The King and the ‘Nsiat Bird

King ‘Ndarake of Idu, captivated by Adit, the daughter of the ‘Nsiat bird, marries her despite warnings of her lineage’s tendency to bear twins—a taboo in their land. When Adit gives birth to twins, the king spares them, allowing the ‘Nsiat family to ascend into the trees with Adit and her children. This explains why ‘Nsiat birds nest near human dwellings, symbolizing the union of earth and sky.

Source
Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria
by Elphinstone Dayrell
Longmans, Green & Co.
London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, 1910


► Themes of the story

Forbidden Love: King ‘Ndarake’s marriage to Adit, the ‘Nsiat bird’s daughter, occurs despite societal taboos against her lineage’s tendency to bear twins.

Transformation: The ‘Nsiat bird’s family transitions from earth to the trees, symbolizing a shift in existence to protect their offspring.

Harmony with Nature: The ‘Nsiat birds’ relocation to the trees near human dwellings reflects a balance between human society and the natural world.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Nigerian peoples


When ‘Ndarake was King of Idu, being young and rich, he was very fond of fine girls, and had plenty of slaves. The ‘Nsiat bird was then living at Idu, and had a very pretty daughter, whom ‘Ndarake wished to marry. When he spoke to the father about the matter, he replied that of course he had no objection personally, as it would be a great honour for his daughter to marry the king, but, unfortunately, when any of his family had children, they always gave birth to twins, which, as the king knew, was not allowed in the country; the native custom being to kill both the children and throw them into the bush, the mother being driven away and allowed to starve.

► Continue reading…

The king, however, being greatly struck with Adit, the bird’s daughter, insisted on marrying her, so the ‘Nsiat bird had to agree. A large amount of dowry was paid by the king, and a big play and feast was held. One strong slave was told to carry Adit ‘Nsiat during the whole play, and she sat on his shoulders with her legs around his neck; this was done to show what a rich and powerful man the king was. After the marriage, in due course Adit gave birth to twins, as her mother had done before her. The king immediately became very fond of the two babies, but according to the native custom, which was too strong for any one to resist, he had to give them up to be killed. When the ‘Nsiat bird heard this, he went to the king and reminded him that he had warned the king before he married what would happen if he married Adit, and rather than that the twins should be killed, he and the whole of his family would leave the earth and dwell in the air, taking the twins with them. As the king was so fond of Adit and the two children, and did not want them to be killed, he gladly consented, and the ‘Nsiat bird took the whole of his family, as well as Adit and her two children, away, and left the earth to live and make their home in the trees; but as they had formerly lived in the town with all the people, they did not like to go into the forest, so they made their nests in the trees which grew in the town, and that is why you always see the ‘Nsiat birds living and making their nests only in places where human beings are. The black birds are the cocks, and the golden-coloured ones are the hens. It was the beautiful colour of Adit which first attracted the attention of ‘Ndarake and caused him to marry her.


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

A Legend of Kwannon

In the days of the gods, Ama-no-Hashidate symbolized the link between heaven and earth. Saion Zenji, a holy man, built a shrine to Kwannon the Merciful there, dedicating his life to prayer. In a harsh winter, starving, he reluctantly ate the flesh of a mystical deer. Later, this proved to be a miracle of Kwannon herself, affirming her compassion and Zenji’s faith.

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


► Themes of the story

Sacred Spaces: The hermit Saion Zenji builds a shrine dedicated to Kwannon the Merciful at Ama-no-Hashidate, a place revered as the “Floating Bridge of Heaven,” highlighting the significance of holy locations.

Divine Intervention: During a harsh winter, when Saion Zenji faces starvation, he consumes the flesh of a mystical deer, which later reveals itself as a miracle of Kwannon, demonstrating the gods’ influence in mortal affairs.

Harmony with Nature: The narrative emphasizes the interconnectedness between Saion Zenji and his natural surroundings, as he perceives trees, rocks, and the sea as sentient beings joining in praise, reflecting a harmonious relationship with the environment.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Japanese Mythology & Folklore


In the days of the gods, Ama-no-Hashidate was the Floating Bridge of Heaven. By way of this bridge came the deities from heaven to earth, bearing their jewelled spears, their great bows and heavenly-feathered arrows, their wonder robes and their magic mirrors. Afterwards, when the direct way was closed that had been between earth and heaven, and the deities walked no more upon the Land of Fresh Rice Ears, the people still called a place Ama-no-Hashidate, for the sake of happy memory. This place is one of the Three Fair Views of Yamato. It is where a strip of land runs out into the blue sea, like a floating bridge covered with dark pine trees.

► Continue reading…

There was a holy man of Kioto called Saion Zenji. He had followed the Way of the Gods from his youth up. He was also a disciple of the great Buddha; well versed was he in doctrines and philosophies; he knew the perils of illusion and the ineffable joys of Nirvana. Long hours would he pass in mystic meditation, and many of the Scriptures he had by heart. When he was on a pilgrimage he came to Ama-no-Hashidate, and he offered up thanks because the place was so lovely in his eyes.

He said, “The blind and ignorant have it that trees and rocks and the green sea-water are not sentient things, but the wise know that they also sing aloud and praise the Tathagata. Here will I take up my rest, and join my voice with theirs, and will not see my home again.”

So Saion Zenji, the holy man, climbed Nariai-San, the mountain over against Ama-no-Hashidate. And when he had come to the place of the Lone Pine, he built him a shrine to Kwannon the Merciful, and a hut to cover his own head.

All day he chanted the Holy Sutras. From dawn to eventide he sang, till his very being was exalted and seemed to float in an ecstasy of praise. Then his voice grew so loud and clear that it was a marvel. The blue campanula of the mountain in reverence bowed its head; the great white lily distilled incense from its deep heart; the cicala shrilled aloud; the Forsaken Bird gave a long note from the thicket. About the hermit’s hut there fluttered dragon-flies and butterflies innumerable, which are the souls of the happy dead. In the far valleys the peasant people were comforted in their toil, whether they planted out the green young rice, or gathered in the ears. The sun and the wind were tempered, and the rain fell softly upon their faces. Ever and again they climbed the steep hillside to kneel at the shrine of Kwannon the Merciful, and to speak with the holy man, whose wooden bowl they would fill with rice or millet, or barley-meal or beans. Sometimes he came down and went through the villages, where he soothed the sick and touched the little children. Folks said that his very garments shone.

Now in that country there came a winter season the like of which there had not been within the memory of man. First came the wind blowing wildly from the north, and then came the snow in great flakes which never ceased to fall for the period of nine days. All the folk of the valleys kept within doors as warm as might be, and those that had their winter stores fared none so ill. But, ah me, for the bitter cold upon the heights of Nariai-San! At the Lone Pine, and about the hermit’s hut, the snow was piled and drifted. The shrine of Kwannon the Merciful could no more be seen. Saion Zenji, the holy man, lived for some time upon the food that was in his wooden bowl. Then he drew about him the warm garment of thought, and passed many days in meditation, which was meat and drink and sleep to him. Howbeit, even his clear spirit could not utterly dispel the clouds of illusion. At length it came to earth and all the man trembled with bodily weakness.

“Forgive me, O Kwannon the Merciful,” said Saion Zenji; “but verily it seems to me that if I have no food I die.”

Slowly he rose, and painfully he pushed open the door of his hut. The snow had ceased; it was clear and cold. White were the branches of the Lone Pine, and all white the Floating Bridge.

“Forgive me, O Kwannon the Merciful,” said Saion Zenji; “I know not the reason, but I am loath to depart and be with the Shades of Yomi. Save me this life, O Kwannon the Merciful.”

Turning, he beheld a dappled hind lying on the snow, newly dead of the cold. He bowed his head. “Poor gentle creature,” he said, “never more shalt thou run in the hills, and nibble the grass and the sweet flowers.” And he stroked the hind’s soft flank, sorrowing.

