An old long poi song from Rotorua
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Kāore he wahine Tirohia rā Mokoia E hi nawa! E hika hei! Mā to mate rā ano E hi nawa! E hika hei! |
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No woman Only by your death |
The story of Hinemoa
Hinemoa swam across Lake Rotorua in
the middle of the night to her lover Tutanekai on Mokoia
Island in the middle of the lake. She was guided towards him
by the sound of the flute he played. From her village of
Owhata to Mokoia Island, the distance is about three
kilometres.
Rangi-Uru was the name of the mother of a chief called
Tutanekai. She was the wife of Whakaue-Kaipapa the great
ancestor of the Ngati Whakaue tribe. She had three sons by
Whakaue, their names were Tawakeheimoa, Ngararanui, and
Tuteaiti.
Then Rangi-Uru ran away with a chief named Tuwharetoa, the
ancestor of the Ngati Tuwharetoa tribe, who had come to
Rotorua as a stranger on a visit. From this affair sprang an
illegitimate child Tutanekai. But finally, Whakaue and
Rangi-Uru were united again, and they went to live on the
island of Mokoia.
Whakaue was very kind indeed to Tutanekai, treating him as if
he was his own son; so they grew up there, Tutanekai and his
elder brothers, until they attained to manhood.
Now there reached them here a great
report of Hinemoa, that she was a maiden of rare beauty, as
well as of high rank. Tutanekai and each of his elder brothers
desired to have her as a wife. About this time Tutanekai built
an elevated balcony, which he called Kaiweka. He had
contracted a great friendship for a young man named Tiki. They
were both fond of music: Tutanekai played on the horn, and
Tiki on the pipe; and they used to go up into the balcony and
play on their instruments in the night; and on calm evenings
the sound of their music was wafted by the gentle land-breeze
across the lake to the village at Owhata, where dwelt the
beautiful Hinemoa.
Hinemoa could then hear the sweet-sounding music of the
instruments of Tutanekai and of his dear friend Tiki, which
gladdened her heart within her.
Although Hinemoa was so prized by her family, that they would
not betroth her to any chief, nevertheless she and Tutanekai
had met each other on those occasions when all the people of
Rotorua come together. In those great assemblies of the people
Hinemoa had seen Tutanekai, and as they often glanced each at
the other, in the heart of each of them the other appeared
pleasing, and worthy of love, so that in the breast of each
there grew up a secret passion for the other.
Tutanekai sent a messenger to
Hinemoa, to tell of his love; and when Hine-Moa had seen the
messenger, she said, ‘Eh-hu! have we then each loved alike?’
So they arranged the time at which Hinemoa should run away to
him. He said to her, ‘A trumpet will be heard sounding every
night; it will be I who sound it, beloved—paddle then your
canoe to that place.’
Now always about the middle of the
night Tutanekai, and his friend Tiki, went up into their
balcony and played, and Hine-Moa heard them, and desired
greatly to paddle in her canoe to Tutanekai; but her friends,
suspecting something, had carefully hauled them all up upon
the shore of the lake.
At last she thought, perhaps I might
be able to swim across. So she took six large dry empty
gourds, as floats, lest she should sink in the water, three of
them for each side, and she went out upon a rock, which is
named Iri-iri-kapua, and from thence to the edge of the water,
to the spot called Wai-rere-wai, and there she threw off her
clothes and cast herself into the water, and she reached the
stump of a sunken tree which used to stand in the lake, and
was called Hinewhata, and she clung to it with her hands, and
rested to take breath, and when she had a little eased the
weariness of her shoulders, she swam on again, and whenever
she was exhausted she floated with the current of the lake,
supported by the gourds, and after recovering strength she
swam on again.
She could not distinguish in which direction she should
proceed, from the darkness of the night; her only guide was
the soft measure from the instrument of Tutanekai; that was
the mark by which she swam straight to Waikimihia, the hot
spring close to Tutanekai's village.
She got into this to warm herself, for she was trembling all
over, partly from the cold, after swimming in the night across
the wide lake. Tutanekai happened to feel thirsty, and said to
his servant, ‘Bring me a little water;’ so his servant went to
fetch water for him, and drew it from the lake in a calabash,
close to the spot where Hine-Moa was sitting. The maiden, who
was frightened, called out to him in a gruff voice, like that
of a man, ‘Whom is that water for?’ He replied, ‘It's for
Tutanekai.’ ‘Give it here, then,’ said Hinemoa. And he gave
her the water, and she drank, and having finished drinking,
she purposely threw down the calabash, and broke it. The
servant then went back, and told Tutanekai ‘Your calabash was
broken by he man in the bath.
Then Tutanekai threw on some clothes, and caught hold of his club, and away he went, and came to the bath, and called out, ‘Where's that fellow who broke my calabashes?’ And Hine-Moa knew the voice, that the sound of it was that of the beloved of her heart; and she hid herself under the overhanging rocks of the hot spring; but her hiding was hardly a real hiding, but rather a bashful concealing of herself from Tutanekai, that he might not find her at once, but only after trouble and careful searching for her. So he went feeling about along the banks of the hot spring, searching everywhere, whilst she lay coyly hid under the ledges of the rock, peeping out, wondering when she should be found. At last he caught hold of a hand, and cried out, ‘Hullo, who's this?’ and Hine-Moa answered, ‘It's me, Hine-Moa.
And she rose up in the water as
beautiful as the wild white hawk, and stepped upon the edge of
the bath as graceful as the shy white crane; and he threw
garments over her, and they proceeded to his house and
lay there; and thenceforth, according to the ancient laws of
the Maori, they were man and wife. “When the morning dawned,
all the people of the village went forth from their houses to
cook their breakfasts, and they all ate; but Tutanekai tarried
in his house.
So Whakaue said, ‘This is the first morning that Tutanekai has
slept in this way; bring him here—rouse him up.’ Then the man
who was to fetch him went and drew back the sliding wooden
window of the house, and peeping in, saw four feet. Oh! he was
greatly amazed, and said to himself, ‘Who can this companion
of his be?’ However, he had seen quite enough, and turning
about, hurried back as fast as he could to Whakaue, and said
to him, ‘Why, there are four feet, I saw them myself, in the
house.’ Whakaue answered, ‘Who's his companion, then? hasten
back and see.’
So back he went to the house, and peeped in at them again, and
then for the first time he saw it was Hinemoa. Then he shouted
out in his amazement, ‘Oh! here's Hinemoa, in the house of
Tutanekai! Tutanekai then appeared coming from his house, with
Hinemoa following him, and when his elder brothers saw who it
was, they said, ‘It's true, it is a fact.’
The descendants of Hinemoa and
Tutanekai are at this very day dwelling on the edge of Lake
Rotorua, and never yet have the lips of the offspring of
Hinemoa forgotten to repeat tales of the great beauty of their
renowned ancestress, and of her swim to Mokoia; and this, too,
is the theme of a song still sung here.
Page placed onto the NZ Folksong website, June 23, 2011, for Blanche Hohepa-Kiriona