The Crab and the Needlefish

 The Crab and the Needlefish

(A Legend from Nomoi Islands, Chuuk)

Fish is a favorite food in the Pacific Islands. When it has been wrapped in green leaves and baked among hot stones, it is delicious. But the children of the Mortlock Islands, in the Truk District, sometimes will not eat needlefish, for it has a bitter taste.

“Never mind, it’s good food,” their parents say. Then they tell the children why the needlefish tastes bitter.

The needlefish is smooth and slender, and he can swim very fast. He has a long, sharp needle sticking out in front, ready to spear anything that gets in his way.

One day, the needlefish saw a tiny sand crab crawling along the beach. The needlefish made fun of the crab.

"How slow and clumsy you are!” he said. "Watch me. See how fast I move through the water.” He swam and dived and turned about with great speed.

The little crab watched the needlefish for a while, and then he said, “You're fast, needlefish, and I’m very slow, that’s true. But just the same, I feel sure that I can beat you, if we have a race along the shore.”

“Foolish talk!’’ cried the needlefish. “How could you beat me in a race? I go like lightning, and you crawl so slowly.”

The little crab said, "Let's have a race tomorrow morning. We'll start here, beside this rock. I'll race you to the big maras tree that stands at the edge of the water, far down on the beach. You can swim in the water, and Pll crawl along on land.”

The needlefish laughed and laughed, but he agreed to race with the little crab. ‘‘You’re so tiny,” he said. "How shall I know where you are?”

“That will be very easy,” replied the crab. "Just call to me, now and then, and I'll answer you.”

The needlefish swam away, still laughing.

Now the sand crab was small, but he was clever. He crawled along the beach all night long, telling his crab friends about the race. "The needlefish boasts too much. I want to teach him a lesson,” he said.

He asked his friends to sit at different places near the water. They would be a few yards apart from each other, all the way between the rock and the maras tree.

“Tomorrow, the needlefish will call to me,” he said, "to find out where I am. Each time he calls, one of you must answer for me. The needlefish will think that it is I who am ahead of him all the way.”

The crab’s friends thought it was a wonderful idea. They agreed to do what he asked.

Next morning, the little crab and the needlefish met at the rock and began the race. The needlefish swam off like lightning, but the little sand crab sat still. ‘‘It’s my turn to laugh,” he said, and so he laughed.

Before long, the needlefish called out from the water, “Crab, crab, where are you?”

On the shore, a small voice answered, “Here I am, just ahead of you!”

The needlefish was so surprised that he nearly jumped out of the water. He swam faster than ever. After a while, he called out again, “Crab, crab, where are you?” 

Again a crab voice replied, “Here I am, just ahead of you!"

That time, the needlefish nearly broke himself in two, trying to swim still faster in the water. He kept on calling out, “Crab, crab, where are you?”  And always, there was a little voice saying, “Here I am, just ahead of you!”

The needlefish was nearly out of his mind with anger. He raced so fast that the water whirled around him. When he reached the maras tree, there sat a little sand crab with a shell on his back. He was not at all tired.

“Well, needlefish, are you here at last?” said the crab.

The needlefish nearly burst with anger. He sprang out of the water with such force that his long needle stuck in the maras tree. There he hung for a long time. At last, he got the needle out again and dropped back into the water.

He swam away, feeling foolish. He tried to forget about the race, but he couldn’t, for some of the bitter juice of the maras tree was in his mouth. It stayed there, to teach him not to boast too much.

Ever since that day, the flesh of the needlefish has had a bitter taste. As the Trukese people say, “Much me sop me teremeimei,”or, “That’s the end of the story.”

Source

Legends of Micronesia (Book One)

Eve Grey

1951

Pages: 7-9

The Tagimoucia Flower

The Tagimoucia Flower

(A story from Fiji)

In the high mountains of Taveuni, known as Fiji’s Garden Island, there is a beautiful lake of considerable size. A flowering plant called Tagimoucia is found only on the shores of this lake and any attempt to transplant the vine has failed. The Tagimoucia is one of Fiji’s most beautiful wild flowers, the bunches of red flowers have a small white center. tagimouThe legend of the Tagimoucia flower goes something like this.

In a hill above the shore lived a woman and her little daughter. One day the little girl was playing when she should have been working. Her mother kept asking her to get on with her work but she ignored her mother and kept on playing. Annoyed, the mother seized a bundle of sasas (mid-ribs of the coconut leaf) which she used as a broom, and spanked her daughter. “Go on, get out, you naughty girl. Go out and I don’t want to see your face again.”