“Poor deer, I would not eat thy flesh. Is it not forbidden by the Law of the Blessed One? Is it not forbidden by the word of Kwannon the Merciful?” Thus he mused. But even as he mused he seemed to hear a voice that spoke to him, and the voice said:

“Alas, Saion Zenji, if thou die of hunger and cold, what shall become of my people, the poor folk of the valleys? Shall they not be comforted any more by the Sutras of the Tathagata? Break the law to keep the law, beloved, thou that countest the world well lost for a divine song.”

Then presently Saion Zenji took a knife, and cut him a piece of flesh from the side of the dappled hind. And he gathered fir cones and made a little fire and cooked the deer’s flesh in an iron pot. When it was ready he ate half of it. And his strength came to him again, and he opened his lips and sang praises to the Tathagata, and the very embers of the dying fire leapt up in flame to hear him.

“Howbeit I must bury the poor deer,” said Saion Zenji. So he went to the door of his hut. But look where he might no deer nor dappled hind did he see, nor yet the mark of one in the deep snow.

“It is passing strange,” he said, and wondered.

As soon as might be, up came the poor folk from the valley to see how their hermit had fared through the snow and the stormy weather. “The gods send he be not dead of cold or hunger,” they said one to another. But they found him chanting in his hut, and he told them how he had eaten of the flesh of a dappled hind and was satisfied.

“I cut but a hand’s breadth of the meat,” he said, “and half of it is yet in the iron pot.”

But when they came to look in the pot, they found there no flesh of deer, but a piece of cedar wood gilded upon the one side. Marvelling greatly, they carried it to the shrine of Kwannon the Merciful, and when they had cleared away the deep snow, all of them went in to worship. There smiled the image of the sweet heavenly lady, golden among her golden flowers. In her right side there was a gash where the gilded wood was cut away. Then the poor folk from the valley reverently brought that which they had found in the hermit’s pot, and set it in the gash. And immediately the wound was healed and the smooth gold shone over the place. All the people fell on their faces, but the hermit stood singing the high praise of Kwannon the Merciful.

The sun set in glory. The valley folk crept softly from the shrine and went down to their own homes. The cold moon and the stars shone upon the Lone Pine and the Floating Bridge and the sea. Through a rent in the shrine’s roof they illumined the face of Kwannon the Merciful, and made visible her manifold arms of love. Yet Saion Zenji, her servant, stood before her singing in an ecstasy, with tears upon his face:

“O wonder-woman, strong and beautiful,
Tender-hearted, pitiful, and thousand-armed!
Thou hast fed me with thine own flesh–
Mystery of mysteries!
Poor dead dappled hind thou cam’st to me;
In the deep of mine own heart thou spoke to me
To keep, yet break, and breaking, keep thy law–
Mystery of mysteries!
Kwannon, the Merciful Lady, stay with me,
Save me from the perils of illusion;
Let me not be afraid of the snow or the Lone Pine.
Mystery of mysteries–
Thou hast refused Nirvana,
Help me that I may lose the world, content,
And sing the Divine Song.”


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 Good Thunder

Rai-den, the Thunder God, sends his son Rai-Taro to live among men. Choosing a poor, childless peasant, Rai-Taro brings rain, prosperity, and joy to his foster parents. As he matures, Rai-Taro must return to his heavenly father, leaving behind the lessons of labor, suffering, and love. Transformed into a white cloud, he reunites with Rai-den, while his foster parents await their reunion in eternity.

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


► Themes of the story

Transformation: Rai-Taro undergoes a transformation from a divine being to a human child, experiencing human emotions and labor, and eventually returns to his divine form as a white cloud.

Sacrifice: Rai-Taro sacrifices his celestial existence to live a humble life on earth, aiding the peasant couple and bringing them joy and prosperity.

Harmony with Nature: Rai-Taro’s presence brings beneficial rain, leading to bountiful harvests and illustrating a harmonious relationship between divine forces and the natural world.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about Japanese Mythology & Folklore


Folks say that Rai-den, the Thunder, is an unloving spirit, fearful and revengeful, cruel to man. These are folks who are mortally afraid of the storm, and who hate lightning and tempest; they speak all the evil they can of Rai-den and of Rai-Taro, his son. But they are wrong.

Rai-den Sama lived in a Castle of Cloud set high in the blue heaven. He was a great and mighty god, a Lord of the Elements. Rai-Taro was his one and only son, a brave boy, and his father loved him.

► Continue reading…

In the cool of the evening Rai-den and Rai-Taro walked upon the ramparts of the Castle of Cloud, and from the ramparts they viewed the doings of men upon the Land of Reed Plains. North and South and East and West they looked. Often they laughed–oh, very often; sometimes they sighed. Sometimes Rai-Taro leaned far over the castle walls to see the children that went to and fro upon earth.

One night Rai-den Sama said to Rai-Taro, “Child, look well this night upon the doings of men!”

Rai-Taro answered, “Father, I will look well.”

From the northern rampart they looked, and saw great lords and men-at-arms going forth to battle. From the southern rampart they looked, and saw priests and acolytes serving in a holy temple where the air was dim with incense, and images of gold and bronze gleamed in the twilight. From the eastern rampart they looked, and saw a lady’s bower, where was a fair princess, and a troop of maidens, clad in rose colour, that made music for her. There were children there, too, playing with a little cart of flowers.

“Ah, the pretty children!” said Rai-Taro.

From the western rampart they looked, and saw a peasant toiling in a rice-field. He was weary enough and his back ached. His wife toiled with him by his side. If he was weary, it is easy to believe that she was more weary still. They were very poor and their garments were ragged.

“Have they no children?” said Rai-Taro. Rai-den shook his head.

Presently, “Have you looked well, Rai-Taro?” he said. “Have you looked well this night upon the doings of men?”

“Father,” said Rai-Taro, “indeed, I have looked well.”

“Then choose, my son, choose, for I send you to take up your habitation upon the earth.”

“Must I go among men?” said Rai-Taro.

“My child, you must.”

“I will not go with the men-at-arms,” said Rai-Taro; “fighting likes me very ill.”

“Oho, say you so, my son? Will you go, then, to the fair lady’s bower?”

“No,” said Rai-Taro, “I am a man. Neither will I have my head shaved to go and live with priests.”

“What, then, do you choose the poor peasant? You will have a hard life and scanty fare, Rai-Taro.”

Rai-Taro said, “They have no children. Perhaps they will love me.”

“Go, go in peace,” said Rai-den Sama; “for you have chosen wisely.”

“How shall I go, my father?” said Rai-Taro.

“Honourably,” said his father, “as it befits a Prince of High Heaven.”

Now the poor peasant man toiled in his rice-field, which was at the foot of the mountain Hakusan, in the province of Ichizen. Day after day and week after week the bright sun shone. The rice-field was dry, and young rice was burnt up.

“Alack and alas!” cried the poor peasant man, “and what shall I do if my rice-crop fails? May the dear gods have mercy on all poor people!”

With that he sat himself down on a stone at the rice-field’s edge and fell asleep for very weariness and sorrow.

When he woke the sky was black with clouds. It was but noonday, but it grew as dark as night. The leaves of the trees shuddered together and the birds ceased their singing.

“A storm, a storm!” cried the peasant. “Rai-den Sama goes abroad upon his black horse, beating the great drum of the Thunder. We shall have rain in plenty, thanks be.”

Rain in plenty he had, sure enough, for it fell in torrents, with blinding lightning and roaring thunder.

“Oh, Rai-den Sama,” said the peasant, “saving your greatness, this is even more than sufficient.”

At this the bright lightning flashed anew and fell to the earth in a ball of living fire, and the heavens cracked with a mighty peal of thunder.

“Ai! Ai!” cried the poor peasant man. “Kwannon have mercy on a sinful soul, for now the Thunder Dragon has me indeed.” And he lay on the ground and hid his face.

