“THE TAIL OF THE TANIWHA”

(excerpt)

“A TANIWHA TALES SAGA”

BY HEREMAIA RATIMA

I

The Fishing Trip…

Werahiko Hāmiora heard the violent splash of cold seawater, followed by the boisterous cheer of his father.

‘Titiro Mai!’ yelled Hāmiora Tengangae to his son. ‘Look!’ His huge muscular arm was thrust high into the air, with a fishing line tightened in the grip of his thick fingers.

From inside the roughly shaped waka that carried them over the choppy deep-blue waters of the ocean, the tall thick-set man jerked his arm stiff, setting the bone-hook at the other end of the line deep into the fleshy jaw of a rather large silver fish that hopelessly thrashed further out.

Hāmiora calmly wrestled with his catch – the fifth such fish this day – his dark brown skin stretched over finely honed sinewy muscles that displayed seasoned maturity. His greying hair was mostly slicked back in a finely bundled topknot, adorned with ceremonial feathers and a loose fringe that shifted gently across  a forehead heavily decorated in traditional dark green moko that told a wonderful story of his personal triumphs and honour. These tattoos flowed down one arm, representing a very significant lineage and identified Hāmiora as a Chiefly warrior. His top body was bare and sweated, with a beautiful carved greenstone heitiki supported by a thin flax cord around his neck – his lower half covered in a loose weru supported around his waist.

 ‘Now I know how Māui must have felt!’ roared Hāmiora, referring to the trickster of Māori legend – the half-god that pulled a giant ika from the dark depths of the ocean that was to become ‘Te-Ika-A-Māui’ – the Fish Of Māui – and the very island they now called home. ‘This fish is huge!’

Werahiko was hardly impressed – it was not the first time he had heard bragging from his father. The scrawny boy laid flat at one end the waka, consumed by boredom, and lazily feeding his fishing line to the sea. Dressed similarly, he baked in the harsh sun – his youthful brown skin glistened softly with small beads of sweat that rolled over his bony body. He looked rather flippant across one shoulder and pretended to judge, ‘The fish looks hardly bigger than my hand, Pāpā.’ He returned his attention to his sagging line and pretended he was swimming back to the shoreline that blotted the distant horizon, framed against the bluest sky.

But Hāmiora was too focussed to hear the dismissive remark – he leaned away to keep pressure on the line before carefully drawing forward, rolling another ball of cord with his free hand and heaving back to keep the desperate fish firmly on the hook.

In all this frenetic activity the sturdy wooden vessel rocked violently, making Werahiko rather queasy in the process. ‘Pāpā!’ he cried Werahiko, ‘you’re going to flip the waka!’

Hāmiora’s focus sharpened as he dragged the line with one mighty effort, finally hauling the fish alongside the canoe. He proudly straightened to pull the magnificent fish from the shimmering waters. The fish flapped about madly, sending rivulets of clear seawater cascading from its silver scales that glistened in the daylight.

‘Hardly the size of your hand, hmm?’ teased Hāmiora, replaying the casual cheek now his head was clear. ‘Āe,’ he confirmed positively, ‘the gods have blessed our catch this day – your mother would be able to feed the entire village with this catch alone.’

Werahiko remained snippy, ‘Can we head back in now?’

His father sighed and carefully placed the fish in the flax kete beside him. ‘Āe, Werahiko – yes – time to head home.’

For the first time since they headed out to sea the young boy became animated, excitedly hauling his line in.

His father chuckled when he realised Werahiko’s hook had no bait. ‘That is why you haven’t had a bite,’ he observed, ‘the fish have eaten the worm.’

Werahiko sniffed and gently lowered the line down on the floor of the boat, ‘I didn’t bait my hook.’

Hāmiora bit his tongue and quietly shook his head. He masked his frustration by grabbing a wooden hoe and driving the oar deep into the water, propelling the waka towards the mainland. With little effort the slick craft soon cut its way through bluey-green sea capped in crests of white peaks, and Werahiko settled back, stretching out a hand and dipping a lazy finger into the cool water to create a gentle wake.