How the mosquitoes Came to Oneata

How the mosquitoes Came to Oneata

(A Legend from Fiji)

Among the islands that lie to the east of Fiji, there are two called Oneata and Kambara.

Long ago there were no mosquitoes on Oneata. But the Kambara people were sorely troubled and plagued by them. They were stung day and night and could find no rest, in spite of the unceasing work of their women, who pounded the paper-mulberry bark until their arms ached, to make mosquito curtains.

However, on Oneata there were plenty of shellfish with a particularly delicate flavour, which were found on the beaches and in caves, and the Kambara people were very envious as they had none. Listen now, and I will tell you how these things came to be changed.

Once, long ago, ten men of the boat-building tribe of Oneata were washed out to sea when a river overflowed its banks. They clung desperately to a tree trunk, and by and by they drifted to Kambara. Afraid of being killed, they begged the chief to spare their lives and promised to work for him.

The chief, whose name was Tuwara, was a wise and cunning man, and he was very pleased to hear about the wonderful boats that they had built, strong enough to sail even in stormy weather. His own island was full of splendid trees, and so he set the men to work to build a great double canoe. In order to keep them happy he gave them houses, food and wives so that they would not pine to return home.

The work lasted more than two years, for in those days there were no hatchets or saws. First of all, sharp stones and shells were used for cutting the logs. Then the hulls were hollowed out with burning brands and scraped, while the men used pointed shells or small firebrands for boring holes. Strong vines and cords of coconut fibre bound the body work together, and the great sail was plaited from tough leaves.

When at last the canoe was finished it was dragged down to the sea, and the launching was celebrated with a feast.

Tuwara, impatient to put to sea, went on board, taking the carpenters as crew and a crowd of his people as well. Singing lustily, they sailed away with a light breeze filling the sail. But when the wind blew stronger and the canoe began to pitch and roll among the waves, the singers changed their tune to groans. They huddled together or lay clutching the deck, for they were all seasick.

“What is this terrible feeling, O carpenters?” moaned Tuwara. “What is this fearful sickness?”

The carpenters only laughed at the Kambara folk.

“Wait a little, sir, and then it will pass,” they said. “It is always thus when you first put out to sea.” But they were answered with fresh groans by the unhappy people.

Soon the outlines of Oneata appeared on the horizon.

“There is land ahead, sir. Shall we steer for it?” said Melani, the graybeard, the eldest of the boat-builders. “Or would you go still farther?”

“No, no, steer for it, and let us land,” groaned Tuwara.

The people of Oneata had seen the canoe coming, and thinking that it was a huge sea monster they ran into the bush and hid so that Tuwara found an empty town when he landed. He entered the chief's house and threw himself down on the mats to rest. Then the people slowly returned to the village, and when they had lost their fear of the strangers, they talked to them and heard their tale and looked with wonder at the canoe.

Tuwara stayed on this pleasant island many days, for he found the shellfish good to eat and his sleep was not disturbed by troublesome mosquitoes. When at last they sailed homeward they invited Wa-Kulikuli, the lord of Oneata, to come with them to see Kambara.

A great feast was prepared when they arrived, and after eating and drinking his fill, the Oneata chief began to yawn. Tuwara took him into his house, where a large mosquito curtain hung, and the visitor was surprised by the size of the curtain and by the beautiful patterns that were painted on it.

“What is this wonderful piece of cloth? We have nothing like it on our island. And why do you keep it hanging up in this manner?”

“Oh,” said Tuwara, “it is useful as a screen, and it also protects me when the wind blows cold. Let us sleep now, and I will show you the village in the morning.”

He lied about his curtain because he was ashamed of the mosquitoes, which were indeed a plague upon his island, and he hoped to deceive his friend. But when darkness fell, thousands of mosquitoes commenced to buzz outside the curtain, and the chief of Oneata was awakened.

“What sweet sound is that outside?” he asked.

Tuwara pretended that he had not heard and only answered with a snore.

“Eh! Wake up, tell me what those sweet noises are,” the chief insisted.

This time Tuwara could no longer pretend to be asleep.

“Which sounds? Oh, those! They are only the mosquitoes buzzing,” he replied with a yawn.

“What are mosquitoes?” asked his friend.

“They are little insects, and at night they fly about and buzz, and I keep them to sing me to sleep,” said the crafty Tuwara. The Oneata chief begged to be allowed to take the little singers home with him.

“Give you my mosquitoes? Nay, I dare not; my people would never forgive me.”

“Well, just give me some of them and keep the rest,” pleaded Wa-Kulikuli.

“That, alas, is impossible, for if I give even a few away the rest will follow them and will leave me,” said the cunning man. “I am indeed sad that I must refuse you, but now let us go to sleep.”