Howbeit the Thunder Dragon spared him. And soon he sat up and rubbed his eyes. The ball of fire was gone, but a babe lay upon the wet earth; a fine fresh boy with the rain upon his cheeks and his hair.

“Oh, Lady, Lady Kwannon,” said the poor peasant man, “this is thy sweet mercy.” And he took the boy in his arms and carried him to his own home.

As he went the rain still fell, but the sun came out in the blue sky, and every flower in the cooler air shone and lifted up its grateful head.

The peasant came to his cottage door.

“Wife, wife,” he called, “I have brought you something home.”

“What may it be?” said his wife.

The man answered, “Rai-Taro, the little eldest son of the Thunder.”

Rai-Taro grew up straight and strong, the tallest, gayest boy of all that country-side. He was the delight of his foster-parents, and all the neighbours loved him. When he was ten years old he worked in the rice-fields like a man. He was the wonderful weather prophet.

“My father,” he said, “let us do this and that, for we shall have fair weather”; or he said, “My father, let us the rather do this or that, for to-night there will be a storm,” and whatever he had said, so, sure enough, it came to pass. And he brought great good fortune to the poor peasant man, and all his works prospered.

When Rai-Taro was eighteen years old all the neighbours were bidden to his birthday feast. There was plenty of good saké, and the good folk were merry enough; only Rai-Taro was silent and sad and sorry.

“What ails you, Rai-Taro?” said his foster-mother. “You who are wont to be the gayest of the gay, why are you silent, sad and sorry?”

“It is because I must leave you,” Rai-Taro said.

“Nay,” said his foster-mother, “never leave us, Rai-Taro, my son. Why would you leave us?”

“Mother, because I must,” said Rai-Taro in tears.

“You have been our great good fortune; you have given us all things. What have I given you? What have I given you, Rai-Taro, my son?”

Rai-Taro answered, “Three things have you taught me–to labour, to suffer, and to love. I am more learned than the Immortals.”

Then he went from them. And in the likeness of a white cloud he scaled heaven’s blue height till he gained his father’s castle. And Rai-den received him. The two of them stood upon the western rampart of the Castle of Cloud and looked down to earth.

The foster-mother stood weeping bitterly, but her husband took her hand.

“My dear,” he said, “it will not be for long. We grow old apace.”


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

Aiai, Son of Ku-ula

After the King of Hana’s death, Aiai, son of the ocean deity Ku-ula, established fishing stations (ku-ula) and revitalized the fishing culture across Hawaii. Using sacred stones and his father’s divine fishing tools, he ensured abundant marine life, taught fishing techniques, and appointed leaders. His legacy persisted through traditions, fostering prosperity and spiritual reverence for the sea. Aiai’s story symbolizes harmony between humans and nature.

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


► Themes of the story

Cultural Heroes: Aiai is depicted as a foundational figure who revitalizes fishing practices across Hawaii, establishing fishing stations and teaching techniques that ensure prosperity and spiritual reverence for the sea.

Sacred Objects: Aiai utilizes sacred stones and his father’s divine fishing tools to attract and maintain abundant marine life, highlighting the significance of these artifacts in his endeavors.

Harmony with Nature: The narrative emphasizes the harmonious relationship between humans and the natural world, as Aiai’s actions lead to the replenishment of fish populations and sustainable fishing practices.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Hawaiians


Part II of the Legend of
Ku-ula, the Fish God of Hawaii
Translated from Moke Manu by M.K. Nakuina

After the death of the King of Hana, Aiai left the people of Haneoo catching hinalea and went to Kumaka, a place where fresh water springs out from the sand and rocks near the surf of Puhele, at Hamoa, where lay a large, long stone in the sea. This stone he raised upright and also placed others about the water spring, and said to his friend: “To-day I name this stone Ku-a-lanakila, for I have triumphed over my enemies; and I hereby declare that all fishes, crabs, and sea-moss shall return again in plenty throughout the seas of Hana, as in the days when my parents were living in the flesh at Lehoula.”

From the time Aiai raised this stone, up to the present, the story of Ku-ula and Aiai is well preserved, and people have flocked to the place where the stone stands to see it and verify the tradition.

► Continue reading…

Some kahunas advise their suffering patients to pay a visit to the stone, Ku-lanakila, with some offerings for relief from their sickness and also to bathe in the spring of Kumaka and the surf of Puhele. This was a favorite spot of the kings and chiefs of the olden times for bathing and surf-riding, and is often referred to in the stories and legends of Hawaii-nei. This was the first stone raised by Aiai and established as a ku-ula at Hamoa; and the old people of Hana attributed to its influence the return of the fish to their waters.

After Aiai’s practice of his father’s instructions and the return of the fishes, his fame spread throughout the district, and the people made much of him during his stay with them.

A great service wrought by Aiai during his boyhood was the teaching of his friend and his friend’s parents how to make the various nets for all kinds of fishing. He also taught them to make the different kinds of fishing lines. When they were skilled in all these branches of knowledge pertaining to fishing, he called the people together, and in their presence declared his friend to be the head fisherman of Hana, with full control of all the stations (ko’a ia) he had established. This wonder-working power second to none, possessed by Aiai, he now conferred on his friend, whereby his own name would be perpetuated and his fame established all over the land.

The first ko’a ia (fishing ground, or station) where Aiai measured the depth of the sea is near Aleamai, his birthplace, and is called Kapukaulua, where he hooked and killed the eel Koona. It is a few miles from the shore to the southeast of the rocky islet called Alau. The second station he established was at a spot about a mile from Haneoo and Hamoa which was for the kala, palani, nanue, puhi, and ula. These varieties of fish are not caught by nets, or with the hook, but in baskets which are filled with bait and let down in the deep sea.

The third station, which he named Koauli, was located out in the deep sea for the deep sea fishes, the depth ranging about two hundred fathoms. This is the ko’a that fishermen have to locate by certain shore bearings, lest a mistake be made as to the exact spot and the bottom be found rocky and the hooks entangle in the coral. In all the stations Aiai located there are no coral ledges where the fisherman’s hook would catch, or the line be entangled; and old Hawaiians commended the skill of such locations, believing that the success of Aiai’s work was due to his father’s influence as an ocean deity.

At one time Aiai went over to the bay of Wananalua, the present port of Hana, with its noted hill of Kauiki and the sandy beach of Pueokahi. Here he made and placed a ku-ula, and also placed a fish stone in the cliff of Kauiki whereon is the ko’a known as Makakiloia. And the people of Hana give credit to this stone for the frequent appearance of the akule, oio, moi, and other fishes in their waters.

Aiai’s good work did not stop at this point; proceeding to Honomaele he picked up three pebbles at the shore and, going into the sea, out beyond the breaking surf, he placed them there. In due time these three pebbles gathered others together and made a regular ridge; and when this was accomplished, the aweoweo gathered from the far ocean to this ridge of pebbles for rest; whereupon the people came with net, hook, and line, and caught them as they desired. The writer witnessed this in 1845 with his own eyes. This ko’a for aweoweo is still there, but difficult to locate, from the fact that all the old residents are gone–either dead or moved away.

He next went over to Waiohue, Koolau, where he placed a stone on a sharp rocky islet, called Paka, whereon a few puhala grow. It is claimed that during the season of the kala, they come in from the ocean, attracted to this locality by the power of this stone. They continue on to Mokumana, a cape between Keanae and Wailuanui. They come in gradually for two days, and on the third day of their reaching the coast, at the pali of Ohea, is the time and place to surround them with nets. In olden times while the fishermen were hauling in their nets full of kala into the canoes, the akule and oio also came in numbers at the same time, making it impossible to catch all in one day; and as there were so many gathered in the net it took them a day and a night before they could care for their draught, which yielded so many more than could be made use of that they were fed to the pigs and dogs. The kala of Ohea is noted for its fatness and fine flavor. Few people are now living there, and the people who knew all about this are dead; but the stone that Aiai placed on that little island at Waiohue is still there.

