TRADITION.
Maui is the hero of the Maori people: he is the God of the Sun. He is Maui-roto, the Night-sun, the hero of the Lower World; and he is Maui-waho, the Day-sun, the hero of the light.
Maui-roto, living in the Lower World, created the Earth, which has, like the Sun, a body of granite; and Maui-waho then nourishes her with his blood, which he streams down upon her as the red Evening-glow. This Evening-glow, covering the earth, does not die away with the Sun, but it cools and forms a new layer upon Earth, and thus, with layer upon layer of Evening-glows, he nourishes his child. It is upon the mountain Tongariro that this radiance lives most brilliant and long, and that is the reason why Tongariro became the possessor of the highest Tapu, the sacred mountain of the Maori people.
Hine-nui-te-po is the Goddess of Night, and the whole world is her pataka (storehouse). She has commanded her slaves that, when a man came, crawling with his head forward, they should let him go into her pataka and not kill him, for he would be an atua and of great tapu; but should they perceive a man standing upright in his canoe, they should take him and put him to death.
Now a man came—it was Maui-potiki (Maui the infant), the Morning Sun; and he came crawling into the world, the pataka of Hine-nui-te-po. Head foremost he came, and, therefore, the slaves, seeing that he was an atua, let him into the world unmolested. But Maui-potiki ascends and ascends up to the very high, of the mid-day, and in his canoe he commences his descent. Lower and lower he went, standing upright in his canoe, and was at last seen by the slaves of Hine-nui-te-po. Out of Maui-potiki, the Morning Sun, has grown Maui-mua, the Evening Sun, and he now is captured by the slaves and pressed to death by Hine-nui-te-po.
The night swallows the evening.
But Maui-potiki, as Morning Sun takes revenge, for he steals off the sacred fire of his ancestress Mahuika; he returns to the world and puts fire to Hine-nui-te-po.
The night is burnt to death by the dawn of the morning.
MAUI ENTERS HINE-NUI-TE-PO’S PATAKA
VIII
MAUI—THE CREATION OF NEW ZEALAND
MAUI
Over the sky shoot the first golden rays of the Sun whilst our canoe is gliding up-river and Honewaka is singing:
“Who is paddling my canoe along the river?
It is Hine, who takes my heart away from me!
O Rangi, send down thy dark clouds of rain,
That my dear love may not depart from me!—
O, I wish the water were heaped into waves
So my dear one will not go in haste from me.”
Honewaka is leader; standing in the middle of the canoe, in his hand the greenstone-mere, he is chanting mighty songs of encouragement to the oarsmen, and these are repeated by them whilst paddling to the music, and the canoe glides joyfully under chanting and merrymaking, between the cliffs with the overhanging tree-ferns and ratas.
Honewaka is a leader of great mana; he knows every ripple in the river, and he knows men. He knows where the canoe glides onward whilst the spirits of his men are not in the paddles, and he knows how to incite their spirits by powerful songs so that, when the rapids are fighting their strongest, the spirits of men uniting to their greatest strength in the paddles will be victorious.
There rushes a rapid.
The eyes of the leader commence to roll; his weapon shakes; his breath is short, as he sings:
“Who is paddling my canoe along the river?”—and the crew, putting force into the paddles, answer: “It is Hine, who takes my heart away from me!”
The water rushes and foams around the canoe, and the singing, the chorus, and the paddling, follow the quick time-beating mere: quicker and quicker.
Honewaka, with rolling eye, makes a sudden bound, shouting:
“O, she is beautiful—beautiful!”—and half the crew changes the paddle with the strong and elastic tokos (punting-sticks)—one voice crying: “O, Hone, tickle her!” The crew laughs, but with the jest seems to come sudden life into the paddles, greatly assisted by the force of the holding and bending tokos.
Hone, excited now and with furious gestures, shouts:
“O Rangi, send down thy dark clouds of rain,” Quicker and quicker, excited by Hone’s singing, quicker and quicker pull the paddles, and amidst the shouting chorus, under the force of the powerful shifting and bending tokos, battles the canoe through the rapid.
Now the point is reached where the strength of the rushing waters is greatest, and the canoe will not move. Honewaka with greatest excitement cries:
“O, she is tall like the rata.”
The crew, answering wildly: “It is Hine, who paddles my heart away with her.”
Hone: “O, she is lithe like the toe-toe.”
Crew: “O, Rangi, send down thy dark clouds of rain.”
The spirits of the men are roused, and the roaring rush of the rapid becomes harmless under the steady living power of the paddles and the mighty pulling of the bending and trembling tokos. Into the silent, reflecting calmness of the higher water-reach the canoe suddenly shoots.
Ngawai, sitting in the prow, folds her arms over her paddle, and looks listlessly in the trembling and rushing waters, and smiles. Now the beautiful calm of the silent reach is gained; and the voice of Honewaka is low, mingling with the distant rolling of the rapid, as he narrates the story of the Taniwha, who lives in the caves of the rapid, and who has swallowed many a brave, when his song was not powerful enough or was displeasing to the Taniwha (water-monster). Then she broke the canoes on the large stones and took the strong men and beautiful women into her dark cave for food. Disdainfully looks Ngawai back, for now the battle is won, and women despise the conquered foe, be it man or spirit.
Great is the power of the Spirits who live in the image of a beautiful woman; greater is the power of the spirits awakened by incantations to the gods; and the power of man lies in the incantations which capture the gods into their weapon—but twice powerful is such a weapon when used in the service of a beautiful woman.
The distant rolling of the rapid now sounds like happy laughter of beautiful women far away over the water.
“Haere-mai, me o tatou mate” comes in the evening the wailing welcome from the Maori pa on the cliffs.
“Long is it, friend, since a man of your colour came to me, a great Tohunga-pakeha (white priest), and he took great pains to teach me the words of his Truth.
The words of his god.
I was young then, and Takakopiri, who was then so old that he could remember Te Repo-repo, the large war-canoe, growing still as a tree in the forest, had given to me the wisdom of the ancient. It was given to him by his grandfather, the Tohunga, Te-puha-o-te Rangi, whose mana was so great that people, saluting him, rubbed noses only against his knee—he was a great Rangatira.
Long and marked with many teeth was the waka-paparanga-rakau, the board, recording the ancestors of Te-puha-o-te Rangi, leading back from ancestor to ancestor to Maui, who came from Hawaiki and who is the father of this land, which is called Te-ika-a-maui, or Maui’s fish; and leading still further, up to the gods.
The wisdom, my listener, is born at Hawaiki.
Many a time died the moon, my friend, and was born again out of the Living Fountain of Tane Mahuta, while I was asking the words of the book.
Yes, beautiful is the Truth!—
But endless to count since then are the Floods who came down the river when his great Father, the mountain Ruapehu, shook off his white garment of snow, and my flesh has dried to the bones. Yes, friend, I loved the Truth of the white Tohunga; but she was not like a woman to me: she gave me no offspring.
Ah, the multitude of voices of the past are in my heart, and my hands can touch the spirits of my ancestors, as they can touch my waka-paparanga-rakau; and they come and feed me with joy, like children feed the aged, and my heart is glowing with the power of my ancestors—of Maui the Strong.
Ah! his great power attempted his greatest deed: to take the heart of Hine-nui-te-po, that man may live for ever; but his incantations were overcome by the Mother of All, and she swallowed him, as she swallows all—Maui-i-tiki-tiki-a-taranga.”
A TOHUNGA
