The Last of the Taniwha

Te Ao Hou, March 1968, Page 14

The Last of the Taniwha by Lesley Cameron Powell Tahu was different from other boys. Things happened to Tahu. Some folk said it was because he was half Maori, half Scots. His father, Andrew Cameron, said it was because he was the seventh child of a seventh child. In any case Tahu had the strangest adventures; but the most exciting of all he told nobody about. At first it did not seem like an adventure at all. Tahu woke up to find that he had slept in and missed the bus that was taking the school to the city for the day. His mother, cross that his sisters had not woken him, made him help in the house. It was ten o'clock before he could go down to the beach. ‘You mustn't go in the surf by yourself, Tahu,’ his mother called. ‘I'm not,’ he answered. ‘I'll go in the pool.’ He could see that he would have the whole place to himself. The day was glorious. The sun shone on the white wave-crests, and the distant sea was so blue and beautiful that he was glad he had missed the bus. Trailing a stick, Tahu made his way to the southern end of the beach where the river's last bend before it lost itself in the ocean made an ideal swimming pool. It was here that Tahu's father had taught all his children to swim and to dive. Their mother did not like the pool. However deep they dived nobody had ever been able to touch the bottom. Tahu's mother said a taniwha lived down in its depths, and so she would never swim there, but her children all swam so well that she had given up worrying about them.

Tahu sat a while on the rocks, cutting the surface of the water with his stick, and dreaming summer dreams. When the sun began to burn the back of his neck he stood up, took a very big breath and dived deep into the pool. He swam as far down as he could and came up gasping and rubbing the stinging water from his eyes. He was about to climb out for a second dive when his heart gave a little jump of surprise. Seated on the diving-rock, his feet in the cool water, was an old man! ‘Where did you come from?’ asked Tahu. He realised at once that he must sound rude, but he could not understand how he had failed to see the old fellow arriving. The man smiled down at the boy and Tahu saw that many wrinkles lined his cheeks. His chin was covered with a snowy beard, and his hair too was snow-white. ‘E tama, tena koe,’ he said. Tahu scrambled out and greeted the man in a manner more befitting his great age. He could not help adding: ‘You don't come from around here, do you?’ ‘I do,’ said the old one, ‘but hardly anyone ever sees me.’ It seemed an odd answer, and Tahu thought the old man looked sad in spite of his pleasant smile. ‘Tell me, boy, can you dive to the bottom?’ ‘Nobody can do that,’ said Tahu. ‘We have all tried, and so has our father, but we think there is no bottom to this pool.’ ‘Of course there is,’ said the old man. ‘I can show it to you. Here! Hold this in your left hand and take my hand in your right, and we shall find it together.’ Tahu looked down. In his palm lay the most perfectly-shaped pendant. It was the clearest piece of tangiwai greenstone, like a huge green teardrop, and smooth as glass. He looked at it a long time, wondering what he should do. ‘If I dive with you, shall I come up again?’ ‘For sure! You have only to drop the greenstone and you'll pop up again like a stick of whau.’ ‘Come on, then,’ said Tahu, grasping the old hand and taking in a deep gulp of air before plunging into the depths of the pool. The old man's fingers were rough, but Tahu held on firmly. He felt himself being dragged at tremendous speed. When he opened his eyes he could see only murky darkness. Soon he felt soft sand beneath him, but the horny hand dragged him on. He was not afraid now and his breath seemed to last wonderfully well. Suddenly they were travelling upwards and the water around them was growing light. A couple of kicks brought him to the surface. Tahu saw that they were in some sort of cave. High above, through a cleft, he could see a tiny patch of sky. The rest was rock, and swirling, roaring sea water. He had no time to see more for the old man was tugging at his hand again. As they dived the water seemed to crash and surge all around them, yet they cut through it like porpoises. Soon the roaring ceased, the sea became calm and paler again, and they were swimming more slowly. Tahu's head broke the surface just as the old man's hand let his loose. He swam on, still clutching the pendant. He was making for a tiny golden beach that lay ahead. Above the shoreline, tall pohutukawas twisted, and beyond, he could see on the flat, an old-style Maori whare. The old man had reached the shore first and was waiting on the sand. ‘Do you know where you are?’ he asked. Tahu knew that he had not come far from home, but that he had never been in this spot before. Looking out over the sea he thought he could make out, away to the north, the familiar headland that formed part of the view from his bedroom window. He could not remember having seen it from this angle, yet he knew the hills and shore like the back of his hand. There was only one place he could be. Nobody he knew had ever visited it. He was almost afraid to ask. ‘Am I on the tapu island?’ he said at last. ‘That's right. We are on Motu-tapu.’ ‘But I'm not allowed here! There is a taniwha here—and—and—bad things will happen.’ Tahu was alarmed. ‘No, boy! No. Do not be afraid,’ said the old man soothingly. ‘No bad things are here today. Did not the greenstone protect you through the breakers and in the cave, and bring you safely here?’ ‘Yes, I suppose it did,’ Tahu answered. ‘Then you are safe here too,’ said the old man. ‘Look. That is my house over there. Does it look like a house of bad things?’ ‘No, but it looks awfully old: too old to be real.’ The old man laughed. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I shall tell you a story, and you will understand all … ‘… Long ago, when first the Maori people came to these parts, many taniwha lived in the sea and in the rivers. There was much

warfare between them and the people of the land. People were killed, and taniwha were killed and there was much bloodshed. But there was one taniwha who believed that people of the land could live in peace with people of the waters. Each day he used to leave his home at the mouth of the river and go up into the rivers and talk to the children who played there. He did not like to think of making war against the fathers of these new friends, and so he refused to join the other taniwha in their battles. This made them very cross of course. More and more taniwha got caught in eel-traps and nets until only five were left, but still he would not help the other four to fight. Finally they asked Tangaroa to punish the taniwha who would not fight. “‘Very well,” said Tangaroa, the great god of the waters. “I will make him so that he cannot swim, nor play with the children of the land. I shall turn him into a little island for one hundred years.” So the taniwha became an island off the coast. The other four taniwha used to swim round it, but the land people could not come near because their canoes were always wrecked on the nearby rocks. By the time one hundred years had passed all the other taniwha had been killed. Tangaroa left the island where it was, but he let the taniwha come to life again. ‘He was a sad taniwha now, and he wept bitter tears for his lost friends. The tears turned to tangiwai or greenstone. Tangaroa was sorry for him, because he was the last taniwha in the world, but he did not have the power to change him into a man. He called in the help of Papa, the Earth Mother. Together they decided that the taniwha could be a man so long as he stayed on the island, but if he went into the sea or visited the mainland he would become a taniwha. On one day each year he could visit the land as a man. The rest of the time he must live on the island and guard the spirits of the old taniwha. “‘On that one day of the year,” Tangaroa said, “you must return with the second tide. If you disobey you will become a sharp reef that kills people.” ‘Tangaroa kept his side of the bargain, and the taniwha-man kept his, and so it has gone