The little girl was so upset that she sobbed and ran away. She kept on running not realizing where she was going. Her tears blinded her and as she ran along she blundered into a large climbing plant that hung from a tree. It was a thick green vine with large green leaves but there were no flowers on it. The child became entangled with the vine and could not get free so she stayed there, crying bitterly.

As the tears rolled down her cheeks they changed from salt tears to tears of blood which fell on the stem of the vine and turned into lovely flowers.

At last the little girl stopped crying and managed to free herself from the vine and went back home. She was delighted to find out that her mother had forgotten her anger and so they lived happily together again. 

Source

http://www.tropicalfiji.com/about_fiji/culture/legends/#tagi_fl 

The Old Lady of Ngerchokl

 The Old Lady of Ngerchokl

(A Legend from Palau)

The old woman stared at her reflection in the dark water and was frightened. A plumeria leaf fell soundlessly on the pool's surface, creating a ripple of waves that grew rounder and rounder and then—gone. The old woman sighed. "Like these ripples, my life will soon disappear. My husband has died and my family is gone except for one daughter. She is young and not ready to live alone.” The old woman whispered to her reflection,"I must dare the dark magic. I must begin my secret plan.”

She fingered the wide leaves of a breadfruit tree that shaded her as she sat, reluctant to begin. The rain forest's green quiet surrounded her like a protective shawl. "Do I dare attempt this magic?”

As if in answer, a fruit dove flew overhead, shyly warning, "Co-o-o, no-o-o-o, no-o-o-o.” The woman trembled. Just then a tropic bird shrilled loudly, its slender white body soaring high above, "Keer-keer, ye-e-es, yes!” Which cry should she heed?

Another sound answered her question. She smiled as she listened to bare feet slap, slap, slapping across the rock path. Her daughter was hurrying with two empty pots. "We are asked to fill these. The village needs water. I will help you, Mother.”

"Yes, we will fill them but not from this pool. Today we find the place where the water is cool and refreshing—like magic!” The old woman plucked a red hibiscus and tucked it behind her daughter's ear.

"No, Mother, not the pool of dark water and—" The young girl shivered. "It is whispered that the mists swirl with death.”

"My child, many things are said that are not true. We will walk quietly without disturbing one spirit or waking a rock. But we must hurry so the villagers have water before dark.”

At first the path meandered through sea vines tangled and twisted. It crossed through a swamp and became swallowed by mud stinking of rot. The mother and daughter followed a row of mangrove trees standing on stilted roots in the murky brine. Moss-shrouded branches creaked in the spooky silence. Not one friendly sound was heard, only the whining of mosquitoes, the warning clicks of geckos, and the clattering of hermit crabs slithering in the shadows.

The old woman felt a touch on her shoulder. “Mother, this path chills my heart. Finally the swamp ends, but now the jungle begins. Please, let's go home.”

“No, something waits that could change us forever.” With her walking stick the old woman whacked at the green wall of vines and bamboo. Brittle branches rattled as if a hundred tongues were scolding, “Go back, go back!”

The path became steep and rocky. Trees towered thick and lush, their outstretched branches tangled above like a giant weaving. Younger trees stooped sad and yellow under shrouds of vines, swaying and sighing. Giant spiders glowed like jewels on sticky webs. The old woman continued, but her steps became slower. She breathed harder, determined to keep fear out of her thoughts.

The path circled near a cliff. She stepped to the edge. Above her a giant bat swooped in large circles. Beyond the path’s next curve, mist swirled up through the branches.

Was she imagining or could she hear the sounds of water splashing? “Young one, listen.”

Her daughter’s eyes grew wide with fright. “What is it, Mother?”

“We are near.”

“This place smells of death. Mother, please, let's return home.”

The old woman pointed to a clearing. “Rest there. The bushes are full of blossoms. Gather an armful as an offering to the water spirits while I find a place to drink from the pool's edge.”

“No, Mother, your legs are trembling. You rest. I will fill our clay pots and bring water to you.”

“No! You must never touch the dark water. Never!”

“Mother, why do you speak with anger? I feel the dark spirits. They chill my blood. I will gather blossoms. Hurry, drink your fill so we can leave.”

The old woman gazed one last time at her daughter.

“Remember, never touch the water in this pool, never!” She touched her daughter's troubled face. “Pick blossoms until your arms are full, and your heart will feel brighter. Look for the place where the water sounds like laughter. I will wait for you there.”

