for his out-houses, and as stakes for his fence, and as bars for his gates. So cruel and savage of soul is he, that, were it not for the check that his two elder brothers keep upon him, he would destroy everything in Bulotu when he gets into his raging moods. But his brothers have bound him round the waist with the cord that can never be broken, tied in the knot that can never be loosed; and Tanga-loa holds one end in the sky, while Maui grasps the other beneath the earth, so that they can pull him easily either this way or that way, as need may be.

The story of the Beginning of Death has now been told; but there is a sequel to it. The runaway gods, who dwelt in Tonga, peopling the land, had no slaves. But after a while, a sandpiper went forth to seek its food; and scratching the ground in a place of mud, it unearthed a heap of worms, slimy of look and evil of smell. So loathsome, indeed, were they that the sandpiper could not eat them; but, spurning them with his foot, scattered them about over the surface of the mud. And when the sun had shone on them for many days they grew into men, and our fathers, the gods in Tonga, took them for their slaves. These slaves have no souls, and when their days are ended, they die, and there is an end of them. Thus also is it with the white men. We know this, for we have asked them themselves, and they tell us that there are sandpipers in their land also. Here then is manifest the root of our greatness; and this is why we, the people of Tonga, are the noblest among the nations. All the other people are children of the earth; but we are children of the gods, inhabitants of Bulotu.

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What the Tongans Say about Napoleon

The people of Tonga are proclaimed as the root of greatness, giving rise to legendary warriors. The tale recounts Napoleoni, born of a Tongan father and an American mother, rising miraculously to lead the French (Faranise) against their enemy, Uelingtoni. Despite his miraculous birth and deeds, others claim him, but the truth, as told by Vave of Kolonga, celebrates Tonga’s undeniable greatness.

Source
Tales from Old Fiji
by Lorimer Fison
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
at the Ballantyne Press
by Alexander Moring Ltd
London, 1904

► Themes of the story

Cultural Heroes: Napoleoni is depicted as a descendant of Tongan lineage, embodying the valor and greatness attributed to Tongan warriors.

Quest: The French emissaries embark on a journey to America, seeking the prophesied leader to aid them against their adversary, Uelingtoni.

Prophecy and Fate: The narrative centers around a prophecy that dictates the destiny of Napoleoni and the French nation, emphasizing the role of fate in their lives.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Fijians

as told by a Tongan

There is no people on the face of the earth so great and noble as are we, the people of Tonga. Other nations may be more numerous and richer, and perhaps even stronger than we; but with us is the root of greatness, and with us alone. From our stock has sprung the race of warriors — men whose names are known — some whose mighty deeds have been done among our own people, and others who have lived and fought among foreign nations. Thus, Napoleoni was a son of Tonga; for his mother came to us in a ship from the land of Merikei (America), which stayed with us for many days hunting whales. She was a young woman, tall and fair; and after a while, she sailed again to her own land, where she brought forth a child, though no man had her to wife, and this child she called Napoleoni.

► Continue reading…

Now, after many days, when he was grown, the men of Faranise (France) sent ambassadors to Merikei, begging for help against Uelingtoni, who had beaten them in many battles, killing their king, and all the sons of the chiefs. For the high-priest had told them that there they would find the child of a red father who would lead them against their enemies, and before whose face no man should be able to stand. So they came sailing over the waters to Merikei in search of him who should lead them to victory; and a weary search they had, for the people mocked them as they went from town to town asking for the son of a red father. The boys also followed them, crying aloud, “We are the sons of red fathers. Take us, that we may gain you the victory.” In one town, the name of which we have not been told, the young men deceived them shamefully, promising to lead them to the deliverer of their people. And their souls rejoiced.

“Good is our coming,” they said to one another. “Good is our coming, for here our troubles end. Woe now to Uelingtoni!”

“True!” said the young men; “your troubles are over, and woe to Uelingtoni. But come now, why do we linger here?” And, leading them through the gateway in the war-fence at the back of the town, and across the moat, they took them to a house in the forest where a farmer lived — for you must know that in Merikei the husbandmen are not permitted to dwell within the town — and there they showed the men of Faranise a calf! “Here now,” they said, “is he whom you seek, for his father is red.”

The men of Faranise turned, and went sorrowfully on their way, while the mocking laughter of the cruel youths sounded in their ears. But towards evening they came to a little house, standing by itself in the midst of the wood; and in this house dwelt the mother of Napoleoni.

“Let us ask here also,” said the chief man among them. “It may be that we shall yet find him; for surely the high-priest could not have lied to us, and his words were that we should find our deliverer in this land. Therefore let us ask here also.”

So they made their inquiry; and the mother of Napoleoni cried aloud in wonder when she heard their words. “Who then are you?” she cried. “Who told you that the father of my son is red?”