Wa-Kulikuli continued to trouble his friend with his pleading. He and his people would always be grateful to Tuwara, he said and would tell their children to love and respect him.

“That is a tempting thought, but I dare not give them away for nothing. What would my people say to me?”

“No, no, I will give you anything you care to ask for in return,” said the Oneata chief. “Choose what you like from my island and it shall be yours, if only I may have your mosquitoes.”

“Well,” said Tuwara, “I will not ask for myself. I must think of my people—and the thought has just come to me that they would like your shellfish. That is just the very thing. Give me the shellfish and you may have the mosquitoes.”

“With pleasure,” said the other. “That is a good bargain. Now, will you lift up the curtain so that I can see them?”

Tuwara was then afraid that his friend might be bitten and repent of his bargain, so he refused to lift the curtain. He said that his little insects were modest and bashful and did not like to be gazed at, and therefore they came out only at night.

“Let us sleep now, for it is late,” he begged. But neither of them slept much, for Wa-Kulikuli lay and listened to the song of the mosquitoes, and Tuwara chuckled over the good bargain he had made. He determined to prevent his friend from rising too early, lest a few insects still be flitting about. The foolish chief might realize the trick that he was about to play.

With the first streaks of dawn, the Oneata chief called out, “Wake up, Tuwara. It is time for us to depart, so give me the mosquitoes.”

“Isa! What a restless person you are,” said the other. It is scarcely dawn, and you have kept me awake half the night with your talking. Lie still awhile, for at this hour the mosquitoes gather together and fly away to a cave where they sleep in the daytime. If we disturb them now we shall be unable to catch them.”

“Very well, let us wait," said Wa-Kulikuli. But every few minutes he cried out again, “Do you think they are asleep yet?” and a little later, “Surely they are in their cave now?"—so eager he was to catch them! By this time Tuwara was indeed angry with the foolish chief and would gladly have hit him with his club. Only the thought of the shellfish made him keep his temper, and he did not rise until it was daylight.

“Come now, and let us sail to your land,” he said.

No one saw him collect the mosquitoes, but by the time the canoe was ready he had shut them all in a large basket. This was lined inside and covered with fine mats, through which not even a small mosquito could crawl, and it was carried on board hastily.

Again they were seasick, but Wa-Kulikuli comforted himself with the thought of his little singers, and Tuwara was cheered with the hope of being rid of his plague, in exchange for the shellfish.

It was high noon when they landed at Oneata and furled their sails. Wa-Kulikuli, leaping ashore, called all his people to see what he had brought them, and he begged Tuwara to hand down the basket.

“Not so fast, my friend,” said the cunning Tuwara. “My mosquitoes are a loving tribe, and if I let them go now they will not leave the canoe, for they love me and will not leave me. So give me your shellfish first. Then I will depart, leaving the basket here, and if you are wise you will not open it until I have sailed beyond the reef lest the mosquitoes fly after me.”

“That is true, and you are wise, O Tuwara!” Then Wa-Kulikuli turned and gave a great shout—“Come, O shellfish, come from the beach and from the sea and from the rocks. It is your chief who calls.”

Then from the shore, and from their homes in caves and pools, the shellfish crawled in by the hundreds. The men threw them into the canoe until it was full and shellfish were heaped high upon the deck, and not one was left upon the island.

“Now give me the basket and you may depart, for all the shellfish are on board," said the impatient chief. So Tuwara handed over the basket while his men hoisted the sail, and away they sailed with all speed.

The Oneata men now came crowding around to see what treasure their chief had brought them. It must surely be something of great value, or he would never have parted with their shellfish, they thought. Wa-Kulikuli waited until the canoe was clear of the reef, and then he untied the fastenings of the basket and lifted the mat.

Up rose the mosquitoes in a grey cloud, buzzing angrily, and loudly the people screamed and yelled as they were bitten by the savage insects.

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Tuwara, for he could hear the distant cries, “‘Wa-Kulikuli's sweet singers have already begun their song. Ho, ho, I have met many fools, but never such a fool as yonder chief.”

The wretched lord of Oneata spent days and nights thinking of schemes to get rid of the plague of insects he had brought to his land, but alas, they increased in numbers every day. He made many plans to get back his shellfish, and after some years he sailed over to Kambara one night.

Standing on the beach he called them: “Come, my shellfish, it is I, your lord, who is calling.” But not one of them heard him and not one returned to him.

But Tuwara heard him. He lay in wait and watched him. Then, creeping up quietly, he smote him on the head with his club and cried out, “O wretched man, would you steal my shellfish?”

So Wa-Kulikuli, driven back to his canoe, returned sadly to his island and to his sweet singing plague of mosquitoes.

Source

Tales from the South Pacific Islands

Anne Gittins, Frank Rocca

1977

Pages: 3-10