The old woman hurried toward the water. Soon she stood at the pool’s edge.

Perhaps the legend is false. Perhaps there is no magic. If I dive into this pool I may never return. Is it possible to find the stones that restore youth forever, for always? If I dive into this pool, what is my fate? To never return? Or to return and remain young forever? Never or always, which will it be?

The old woman of Palau felt her heart turn cold. She shuddered. “My daughter! You will never see me old and ugly again!”

She dove into the darkness. An icy cold pierced her chest. Already her heart ached to return to warmth and light. Down she swam. The water grew heavy, close, suffocating. Her mind screamed, Turn around, go back, go back.

She struggled through water as dark and blinding as octopus ink. Something slithered against her legs. She wanted to scream, to breathe, to warn her daughter, Stay away from the pool, stay away.

Still she swam deeper. The water grew colder, heavier, crushing her on all sides, pressing tighter and tighter. Confusion swirled in her head. Foolish woman, believing foolish old tales. There are no magic stones, no enchanted pool, only darkness and death unless you turn around . .. turn around.

With the last of her strength she pulled one stroke deeper. Her fingers touched the bottom and scraped through the mud. Nothing! No magic stones. But then... yes, something cold and smooth. Her fingers curled around a stone and slowly, steadily her arm felt strong and young. Yes! The magic must be real.

Air! Her body screamed for air. She must breathe. Her lungs were burning. Breathe! Her thoughts were spinning. She was confused and could not see. Which way was the surface? A wall of black seemed to surround her. Was she swimming up toward light or down toward death? Her strength was ebbing; it was no use, young or old, she could not survive without air.

“My child, my child.” She closed her eyes and saw her child’s face, a young face so frightened and looking for her mother.

The blackness parted. She swam and kicked until she reached the surface. Sunlight warmed her face like the sweet kiss from a child. She breathed in gulpfuls of air.

“Here I am! I have returned. Come to the pool.” She swam to the rocky edge, reached toward her child, but stopped. Her daughter stared back.

“Dear lady, I don't know who you are.” The girl stared at her. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I am looking for my mother.”

“l am your mother.” The woman stood next to her daughter. “Look at me and see who I am!”

The girl shook her head.

The woman stared at the reflection in the pool. Two faces stared back, the face of her daughter, pale with fear, and the face of a beautiful young woman—her face!

“Please don’t taunt me, dear lady. Have you seen my mother? I am worried she is lost.”

“Dear child, I am your mother. I have become young and beautiful as I once was.”

“No! Go away.” The daughter stamped her feet in anger and spoke with courage. “You are a wicked spirit trying to trick me. Go away. I must search for my mother.”

“Wait. Listen, so you will understand. I have become young so you’ll never feel ashamed of this ugly old face.”

“Ashamed?! You are evil to say such words.”

“But my arms had become brittle as dry bamboo. They no longer could hold you with strength.”

“My mother's arms are plenty strong to give comfort.”

“But my body had grown shapeless and wrinkled as an old yam.”

“What do you know, foolish woman? My mother's lap is soft and safe. I will not be frightened by monsters like you.”

"But little one, your old mother’s hair was no longer thick and black.”

“My mother’s hair is gray like the dolphin. She smiles when I comb the tangles that her stiff arms cannot reach. Your arms are young. You do not need a daughter to comb and caress you.”

“My old voice had become scratchy and weak.”

“My mother’s voice may be old and sometimes cross but it is soft with love. Her heart is full of stories and songs. We laugh as we work, filling the air with singing.”

The daughter stamped her feet once again, slap-slap-slap—so hard that footprints were left in the rock. “Go away. Leave me alone. Somewhere my mother is waiting for me. She said I would hear her voice laughing. We must hurry back to the village. Whoever you are, go away and never return. Never!”

The woman of Palau looked again into the pool. She saw her youth and all its beauty but she also saw her foolishness. “What have I done?” Now she understood; she had lost all that she loved.

She stared at the water and said the rest of the words that had been whispered. Beware and be careful. If one re-enters the pool, the magic is destroyed. Eternal youth is lost forever. Re-enter the water and choose: death or old age. Death or old age!

The old lady cried, “Do I have the courage to make such a choice? What does it matter? To remain as I am means being dead to my daughter.”

The woman dove into the pool. Once again foam swirled around her. Down she swam until her fingers touched the stones. She felt her legs grow heavy and weak. Pain gnawed again inside her bones and cold stiffened her joints. The confidence and daring of youth became dim and then lost.