“We are chiefs,” they replied. “From the land of Faranise we come. We are seeking the child of a red father, who is to save us from our enemy Uelingtoni, and revenge all the evils he has brought upon our people. We were sent by our great priest, who told us that here we should find the deliverer of our people, the son of a man whose skin is red.”

The woman stood gasping with wonder. “Truly the gods have sent you,” she cried. “I have a son whose father is a chief in Tonga. But this my son — he who is sitting there on the mat — he is dumb. How then can he be the leader of your people?”

Never before had Napoleoni spoken; he had been dumb from the day of his birth; but now he rose and spake, for his time was come. Tall and strong — taller than the tallest of the strangers — he rose from the floor-mat on which he had been sitting.

“I am he whom you seek,” he said. “Come! Let us go to your canoe and sail, that I may lead you to victory. Farewell, my mother! Be of good cheer, for I shall come again in triumph, when I have smitten the enemy of these our friends. Or if I come not again, I will send for you to the land where it shall please me to dwell.”

“Farewell, my son,” said his mother, following him to the door, and plucking a flower that grew near by. “Go, and may the gods be your helpers! Take this flower; and when you look upon it, think then of your father and of me.”

The flower which she gave him was red.

So he led the men of Faranise. I could tell you of his mighty deeds — how he smote the enemies of Faranise, though they were many and strong; how he chased Uelingtoni from land to land, till he caught him at Uatalu, and banished him to a desert island, where he died.

Of all these things I could tell you; but to what end? All the world knows them. But of his birth only, and his going to Faranise, have I told you, because the men of Faranise hide the truth, giving out that he was truly one of themselves, born in an island, the dwelling-place of their royal clan. This lie they tell, envying us, the people of Tonga, because of our greatness. The men of Merikei also claim him, because they have red-skinned men among them; but the truth is that which I have told you here to-day. I am Vave of Kolonga.

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The Story of the Sun-Child

The tale tells of the Sun-child, born to a beautiful, hidden maiden loved by the Sun. Mocked by other boys for his unknown father, he learns of his divine parentage and sets out to meet the Sun. Despite warnings, he disobeys his father’s instructions, seeking “Monuia” from the Moon. His impatience leads him to unwrap the gift at sea, causing his tragic death as fish overwhelm him.

Source
Tales from Old Fiji
by Lorimer Fison
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
at the Ballantyne Press
by Alexander Moring Ltd
London, 1904

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The Sun-child’s destiny is influenced by his divine parentage, leading him on a predetermined path to seek out his father.

Trials and Tribulations: The Sun-child faces challenges, including mockery from peers and the perilous journey to meet his father.

Tragic Flaw: The Sun-child’s impatience and disobedience lead to his untimely death, serving as a cautionary element in the tale.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Fijians

by the Lord of Naiau

In the old days there was a great chief in Tonga, whose name has not come down to us; and he had a daughter whose name also has not been told us by our fathers, so that we always speak of her as the Mother of the Sun-child (Jiji-matailaa).

Now this girl was beautiful exceedingly, and her father hid her from the eyes of men, so that none should look upon her; for he had never seen one whom he thought worthy to be her husband.

Down on the sea-beach he built a fence, thick and strong and high, and this was where the Mother of the Sun-child used to go down and bathe.

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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.

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This Land is the Sea’s. Traditional Account of an Ancient Hawaiian Prophecy

Kaopulupulu, a revered priest of Oahu, foresaw his tragic fate and the downfall of King Kahahana through prophetic visions. Despite offering wise counsel, Kaopulupulu’s guidance was ignored, leading to his eventual execution and that of his son, Kahulupue. His prophecy, “This land is the sea’s,” symbolized the loss of sovereignty and foretold the foreign dominance over Hawaii. His legacy endures as a symbol of wisdom and resistance.

Source
Hawaiian Folk Tales
a collection of native legends
compiled by Thos. G. Thrum
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1907

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: Kaopulupulu’s visions foretell the tragic events that unfold.

Conflict with Authority: Kaopulupulu challenges the king’s decisions, leading to fatal consequences.

Tragic Flaw: King Kahahana’s hubris and disregard for wisdom result in his demise.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hawaiians

Translated from Moke Manu by Thos. G. Thrum

It is stated in the history of Kaopulupulu that he was famed among the kahunas of the island of Oahu for his power and wisdom in the exercise of his profession, and was known throughout the land as a leader among the priests. His place of residence was at Waimea, between Koolauloa and Waialua, Oahu. There he married, and there was born to him a son whom he named Kahulupue, and whom he instructed during his youth in all priestly vocations.

In after years when Kumahana, brother of Kahahana of Maui, became the governing chief (alii aimoku) of Oahu, Kahulupue was chosen by him as his priest.

