Hawaiian Legends of the Guardian Spirits

by Caren Loebel-Fried

  Over his fire Kumuhana roasted the ko–lea, stuffing two at a time into his greedy mouth with fingers black and greasy from the charred carcasses. He gorged himself and fell asleep when he could eat no more. And as he snored, a pile of uneaten plovers lay atop the hot coals, sizzling through the night until all that remained were ashes.

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  Night after night, Kumuhana’s cooking fire blazed.

  As the ko–lea roasted, smoke billowed up over his house and drifted to the house next door, where there lived a man who worshipped the god of the plover. When this poor man inhaled the defiling smoke, he became violently ill, doubled over in pain. He knew Kumuhana’s excesses were an intolerable insult to his god, but what could be done? Clutching his cramped stomach, he would cry, “Auwe–, Auwe–! Alas! I pray to thee, god of the plover! I am sorry for the disrespect shown to you by Kumuhana. Please, help me convince him to change his ways. Send me your guidance!”

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  One evening, the two men met in the clearing between their houses while Kumuhana was on his way to catch ko–lea.

  At that moment, a plaintive cry broke through the red clouds above: “Chaleeeee!”—the call of the golden plover. Both men looked up, and the neighbor paled. With grave concern he said, “Take heed, Kumuhana, for that is a warning to you from the god of the plover!”

  Kumuhana snorted and spoke with contempt. “Perhaps it is for you that this message comes, for I do not worship your bird-god!” And with that, Kumuhana sauntered off into the setting sun, his net slapping against his back with each step.

  The neighbor watched and, shaking his head, whispered solemnly, “Oh, god of the plover, he does not listen.”

  Within the gray twilight, Kumuhana crept quietly through the shadows toward the birds’ roosting place, where he found many plovers sleeping peacefully on the rocks. Wasting no time, he started to capture them, quickly filling his net with the small, defenseless creatures. Soon, the net could hold no more and hung heavy on his back as he ambled home. He hardly noticed, for he reveled in anticipation of his coming meal. With his mouth watering and big belly rumbling, he breathed, “How I love the taste of plovers!”

  But when he arrived at his house, the net suddenly felt as light as a feather. “How strange!” he said, and drew the net around, laying it on the ground before him. There he found not a remnant of their golden plumage; all of the birds were gone!

  Certain that his neighbor was responsible, he cried, “I will get my ko–lea back, even if I have to kill that man,” and he charged to the man’s house. But when confronted with the theft, his neighbor was obviously mystified. “I have not taken your ko–lea! ” he said. “But what is that sound coming from your house?”

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  Kumuhana turned and the sound that he heard made the hair on his neck stand up: the roar of thousands of wailing plovers. Confused and angry, Kumuhana spat, “So, you think you can fool with me?” and he raced to his house. His neighbor cried out, “Say a prayer to the god of the plover, before it is too late!” But his words were carried away like smoke in the wind.

  When Kumuhana reached the entrance of his house, the racket from inside suddenly ceased. He stopped, and a chill of fear swept over him. Cautiously leaning over the threshold, he peeked inside. The room was dim and eerily silent. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he found the room was filled with black pebbles, piled from the floor all the way up to the windows. He shook his head slowly with disbelief, mumbling, “This must be some sort of prank. . . .” But then the pebbles seemed to be moving. He squinted his eyes, looking hard, for the strange mass now seemed not to be pebbles at all, but birds, thousands of ko–lea. Writhing and wriggling, with shining black eyes staring at him, they shook out their gleaming, gold-flecked feathers. Kumuhana stood like a statue in the entrance, paralyzed by the astonishing sight before him.

  And then the birds were upon him. Pecking his eyes, tearing at his flesh with small, needle-sharp claws, they overwhelmed him with their numbers. Kumuhana shrieked.

  Blind and bleeding, he waved his arms madly, trying to shake off the furious mob, but his hands swept right through their ghostly bodies. He staggered outside, struggling under the throng of screeching plovers, and stumbled right into his cooking fire, which now mysteriously blazed. The flames engulfed him, rising high into the air. Kumuhana screamed, but no one heard, for his voice was lost amid the deafening roar of thousands of ko–lea crying, “Chaleeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

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  And so the life of Kumuhana was lost that night, taken by the very birds he had so ruthlessly slaughtered. People from the village shook their heads, saying, “E, Kumuhana has only himself to blame. It was his greedy and wasteful habits that did him in.” His neighbor felt sympathy for Kumuhana, but knew that disrespect shown to a god, even a god that belonged to another, had its consequences. Gazing at the pile of sooty ashes left in Kumuhana’s fireplace the next morning, he murmured,

  “Unfortunate for Kumuhana that he did not heed the warning from the god of the plover.”

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  N O T E S

  ON THE Ko

  —lea

  Pacific golden plovers, called ko–lea, leave their breeding grounds in Siberia and Alaska during late summer and fly 3,000 miles to Hawai‘i. These incredible birds maintain an average speed of 60 miles per hour, their nonstop journey over the sea taking nearly two days and nights. Helped by strong seasonal winds, they use the stars, the position of the sun, and possibly the Earth’s magnetic field to find their way. The three-month-old fledglings, which have never seen Hawai‘i, make the trip nearly a month after the adults have gone, somehow finding their own way to the islands.