With the last of her strength she swam to the surface. She rested, holding onto a rock. She stared at her hand and wept. Tears of loss mixed with joy and relief, for once again her hand was wrinkled and old.

“Mother! Let me help you!” The girl rushed to her mother’s side. “You are trembling. Let me rub your arms. Rest your head on my lap while I untangle your hair.” The daughter plucked the red blossom behind her ear and tucked it into her mother’s hair. “I was afraid I had lost you forever.”

The love in her daughter's voice warmed the old woman's body. She looked at her child and was amazed. She could see her true self reflected in her daughter's eyes. And she could see more. She could see life’s ripples spreading toward adulthood, dimming with old age, and beginning again with the young. As if some magic had cleared her sight, she could see memories waiting to be made, laughter, tears, and young life ready to continue the circle.

The old woman reached for her daughter’s hand and slowly stood up. They began their journey home. Step by step the old woman of Palau felt strength from a deep joy that was always and forever, both old and young.

On the island of Babeldaob, in the village of Ngaraard, runs a river called Ngerchokl. This river winds through a valley in the volcanic hills until it tumbles down into a deep, dark pool. The pool is surrounded by tall breadfruit, coconut, and pandanus trees. On the lava rocks surrounding the pool, footprints of a little girl can be seen. People say they are the footprints of a faithful daughter who wanted only her own true mother, the old woman of Palau.

Sources:

Micronesian Legends

Nancy Bo Flood, Beret E. Strong, William Flood

2002

Pages: 59-64

Makemake and the Birds of the Easter Island

 Makemake and the Birds of the Easter Island 

(A Legend from Rapa Nui)

On tne island Mataveri lived many people and their gods. The people fought many wars, killing and eating one another almost without cease. One of the reasons they fought was to get more food. Mataveri was a small island, and it had little food. The people ate mostly fish, and it gave them a sour disposition!

"I wish we could taste something new. Something tasty.” Over and over the people wished for change, but nothing happened.

At that time a priestess lived in a cave near the water. In this cave she kept her most precious objects. She watched them day and night. She looked for signs that would tell the future, or reduce suffering, or win the favor of a particular man or woman.

One of her most precious objects was an old skull. This skull had been sitting in this cave for longer than anyone knew. Perhaps it had been there at the beginning of the island itself! The priestess treasured this skull. She sensed its unusual power. She did not want anyone to take it from her.

At one time, between all of the tribal wars and fighting, there was a great storm. Huge waves rolled higher and higher. The waves were bigger than any person had ever seen. The greatest of these waves rose up over the island. As if called, the wave crashed into the priestess's cave. The wave lifted the skull and carried it far out into the sea.

The priestess saw her precious skull floating away. She tried to swim and catch it. The skull floated almost as if by magic. Whenever she got close, the skull floated faster.

It floated on and on until it reached a place right in the middle of the ocean. There it washed ashore on the island of Matirohiva. The priestess, using the last of her strength, collapsed on the beach just a few feet from her treasured skull.

When she awoke, she was surprised. A man stood looking at her. Finally he spoke. "Who are you? Why did you come to this place?”

"I am looking for my skull,” she replied.

The man looked at her curiously. "That is not a skull. That is the god Makemake. I am called Haua, who will be a companion for Makemake.” With that, the man tenderly lifted the skull and carried it to a special place on the island.

Once on Matirohiva, Makemake came out of the skull and took form. He and Haua were constant companions. They fished and hunted all over the island. Makemake especially enjoyed having birds to eat, for there had been no birds on the island of Mataveri.

Makemake often shared his food with the old priestess. One day she asked him,” Why don't they have good food like this to eat back on our old island?"

Makemake did not know the answer to this question. He asked Haua, "Why don't you and I chase some of the birds back to Mataveri? The people there would like them. They have no birds of their own to eat.”

Makemake and Haua did just that. They rounded up a whole flock of sooty terns. They drove them across the ocean to Mataveri.

Sooty tern

Indeed the islanders were pleased. They thanked Makemake and Haua over and over. Then they ate the birds. The islanders did not use common sense. Before long all of the birds were eaten and gone. They returned to their old diet, hoping Makemake would return soon with more birds for them to eat.

A few years later, Makemake and Haua decided to check on Maraveri and see how the birds were doing. When they arrived, they could not find a single remaining bird. AI the birds were gone.