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This chief did evil unto his subjects, seizing their property and beheading and maiming many with the leiomano (shark’s tooth weapon) and pahoa (dagger), without provocation, so that he became a reproach to his people. From such treatment Kahulupue endeavored to dissuade him, assuring him that such a course would fail to win their support and obedience, whereas the supplying of food and fish, with covering for the body, and malos, would insure their affectionate regard. The day of the people was near, for the time of conflict was approaching when he would meet the enemy. But these counsels of Kahulupue were disregarded, so he returned to his father at Waimea.

Not long thereafter this chief Kumahana was cast out and rejected by the lesser chiefs and people, and under cover of night he escaped by canoe to Molokai, where he was ignored and became lost to further history in consequence of his wrong-doings.

When Kahekili, King of Maui, heard of the stealthy flight of the governing chief of Oahu, he placed the young prince Kahahana, his foster-son, as ruler over Oahu in the place of his deposed relative, Kumahana. This occurred about the year 1773, and Kahahana took with him as his intimate friend and companion one Alapai. Kahahana chose as his place of residence the shade of the kou and cocoanut trees of Ulukou, Waikiki, where also gathered together the chiefs of the island to discuss and consider questions of state.

The new ruler being of fine and stalwart form and handsome appearance, the chiefs and common people maintained that his fame in this respect induced a celebrated chieftainess of Kauai, named Kekuapoi, to voyage hither. Her history, it is said, showed that she alone excelled in maiden charm and beauty; she was handsome beyond all other chieftainesses from Hawaii to Kauai, as “the third brightness of the sun” (he ekolu ula o ka la). In consequence, Kahahana took her as his wife, she being own sister to Kekuamanoha.

At this time the thought occurred to the King to inquire through the chiefs of Oahu of the whereabouts of Kaopulupulu, the celebrated priest, of whom he had heard through Kahekili, King of Maui. In reply to this inquiry of Kahahana, the chiefs told him that his place of residence was at Waimea, whereupon a messenger was sent to bid him come up by order of the King. When the messenger reached Kaopulupulu he delivered the royal order. Upon the priest hearing this word of the King he assented thereto, with this reply to the messenger: “You return first and tell him that on the morning after the fourteenth night of the moon (po o akua), I will reach the place of the King.”

At the end of the conference the messenger returned and stood before Kahahana and revealed the words of Kaopulupulu; and the King waited for the time of his arrival.

It is true, Kaopulupulu made careful preparation for his future. Toward the time of his departure he was engaged in considering the good or evil of his approaching journey by the casting of lots, according to the rites of his profession. He foresaw thereby the purpose of the King in summoning him to dwell at court. He therefore admonished his son to attend to all the rites and duties of the priesthood as he had been taught, and to care for his mother and relatives.

At early dawn Kaopulupulu arose and partook of food till satisfied, after which he prepared himself for the journey before him. After he had given his farewell greetings to his household he seized his bundle and, taking a cocoanut fan in his hand, set out toward Punanue, where was a temple (heiau) for priests only, called Kahokuwelowelo. This was crown land at Waialua in ancient times. Entering the temple he prayed for success in his journey, after which he proceeded along the plains of Lauhulu till reaching the Anahulu stream, thence by Kemoo to Kukaniloko, the shelter of whose prominent rock the chieftainesses of Oahu were wont to choose for their place of confinement.

Leaving this place he came to Kalakoa, where Kekiopilo the prophet priest lived and died, and the scene of his vision at high noon when he prophesied of the coming of foreigners with a strange language. Here he stopped and rested with some of the people, and ate food with them, after which he journeyed on by way of Waipio by the ancient path of that time till he passed Ewa and reached Kapukaki.

The sun was well up when he reached the water of Lapakea, so he hastened his steps in ascending Kauwalua, at Moanalua, and paused not till he came to the mouth of the Apuakehau stream at Waikiki. Proceeding along the sand at this place he was discerned by the retainers of the King and greeted with the shout, “Here comes the priest Kaopulupulu.”

When the King heard this he was exceedingly pleased (pihoihoi loa) at the time, and on the priest’s meeting with King Kahahana he welcomed Kaopulupulu with loud rejoicing.

Without delay the King set apart a house wherein to meet and discuss with the priest those things he had in mind, and in the consideration of questions from first to last, Kaopulupulu replied with great wisdom in accordance with his knowledge of his profession. At this time of their conference he sat within the doorway of the house, and the sun was near its setting. As he turned to observe this he gazed out into the sky and noticing the gathering short clouds (ao poko) in the heavens, he exclaimed:

“O heaven, the road is broad for the King, it is full of chiefs and people; narrow is my path, that of the kahuna; you will not be able to find it, O King. Even now the short clouds reveal to me the manner of your reign; it will not be many days. Should you heed my words, O King, you will live to gray hair. But you will be the king to slay me and my child.”