Aiai stayed there a few days and then returned to Hana and lived at his birthplace quite a length of time till he was a man grown. During this period he was teaching his art of fishing in all its forms; and when he was satisfied the people were proficient, he prepared to visit other places for like service. But before leaving, Aiai told his friend to go and kill the big hee kupua (wonderful octopus) in the deep sea, right out of Wailuanui, Koolau, and he consented.

When the canoes were made ready and drawn to the beach and the people came prepared to start, Aiai brought the hokeo (fishing gourd), where the leho (kauri shell) that Ku-ula his father gave him was kept, and gave it to his friend. This shell is called lehoula, and the locality at Hana of that name was called after it.

Then the canoes and people sailed away till they got out along the palis near Kopiliula, where they rested. Aiai was not with the party, but overlooked their operations from the pali of Puhiai. While they rested, preparation for the lowering of the leho was being made, and when ready, Aiai’s friend called on Ku-ula and Hina for the assistance of their wonderful powers. When he was through, he took off the covering of the gourd and took out the leho, which had rich beautiful colors like the rainbow, and attaching it to the line, he lowered it into the sea, where it sent out rays of a fiery light. The hee was so attracted by its radiance that it came out of its hole and with its great arms, which were as long and large as a full-grown cocoanut tree, came up to the surface of the water and stood there like a cocoanut grove. The men were frightened, for it approached and went right into the canoes with the intention of destroying them and the men and capturing the leho; but it failed, because Aiai’s friend, with his skill and power, had provided himself with a stone, which, at the proper time, he shoved into the head of the squid; and the weight of the stone drew it down to the bottom of the sea and kept it there, and being powerless to remove the stone, it died. The men seized and cut off one of the arms, which was so big that it loaded the canoes down so that they returned to Hana. When the squid died, it turned to stone. It is pointed out to-day just outside of Wailuanui, where a stone formation resembles the body of a squid and the arms, with one missing.

When Aiai saw from the pali that his friend was successful in killing the hee, he returned to Hana unseen, and in a short while the canoes arrived with its arm, which was divided among the people according to the directions of Aiai.

When Aiai saw that his friend and others of Hana were skilled in all the art of fishing, he decided to leave his birthplace and journey elsewhere. So he called a council of his friends and told them of his intended departure, to establish other fishing stations and instruct the people with all the knowledge thereof in conformity with the injunction of Ku-ula his father. They approved of the course contemplated and expressed their indebtedness to him for all the benefits he had shown them.

On leaving Aleamai he took with him the fish-hook, manaiaakalani, and the fish pearl, Kahuoi, for aku from the little cave where he had lodged on the hill of Kaiwiopele, and then disappeared in the mysterious manner of his parents. He established ku-ulas and ko’a aina, by placing three fish stones at various points as far as Kipahulu. At the streams of Kikoo and Maulili there stands a stone to-day, which was thrown by Aiai and dropped at a bend in the waters, unmoved by the many freshets that have swept the valleys since that time.

Out in the sea of Maulili is a famous station known as Koanui. It is about a mile from the shore and marks the boundary of the sea of Maulili, and the fish that appear periodically and are caught within its limits have been subject to a division between the fishermen and the landowner ever since. This is a station where the fisherman’s hook shall not return without a fish except the hook be lost, or the line cut.

The first time that Aiai tested this station and caught a fish with his noted hook, he saw a fisherman in his canoe drifting idly, without success. When he saw Aiai, this fisherman, called Kanemakua, paddled till he came close to where Aiai was floating on an improvised canoe, a wiliwili log, without an outrigger,–which much surprised him. Before the fisherman reached him, Aiai felt a tug at his line and knew that he had caught a fish and began pulling it in. When Kanemakua came within speaking distance Aiai greeted him and gave him the fish, putting it into his canoe. Kanemakua was made happy and thanked Aiai for his generosity. While putting it in the canoe Aiai said:

“This is the first time I have fished in these waters to locate (or found) this station, and as you are the first man I meet I give you the first fish caught. I also give you charge of this ko’a; but take my advice. When you come here to fish and see a man meeting you in a canoe and floating alongside of you, if at that time you have caught a fish, then give it to him as I have done to you, without regret, and thus get a good name and be known as a generous man. If you observe this, great benefits will come to you and those related to you.”

As Aiai finished speaking he suddenly disappeared, and Kanemakua could hardly realize that he had not been dreaming but for the assurance he had in the great fish lying in his canoe. He returned to the shore with his prize, which was so large and heavy that it required the help of two others to carry it to the house, where it was cut up and the oven made hot for its baking. When it was cooked he took the eyes of the fish and offered them up as a thanksgiving sacrifice. Then the family, friends, and neighbors around came to the feast and ate freely. During all this time Kanemakua was thinking of the words spoken by the young man, which he duly observed. The first ku-ula established in Maulili, Maui, was named after him, and from that time its fish have been given out freely without restriction or division.

After establishing the different ku-ula stations along the coast from Hana to Kipahulu, Aiai went to Kaupo and other places. A noted station and ku-ula is at Kahikinui. All the stations of this place are in the deep sea, where they use nets of three kinds; there is also fishing with poles, and ulua fishing, because this part of the island faces the wind; but the ku-ulas are located on the seashore, as is also the one at Honuaula, where it is covered over by the lava flow.

Thus was performed the good work of Aiai in establishing ku-ula stations and fish stones continued all around the island of Maui. It is also said that he visited Kahoolawe and established a ku-ula at Hakioawa, though it differs from the others, being built on a high bluff overlooking the sea, somewhat like a temple, by placing stones in the form of a square, in the middle of which was left a space wherein the fishermen of that island laid their first fish caught, as a thank offering. Awa and kapa were also placed there as offerings to the fish deities.

An idea prevails with some people that the ko’a of Kamohoalii, the king shark of Kahoolawe, is on this island, but if all the stories told of it be examined there will be found no reference to a ko’a of his on this island.

From Kahoolawe, Aiai next went to Lanai, where he started fishing for aku (bonito) at Cape Kaunolu, using his pearl Kahuoi. This is the first case known of fishing for aku with pearl from the land, as it is a well known fact that this fish is caught only in deep sea, far from shore. In the story of Kaneapua it is shown that he is the only one who had fished for aku at the Cape of Kaunolu, where it was started by Aiai.

From Kaunolu, Aiai went to Kaena Cape, where at a place close to Paomai, was a little sandy beach now known as Polihua. Here he took a stone and carved a figure on it, then carried and placed it on the sandy beach, and called on his parents. While making his incantations the stone moved toward the sea and disappeared under the water. His incantations finished, the stone reappeared and moved toward him till it reached the place where it had been laid; whereupon it was transformed into a turtle, and gave the name of Polihua to that beach. This work of Aiai on the island of Lanai was the first introduction of the turtle in the seas of Hawaii, and also originated the habit of the turtle of going up the beach to lay its eggs, then returning to the sea.

After making the circuit of Lanai he went over to Molokai, landing at Punakou and travelled along the shore till he reached Kaunakakau. At this place he saw spawns of mullet, called Puai-i, right near the shore, which he kicked with his foot, landing them on the sand. This practice of kicking fish with the feet is carried on to this time, but only at that locality. Aiai continued on along the Kona side of Molokai, examining its fishing grounds and establishing ku-ulas till he got to Halawa. At the Koolau side of the island he stopped at Wailau and saw the cave of the eel Koona that went to Hana and stole the fish from his father’s pond, and the cause of all the trouble that befell his parents and himself.

When Aiai landed at Wailau he saw that both sides of the valley were covered with men, women, and children engaged in closing up the stream and diverting its water to another course, whereby they would be enabled to catch oopu and opae. The water being low, the gourds of some of the people were full from their catch.

