Witi Ihimaera - The Whale Rider

Then, far out to sea, I heard a whale sounding.

Hui e, haumi e, taiki e .

Let it be done.

Uia mai koia whakahuatia ake, Ko wai te whare nei e? Ko Te Kani! Ko wai te tekoteko kei runga? Ko Paikea, ko Paikea! Whakakau Paikea hei , Whakakau he tipua hei , Whakakau he taniwha hei , Ka u a Paikea ki Ahuahu, pakia, Kei te whitia koe, ko Kahutia Te Rangi, aue , Me awhi o ringa ki te tamahine, A te Whironui, aue, Nana i noho Te Roto-o-Tahe, aue, aue, He Koruru koe, koro e!

Four hundred leagues from Easter Island. Te Pito o te Whenua. Diatoms of light shimmered in the cobalt-blue depths of the Pacific. The herd, sixty strong, led by its ancient leader, was following the course computed by him in the massive banks of his memory. The elderly females assisted the younger mothers, shepherding the new-born in the first journey from the cetacean crib. Way out in front, on point and in the rear, the young males kept guard on the horizon. They watched for danger, not from other creatures of the sea, but from the greatest threat of all — man. At every sighting they would send their ululation back to their leader. They had grown to rely on his memory of the underwater cathedrals where they could take sanctuary, often for days, until man had passed. Such a huge cathedral lay beneath the sea at the place known as the Navel of the Universe.

Yet it had not always been like this, the ancient whale remembered. Once, he had a golden master who had wooed him with flute song. Then his master had used a conch shell to bray his commands to the whale over long distances. As their communication grew so did their understanding and love of each other. Although the young whale had then been almost twelve metres long, his golden master had begun to swim with him in the sea.

Then, one day, his master impetuously mounted him and became the whale rider. In ecstasy the young male had sped out to deep water and, not hearing the cries of fear from his master, had suddenly sounded in a steep accelerated dive, his tail stroking the sky. In that first sounding he had almost killed the one other creature he loved.

Reminiscing like this the ancient bull whale began to cry his grief in sound ribbons of overwhelming sorrow. Nothing that the elderly females could do would stop his sadness. When the younger males reported a man-sighting on the horizon it took all their strength of reasoning to prevent their leader from arrowing out towards the source of danger. Indeed, only after great coaxing were they able to persuade him to lead them to the underwater sanctuary. Even so, they knew with a sense of inevitability that the old one had already begun to sound to the source of his sadness and into the disturbing dreams of his youth.

Three months after Kahu’s birth her mother, Rehua, died. Porourangi brought her and Kahu back to our village where the funeral was held. When Rehua’s mother asked if she and her people could raise Kahu, Nanny Flowers objected strongly. But Porourangi said, ‘Let her go,’ and Koro Apirana said, ‘Yes, let it be as Porourangi wishes,’ and thereby overruled her.

A week later, Rehua’s mother took Kahu from us. I was with Nanny Flowers when the taking occurred. Although Porourangi was in tears, Nanny was strangely tranquil. She held Kahu close, a small face like a dolphin, held and kissed her.

‘Never mind, girl,’ she said to baby Kahu. ‘Your birth cord is here. No matter where you may go, you will always return. You will never be lost to us.’ Then I marvelled at her wisdom and Rehua’s in naming the child in our genealogy and the joining of her to our lands.

Our genealogy, of course, is the genealogy of the people of Te Tai Rawhiti, the people of the East Coast; Te Tai Rawhiti actually means ‘the place washed by the eastern tide’. Far away beyond the horizon is Hawaiki, our ancestral island homeland, the place of the Ancients and the Gods, and the other side of the world. In between is the huge seamless marine continent which we call Te Moana Nui a Kiwa, the Great Ocean of Kiwa.

The first of the Ancients and ancestors had come from the east, following the pathways in the ocean made by the morning sun. In our case, our ancestor was Kahutia Te Rangi, who was a high chief in Hawaiki. In those days man had power over the creatures of land and sea, and it was Kahutia Te Rangi who travelled here on the back of a whale. This is why our meeting house has a carving of Kahutia Te Rangi on a whale at the apex. It announces our pride in our ancestor and acknowledges his importance to us.

At the time there were already people living in this land, earlier voyagers who had come by canoe. But the land had not been blessed so that it would flower and become fruitful. Other tribes in Aotearoa have their own stories of the high chiefs and priests who then arrived to bless their tribal territories; our blessing was brought by similar chiefs and priests, and Kahutia Te Rangi was one of them. He came riding through the sea, our ancestor Kahutia Te Rangi, astride his whale, and he brought with him the life-giving forces which would enable us to live in close communion with the world. The life-giving forces, in the form of spears, were brought from the Houses of Learning called Te Whakaeroero, Te Rawheoro, Rangitane, and Tapere Nui a Whatonga. They were the gifts of those houses in Hawaiki to the new land. They were very special because among other things, they gave instructions on how man might talk with the beasts and creatures of the sea so that all could live in helpful partnership. They taught oneness .

Kahutia Te Rangi landed at Ahuahu, just outside our village, in the early hours of the morning. To commemorate his voyage he was given another name, Paikea. At the time of landfall the star Poututerangi was just rising above our sacred mountain, Hikurangi. The landscape reminded Paikea of his birthplace back in Hawaiki so he named his new home Whangara Mai Tawhiti, which we call Whangara for short. All the other places around here are also named after similar headlands and mountains and rivers in Hawaiki — Tawhiti Point, the Waiapu River, and Tihirau Mai Tawhiti.

It was in this land that Paikea’s destiny lay. He married the daughter of Te Whironui, and they were fruitful and had many sons and grandsons. And the people lived on the lands around his pa Ranginui, cultivating their sweet potato and vegetable gardens in peace and holding fast to the heritage of their ancestors.

Four generations after Paikea, was born the great ancestor Porourangi, after whom my eldest brother is named. Under his leadership the descent lines of all the people of Te Tai Rawhiti were united in what is now known as the Ngati Porou confederation. His younger brother, Tahu Potiki, founded the South Island’s Kai Tahu confederation.

Many centuries later, the chieftainship was passed to Koro Apirana and, from him, to my brother Porourangi. Then Porourangi had a daughter whom he named Kahu.

That was eight years ago, when Kahu was born and then taken to live with her mother’s people. I doubt if any of us realised how significant she was to become in our lives. When a child is growing up somewhere else you can’t see the small signs which mark her out as different, someone who was meant to be. As I have said before, we were all looking somewhere else.