Witi Ihimaera - The Whale Rider

The elderly female whales skirled their happiness through the sea. They listened as the pulsing strength of their leader manifested itself in stronger and stronger whalesong. They crooned tenderness back to him and then throbbed a communication to the younger males to assist their leader. The males arranged themselves in arrow formation to spear through the raging surf.

‘Greetings, sacred whale,’ Kahu whispered. She was cold and exhausted. She pressed her cheek to the whale’s side and kissed it. The skin felt like very smooth, slippery rubber.

Without really thinking about it, Kahu began to stroke the whale just behind the fin. It is my lord, the whale rider . She felt a tremor in the whale and a rippling under the skin. Suddenly she saw that indentations like footholds and handholds were appearing before her. She tested the footholds and they were firm. Although the wind was blowing fiercely she stepped away from the sheltering fin and began to climb. As she did so, she caught a sudden glimpse of her Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers clustered with the others on the faraway beach.

I was too late. I saw Kahu climbing the side of the whale. A great wave bore me away from her. I yelled out to her, a despairing cry.

Kahu could climb no further. It is my lord, Kahutia Te Rangi . She saw the rippling skin of the whale forming a saddle with fleshy stirrups for her feet and pommels to grasp. She wiped her eyes and smoothed down her hair as she settled herself astride the whale. She heard a cry, like a moan in the wind.

I saw black shapes barrelling through the breakers. Just my luck, I thought. If I don’t drown I’ll get eaten.

Then I saw that the shapes were smaller whales of the herd, coming to assist their leader.

The searchlights were playing on Kahu astride the whale. She looked so small, so defenceless.

Quietly, Kahu began to weep. She wept because she was frightened. She wept because Paka would die if the whale died. She wept because she was lonely. She wept because she loved her baby sister and her father and Ana. She wept because Nanny Flowers wouldn’t have anyone to help her in the vegetable garden. She wept because Koro Apirana didn’t love her. And she also wept because she didn’t know what dying was like.

Then, screwing up her courage, she started to kick the whale as if it was a horse.

‘Let us go now,’ she shrilled.

The whale began to rise in the water.

‘Let us return to the sea,’ she cried.

Slowly, the whale began to turn to the open sea. Yes, my lord . As it did so, the younger whales came to push their leader into deeper water.

‘Let the people live,’ she ordered.

Together, the ancient whale and its escort began to swim into the deep ocean.

She was going, our Kahu. She was going into the deep ocean. I could hear her small piping voice in the darkness as she left us.

She was going with the whales into the sea and the rain. She was a small figure in a white dress, kicking at the whale as if it was a horse, her braids swinging in the rain. Then she was gone and we were left behind.

Ko Paikea, ko Paikea .

She was the whale rider. Astride the whale she felt the sting of the surf and rain upon her face. On either side the younger whales were escorting their leader through the surf. They broke through into deeper water.

Her heart was pounding. She saw that now she was surrounded by the whale herd. Every now and then, one of the whales would come to rub alongside the ancient leader. Slowly, the herd made its way to the open sea.

She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She felt a shiver running down the whale and, instinctively, she placed her head against its skin and closed her eyes. The whale descended in a shallow dive and the water was like streaming silk. A few seconds later the whale surfaced, gently spouting.

Her face was wet with sea and tears. The whales were gathering speed, leaving the land behind. She took a quick look and saw headlights far away. Then she felt that same shiver again, and again placed her head against the whale’s skin. This time when the whale dived, it stayed underwater longer. But Kahu had made a discovery. Where her face was pressed the whale had opened up a small breathing chamber.

She was Paikea. In the deepening ocean the fury of the storm was abating. The whale’s motions were stronger. As it rose from the sea, its spout was a silver jet in the night sky. Then it dived a third time, and the pressure on her eardrums indicated to the young girl that this was a longer dive than the first two had been. And she knew that the next time would be forever.

She was serene. When the whale broke the surface she made her farewell to sky and earth and sea and land. She called her farewells to her people. She prepared herself as best she could with the little understanding she had. She said goodbye to her Paka, her Nanny, her father and mother, her Uncle Rawiri, and prayed for their good health always. She wanted them to live for ever and ever.

The whale’s body tensed. The girl felt her feet being locked by strong muscles. The cavity for her face widened. The wind whipped at her hair.

Suddenly the moon came out. Around her the girl could see whales sounding, sounding, sounding. She lowered her face into the whale and closed her eyes. ‘I am not afraid to die,’ she whispered to herself.

The whale’s body arched and then slid into a steep dive. The water hissed and surged over the girl. The huge flukes seemed to stand on the surface of the sea, stroking at the rain-drenched sky. Then slowly, they too slid beneath the surface.

She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She was Paikea. She was the whale rider.

Hui e, haumi e, taiki e . Let it be done.

The tribe was weeping on the beach. The storm was leaving with Kahu. Nanny Flowers’ heart was racing and her tears were streaming down her face. She reached into her pockets for a handkerchief. Her fingers curled around a carved stone. She took it out and gave it to Koro Apirana.

‘Which of the boys?’ he gasped in grief. ‘Which of the —’

Nanny Flowers was pointing out to sea. Her face was filled with emotion as she cried out to Kahu. The old man understood. He raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.

Apotheosis. In the sunless sea sixty whales were sounding slowly, steeply diving. An ancient bull whale, twenty metres long and bearing a sacred sign, was in the middle of the herd. Flanking him were seven females, half his size, like black-gowned women, shepherding him gently downward.

‘Haramai, haramai e koro,’ the women sibilantly sang. ‘Tomo mai i waenganui i o tatou iwi.’ Come old one. Join us, your whole tribe in the sea.

The sea hissed and sparkled with love for the ancient bull whale and, every now and then, the old mother whale among the female whales would close in on him, gently, to nuzzle him, caress him, and kiss him just to let him know how much he had been missed. But in her heart of hearts she knew that he was badly wounded and near to exhaustion.

From the corner of her eye, the old mother whale noticed a small white shape clasping her husband just behind his tattooed head. She rose to observe the figure and then drifted back beside him.

‘Ko wai te tekoteko kei runga?’ she sang, her voice musically pulsing. ‘Who are you carrying?’