Aiai noticed their wanton method of fishing, whereby all oopus and opaes were caught without thought of any reservation for their propagation; therefore he called on his parents to take them all away. The prayer was granted, for suddenly they all disappeared; those in the water went up the stream to a place called Koki, while those in the gourds were turned to lizards which scampered out and ran all over the rocks. The people were much surprised at this change and felt sorely disappointed at the loss of their food supply.

On account of his regard for a certain lad of that place, named Kahiwa, he showed him the place of the opaes to be up the precipitous cliff, Koki. The youth was attentive to the direction of Aiai and going there he found the oopus and opaes as stated, as they are to this day. That is what established the noted saying of the old people of that land: “Kokio of Wailau is the ladder of the opae.” It is also known as the “Pali of Kahiwa.”

When Aiai left Wailau he showed this lad the ku-ula and the fish station in the sea he had located there, at the same distance as that rocky island known as Mokapu. He went also to Pelekunu, Waikolu and Kalawao, even to Kalaupapa, the present home of the lepers. At the latter place he left a certain fish stone. That is the reason fish constantly gather there even to this day. He also went to Hoolehua and so on as far as Ka lae o ka ilio (the dog’s forehead) and Ka lae o ka laau. Between these two capes in the sea is a station established by Aiai, where a tree grew out from under a rock, Ekaha by name. It is a hardwood tree, but the trunk and also the branches are without leaves. This place is a great haunt for fishermen with their hooks.

Aiai then came to Oahu, first landing at Makapuu, in Koolau, where he founded a pohaku-ia (fish stone) for red fish and for speckled fish, and called it Malei. This was a female rock, and the fish of that place is the uhu. It is referred to in the mele of Hiiaka, thus:

“I will not go to the stormy capes of Koolau,
The sea-cliffs of Moeaau.
The woman watching uhu of Makapuu
Dwells on the ledge of Kamakani
At Koolau. The living
Offers grass-twined sacrifices, O Malie!”

From the time Aiai founded that spawning-place until the present, its fish have been the uhu, extending to Hanauma. There were also several gathering-places for fish established outside of Kawaihoa. Aiai next moved to Maunalua, then to Waialae and Kahalaia. At Kaalawai he placed a white and brown rock. There in that place is a hole filled with aholehole [a species of fish], therefore the name of the land is Kaluahole. Right outside of Kahuahui there is a station where Aiai placed a large round sandstone that is surrounded by spawning-places for fish; Ponahakeone is its name.

In ancient times the chiefs selected a very secret place wherein to hide the dead bodies of their greatly beloved, lest some one should steal their bones to make fish-hooks, or arrows to shoot mice with. For that reason the ancients referred to Ponahakeone as “He Lualoa no Na’lii“–a deep pit for the chiefs.

Aiai came to Kalia and so on to Kakaako. Here he was befriended by a man named Apua, with whom he remained several days, observing and listening to the murmurs of the chief named Kou. This chief was a skilful hiaku fisherman, his grounds being outside of Mamala until you came to Moanalua. There was none so skilled as he, and generous withal, giving akus to the people throughout the district.

As Aiai was dwelling with his friend Apua at Kakaako, he meandered off one day along the shore of Kulolia, and so on to Pakaka and Kapapoko. But he did not return to the house of his friend, for he met a young woman gathering limu (sea-moss) and fishing for crabs. This young woman, whose name was Puiwa, lived at Hanakaialama and was a virgin, never having had a husband. She herself, as the people would say, was forward to ask Aiai to be her husband; but he listened to her voice, and they went up together to her home and saw the parents and relatives, and forthwith were married. After living with this young woman some time a son was born to them, whom Aiai named Puniaiki. During those days was the distribution of aku which were sent up from Honolulu to the different dwellings; but while others were given a whole fish, they got but a portion from some neighbor. For this reason the woman was angry, and told Aiai to go to the brook and get some oopus fit to eat, as well as opae. Aiai listened to the voice of his wife. He dug a ditch and constructed a dam so as to lead the water of the brook into some pits, and thus be able to catch the oopu and opae. He labored some days at this work, and the fish and shrimps were hung up to dry.

On a certain day following, Aiai and his wife went with their child to the brook. She left her son upon the bank of the stream while she engaged herself in catching opae and oopu from the pits. But it was not long before the child began to cry; and as he cried, Aiai told his wife to leave her fishing, but she talked saucily to him. So Aiai called upon the names of his ancestors. Immediately a dark and lowering cloud drew near and poured out a flood of water upon the stream, and in a short time the dam was broken by the freshet and all the oopu and opae, together with the child, were swept toward the sea. But the woman was not taken by the flood. Aiai then rose up and departed, without thought of his wife.

He went down from the valley to Kaumakapili, and as he was standing there he saw some women fishing for oopu on the banks of the stream, the daughter of the chief Kikihale being with them. At that time, behold, there was caught by the female guardian of the daughter of Kikihale a very large oopu. This oopu she showed to her protégée, who told her to put it into a large calabash with water and feed it with limu, so that it might become a pet fish. This was done and the oopu was tended very carefully night and day.

Aiai stood by and saw the fish lifted out of the brook, and recognized it at the same time as his own child, changed from a human being into an oopu.

(At this point the story of Aiai gives place to that of his child.)

When the oopu was placed in a large calabash with water, it was carefully tended and fed with sea-moss for some time, but one day in seeing to this duty the guardian of the chieftainess, on reaching the calabash, was startled to behold therein a human child, looking with its eyes. And the water in the calabash had disappeared. She was greatly surprised and seized with a dark foreboding, and a trembling fear possessed her as she looked upon this miraculous child.

This woman went and told the chieftainess of this child they knew to have had the form of an oopu, and as Kikihale heard the story of her guardian she went quickly, with grave doubts, however, of this her report; but there, on reaching the calabash, as she looked she saw indeed a child therein. She immediately put forth her hands toward the child and lifting it, carefully examined its form and noted its agreeable features. As the thought quickly possessed this girl, she said: “Now, my guardian, you and your husband take and rear this child till he is grown, then I will be his wife.”

The guardian answered her: “When this child becomes grown you will be old; that is, your days will be in the evening of life, while his place will be in the early morn. Will you not thereby have lasting cause for dissatisfaction and contention between you in the future?”

Kikihale answering her guardian said: “You are not to blame; these things are mine to consider, for the reason that the desire is mine, not yours, my guardian.”

After this talking the child was quickly known of among the chiefs and attendants. He was nourished and brought up to adult age, when Kikihale took him for her husband as she had said; and for a time they dwelt together as man and wife without disagreement between them. But during these days Kikihale saw plainly that her husband was not disposed to do anything for their support; therefore she mourned over it continually and angrily reproved him, finally, saying:

“O my husband, can you not go forth also, as others, to assist our father and the attendants in the duties of fishing, instead of eating till you are satisfied, then rolling over with face upward to the ridge-pole of the house and counting the ahos [small sticks used in thatching]? It may do while my father is alive; but if he should die, whence would come our support?” Thus she spoke reproachingly from day to day, and the words stung Puniaiki’s heart with much pain.

And this is what he said to his wife one day: “It is unpleasant to hear you constantly talking thus. Not as wild animals is the catching of fish in the sea; they are obedient if called, and you may eat wastefully of my fish when procured. I have authority over fish, men, pigs, and dogs. If you are a favorite of your father then go to him for double canoes, with their fishing appurtenances, and men to paddle them.”

When Kikihale heard these words of her husband she hastened to Kou, her father, and told him all that Puniaiki had said, and the request was promptly executed. Kikihale returned to her husband and told him all she had done.

On Puniaiki’s going down to the canoe place he found the men were making ready the canoes with the nets, rods, lines, and the pearl fish-hooks. Here he lit a fire and burned up the pearl fish-hooks, at which his wife was much angered and cried loudly for the hiaku pearl hooks of her father. She went and told Kou of this mischievous action of her husband, but he answered her not a word at this act of his son-in-law, though he had supplied five gourds filled with them, a thousand in number, and the strangest thing was, that all were burned up save two only which Kou had reserved.

