Te Wahi Tapu

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Anaru was driving home to Whakatane a couple of days after the funeral. The Tangi for Anaru's grandfather Willie Ropiha had been a huge one, as befitting the status of a well loved paramount chief

The speeches were long and full of praise for the wisdom and courage of the old man.He had helped the tribe change and adapt to the 21ts century, yet still managed to keep strong the old ways and Te Reo. Under his leadership the young had learned to appreciate the need to retain ties with tribal customs, language and understanding of the importance of Maoritanga; the preserving and teaching of it to present and future generations. 

At the feed after the funeral, Anaru had noticed the wise old Koro looking at him and nodding to each other. He had overheard the whispers doubting that he had the strength and mana to take over his grandfather's mantle as paramount chief. He had always known that we would be next in line, he had never doubted it. He'd learned much from Willie and the other old men, but now seeds of doubt, planted by those who were opposed to him, were starting to germinate and grow. 

And the sadness of losing his grandfather and mentor started to overwhelm him again. 

At the next gravel patch, on the side of the road where the contractors keep the mini mountains of roading metal for resealing, Anaru swung off the highway. Hardly waiting for the car to stop rolling, he unfastened his seat belt, threw open the door and swung out of the car. Striding to where the clearing ended and the bush began, he stood there with eyes close, breathing in the cool clean air.
Opening his eyes,he took in his surroundings, and was almost surprised to find himself on top of the Mamaku Ranges.

Native bush surrounding him gave off the smell of wet living earth. Sharp smells of decaying vegetation and spilled diesel, wild pig odors and petrol fumes from passing cars, mixed with perfumes from tree flowers, both assailed and caressed his senses.
Calls of the tui and blackbirds mingled with the clear notes of bellbirds and fantails, reminding Anaru of the times he walked with his Papa in the hills surrounding Kawhia. He found a dry spot on the edge of the bush and sat enjoying the view for a moment. From his vantage point he saw rolling bush-covered hills transforming into farmland, losing its undulations the closer it got to the Pacific Ocean.
 
An easterly wind blew white exclamation marks of chop across its surface, combining in a foaming frenzy, only to be destroyed on the long beaches of golden sands that curved almost seductively around the coastline.
 
Anaru was deep in his thoughts when he noticed a patch of white on the branch of a dead tree way below him. It caught his eye and he wondered at the whiteness of it. What exactly was it that stood out so starkly against the lush green bush? A white plastic bag perhaps, tossed away by some city-borne tramper or dope grower.
 
He watched as it slowly rose like a puff of smoke. The blurred whiteness slowly transforming itself into the shape of a large slender bird, wings beating slowly, purposefully. It outstretched neck pointed the way to unseen air currents that would help lift the bird into its rightful place among the blueness and the white cathedral thunderclouds.
 
Sharp rattling croaks rebounding from hill to hill reached Anaru, and surrounded his senses. It stirred something deep indescribable, almost spiritual feelings that had been placed in him from those that walked this land so many years ago.
 
He got slowly to his feet and stood, eyes locked onto the bird, as it flew gracefully up the valley towards him. An unspoken command had him strip to the waist, to bare his brown muscular chest, with its scar shaped like a ragged crescent moon. A wound gained courtesy of an old barbed wire fence that had lain hidden in the long grass he had been running through as a child.
 
Anaru stood there mesmerized by this apparition, this beauty, the carrier of souls of the departed on their homeward journey to Hawaiiki. “Ae ae! Kotuku, haeri mai, haeri mai! Kotuku I greet you, you who have traveled from the spirit land of Reinga. I see you in your whiteness and beauty, and feel your wisdom reaching out to me,”he shouted out in greeting.

 It seemed that the bird's eyes were locked onto Anaru as it flew towards him. From deep within, a chant he didn't realize he knew, came rumbling out of the very depths of his soul, intermingled and mated with the calls of the Kotuku until it rebounded over the hills.
 
The cries of the old Ones, the ancient Ones, Kotuku and young warrior intermingled. His blood rushed hot through his body, he sensed the Moku on his face. He felt the two wood pigeon feathers in a topknot at the back of his head.
Suddenly there was a green-stone mere in his hand and he began pacing back and forth, grimacing, crying out his heart-pain and fears to those that were riding upon the wings of Kotuku. “Piki Mai! Kake Mai! He wahi mihi tenei ki a koutou rangatira mai!”

He wasn't a young police officer now, as the bird grew ever closer, his bright yellow eye fixed on Anaru. No, he was a strong toa; a warrior bathing in the wisdom that flew to his heart, threaded on arrows of the birds cries. The sweat was pouring down his chest, soiling the tops of his pants, but that didn't matter, what mattered was what was happening to him.
 
Kotuku flew closer, riding on the updrafts, wings beating in slow time, effortlessly. Its neck ending with a beak as sharp as any spear aimed straight at his soul, until it flew up and over his head, not much more than an arms length away.
 
He heard the sounds of wing feathers brushing and caressing the updraft it rode. He swore later that he felt the down-thrust of air from its wings and the softness of its shadow passing across his body.

Spinning on his heels, Anaru watched the bird's flight gather momentum as it climbed, banked, then swooped down to disappear into a distant valley beyond the patch of shingle and the road.

Its cries slowly fading, being gathered and absorbed by the bush noises and distance. He wanted to rush to his papa and share this privilege, this meeting kanohi ki te kanohi, face to face.

For Anaru this was now a sacred site, wahi tapu. A place to which, in later years, he would bring his wife and children, and try to explain the mystery of itall. He tried to understand why he was chosen to meet with those that had long passed away, to feel their strength and mana. To see a Kotuku, that rarest of birds, was truly a gift. Only about one hundred and fifty remained, driven almost to distinction by the needs of Victorian ladies for the beautiful mating plumes to adorn their hats.
The Kotuku gather at Okarito Lagoon with its three thousand hectares of shallow open water and wetlands full of small fish, eels and crabs to feed on. There they mate and build their nests way up atop tree ferns close to the water, with some penthouse nests up to thirteen metres above the sparkling waters.

Anaru gathered his clothes that lay scattered around the small clearing and quickly dressed. He felt confused by this deeply spiritual experience. It would be sometime before he would realise just how much it had changed him. Like the final blessings of the old Ones that had been given to him for his task as chief, new strengths had been offered to him on the wings of the Kotuku. Strengths which would be needed to help him fulfill the role that which he had been chosen for as a child.

He strode over to his car, unlocked it and climbed in. He was just about to start the engine when he glanced back to the spot where he had been standing. For a brief instant he thought he saw his grandfather standing in the dappled sunlight, wrapped in his cloak of tui feathers.

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