Makemake was puzzled. He and Haua rounded up another large flock of terns and drove them back to Mataveri. This time he instructed the islanders to allow them to lay eggs so there would be more birds for them to eat. The islanders listened carefully.

Soon the terns built many nests, and laid many eggs. The islanders were not sure what to make of all this. One day they discovered something wonderful. The eggs were good to eat! Now the islanders thanked Makemake and Haua for both the birds and for the eggs. Then they ate them all. Every one. Every bird and every egg. Then they waited for Makemake to bring more.

"Well,” said Makemake. "It has been a few years. What say, Haua. Shall we go back to my old island and see how our birds have done?” Haua agreed. They set off at once. When Makemake and Haua arrived on Mataveri they again found no trace of any birds. Makemake questioned the people sternly, "Didn't I tell you to allow them to lay eggs?”

"Oh we did,” answered the people. "And we thank you for that because they were very delicious!”

"WHAT"!" thundered Makemake. "You ATE the eggs?”

That evening, Makemake and Haua puzzled over the problem. "First they ate the birds. Then they ate the eggs. These people just don't think! They don't understand anything about birds.” Haua agreed.

Then they had an idea.

The very next day Makemake and Haua drove a third flock of sooty terns from Matirohiva. This time they did not drive the birds to Mataveri. This time they put all of the birds on Motunui. Motunui was an empty island just across the water from Mataveri. Here the birds could build their nests and raise their young. The men could capture and eat just a few of the birds at a time. The rest would be safe.

Motu Nui

Even to this day there is a great celebration on Easter Island on the day the first egg of the year is discovered. The discoverer ties this egg on his head and swims with it back to Mataveri. He is honored as the "Bird Man” for that year. The rest of the eggs are left in peace.

Source:

Pacific Island Legends: Tales from Micronesia, Melanesia, Polynesia and Australia.

Nancy Bo Flood, Beret E. Strong, William Flood

1999

Pages: 219 - 222

Rata's Canoe

 Rata's Canoe

(A Tale from the Cook Islands)

There was once a chief named Rata who lived long ago in the spirit-land of Kupolu. He longed to explore distant lands, and so he decided to build a great double canoe. Shouldering his ax, he set off to a valley where the tallest trees grew. On his way he passed a stream. Here, by a pandanus tree, he came upon a fight between a beautiful white heron and a spotted sea snake, and he paused to watch the deadly combat.

The heron had been fishing by the sea and, growing weary, had perched on a rock to rest. This annoyed the sea snake, who lived in a hole under the rock, and he resolved to catch the heron. He put his head out of the water to see in which direction it flew, and then he pursued it with all haste. Swimming to the mouth of the stream, he followed its course until he came to the pandanus tree where the heron was asleep. Since the tree had many roots growing from the base of the trunk and stretching down into the water, the snake was able to climb up. Holding on by twining his tail around a root, he attacked the bird and began to bite it. It was at this moment that Rata passed by, and the heron called out to him for help.

“O Rata, put an end to this fight,” the bird cried.

But the deceitful snake said, “Nay, Rata, leave use alone. It is but a trial of strength. Leave us to fight it out.”

Since Rata was in a hurry to fell timber for his canoe, he went on, but as he turned away he heard the heron say reproachfully, “Your canoe will not be finished without my aid.” And again it asked for help.

But Rata walked on until he found the timber he sought. After cutting down enough for his boat, he returned home at sunset. Early the next morning he set off, intending to hollow out the trees he had cut. But, strange to say, he could not find his logs. Not a lopped branch, or chips, or fallen leaves, could be seen. Neither could he see any stumps, for the trees had been mysteriously restored to their upright position. Nothing daunted, he felled them a second time and then went home.

On the third morning as he went to the forest, he passed the heron and the snake, who were still fighting. For two days and nights they had not ceased their battle. When Rata reached his trees he found that again they were standing boldly in their original positions. Now he remembered the words spoken sorrowfully by the heron: “Your canoe will not be finished without my aid.”

He ran back quickly to the scene of the fight, and he found that the beautiful bird was almost exhausted and that the sea snake was about to deliver the final blow.

Rata gripped his ax, and swinging it with all his might, he chopped the cruel snake into many pieces, setting the heron free. Then he went off to cut down his trees for the third time.

