THE PATH TO REINGA

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21640, 4 November 1933, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE PATH TO REINGA

BY MATANGA

NO FEAR IN DEATH

Was there a touch of the oldtime Maori mind in the passing of those two veterans, Watene Tautari and To Hira Pateoro, at Orakei the other day? Close companions they had been for more years than the traditional human span. Born in the same village, brought up together, moulded by similar circumstances, cherishing in common a memory of great personal and national events, they kept their deop friendship to the end. In the intercourse of their quiet eventide, prolonged far past the homing time of most, they must have thought often together, if not spoken, of a parting at last, when eacli took his individual way to the abode of spirits, for the path to Reinga is known to be narrow. Even this anticipation, however, could not bo altogether free from musing as ono; and so, when bedriddon Tautari, noting the unaccustomed absence of Pateoro byt having been told nothing of the illness that had kept his friend awnv, was seen a little after that other self had set out on tho final journey ahead of him, he said, " Hira is dead, isn't he?" And the frank answer was heard as a call to follow. In a few hours he was off, and side by side the twain were mourned and honoured in their burial. Tautari's will to live became a wish to die, and thus he went with unregretful steps the destined way. When they were young, the Maori view of death was still touched only on the surface by the white man's religion, which imparted a cast of fear hitherto unknown. No old-time Maori was afraid to die. Love of life he had in abundance, and avoidance of casual pain was as instinctive with him as among other folk. But to shrink from enforced pain was unmanful, not even in women a {hing to be condoned, although the custom that spared them the months of • torture inflicted by the tattooer'B chisel and the ills that came after was partly a concession. Dignity Unlamenting

Inspired by innate zests and the wild war-dance, the Maori then would devote his life to utmost hazard, and when he lost would go down nnlamenting, carefid more for honour length of days. Said captive Hinaki when his Manuina pa was taken, and one of Hongi's frenzied warriors rushed up with long-handled tomahawk, " Do not kill me with a plebeian weapon likte that; slay me with my own precious heirloom," and he handed over his famous greenstone mere for the swift observance of his wish. Tales of stoicism in the face of imminent lethal violence abound, as do others of quietly firm counsel to relatives and tribes from those soon to die in peace at home. A mind at leisure, unperturbed and poised, peeps out of all such mastery of physical temptation to shrink, and in that mind was a victory over death that no cavillings about its savage origin 'can hide. Even the accurate foretelling in health of a near hour of one's- -own quiet passing—strangest, perhaps, of all the old powers of the Maori mind — illumines this poiseful attitude to death. It was not usually free from regret and sometimes was accompanied by a weakness of mere resignation, but it betokened a remarkable aloofness from dread of that which some other peoples have cravenly magnified into the King of Terrors. Only in the realm of witchcraft '(makutu) did horror of death dwell, and then because of the element of superstitious fear of malignant human agency in cunning. Otherwise there was calm. " Let All be Clear Before "

Here, from one of Elsdon Best s notebooks, is an instance of the modern persistence of the manner in which the typical Maori passes through the fragile rail wharangi that separates death from life. " A worthy old wise man, much of whose knowledge is embedded in this narrative, was partak-

ing of tho evening meal with his

relatives. He was lifting a portion of 'food to his mouth when ho was observed to stop and then lay it down. One said: ' Eat away.' But tho old man declined to do so. ' What is it. - '' said one. 'My nose lias twitched,' replied the elder. 'Well, what of it?' 'Jt is a sign,' said he. He retired to his hut, where lie was heard to address tho Parent: 'lf my time has come, let all be clear before. If disabilities exist, owing to my dealings with lesser gods, do Thou dispose of them.' He asked the young folk to pitch a tent for him a space aside, and lay down his sleeping mat therein. True to tho feelings of his race he left his abode and went aside to die. . . . Tho old priest passed through the thin barrier and fared on to his fathers." Erom the mass of testimony to this I deliberate faring forth can now be added but one other instance of later years. Mr. T. E. Donne, sometime head of our Tourist Department, narrates it. To him, in Wellington, came an important old chief, tall, handsome, intellectual, so hale and stalwart that he would have served excellently as a picture-film representative of Abraham or Moses. He asked to have his photograph taken. "Why?" asked Mr. Donne. The answer was explicit and full. Ho had never'had his portrait made, was leaving Wellington by train on the following Monday, would go up tho Wanganui River on Tuesday and .Wednesday, would call his family together on Thursday—and then die.

Mr. Donne pooh-poohed the last item in the programme, telling him that his health was so obviously good that he would probably live another ten years. However, his desire to be photographed was gratified; ho posed in a robe of kiwi feathers for the departmental artist. He left Wellington on the Monday, and on the following Friday Mr. Donno received a telegram from the tribe announcing that the chief " reached homo yesterday and died peacefully to-day." A Link with the Past

There is no place for scepticism—although there is a spacious ono for science—in such happenings, attested with convincing detail and sincerity. None with any considerable knowledge of New Zealand's historical literature can harbour a doubt. And tho last of such occurrences has probably not yet boon recorded. Watene Tautari of Orakei seems to have learned within himself, so inseparably did friendship bind him to Pateoro, that this comrade had gone on; then, waiting only until tho sun had crossed toward tho west, hastened after him. The whole story, especially its suggestion of tranquil regard of death, is pleasantly Maori in the olden fashion. A link with the past has been broken, says the news-gathering scribe, in the associated deaths of these veterans. True, but not true enough. A link with the past has been forged anew.