That night Puniaiki slept apart from his wife, and he told the canoe paddlers to sleep in the canoe sheds, not to go to their homes that night; and they obeyed his voice.

It was Kou’s habit to rouse his men before break of day to sail in the malaus for aku fishing at the mouth of the harbor, for that was their feeding-time, not after the sun had risen. Thus would the canoes enter the schools of aku and this chief became famous thereby as a most successful fisherman. But on this day was seen the sorcerer’s work of this child of Aiai.

As Kou with his men set out always before dawn, here was this Puniaiki above at his place at sunrise. At this time on his awaking from sleep he turned his face mountainward, and looking at Kaumakapili he saw a rainbow and its reddish mist spread out at that place, wherein was standing a human form. He felt conscious that it was Aiai his father, therefore he went there and Aiai showed him the place of the pa (fish-hook) called Kahuai, and he said to his son: “Here will I stay till you return; be quick.”

Upon Puniaiki reaching the landing the canoes were quickly made ready to depart, and as they reached Kapapoko and Pakaka, at the sea of Kuloloia, they went on to Ulukua, now the lighthouse location of Honolulu harbor. At this place Puniaiki asked the paddlers: “What is the name of that surf cresting beneath the prow of our canoes?”

“Puuiki,” replied the men.

He then said to them: “Point straight the prow of the canoes and paddle with strength.” At these words of Puniaiki their minds were in doubt, because there were probably no akus at that place in the surf; but that was none of their business. As they neared the breakers of Puuiki, below the mouth of Mamala, Puniaiki said to his men: “Turn the canoes around and go shorewards.” And in returning he said quickly, “Paddle strong, for here we are on the top of a school of akus.” But strange to say, as the men looked in the water they saw no fish swimming about, but on reaching Ulakua Puniaiki opened up the fish-hook, Kahuai, from its wrapping in the gourd and held it in his hand.

At this the akus, unprecedented in number, fairly leaped into the canoes. They became so filled with the fish, without labor, that they sank in the water as they reached Kapuukolo, and the men jumped overboard to float them to the beach. The canoe men wondered greatly at this work of the son-in-law of Kou the chief; and the shore people shouted as the akus which filled the harbor swam toward the fishpond of Kuwili and on to the mouth of Leleo stream.

When the canoes touched shore Puniaiki seized two fishes in his hands and went to join his father where he was staying, and Aiai directed him to take them up to where his mother lived. These akus were not gifts for her, but an offering to Ku-ula at a ko’a established just above Kahuailanawai. Puniaiki obeyed the instructions of his father, and on returning to him he was sent back to his mother, Puiwa, with a supply of akus. She was greatly surprised that this handsome young man, with his gift of akus for her to eat, was her own son, and these were the first fruits of his labor.

The people marvelled at the quantity of fish throughout the harbor, so that even the stream at Kikihale was also full of akus, and Puniaiki commanded the people to take of them day and night; and the news of this visit of akus went all around Oahu. This unequalled haul of akus was a great humiliation to Kou, affecting his fame as a fisherman; but he was neither jealous of his son-in-law nor angry,–he just sat silent. He thought much on the subject but with kindly feelings, resulting in turning over this employment to him who could prosecute it without worry.

Shortly afterwards Aiai arranged with Puniaiki for the establishing of ku-ulas, ko’as, and fish stones around the island of Oahu, which were as follows:

The Kou stone was for Honolulu and Kaumakapili; a ku-ula at Kupahu; a fish stone at Hanapouli, Ewa. Ahuena was the ku-ula for Waipio; two were assigned for Honouliuli. Hani-o was the name of the ko’a outside of Kalaeloa; Kua and Maunalahilahi for Waianae; Kamalino for Waimea; and Kaihukuuna for Laiemaloo, Koolau.

Aiai and his son also visited Kauai and Niihau on this work, then they turned and went together to Hawaii. The principal or most noted fishing-grounds there are: Poo-a, Kahaka, and Olelomoana at Kona; Kalae at Kau; Kupakea at Puna, and I at Hilo.

In former times at most of these fishing-grounds were seen multitudes and varieties of fish, all around the islands, and occasionally deep sea kinds came close in shore, but in this new era there are not so many. Some people say it is on account of the change of the times.


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 Sturgeon

The Convent of Schwartz-Rheindorf, founded in 1152 under St. Benedict’s rule, enjoyed a fishing privilege marked by the annual appearance of two sturgeons, heralding prosperity. As the convent’s discipline waned, the fish grew scarce, culminating in a fateful decision to kill both sturgeons. A miraculous disappearance of the fish ensued, symbolizing divine retribution, and the river ceased yielding fish until the Reformation restored abundance.

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

Divine Punishment: The convent’s declining discipline leads to the disappearance of the sturgeons, symbolizing retribution from higher powers for their transgressions.

Loss and Renewal: The disappearance of the sturgeons and the subsequent barren river reflect a cycle of loss, with the eventual return of abundance symbolizing renewal.

Harmony with Nature: The story highlights the connection between human behavior and the natural world, suggesting that moral integrity influences environmental harmony.

From the lore

Learn more about German Folklore


The Convent of Schwartz-Rheindorf was founded in the year of our Lord 1152 by the Bishop of Cologne, Arnold Graf von Wied, for the reception of noble ladies alone, and was placed by him under the strict rule of St. Benedict. The prelate, who died in the year 1159, lies buried beneath the high altar of the church.

Among the many other rights and privileges conferred on the convent by the Bishop was the right of fishing in the river, within certain limits above and below the convent’s territorial boundaries. This was a most valuable right for a long period.

► Continue reading…

The certainty of a profitable fishing was always heralded by the appearance of two immense sturgeon. They came at the commencement of each year, harbingers of good luck, and they were ever succeeded by shoals of river fish, in such numbers as to be absolutely inexhaustible until the expiration of the season. Of these sturgeon the one, a huge male, always allowed himself to be taken by the fishermen, but the female was never captured. It was understood by those who knew all about these matters that on her freedom depended the fisher’s success. This good fortune lasted for centuries.

It was, however, remarked that as the discipline of the convent became more and more relaxed, and grace grew to be less and less among its inmates, the fishing became more and more unprofitable. The sturgeon, it is true, still made their appearance, but they were spent and thin, and altogether unlike those which had been wont of yore to visit the fishing-ground of the sisterhood. The abbess and the nuns, however, either could not or they would not perceive the cause of the falling off in the take, or the change in the appearance of the sturgeon, but the common people who dwelt in the vicinity of the convent, and especially those poor persons to whom the river had been heretofore a source of support, were neither slow in seeing the cause nor in publishing the consequences to the world. Thus stood matters: dissoluteness of life on the one hand, distress on the other; profligacy and poverty, extravagance and starvation, linked inseparably together.

It was midwinter. On the bank of the river stood the purveyor of the convent, accompanied by the lady abbess herself and a great number of the nuns. They waited to watch the first haul made by the fishermen on the New Year’s morning, according to the custom which had prevailed in the convent for centuries. It was not usual for the river to be open at that time, but this year there was not a piece of ice on its surface. The fishermen put out in their boats, and cast their nets into the current; then, making the circuit of the spot, they returned to the bank and commenced to haul them in. Little difficulty was at first experienced by them in this operation. For several years preceding the supply of fish had scarcely sufficed to defray the expense of catching. It would seem, however, as if fortune were inclined to smile on the sisterhood once more. The nets had not been more than half drawn in when the fishermen began to perceive that they contained something heavier than usual. The lady abbess and the nuns were made acquainted with the circumstance, and they watched, in eager expectancy, the landing of the fish. The nets were at length with much trouble hauled on shore.