At these words of the priest the King meditated seriously for some time, then spoke as follows: “Why should my days be short, and why should your death be by me, the King?”

Kaopulupulu replied: “O King, let us look into the future. Should you die, O King, the lands will be desolate; but for me, the kahuna, the name will live on from one generation to another; but my death will be before thine, and when I am up on the heaven-feared altar then my words will gnaw thee, O King, and the rains and the sun will bear witness.”

These courageous words of Kaopulupulu, spoken in the presence of Kahahana without fear, and regardless of the dignity and majesty of the King, were uttered because of the certainty that the time would come when his words would be carried into effect. The King remained quiet without saying a word, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After this conference the King took Kaopulupulu to be his priest, and in course of time he became also an intimate companion, in constant attendance upon the King, and counselled him in the care of his subjects, old and young, in all that pertained to their welfare. The King regarded his words, and in their circuit of the island together they found the people contented and holding their ruler in high esteem. But at the end of three years the King attempted some wrong to certain of his subjects like unto that of his deposed predecessor. The priest remonstrated with him continually, but he would not regard his counsel; therefore, Kaopulupulu left King Kahahana and returned to his land at Waimea and at once tattooed his knees. This was done as a sign that the King had turned a deaf ear to his admonitions.

When several days had passed, rumors among certain people of Waialua reached the priest that he was to be summoned to appear before the King in consequence of this act, which had greatly angered his august lord. Kahahana had gone to reside at Waianae, and from there shortly afterward he sent messengers to fetch Kaopulupulu and his son Kahulupue from Waimea.

In the early morning of the day of the messenger’s arrival, a rainbow stood directly in the doorway of Kaopulupulu’s house, and he asked of his god its meaning; but his prayer was broken (ua haki ka pule). This boded him ill; therefore he called to his son to stand in prayer; but the result was the same. Then he said, “This augurs of the day of death; see! the rising up of a man in the pass of Hapuu, putting on his kapa with its knot fastening on the left side of the neck, which means that he is bringing a death message.”

Shortly after the priest had ended these words a man was indeed seen approaching along the mountain pass, with his kapa as indicated; and he came and stood before the door of their house and delivered the order of the King for them to go to Waianae, both him and his son.

The priest replied: “Return you first; we will follow later,” and the messenger obeyed. When he had departed Kaopulupulu recalled to his son the words he had spoken before the advent of the messenger, and said: “Oh, where are you, my child? Go clothe the body; put on the malo; eat of the food till satisfied, and we will go as commanded by the King; but this journey will result in placing us on the altar (kau i ka lele). Fear not death. The name of an idler, if he be beaten to death, is not passed on to distinction.”

At the end of these words of his father, Kahulupue wept for love of his relatives, though his father bid him to weep not for his family, because he, Kaopulupulu, saw the end that would befall the King, Kahahana, and his court of chiefs and retainers. Even at this time the voices of distress were heard among his family and their tears flowed, but Kaopulupulu looked on unmoved by their cries.

He then arose and, with his son, gave farewell greetings to their household, and set forth. In journeying they passed through Waialua, resting in the house of a kamaaina at Kawaihapai. In passing the night at this place Kahulupue slept not, but went out to examine the fishing canoes of that neighborhood. Finding a large one suitable for a voyage, he returned and awoke his father, that they might flee together that night to Kauai and dwell on the knoll of Kalalea. But Kaopulupulu declined the idea of flight. In the morning, ascending a hill, they turned and looked back over the sea-spray of Waialua to the swimming halas of Kahuku beyond. Love for the place of his birth so overcame Kaopulupulu for a time that his tears flowed for that he should see it no more.

Then they proceeded on their way till, passing Kaena Point, they reached the temple of Puaakanoe. At this sacred boundary Kaopulupulu said to his son, “Let us swim in the sea and touch along the coast of Makua.” At one of their resting-places, journeying thus, he said, with direct truthfulness, as his words proved: “Where are you, my son? For this drenching of the high priests by the sea, seized will be the sacred lands (moo-kapu) from Waianae to Kualoa by the chief from the east.”

As they were talking they beheld the King’s men approaching along the sand of Makua, and shortly afterward these men came before them and seized them and tied their hands behind their backs and took them to the place of King Kahahana at Puukea, Waianae, and put them, father and son, in a new grass hut unfinished of its ridge thatch, and tied them, the one to the end post (pouhana) and the other to the corner post (poumanu) of the house.

At the time of the imprisonment of the priest and his son in this new house Kaopulupulu spake aloud, without fear of dire consequences, so that the King and all his men heard him, as follows: “Here I am with my son in this new unfinished house; so will be unfinished the reign of the King that slays us.” At this saying Kahahana, the King, was very angry.