  Though their plumage changes colors seasonally, Pacific golden plovers are named for the beautiful golden flecks on their back feathers. The birds can be found throughout Hawai‘i during fall, winter, and spring, feeding on crustaceans along the shoreline or searching for insects and berries on lawns, fields, and grassy mountain slopes. When summer approaches, the plovers once again take to the air, beginning the long journey back to their breeding grounds in the north.

  Ancient Polynesian voyagers in search of land may have followed migrating ko–lea flying high overhead. Ever observant of the plovers’ transient ways, Hawaiian people have used the ko–lea as a metaphor. An independent person prone to wandering, for example, is compared to the ko–lea. Noting that the plover’s body is lean when it arrives and fat when it departs from Hawai‘i’s shores, another proverb likens the ko–lea to those people who come to the islands to make their fortune and then take it back home with them.

  Early Hawaiians netted plovers for food, but killing the birds wastefully was not approved of, and one who called the 3 2

  ko–lea his guardian spirit would never eat or harm a plover. In ancient Hawai‘i, most people looked upon these intriguing birds as spirit beings. The oldest legends tell of plovers acting as intermediaries, carrying messages from the gods to the people. A ko–lea circling over a house, uttering its eerie cry, was viewed as an omen of death. The legend of Kumuhana and his acts of disrespect toward plovers are still remembered, for the place where he lived and died is called ‘Aia–ko–lea, which means irreverence to the plover.

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  P A R T ◆ T H R E E

  Mano—

  The Shark

  Legend of the Little Green Shark

  The Journey

  HE MAN SAT WITH PERFECT STILLNESS

  on the double canoe, his body one with the rolling body of the vessel, as though both were carved from the same wooden log. He was the principal navigator on board, the one responsible for finding the way across this vast open sea, and he followed a star path that had been blazed by those who sailed before him. Powered by wind, the vessel rolled on toward Hawai‘i, its hulls like the torsos of two great sharks, plowing through the dark sea beneath a blue-black sky radiant with stars.

  Gazing up to read the information contained in the sky, the navigator squinted,
for his eyes were tired and stinging.

  The stars, moon, and planets spoke to him, and he felt messages in the graceful ocean swells. Referring to notches carved into the side rails of the vessel, he double-checked to see how they lined up with the stars on the horizon and in the great dome of the sky above him. “Yes,” he said, “we are on course.” But then he frowned. Could he trust his reading of the 3 7

  stars and the currents? At the start of the journey, his mind had been sharp and alert, but now he felt sluggish and slow from so many nights of little sleep. Even a slight miscalculation would be catastrophic, causing them to miss their target on this journey across these 3,000 miles of open sea.

  The night was quiet but for the splashing of the waves against the hulls and the whistle of the wind caught in the huge sails of woven pandanus leaves above him. He glanced up at their sharp forms, so much like massive fins rising into the sky. The rope lines slapped softly against the tall, wooden masts, lulling the tired man. His mind began to drift like the flotsam that floated by the canoe, and the navigator’s thoughts were filled with colorful memories of his homeland in Tahiti and how this great voyage began.

  There was much unrest in the land of Tahiti. Chief Tua, a kind and intelligent ruler, was a great warrior and had been successful at fighting off the enemies bordering on his district.

  But attacks were coming more frequently, and word had reached him that a new enemy was fast approaching. Chief Tua yearned for a life of peace, for himself and his people.

  One night he had a dream. In this dream was a vision of the island of Hawai‘i. A beautiful, fertile land this was, whose inhabitants were friendly and welcoming. Tua’s ancestral spirits spoke to him, telling him, “Go, Tua! Now is a propitious time to venture forth to this new land!” And so, in the morning, he gathered his favorite sister and male relatives who lived in his district. The navigator was among them.

  Chief Tua told them of his dream. “Come with me to Hawai‘i!” he said. “We will be leaving behind Tahiti, where our family has lived for generations. But we can no longer live here in peace. In the stories told by those who traveled there before us, Hawai‘i is a productive and welcoming land. So let us go and start a new life there!” They were all tired of their struggles in Tahiti and eager to join Tua. They were, after all, a seafaring people, skilled in the building and sailing of canoes.

  It was decided that they would begin the preparations at once.

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  Four

  double-

  hulled canoes

  were to be built.

  Each artisan was a

  specialist in his particular

  tradition, having obtained his knowledge from years of study with an expert in the field. All the work was undertaken with

  strict attention paid to the gods, and

  proper procedures were painstakingly

  adhered to. The master canoe designer

  had spent three days in the deep forest

  before selecting the trees that would

  become the hulls. The priest, with

  prayers and offerings, had blessed the

  trees before they were felled. From

  the rough carving to the shaping

  and fine finishing, the oars and

  all the wooden parts were

  crafted using tools

  of stone and

  bone.

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  Master craftswomen picked and dried pandanus leaves, then carefully plaited enormous mats for the sails. Finally, after six months of labor, all the parts were assembled and lashed together, and the finishing work was done. Four magnificent vessels stood tall and proud, each equipped with a small projection at their stern, the seat where the ancestral spirit would ride.

