Witi Ihimaera - The Parihaka Woman

And Rocco finally admitted the truth about his fears.

‘What if I lose her … as I did her mother?’

Well, time to tie up the loose ends, eh?

While Erenora was away from Parihaka, William Hiroki — the Maori who had killed a surveyor named McLean and sought protection from Te Whiti — was hanged. His trial had begun on 3 May 1882, and he was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death at 8 a.m. on 8 June 1882.

Te Whiti and Tohu were shipped from Wellington to Addington Gaol in Christchurch, arriving there on the government steamer Hinemoa on 27 April 1882. Regarded as prisoners at large, they were shown the Canterbury Museum and the Kaiapoi Woollen Mills, the Christchurch Railway Workshops and the telephone exchange. When asked what he thought of these wonders, Te Whiti answered that he thought the Pakeha had some useful technology but so did the Maori.

The prophet leaders were moved throughout the South Island to Timaru, Dunedin, Invercargill, Bluff, Queenstown and Oamaru. Wherever he went Te Whiti was called ‘The Lion of Parihaka’ and attracted a large following; some he regarded as nga tangata tutua, ill-mannered. No matter the hospitality, Te Whiti always asked why he had not yet had a trial.

The visit to Dunedin is of special interest. Escorted by their gaoler, John Ward, the two prophets stayed at the Universal Hotel. While there the two prophets were guests at the Kai Tahu meeting house — Te Wai Pounamu — at what was known as Otakou Kaik (a Pakeha contraction of the Maori word Kaika), a couple of miles past Port Chalmers. The house was associated with the wellknown local Ellison family, who had so kindly assisted the first prisoners from South Taranaki nine years earlier. Their journey to the Kaik was to visit their kinsman and relative, Raniera Erihana — Dan Ellison — whose wife, Nani Weller, was from Kai Tahu.

Te Whiti and Tohu ended their travels around the South Island at Nelson, where they were placed under house arrest for eight months. In October 1882, a comet illuminated the sky each evening. I wonder what interpretation Te Whiti made of the comet’s appearance, he whose name meant ‘The Shining Path of the Comet’? The thought haunts me: I can imagine him staring up at that apparition, his face impassive as he watches the comet opening all heaven’s gates, listening to the music of the universe and seeking divination.

Then, in 1883, Te Whiti and Tohu were told that the government was burying the past and letting them go back to Parihaka as free men. Te Whiti was not persuaded. ‘If the grasshoppers find good new grass, they will come,’ he said. ‘Nothing will prevent them.’

On 9 March the prophets saw their beloved Taranaki Mountain from the deck of a government steamer. The dawn came up and, behold, the mounga began to shine with the promise of a new day. Although they were home, however, the government extended the legislation to restrain them for another year; if they kicked up any fuss they could be arrested again.

Their return signalled the further release of hundreds of the Parihaka ploughmen, fencers and farmers still in South Island gaols. Gradually those who had been freed began to arrive back at the kainga. A poi song was composed to honour Te Whiti:

‘Tangi a taku i’u e w’akamaru ana ko au pea e … My sorrow is ended now that I may stand with you, the bargeboard of our house Miti Mai Te Arero … Here the white feather is in its place —’

Harry Atkinson was still around to harass them. He was back as premier for three further terms before finally being ousted in 1891 by John Ballance and the Liberals, the first organised political party in New Zealand.

From the time Erenora had begun her quest, it had taken her two years to find Horitana. They returned to Taranaki at the beginning of 1884. I wish that her unpublished manuscript was intact because it would have given us clues as to her remarkable journey bringing Horitana home. All I have are local South Island Maori sightings and stories that tell of a young Maori — some say a young man, others a woman — leading a blind man northward from Peketua Island to Dunedin and Christchurch and thence, with the aid of Archdeacon Cotterill, by ship to the North Island.

I can imagine them both, approaching Parihaka, and the tataraki’i, sensing their arrival, beginning to open their shimmering wings, whirring in the dazzling sunlight, whirr, whirr, whirr .

Erenora was overjoyed to see Ripeka and Meri. Ripeka was the mother of a son she was passing off to everyone as Paora’s; Meri and Riki’s son, Kawa, was now a boisterous little boy who loved to watch his mother swinging her poi.

‘You got back safely,’ Erenora exclaimed. ‘Ever since we parted, I’ve been so worried about you both. If anything had happened to you, I …’

The two sisters looked at each other. ‘She never thinks we can do anything without her,’ Ripeka sighed. ‘She forgets we are women of Parihaka.’

Although they made light of their odyssey, let me tell you that Ripeka, Meri and Erenora were not the only Parihaka women who made remarkable journeys to the South Island looking for their men.

Some, dangerously, set out alone and never returned.

Happily, Horitana gradually regained sufficient sight to be independent, although he could never go out into the strong light for too long. There were many hot sunny Taranaki days when he preferred to stay inside in the cool, quiet and dark. He bore, for the rest of his life, the scars on his shoulders where the mask had rested. The experience of having spent so long in the damp cave never left him; no matter how valiant his heart, its rhythm was forever weakened, and he was plagued with breathing problems and rheumatism. And sometimes he would murmur softly in his sleep, in a loving way, and stroke the air delicately with his fingers. Erenora was puzzled until he explained:

‘It is just my little tuatara family. They come to me in my dreams and like to nestle against my skin.’

One day Erenora saw Piharo. Although Horitana’s sentence was no longer in force, Piharo still had power and might continue his vendetta against him. She had also heard that Piharo had a reward posted for any Maori to advise him of her own return.

After brooding for a week, Erenora realised that the time had come to pay Piharo a visit. She risked discovery by riding through the twilight, hoping she would not be seen, and making a reconnaissance of the substantial house that he had built: stone and brick, paved with Italian tiles and filled with chandeliers and other sumptuous objets d’art. Even the garden had been finished, with a maze and fountain in the middle of it, appearing as if it had always been there.

The purpose of her visit? In her heart of hearts she would have dearly liked to meet him, persuade him to let bygones be bygones and to cease his vendetta, but she knew he would never do that. In her darkest despair, she thought of killing him, stealing into his bedroom while he slept, but that would lead to a hunt for the murderer — and, anyway, she couldn’t take another person’s life, even Piharo’s. Such an act would have undone everything that Te Whiti stood for, all the suffering his followers had gone through in the name of peaceful protest.

She therefore decided on teaching Piharo a lesson of such power that it might dissuade him from visiting any further vengeance upon herself and Horitana. But how could she gain entry during the day when his farm manager, labourers and servants surrounded him? Even during the evenings there was always candlelight in his bedroom. Did Piharo never sleep?