The sun was setting on the sea skyline and the shadows falling over the mountains as Tangalora sat on his coral throne at the far end of his weird-lit cavern hall. He was fully decorated with all the insignia of his office, wearing his tappa robe, and with his ornamental war-club by his side, as he sat there before me.
“Talofa!” he said, and all the children responded:
Then he said that which translated into our language would run in this wise:
“Now then, _fantoes_ (children), come round close to me, my sight is dim; sit by my knees, for I am old.”
In a moment the tawny children of the south were hustling and bustling to secure their favourite position at the feet of the aged poet. Placing his hand to his wrinkled mouth, he coughed twice, as he always did ere he commenced to tell his stories.
“Are you all here?” His voice trembled into echoes.
“We are all here!” cried the children, as they crossed their arms and legs and prepared to listen attentively. Then he began as follows:
“Thousands of years ago, when the sun, the moon, and the stars shone in the sky and saw no one alive on the isles of these seas, the heathen gods were walking across the wide floors of Mbau. Suddenly Raitumaibulii, who was the god of Fruit and Taro, said: ‘I say, look at that great ocean shining under the sun down there above unpeopled, palm-clad isles.’ Then the god continued: ‘Is it not a shame that all those beautiful palms and those breadfruit trees of mine should be laden with such nice fruit and yet none there to eat of it?’ ‘It really does seem a pity,’ replied the god of Fire; and he continued: ‘I also think it sad that none can light fires in those deep forests. Look how comfortable they would feel were they to see my flames brightly shining beneath the palms by night.’ As the god Raitumaibulii and the god of Fire ceased speaking and sighed over their thoughts, the beautiful heathen goddess of Mburoto (the Paradise of Love and Bliss) came up to them and said: ‘Ah! I have just heard your lament. I too feel sad to think that there are no handsome youths and maidens in those beautiful leafy forests.’ As the two gods listened and gazed on her beauty, she lifted her hands and lovely eyes towards the mountains of Mburoto, and continued in this wise: ‘Oh! think how pleased the moons would be to light up the eyes of handsome lovers and reveal the bronze-hued faces of pretty maidens if they roamed those now silent lands.’ It was then that the great Thangi-Thangi, the god of Hate and Sin, stepped forth. He, too, looked thoughtfully down on those far-distant beautiful isles and murmured: ‘What a waste, what a waste it is, when I think how I could make the folk of a world to hate each other and deeply sin.’