Throughout that day and the night following, till the sun was high with warmth, the King was directing his soldiers to seize Kahulupue first and put him to death. Obeying the orders of the King, they took Kahulupue just outside of the house and stabbed at his eyes with laumake spears and stoned him with stones before the eyes of his father, with merciless cruelty. These things, though done by the soldiers, were dodged by Kahulupue, and the priest, seeing the King had no thought of regard for his child, spoke up with priestly authority, as follows: “Be strong of breath, my son, till the body touch the water, for the land indeed is the sea’s.”

When Kahulupue heard the voice of his father telling him to flee to the sea, he turned toward the shore in obedience to these last words to him, because of the attack by the soldiers of the King. As he ran, he was struck in the back by a spear, but he persevered and leaped into the sea at Malae and was drowned, his blood discoloring the water. His dead body was taken and placed up in the temple at Puehuehu. After the kapu days therefore the King, with his chiefs and soldiers, moved to Puuloa, Ewa, bringing with them the priest Kaopulupulu, and after some days he was brought before the King by the soldiers, and without groans for his injuries was slain in the King’s presence. But he spoke fearlessly of the vengeance that would fall upon the King in consequence of his death, and during their murderous attack upon him proclaimed with his dying breath: “You, O King, that kill me here at Puuloa, the time is near when a direct death will be yours. Above here in this land, and the spot where my lifeless body will be borne and placed high on the altar for my flesh to decay and slip to the earth, shall be the burial place of chiefs and people hereafter, and it shall be called ‘the royal sand of the mistaken’; there will you be placed in the temple.” At the end of these words of Kaopulupulu his spirit took flight, and his body was left for mockery and abuse, as had been that of his son in the sea of Malae, at Waianae.

After a while the body of the priest was placed on a double canoe and brought to Waikiki and placed high in the cocoanut trees at Kukaeunahi, the place of the temple, for several ten-day periods (he mau anahulu) without decomposition and falling off of the flesh to the sands of Waikiki.

When King Kahekili of Maui heard of the death of the priest Kaopulupulu by Kahahana, he sent some of his men thither by canoe, who landed at Waimanalo, Koolau, where, as spies, they learned from the people respecting Kaopulupulu and his death, with that of his son; therefore they returned and told the King the truth of these reports, at which the affection of Kahekili welled up for the dead priest, and he condemned the King he had established. Coming with an army from Maui, he landed at Waikiki without meeting Kahahana, and took back the government of Oahu under his own kingship. The chiefs and people of Oahu all joined under Kahekili, for Kahahana had been a chief of wrong-doing. This was the first sea of Kaopulupulu in accordance with his prophetic utterance to his son, “This land is the sea’s.”

Upon the arrival here at Oahu of Kahekili, Kahahana fled, with his wife Kekuapoi, and friend Alapai, and hid in the shrubbery of the hills. They went to Aliomanu, Moanalua, to a place called Kinimakalehua; then moved along to Keanapuaa and Kepookala, at the lochs of Puuloa, and from there to upper Waipoi; thence to Wahiawa, Helemano, and on to Lihue; thence they came to Poohilo, at Honouliuli, where they first showed themselves to the people and submitted themselves to their care.

While they were living there, report thereof was made to Kahekili, the King, who thereupon sent Kekuamanoha, elder brother of Kekuapoi, the wife of Kahahana, with men in double canoes from Waikiki, landing first at Kupahu, Hanapouli, Waipio, with instructions to capture and put to death Kahahana, as also his friend Alapai, but to save alive Kekuapoi. When the canoes touched at Hanapouli, they proceeded thence to Waikele and Hoaeae, and from there to Poohilo, Honouliuli, where they met in conference with Kahahana and his party. At the close of the day Kekuamanoha sought by enticing words to induce his brother-in-law to go up with him and see the father King and be assured of no death condemnation, and by skilled flattery he induced Kahahana to consent to his proposition; whereupon preparation was made for the return. On the following morning, coming along and reaching the plains of Hoaeae, they fell upon and slew Kahahana and Alapai there, and bore their lifeless bodies to Halaulani, Waipio, where they were placed in the canoes and brought up to Waikiki and placed up in the cocoanut trees by King Kahekili and his priests from Maui, as Kaopulupulu had been. Thus was fulfilled the famous saying of the Oahu priest in all its truthfulness.

According to the writings of S. M. Kamakau and David Malo, recognized authorities, the thought of Kaopulupulu as expressed to his son Kahulupue, “This land is the sea’s,” was in keeping with the famous prophetic vision of Kekiopilo that “the foreigners possess the land,” as the people of Hawaii now realize. The weighty thought of this narration and the application of the saying of Kaopulupulu to this time of enlightenment are frequent with certain leaders of thought among the people, as shown in their papers.

