The Gift

The Gift

(A Tale from Hawaii)

In the early days very long ago, the people of Hawaii did not have any clothes except what they could make from grass or leaves or feathers. They had not learned to make cloth either to wear or to use on their beds at night. When the stormy season came, or if they lived up in the mountains, they suffered greatly from cold. At night, too, they often had a hard time keeping warm. In the summer, the fierce rays of the sun burned them.

Now at this time on the Island of O-a-hu, there lived a good old man named Ma-hi-ko-ha. One grey day it happened that Ma-hi-ko-ha was climbing the steep mountain trail along the Nu-u-a-nu stream. Because he was old, he climbed very slowly. Every little while he stopped to rest by leaning upon the strong stick that he used as a cane. Often he looked up at the mountain tops, where black clouds were beginning to gather.

“It’s going to storm,” said Ma-hi-ko-ha to himself. “The leaves of the ku-ku-i trees are turning silver, and the wind is starting to blow. I must get home before the storm breaks.”

The wind was cold, and Ma-hi-ko-ha shivered as he hurried on his way. “How sad it is,” he thought, “that we Island people must suffer so from the cold in winter and from the heat of the sun in summer. If only we had something to wear to protect us!”

The rain began to pelt down, and Ma-hi-ko-ha was dripping wet by the time he got home. He crawled through the low, narrow doorway of his thatched hut, and Me-li-a, his daughter, did her best to warm him.

“I’m afraid you’ll get ill, Father,” she said. “Here is a little a-wa to drink, but how I wish I had something to put over you to keep off a chill!”

“That would be good,” said Ma-hi-ko-ha. “And it would be good if all the people had some kind of covering to put on or take off as the weather changed.”

Ma-hi-ko-ha drank the a-wa. Then he sat and thought for a long time. At last, he said, “Me-li-a, I am an old man. I know I shall not live much longer. When I die I do not want to be buried in a mountain cave like the rest of our people. I want to be buried beside the Nu-u-a-nu stream. Will you promise me that?”

“Oh, Father!” Me-li-a wept, “I cannot bear to hear you speak of leaving me.”

“Me-li-a, I shall not really leave you,” said the old man. “If I am buried by the stream, a wonderful tree will grow on my grave. It will be my gift to you and to the Island people.”

“But I would rather have you alive than have a thousand trees!” cried Me-li-a.

“You will have a thousand trees-strange and wonderful trees!” replied her father. “Now listen.”

Then he went on to tell her that when the tree had grown to a good size she must strip the bark from the branches and spread it on a flat rock by the stream.

“After that,” he said, “sprinkle the bark with cool water and pound it with a stone. Only then will you see how wonderful my tree is."

“But it will be as though I were pounding you, Father!” cried Me-li-a.

“You must do as I say, my child,” said Ma-hi-ko-ha. “And remember, each time that you strip a branch, plant another branch by the stream. Will you promise me all this?”

At last, to make him happy, Me-li-a promised. A few days afterwards, Ma-hi-ko-ha became very ill and died. As she had promised, Me-li-a buried him beside the Nu-u-a-nu stream. Then she went sadly home.

After some weeks had gone by, Me-li-a went one morning to visit her father’s grave. To her surprise, she found growing from it a kind of tree that, she had never seen before. She could not help noticing how thick and soft the bark was. Then she remembered the promise she had made to her father.

Quickly she broke off a branch and stripped the bark from it. After she had placed the bark on a flat rock by the stream, she dipped her fingers into the cool, running water and shook the drops onto the bark. Then she began to pound the bark with a stone.

As the water soaked in, it softened the bark. When Me-li-a pounded it, the bark became thinner and thinner and spread out wider and wider. At last, she stopped working to look at it.

“Oh, my Father,” she cried when she saw how smooth and soft and thin the bark was, “you have given us a most wonderful gift-the gift of cloth! From the bark of your tree we can make clothes to wear and coverings for our beds!”

Then, remembering what else her father had said, Me-li-a took another piece of branch from the tree and planted it on the bank of the stream. She did this each time that she stripped bark from a new branch. The pieces all took root and before long other trees of the same sort sprang up. Soon they were growing all over the mountainside.

Me-li-a taught the others in her village how to prepare the bark. It was not long before the sound of pounding could be heard all over the Island, in the sheltered valleys as well as along the seashore. The people called this new stuff that they were making by the name tapa.

At first, all the tapa was grey, but, they soon learned to dye it with vegetable colouring. Then they made pink, yellow, and brown tapa cloth and covered it, with beautiful designs and figures.

Making tapa (Fiji, 1911)

In this way, Ma-hi-ko-ha’s tree brought great comfort and great beauty into the lives of the people. They were so thankful for this wonderful gift that they made him the special god of the tapa-makers. Even today you may be sure that Ma-hi-ko-ha is remembered wherever tapa is being made.

Source:

Hawaiian tales

Helen Lamar Berkey

1968

Pages: 19-23

http://www.janeresture.com/oceania_postcards8/ (Postcard)