“Hilloa!” said the principal fisherman, an aged man, to the purveyor of the convent, “hast thou ever seen such monsters before? My soul! but this will glad the hearts of the whole convent, and make many poor folk happy, an it be but the harbinger of a return to the old times.”

While he spoke two immense sturgeon were landed. The abbess and her train approached the landing-place, and admired the strength and superior size of the fish.

“It would be but folly to set one of them free,” she partially soliloquised and partially spoke to the purveyor. “The convent has not had such a treat for years past, and we absolutely require some change. I’ll warrant me they will eat delightfully.”

The purveyor, a wily Jewish-looking fellow, who passed for an Italian, at once assented to the observations of his mistress, and added a few remarks of his own in support of them. Not so, however, the old fisherman, who overheard the conversation, having approached the abbess with the purveyor to learn her will and pleasure as to the disposal of the fish.

“Nay, nay, master,” he interposed, in his rough way, “not so fast, not so fast. My father fished on this river for full fifty years, and my father’s father did the same; and fifty years have I drawn net here too, all in the service of the noble ladies of Schwartz-Rheindorf. Never, in that time, knew I other than this done with these fish–the one to be let free, the other to be given away among the poor. I’ll do nought else with them.”

The abbess and the purveyor were but ill-pleased to hear what the old man said.

“You must do as I bid you, Herman,” said the former.

“You must obey my lady, your mistress,” echoed the latter. “She is too good and gracious to ye.”

“Not I,” said the old man bluntly,–“not I. For all the broad lands on the Rhine I would not have hand, act, nor part in such a matter. Do as ye list, but I’ll be none your servant in the matter.”

The old man walked away as he said these words, and neither the entreaties of the abbess, the threats of the purveyor, nor the interposition of some of the nuns present could bring him back.

Others, however, were soon found among his companions who were less scrupulous; and the two fish were accordingly removed to the convent, and consigned to the care of the cook, to be served up for dinner that day.

The dinner-hour arrived–the sisterhood were all seated at table–the servitors, marshalled by the supple purveyor, made their appearance, bearing the expected banquet in large covered dishes. A hasty grace was muttered, and then every eye was turned to the covers. The abbess had ordered the sturgeon to be served up first.

“And now, sisters,” she said, with a complacent look of benignant condescension, “I hope soon to know how you approve of our dinner. It is my constant study to make you happy, and my efforts are unceasing to afford you every gratification in my power. Let us begin.”

The covers were removed in a twinkling by the servitors, the carvers clattered their knives and forks impatiently; but what was the surprise of all, when every dish as it was uncovered was found to be empty. The wrath of the abbess rose at the sight, and the zeal of the nuns knew no bounds in seconding her indignation. The cook was hurriedly sent for. He stood before the excited sisterhood an abject, trembling wretch, far more like one who expected to be made a victim of himself, than one who would voluntarily make victims of others.

“How is this, villain?” exclaimed the abbess, her face reddening with rage.

“How’s this, villain?” echoed threescore female voices, some of them not musical.

“Ay, how is this, hound?” growled the purveyor.

“Do you mock us?” continued the abbess, as the cook stood trembling and silent.

“Do you mock us?” echoed the purveyor, with as much dignity as he could impart into his thin, meagre figure.

“Speak!” said the abbess in a loud voice, while the cook cast his eyes around as if seeking aid against the excited throng the room contained,–“speak!”

Thus urged, the cook proceeded to explain–as far, at least, as he was able. He declared that he had cut up and cooked the sturgeon, according to the directions he had received from the purveyor, and that, when dinner was served up, he had sent them up dressed in the manner that official had directed.

The abbess and her nuns were much puzzled how to explain this extraordinary occurrence, and each busied herself in conjectures which, as usual in such cases, never approached the fact. At this juncture the aged fisherman entered the room.

“My lady,” he said to the abbess, when he learnt what had occurred, “it is the judgment of Heaven. Even now I saw the fish in the river. I knew them well, and I’ll swear to them if necessary. They floated away, swimming down the stream, and I am a much mistaken man if ever ye see them any more.”

The pleasurable anticipations of the day that the sisters had entertained were completely annihilated; but it would have been well for them if the consequences of their avarice and gluttony had ended with that hour. Never more did the sturgeon make their appearance, and the part of the stream which pertained to the convent thenceforth ceased to produce fish of any kind whatsoever. People say that the Reformation had the effect of wooing the finny tribe back to their old haunts. At all events, whatever may have been the cause, it is the fact that there is not at present a less plentiful supply in this spot than there is in any other part of that rich river.


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

Wirreenun the Rainmaker

During a devastating drought, the Noongahburrah people doubted their rainmaker, Wirreenun. Responding to their cries, he performed sacred rituals involving water, special artifacts, and chants to summon rain. A fierce storm broke the drought, bringing life back to the land. To prove his powers further, Wirreenun filled a plain with water, where abundant fish miraculously appeared, restoring faith and prosperity. A great ceremonial celebration followed.

Source
Australian Legendary Tales
collected by Mrs. K. Langloh Parker
London & Melbourne, 1896


► Themes of the story

Divine Intervention: Wirreenun, as a rainmaker, invokes supernatural powers to end the drought, demonstrating the influence of higher forces in human affairs.

Ritual and Initiation: The ceremonial practices performed by Wirreenun, including the community’s participation in water rituals, emphasize the role of ceremonial rites in marking transitions and invoking change.

Harmony with Nature: The restoration of rain and the subsequent revival of the land reflect the importance of achieving balance and union with the natural world.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Aboriginal Australians


The country was stricken with a drought.

The rivers were all dry except the deepest holes in them. The grass was dead, and even the trees were dying.

The bark dardurr of the blacks were all fallen to the ground and lay there rotting, so long was it since they had been used, for only in wet weather did the blacks use the bark dardurr; at other times they used only whatdooral, or bough shades.

► Continue reading…

The young men of the Noongahburrah murmured among themselves, at first secretly, at last openly, saying: “Did not our fathers always say that the Wirreenun could make, as we wanted it, the rain to fall? Yet look at our country–the grass blown away, no doonburr seed to grind, the kangaroo are dying, and the emu, the duck, and the swan have flown to far countries. We shall have no food soon; then shall we die, and the Noongahburrah be no more seen on the Narrin. Then why, if he is able, does not Wirreenun inake rain?”

Soon these murmurs reached the ears of the old Wirreenun. He said nothing, but the young fellows noticed that for two or three days in succession he went to the waterhole in the creek and placed in it a willgoo willgoo–a long stick, ornamented at the top with white cockatoo feathers–and beside the stick he placed two big gubberah, that is, two big, clear pebbles which at other times he always secreted about him, in the folds of his waywah, or in the band or net on his head. Especially was he careful to hide these stones from the women.

At the end of the third day Wirreenun said to the young men: “Go you, take your comeboos and cut bark sufficient to make dardurr for all the tribe.”

The young men did as they were bade. When they had the bark cut and brought in Wirreenun said: “Go you now and raise with ant-bed a high place, and put thereon logs and wood for a fire, build the ant-bed about a foot from the ground. Then put you a floor of ant-bed a foot high whereever you are going to build a dardurr.”