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Ai Kanaka: A Legend of Molokai

The tale of Mapulehu Valley tells of Kamalo, a priest seeking revenge against King Kupa for the wrongful murder of his sons. Guided by prophets and encountering trials, Kamalo ultimately appeals to Kauhuhu, the shark god. After strict preparations, Kamalo witnesses Kauhuhu’s wrath as a storm devastates the valley, sparing only Kamalo’s family. This legend explains the rainbow’s warning of storms over Mapulehu Valley.

Source
Hawaiian Folk Tales
a collection of native legends
compiled by Thos. G. Thrum
A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1907

► Themes of the story

Revenge and Justice: Kamalo seeks retribution against King Kupa for the unjust murder of his sons, highlighting the pursuit of justice.

Trials and Tribulations: Kamalo endures a series of challenges, including long journeys and consultations with various prophets, reflecting the hardships faced in his quest for vengeance.

Prophecy and Fate: Kamalo’s journey is guided by prophets who foretell the means to achieve his revenge, indicating the role of destiny in his actions.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hawaiians

by Rev. A.O. Forbes

On the leeward side of the island of Molokai, a little to the east of Kaluaaha lies the beautiful valley of Mapulehu, at the mouth of which is located the heiau, or temple, of Iliiliopae, which was erected by direction of Ku-pa, the Moi, to look directly out upon the harbor of Ai-Kanaka, now known as Pukoo. At the time of its construction, centuries ago, Kupa was the Moi, or sovereign, of the district embracing the Ahupuaas, or land divisions, of Mapulehu and Kaluaaha, and he had his residence in this heiau which was built by him and famed as the largest throughout the whole Hawaiian group. Kupa had a priest named Kamalo, who resided at Kaluaaha.

► Continue reading…

This priest had two boys, embodiments of mischief, who one day while the King was absent on a fishing expedition, took the opportunity to visit his house at the heiau (temple). Finding there the pahu kaeke belonging to the temple, they commenced drumming on it. [“pahu kaeke” is a species of drum made out of a hollowed section of the trunk of a cocoanut tree and covered over one end with sharkskin. It was generally used in pairs, one larger than the other, somewhat after the idea of the bass and tenor drums of civilized nations. One of these drums was placed on either side of the performer, and the drumming was performed with both hands by tapping with the fingers. By peculiar variations of the drumming, known only to the initiated, the performer could drum out whatever he wished to express in such a way, it is alleged, as to be intelligible to initiated listeners without uttering a single syllable with the voice.]

Some evil-minded persons heard Kamalo’s boys drumming on the Kaeke and immediately went and told Kupa that the priest’s children were reviling him in the grossest manner on his own drum. This so enraged the King that he ordered his servants to put them to death. Forthwith they were seized and murdered; whereupon Kamalo, their father, set about to secure revenge on the King.

Taking with him a black pig as a present, he started forth to enlist the sympathy and services of the celebrated seer, or wizard, Lanikaula, living some twelve miles distant at the eastern end of Molokai. On the way thither, at the village of Honouli, Kamalo met a man the lower half of whose body had been bitten off by a shark, and who promised to avenge him provided he would slay some man and bring him the lower half of his body to replace his own. But Kamalo, putting no credence in such an offer, pressed on to the sacred grove of Lanikaula. Upon arrival there Lanikaula listened to his grievances but could do nothing for him. He directed him, however, to another prophet, named Kaneakama, at the west end of the island, forty miles distant. Poor Kamalo picked up his pig and travelled back again, past his own home, down the coast to Palaau. Meeting with Kaneakama the prophet directed him to the heiau of Puukahi, at the foot of the pali, or precipice, of Kalaupapa, on the windward side of the island, where he would find the priest Kahiwakaapuu, who was a kahu, or steward, of Kauhuhu, the shark god. Once more the poor man shouldered his pig, wended his way up the long ascent of the hills of Kalae to the pali of Kalaupapa, descending which he presented himself before Kahiwakaapuu, and pleaded his cause. He was again directed to go still farther along the windward side of the island till he should come to the Ana puhi (eel’s cave), a singular cavern at sea level in the bold cliffs between the valleys of Waikolu and Pelekunu, where Kauhuhu, the shark god, dwelt, and to him he must apply. Upon this away went Kamalo and his pig. Arriving at the cave, he found there Waka and Moo, two kahus of the shark god. “Keep off! Keep off!” they shouted. “This place is kapu. No man can enter here, on penalty of death.”

“Death or life,” answered he, “it is all the same to me if I can only gain my revenge for my poor boys who have been killed.” He then related his story, and his wanderings, adding that he had come to make his appeal to Kauhuhu and cared not for his own life.