  The people were well practiced in the provisioning of canoes for a long voyage. They brought on board gourds filled with fresh water, and many fruits and vegetables for the start of the journey. For the remainder of the trip, they had preserved and carefully wrapped dried fish and fermented taro, yam, breadfruit, banana, sweet potato,

  and coconut. Any fish caught

  along the way would

  supplement this

  nutritious diet, and

  supplies of fresh water

  for drinking could be

  replenished with

  rainwater collected off

  the sails.

  They were also

  bringing along

  many plants to

  cultivate in

  their new

  homeland.

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  The tubers, cuttings, and young offshoots were all packaged well so they would survive the time at sea. These bundles now hung safely in grass shelters on the canoe decks, protected from the ocean’s destructive salty sprays. The chickens, pigs, and dogs they brought on board would adapt well to their new home, so similar to the one they were leaving behind.

  Dreams had been analyzed throughout the preparations for the journey, for this was sacred work and dreams were the communications of the gods. All the signs pointed to a successful voyage.

  And so, finally, they were ready to embark on their journey. On the night before they were to sail, Chief Tua slept inside one of the big hulls of the canoe on which he was to travel, imbuing the great vessel with power. With the rise of the navigation star the next morning, the crew was ready to set sail. The navigator joined Chief Tua, his sister, the steersmen, the priests, the astrologer, the prophet, the poet, the paddlers, and the director of the winds, all of them ready for this voyage to a new life in the beautiful land of Hawai‘i.

  Now, after so many weeks at sea, it was early morning and the sky was just beginning to grow pale. The navigator gazed at the 4 1

  other canoes around him, dark shapes tossing in the gentle waves, and he felt a pang of worry. His responsibility to all the people on board these vessels was weighing heavily upon him.

  Would he soon see the island’s volcanic profile rising from the sea? Would the gods answer his prayers for a successful journey?

  He scanned the dim horizon and noticed a cumulus cloud, the type of cloud that only forms over a landmass. Watching the cloud, he saw a bird flying toward the canoe from that same direction and quickly identified the noddy tern, known to nest on island coastal cliffs and fly out to sea for a morning meal. With growing excitement, he located a star glowing faintly just above the cloud, the zenith star of Hawai‘i. All of his observations answered to his longing, and now he knew for certain. He whispered, “We are here!”

  With passion, he started to sing a mele, or song of celebration, composed by a navigator who had sailed on this same star path, across this vast, wide ocean before him: 4 2

  Behold Hawai‘i, an island, a people!

  The people of Hawai‘i

  Are the children of Tahiti!*

  The pu–, the great spiral conch shell, was blown to gather all the canoes together, and its deep moan resonated far out over the churning sea. All of the people now gazed at the great volcanic island rising from the depths, relief and gladness filling their hearts now that their voyage was finally nearing its end.

  The canoes were still too far away for Tua’s family to notice the people gathered at the shore. These were the people of Hawai‘i, who saw their world as poetry. They watched the distant canoes with sails of shark fins cutting through the waves, a band of warriors on their horizon. But they were not afraid; instead they were joyful, for this was the coming of the gods.

  And little did Chief Tua and his family realize what legends would later be told of this journey from Tahiti to their new home in Hawai‘i.

  *From a chant composed by Kamahu‘alele, an ancient navigator, on sighting Hawai‘i at the end of a voyage back from Tahiti.

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  Legend of the Little Green Shark

  The Coming

  of the Sharks

  O Ka‘u– of the rumbling earth!

  Where verdant forests of the uplands bring forth
ferns and maile vines,

  Watered with rainfalls and cold mists sent on the breezes by majestic Mauna Loa.

  O Na–‘a–lehu, sloping gracefully above the sea, Where fertile red earth brings forth sweet potatoes, sugar cane, and bananas,

  And rolling plains sprout tufts of tall pili grasses.

  O Waikapuna of the windy shore,

  Where tumbling waves meet the white sandy beach, And powerful currents bring forth ‘ahi tuna, bonito, mackerel, and ulua, the jack.*

  *A mele, or chant, composed by the author, written in the style of ancient Hawaiian chants, based on the history of the families from Ka‘u–.

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  The storyteller paused and all were silent. The audience of men, women, and children sat rapt with attention, perfectly still, for any movement would show disrespect for the gods.

  With arms, hands, and fingers moving expressively through the air, describing the images he chanted, the man continued:

  Wake now, sleepy cloud that billows plump in the sky above the sea!

  The early morning sun colors you a golden orange.

  A salty breeze blows gently in from the sea over the rocky shore, And the beach is embraced by a lei of blue morning glories.

  But now, look forth to the horizon where clouds brush the water!

  So many sharp points of light do appear.

  Are these just waves, or the sails of many canoes, Catching the first rays of sunshine?

  Are these fierce warriors from Kahiki, a distant land?

  O, the sea brings forth a multitude of mano–!

  Shark fins weave through dark choppy waters like jagged mountain peaks,

  Like mighty sails on four double canoes cutting through the waves, Majestic and proud, they approach our shore!