And they did what he told them. When the dardurr were finished, having high floors of ant-bed and water-tight roofs of bark, Wirreenun commanded the whole camp to come with him to the waterhole; men, women, and children; all were to come. They all followed him down to the creek, to the waterhole where he had placed the willgoo willgoo and gubberah. Wirreenun jumped into the water and bade the tribe follow him, which they did. There in the water they all splashed and played about. After a little time Wirreenun went up first behind one black fellow and then behind another, until at length he had been round them all, and taken from the back of each one’s head lumps of charcoal. When he went up to each he appeared to suck the back or top of their heads, and to draw out lumps of charcoal, which, as he sucked them out, he spat into the water. When he had gone the round of all, he went out of the water. But just as he got out a young man caught him up in his arms and threw him back into the water. This happened several times, until Wirreenun was shivering. That was the signal for all to leave the creek. Wirreenun sent all the young people into a big bough shed, and bade them all go to sleep. He and two old men and two old women stayed outside. They loaded themselves with all their belongings piled up on their backs, dayoorl stones and all, as if ready for a flitting. These old people walked impatiently around the bough shed as if waiting a signal to start somewhere. Soon a big black cloud appeared on the horizon, first a single cloud, which, however, was soon followed by others rising all round. They rose quickly until they all met just overhead, forming a big black mass of clouds. As soon as this big, heavy, rainladen looking cloud was stationary overhead, the old people went into the bough shed and bade the young people wake up and come out and look at the sky. When they were all roused Wirreenun told them to lose no time, but to gather together all their possessions and hasten to gain the shelter of the bark dardurr. Scarcely were they all in the dardurrs and their spears well hidden when there sounded a terrific clap of thunder, which was quickly followed by a regular cannonade, lightning flashes shooting across the sky, followed by instantaneous claps of deafening thunder. A sudden flash of lightning, which lit a pathway, from heaven to earth, was followed by such a terrific clash that the blacks thought their very camps were struck. But it was a tree a little distance off. The blacks huddled together in their dardurrs, frightened to move, the children crying with fear, and the dogs crouching towards their owners.

“We shall be killed,” shrieked the women. The men said nothing but looked as frightened.

Only Wirreenun was fearless. “I will go out,” he said, “and stop the storm from hurting us. The lightning shall come no nearer.”

So out in front of the dardurrs strode Wirreenun, and naked he stood there facing the storm, singing aloud, as the thunder roared and the lightning flashed, the chant which was to keep it away from the camp

“Gurreemooray, mooray,
Durreemooray, mooray, mooray,” &c.

Soon came a lull in the cannonade, a slight breeze stirred the trees for a few moments, then an oppressive silence, and then the rain in real earnest began, and settled down to a steady downpour, which lasted for some days.

When the old people had been patrolling the bough shed as the clouds rose overhead, Wirreenun had gone to the waterhole and taken out the willgoo willgoo and the stones, for he saw by the cloud that their work was done.

When the rain was over and the country all green again, the blacks had a great corrobboree and sang of the skill of Wirreenun, rainmaker to the Noongahburrah.

Wirreenun sat calm and heedless of their praise, as he had been of their murmurs. But he determined to show them that his powers were great, so he summoned the rainmaker of a neighbouring tribe, and after some consultation with him, he ordered the tribes to go to the Googoorewon, which was then a dry plain, with the solemn, gaunt trees all round it, which had once been black fellows.

When they were all camped round the edges of this plain, Wirreenun and his fellow rainmaker made a great rain to fall just over the plain and fill it with water.

When the plain was changed into a lake, Wirreenun said to the young men of his tribe: “Now take your nets and fish.”

“What good?” said they. “The lake is filled from the rain, not the flood water of rivers, filled but yesterday, how then shall there be fish?”

“Go,” said Wirreenun. “Go as I bid you; fish. If your nets catch nothing then shall Wirreenun speak no more to the men of his tribe, he will seek only honey and yams with the women.”

More to please the man who had changed their country from a desert to a hunter’s paradise, they did as he bade them, took their nets and went into the lake. And the first time they drew their nets, they were heavy with goodoo, murree, tucki, and bunmillah. And so many did they catch that all the tribes, and their dogs, had plenty.

Then the elders of the camp said now that there was plenty everywhere, they would have a borah that the boys should be made young men. On one of the ridges away from the camp, that the women should not know, would they prepare a ground.

And so was the big borah of the Googoorewon held, the borah which was famous as following on the triumph of Wirreenun the rainmaker.


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

Mayrah, the Wind that Blows the Winter Away

As winter begins, iguanas, black eagle hawks, and shingle-backs retreat to their winter shelters. They remain hidden until Mayrah, the wind, signals spring with a thunderstorm and the song of the butcher birds. Emerging, the creatures find a land rejuvenated by Mayrah, who brings flowers, birds, and abundance. Eventually, Yhi, the sun, takes over, leading the cycle back to winter and Mayrah’s return.

Source
Australian Legendary Tales
collected by Mrs. K. Langloh Parker
London & Melbourne, 1896


► Themes of the story

Supernatural Beings: Mayrah, personified as the wind, plays a crucial role in altering the seasons, influencing the natural world.

Harmony with Nature: The story highlights the interconnectedness of all living beings with the cycles of nature, emphasizing a harmonious existence.

Moral Lessons: The tale imparts wisdom about patience and the importance of understanding and aligning with natural rhythms.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Aboriginal Australians


At the beginning of winter, the iguanas hide themselves in their homes in the sand; the black eagle hawks go into their nests; the garbarlee or shingle-backs hide themselves in little logs, just big enough to hold them; the iguanas dig a long way into the sand and cover up the passage behind them, as they go along. They all stay in their winter homes until Mayrah blows the winter away. Mayrah first blows up a thunderstorm. When the iguanas hear the thunder, they know the spring is not far off, so they begin making a passage to go out again, but they do not leave their winter home until the Curreequinquin, or butcher birds sing all day almost without ceasing “Goore, goore, goore, goore.”

► Continue reading…

Then they know that Mayrah has really blown the winter away, for the birds are beginning to pair and build their nests. So they open their eyes and come out on the green earth again. And when the black fellows hear the curreequinquins singing “Goore, goore,” they know that they can go out and find iguanas again, and find them fatter than when they went away with the coming of winter. Then, too, will they find piggiebillahs hurrying along to get away from their young ones, which they have buried in the sand and left to shift for themselves, for no longer can they carry them, as the spines of the young ones begin to prick them in their pouch. So they leave them and hurry away, that they may not hear their cry. They know they shall meet them again later on, when they are grown big. Then as Mayrah softly blows, the flowers one by one open, and the bees come out again to gather honey. Every bird wears his gayest plumage and sings his sweetest song to attract a mate, and in pairs they go to build their nests. And still Mayrah softly blows until the land is one of plenty; then Yhi the sun chases her back whence she came, and the flowers droop and the birds sing only in the early morning. For Yhi rules in the land until the storms are over and have cooled him, and winter takes his place to be blown away again by Mayrah the loved of all, and the bringer of plenty.


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

Eme’mqut and shellfish-girl

Big-Raven’s relative, Eme’mqut, discovers a whimpering shellfish on the seashore. Upon finding its missing “hood,” which has transformed into a small house, he enters and marries Shellfish-Girl. He brings her home, and they live together peacefully. The tale concludes with this union.

Source
Koryak Texts
by Waldemar Bogoras
American Ethnological Society
Publications, Volume V
(edited by Franz Boas)

E. J. Brill – Leyden, 1917


► Themes of the story

Love and Betrayal: The union between Eme’mqut and Shellfish-Girl highlights themes of love and partnership.

Sacred Spaces: The small house, transformed from the shellfish’s “hood,” serves as a significant location where the marriage takes place.

Harmony with Nature: The story reflects a harmonious relationship between humans and natural elements, as seen in Eme’mqut’s interaction with the shellfish.

► From the same Region or People

Learn more about the Koryak people


Collected in the village of Kamenskoye, on Penshina Bay, with the help of Nicholas Vilkhin, a half-Russianized Koryak, Decmber 1900 – April, 1901.

Big-Raven lived with his people. Oh, Eme’mqut walked along the seashore, and found some shellfish. He detached one shellfish, and it began to whimper, “Igigi’!” He said, “Cease your crying! Yonder among the stone-pine bushes (lies) your detached hood.”

Oh, he went and looked for it! It had turned into a small house. He entered the house and married that Shellfish-Girl. Then he brought her home. They lived there.

That is all.

► Continue reading…

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