“Well,” said they to him, “Kauhuhu is away now fishing, but if he finds you here when he returns, our lives as well as yours will pay the forfeit. However, we will see what we can do to help you. We must hide you hereabouts, somewhere, and when he returns trust to circumstances to accomplish your purpose.”

But they could find no place to hide him where he would be secure from the search of the god, except the rubbish pile where the offal and scrapings of taro were thrown. They therefore thrust him and his pig into the rubbish heap and covered them over with the taro peelings, enjoining him to keep perfectly still, and watch till he should see eight heavy breakers roll in successively from the sea. He then would know that Kauhuhu was returning from his fishing expedition.

Accordingly, after waiting a while, the eight heavy rollers appeared, breaking successively against the rocks; and sure enough, as the eighth dissolved into foam, the great shark god came ashore. Immediately assuming human form, he began snuffing about the place, and addressing Waka and Moo, his kahus, said to them, “There is a man here.” They strenuously denied the charge and protested against the possibility of their allowing such a desecration of the premises. But he was not satisfied. He insisted that there was a man somewhere about, saying, “I smell him, and if I find him you are dead men; if not, you escape.” He examined the premises over and over again, never suspecting the rubbish heap, and was about giving up the search when, unfortunately, Kamalo’s pig sent forth a squeal which revealed the poor fellow’s hiding-place.

Now came the dread moment. The enraged Kauhuhu seized Kamalo with both hands and, lifting him up with the intention of swallowing him, according to his shark instinct, had already inserted the victim’s head and shoulders into his mouth before he could speak.

“O Kauhuhu, before you eat me, hear my petition; then do as you like.”

“Well for you that you spoke as you did,” answered Kauhuhu, setting him down again on the ground. “Now, what have you to say? Be quick about it.”

Kamalo then rehearsed his grievances and his travels in search for revenge, and presented his pig to the god.

Compassion arose in the breast of Kauhuhu, and he said, “Had you come for any other purpose I would have eaten you, but as your cause is a sacred one I espouse it, and will revenge it on Kupa the King. You must, however, do all that I tell you. Return to the heiau of Puukahi, at the foot of the pali, and take the priest Kahiwakaapuu on your back, and carry him up the pali over to the other side of the island, all the way to your home at Kaluaaha. Erect a sacred fence all around your dwelling-place, and surround it with the sacred flags of white kapa. Collect black hogs by the lau (four hundred), red fish by the lau, white fowls by the lau, and bide my coming. Wait and watch till you see a small cloud the size of a man’s hand arise, white as snow, over the island of Lanai. That cloud will enlarge as it makes its way across the channel against the wind until it rests on the mountain peaks of Molokai back of Mapulehu Valley. Then a rainbow will span the valley from side to side, whereby you will know that I am there, and that your time of revenge has come. Go now, and remember that you are the only man who ever ventured into the sacred precincts of the great Kauhuhu and returned alive.”

Kamalo returned with a joyful heart and performed all that had been commanded him. He built the sacred fence around his dwelling; surrounded the inclosure with sacred flags of white kapa; gathered together black hogs, red fish, and white fowls, each by the lau, as directed, with other articles sacred to the gods, such as cocoanuts and white kapas, and then sat himself down to watch for the promised signs of his revenge. Day after day passed until they multiplied into weeks, and the weeks began to run into months.

Finally, one day, the promised sign appeared. The snow white speck of cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, arose over the mountains of Lanai and made its way across the stormy channel in the face of the opposing gale, increasing as it came, until it settled in a majestic mass on the mountains at the head of Mapulehu Valley. Then appeared a splendid rainbow, proudly overarching the valley, its ends resting on the high lands on either side. The wind began to blow; the rain began to pour, and shortly a furious storm came down the doomed valley, filling its bed from side to side with a mad rushing torrent, which, sweeping everything before it, spread out upon the belt of lowlands at the mouth of the valley, overwhelming Kupa and all his people in one common ruin, and washing them all into the sea, where they were devoured by the sharks. All were destroyed except Kamalo and his family, who were safe within their sacred inclosure, which the flood dared not touch, though it spread terror and ruin on every side of them. Wherefore the harbor of Pukoo, where this terrible event occurred, was long known as Ai Kanaka (man eater), and it has passed into a proverb among the inhabitants of that region that “when the rainbow spans Mapulehu Valley, then look out for the Waiakoloa,”–a furious storm of rain and wind which sometimes comes suddenly down that valley.

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St. Andrew’s Night

In German and Austrian folklore, it is believed that certain nights allow maidens to summon and glimpse their future lovers through rituals. However, items left behind by the summoned lover must be hidden to prevent disastrous consequences. In one tale, an Austrian woman secretly keeps a dagger from her summoned lover, who later becomes her husband. Upon discovering the dagger, he remembers the supernatural torment and tragically kills her.

