Illustrated by Dennis Knight-Turner

Te Ao Hou, December 1960, Page 20

Illustrated by Dennis Knight-Turner In ancient Maoridom, battles were glorious not because of the numbers of foes killed but because of the quality of the foe. Battles were associated with the names of chiefs killed and those that killed them. If there was no chiefly name to connect the engagement with a tribal genealogy, then the battle was without a name. “It is war,’ said the chief Rangipakia, and his people stamped their feet and shouted “Ae! Tokia! Tokia! Tokia! It is war!” There had been an uneasy peace for many years between the people of the river and the people of the mountains. Now Rangipakia knew that peace would soon end for war seemed the only course open to him. A raiding party from the mountains had come down and ambushed one of his peaceful fishing parties. Now his people cried out for revenge! The stain had to be wiped out. And yet Rangipakia alone of all those present was not entirely carried away with the fervour of the moment. His heart filled with misgivings and he realised that the River People would be hard put to defeat their enemies. But there were no misgivings in the minds of the warriors. “Tokia!” they shouted. “Strike them down!” and the people roared their approval. Presently when one of the orators had finished, Rangipakia stood up again. “Our enemies are as numerous as leaves on the ground,” he said. “This will be a hard battle. We must call on all our kinfolk to aid us in avenging our honour.” The elders nodded wisely and raised their hands in assent. After the speeches were finished and the hakas had ended, messengers were chosen from amongst the men and each was ceremoniously presented with a broken taiaha as the symbol of war. Then they were sent out to the neighbouring sub-tribes to call them to arms and to give the time and place of assembly. Meanwhile there was much to be done and the whole pa became a hive of bustling activity and noisy sound. Many times a day the booming war gong and the brassy putara sent their ringing call over the marae and the blood of the men quickened as they sharpened their weapons and practised their war dance under Rangipakia's leadership and the critical eyes of the old men. Finally the messengers returned with the news that the sub-tribes had risen to the call of their kinsmen and were making their preparations. At this news the men practised their peruperu with even more energy than before. Several more days passed before at last the sentries gave warning of the approach of the first of the allied war parties. At this, all work stopped in the pa and the women and children hurried to the edge of the marae whilst the fighting men stripped for the war dance and quickly took up their positions kneeling in columns on the marae, each man gripping his weapon in his hand. The shrill chatter of the spectators stilled into an expectant hush as the visitors, led by their chief Te Whareporo, strode through the gates of the pa which had been thrown open to receive them. They came forward slowly and in perfect silence. Rangipakia knelt in front of his men and as the others neared the marae he made a quick movement with his hand and Harapaki, one of the younger warriors, stood up. He paused for a moment and then advanced with quick springy steps carrying in his left hand a rough spear made of manuka rod. This was the whakaara—the first of three challenge spears. The tail of the visiting

band was still passing through the gate when Harapaki threw his spear. It whistled through the air and then slithered across the ground in front of the silently advancing men. Then Morete stood up carrying the second whakaoho spear and minced forward with short bouncing steps. Then his spear flew through the air. Suddenly a quick breeze caused it to corkscrew and a gasp went up. If the spear turned and fell across the line it would be a bad sign. However the breeze dropped and the spear righted itself and fell true. The visitors ignored it and continued their silent march. Then Toheriri, son of the chief, jumped to his feet. He was recognised as the fastest runner in the tribe. In his right hand he held the rakau mutu, the final challenging spear, and in his left hand he gripped his greenstone mere. All eyes were on him as he neared the silently marching war band. No sound could now be heard except the tramp of feet and the cries of the challenger. Then when the visitors were less than 100 paces away he cast his spear and at the same moment he turned right and raced back to the waiting tribesmen of Rangipakia. Straight and unwavering, the spear flew through the air and landed pointing at the visitors. Even whilst the spear was still in flight hover, the kaiwhai or pursuer, who was the fastest runner of the visitors, dashed out at full speed to catch the impudent Toheriri. The visitors gave a throaty roar and followed the runners at a quick trot waving their weapons and giving a peculiar hissing cry. The pursuer strained every ounce of his strength to get close enough to thrust his taiaha between Toheriri's legs and bring him crashing to the ground, but with a final spurt the chief's son gained the security of his own ranks and the tensed up warrior relaxed a little. This was a good omen! The spectators roared their approval. The war band now quickened their pace and charged headlong until they were just short of Rangipakia then with heaving sides they kneeled down and glared across the intervening space. Suddenly with bloodcurdling yells both parties sprang to their feet simultaneously and charged at one another. At the last moment, when it seemed that nothing could stop a head on collision, both forces swerved slightly and the visitors passed on the right hand side of the home forces. “Hurihia!” Rangipakia and Te Whareporo shouted together and the two war parties spun round, passed one another again, wheeled suddenly and took up their previous positions kneeling in a rough column of fours. There was a moment of

stillness broken only by the whining of a dog and the wailing of a child from amongst the raupo-thatched whares which stood close to the marae. The sweat streamed down the naked flanks of the warriors and formed rivulets in the lines of their tattoo. The hot sun made their bodies shine like polished teak. “Whiti! Whiti!” shouted Rangipakia and his men leaped to their feet and began the tribal peruperu. The ground quivered beneath the pounding feet of the warriors, their faces twisted into the most terrifying expressions of which each man was capable and the thunderous shouting of the words, chanted in perfect unison, rolled across the marae to be thrown back and forth by the encircling stockade. Then with a final shout the dance was finished and as the war party sank to the ground, the visitors rose to their feet and replied, each man trying his best to better the performance of those opposite. At last the visitors were also finished and both groups broke ranks and greeted one another in the normal way with wailing and many speeches and finally feasting. The next day the second band of reinforcements arrived under their chief Matorohanga and the ceremony was repeated. Once again Rangipakia's challenger was too swift for the visitors and the chief's misgivings lessened a little at the thought of these favourable omens. After the ceremonies of greeting were over, came the ceremonies of purification of the warriors. These were many and varied and lasted throughout the whole of the next day. As the shadows began to lengthen all that remianed was the ritual of wai taua—the ceremonial baptism into the service of Tumatauenga, God of War. The warriors trooped down to the river followed by the old men. No slaves or women or boys were allowed to be present at such a tapu ritual. The warriors stripped and entered the water and waited for the tohunga. There was a stir and the throng parted as the priest strode down to the bank. There he took two strips of flax leaf from his girdle, tied them together and entering the running water placed them so that he was standing between the two trailing strips. The tohunga's voice rose high and clear and his chant rang above the sound of the water. He went to the man closest to him, dipped a small branch of karamu shrub into the water and sprinkled a few drops on him, chanting all the while. He moved on to the next and repeated the performance and continued this down the line. As the men felt the water swirling around their thighs, cold and clean, they knew they had stepped out of their old skins into a new body free from the fears and weaknesses of the old. Now the war tapu was on them and they were under the protection of the tribal war god. When the men returned to the pa after the long ceremony, the people were silent. They knew that their men were now separate and apart and no longer of the same world, for one of the restrictions of the war tapu was that the warriors could have no contact with their wives or sweethearts until it was removed. Where before there had been feasting and gaiety and bustle, there was now a hush over the pa as the warriors lay down on their mats for some much needed sleep. One by one the fires died and the night silence was broken only by the voices of the sentries as they recited watch alarms at intervals in loud voices. “Tenei te pa, o ko roto, ko au e…. This is the fort and here within am I….”