When the heron revived, it came and perched on the branch of a tree and watched Rata’s labors. At sunset, as Rata returned home, the grateful bird flew off to collect all the other birds of Kupolu, and throughout the night they worked hard, pecking away at the logs to hollow them. Then the sea birds who had the longest bills bored the holes, and the land birds secured the bindings with their strong claws. It was almost dawn before they completed their task. Finally the heron called them all to lift the canoe and carry it to the beach by Rata’s dwelling. Then every bird, large and small, settled on one side of the canoe or the other, each putting one wing underneath to raise the craft, while using the other wing for flying.

As the birds flew to the beach they sang this song:

Make way for the canoe,

Clear a path for the boat,

Take it through trees,

Bear it through flowers.

The birds of Kupolu

Honor Rata our chief.

Awakened by the unusual singing of so many birds, Rata collected his tools and was about to return to his trees when he caught sight of the canoe lying outside his house. He was amazed by the beauty of the work and guessed that it had been done by the birds, although not one could he see, for they had disappeared into the forest.

He then made a mast and a sail, and he named his canoe “Taraipo,” which means “built in a night.” Then he collected food and water, and he called his friends to accompany him.

When all was ready, a crafty magician appeared and asked if he might sail with them, but Rata refused to let him come on board. Then secretly the magician seized a large coconut, and knocking a hole in it, he squeezed himself inside and floated off in the sea, following the canoe. By and by Rata’s men saw the nut bobbing before them, and one man stooped down and picked it up out of the water. He found it very heavy, and peering into the hole, he was astonished to discover a small man inside it.

“Take me with you, O Rata,” said the magician, still inside the coconut.

“Whither away?” inquired Rata.

“To the land of Moonlight, to seek my parents.”

“Well, what will you do for me in return?” asked the chief.

“I will look after your mat-sail.”

“I have enough men to attend to the sail,” said Rata. “I do not want your help.”

After a while, still crouched inside the coconut, the magician again asked to be allowed to remain on board in order to sail to the land of Moonlight.

“What else can you do for me if I take you with us?” Rata inquired.

“I can bail out the water from the bottom of your canoe,” he replied.

Again Rata said, “I do not want your help. I have plenty of men to bail out water.”

Yet a third time the magician pleaded, offering to paddle the canoe whenever the wind dropped, but Rata still refused to take him.

At last the tiny man said that he would destroy all the monsters of the ocean that might trouble them.

Rata now became interested, for he had forgotten to provide against any such emergency, and wisely he permitted the magician to remain on board. Growing suddenly to his normal size, the man took his place at the forepart of the canoe, and he kept a sharp lookout for monsters.

At first they sailed swiftly over the water, with a fair wind filling the sail, seeking new lands. Then one day the magician called out, “O Rata, beware, here is a fearful enemy.”

It was a giant clam. So great was the size of the shell that as  it opened one half of it lay ahead of the canoe and the other half lay astern, threatening the vessel with the danger of being crushed when it closed. But the magician seized his long spear and drove it deep into the clam's flesh, so that, instead of crushing them all in its shell, the creature sank slowly to the bottom of the sea.

Continuing their journey, the men soon let down their guard, but the sharp eyes of the magician spied another foe.

“O Rata,” he shouted, “yonder comes a terrible octopus.”

The monster had already encircled the canoe with its huge arms and threatened to pull it under the water, but again the magic spear was thrust forward and it pierced the evil-looking head. At once the arms relaxed their grip and the octopus drifted away, mortally wounded.

One more peril lay in wait for the voyagers. This time a great whale came toward them with its jaws wide open, and the men thought their last moments had come.

The resourceful magician now broke his long spear in half, and just as the whale was about to swallow them, he thrust the two stakes upright inside its mouth, so that it was impossible for the jaws to close. Then he jumped down into the great mouth and looked right into the whale’s stomach. There he saw his long-lost father and mother, who had been swallowed alive when out fishing one day.

His parents, who were busily plaiting a rope, were overjoyed at seeing their son, and he promised to rescue them immediately. Jumping into the whale’s open mouth, he quickly removed one of the stakes propping it open and broke the stake in two. Then, by rubbing the pieces together briskly, he made a spark that set fire to the blubber in the whale. Writhing in agony, the monster swam swiftly toward the nearest land, and when it reached a sandy beach, the three passengers walked out of its open mouth and escaped.

All this time Rata and his men had followed them, and they landed on the same beach. They all lived peacefully on that pleasant land for a year. At length they decided to return home, and after repairing the canoe and collecting food and water, they set off once more.

This time the voyage was completed without any perils or terrors, and sailing toward the setting sun they reached their homeland in safety.

Source:

Tales from the South Pacific Islands

Anne Gittins

1977

Pages: 66-71