Source
Folk-lore and Legends: German
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, at the Edinburgh University Press
W.W. Gibbings, London, 1892

► Themes of the story

Forbidden Knowledge: The maiden’s use of rituals to glimpse her future lover involves seeking hidden truths, leading to dire consequences.

Love and Betrayal: The initial romantic connection between the maiden and the shoemaker culminates in a tragic betrayal when the truth is unveiled.

Prophecy and Fate: The maiden’s attempt to foresee her future intertwines with themes of destiny and the inevitable unfolding of events.

From the lore

Learn more about German Folklore

It is commonly believed in Germany that on St. Andrew’s night, St. Thomas’ night, and Christmas and New Year’s nights, a girl has the power of inviting and seeing her future lover. A table is to be laid for two persons, taking care, however, that there are no forks upon it. Whatever the lover leaves behind him must be carefully preserved, for he then returns to her who has it, and loves her passionately. The article must, however, be kept carefully concealed from his sight, for he would otherwise remember the torture of superhuman power exercised over him which he that night endured, become conscious of the charms employed, and this would lead to fatal consequences.

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A fair maiden in Austria once sought at midnight, after performing the necessary ceremonies, to obtain a sight of her lover, whereupon a shoemaker appeared having a dagger in his hand, which he threw at her and then disappeared. She picked up the dagger which he had thrown at her and concealed it in a trunk.

Not long afterwards the shoemaker visited, courted, and married her. Some years after her marriage she chanced to go one Sunday about the hour of vespers to the trunk in search of something that she required for her work the next day. As she opened the trunk her husband came to her, and would insist on looking into it. She kept him off, until at last he pushed her away, and there saw his long-lost dagger. He immediately seized it, and demanded how she obtained it, because he had lost it at a very particular time. In her fear and alarm she had not the power to invent any excuse, so declared the truth, that it was the same dagger he had left behind him the night when she had obliged him to appear to her. Her husband hereupon grew enraged, and said, with a terrible voice–

“‘Twas you, then, that caused me that night of dreadful misery?”

With that he thrust the dagger into her heart.

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Story about a crazy old man

An old hunter empties his three storehouses of food after a prophetic dream, disregarding his wife’s protests. When hunger strikes, they desperately search for scraps. A fly lands on their meager soup, leading to a comical confrontation where the wife is killed by her husband’s hatchet. He then chokes on a fish bone and dies.

Source
Tales of Yukaghir, Lamut, and Russianized Natives of Eastern Siberia
by Waldemar Bogoras
The American Museum of Natural History
Anthropological Papers, Vol. 20, Part 1
New York, 1918

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: The old man’s actions are driven by a prophetic dream about impending death, influencing his decisions and leading to the story’s tragic outcome.

Tragic Flaw: The old man’s impulsive and irrational behavior, stemming from his dream, serves as a tragic flaw that brings about the demise of both himself and his wife.

Moral Lessons: The narrative imparts lessons on the dangers of impulsive decisions, the importance of prudence, and the repercussions of not valuing one’s resources.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Yukaghir people

Told by Marie Shkuleff, a Russian creole girl, in the village of Pokhotsk, the Kolyma country, summer of 1895.

There was an old man and an old woman. The old man was a good hunter: so he filled three large storehouses with the game he killed. One storehouse was full of reindeer and elks, another of seals and walrus, and a third was full of fish. They had plenty to eat. One morning he awoke, and said to his wife, “Listen, old woman! I dreamed last night that we were going to die. If this is so, then there is no need of all these stores of food. I want you to go to the first storehouse and throw all the food out to the ravens and the crows.” The old woman refused; but he was so angry that she finally went and did as she was bidden. She worked all day long, and was very tired. Then she went back to the old man. The next day she emptied another storehouse; and the next day she emptied the third one, and threw all the fish back into the water. “Let us swim off,” said the old man. The fish, however, was dead and dry, so it could not swim.

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The following morning they awoke quite early. Neither was dead; and, moreover, both felt very hungry, but all their food was gone. “Ah!” said the old man, “You, old woman, go to the storehouses and look among the rubbish. Perhaps you will find some scraps.” The old woman really found some scraps, and brought them home. A few of them were reindeer meat, others were seal blubber, and a third kind were some heads of dried fish. They put all this into a large kettle and prepared a soup. They ate of it. All at once a fly settled on the brim of the kettle. Oh! both felt alarmed. The old woman seized her culver-tail, and the old man a hatchet, and both attacked that nasty fly. The old woman struck at it with the culver-tail, and overthrew the kettle. The old man threw his hatchet at it, but the hatchet hit the old woman and broke her head. She fell down dead. The old man ate the remainder of the soup, and a fish bone stuck in his throat of which he also died.

The end.

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