An Invitation to Perplexity
This book was not written in a day. The idea of writing a joint book which examined intergroup relations through the prism of collective mobilisation (or else demobilisation) first crossed our minds in the spring of 2008. This was a period that we spent together in the seemingly timeless environment of St Andrews—a small, beautiful and ancient town perched on the far edge of the European continent which was at the epicentre of the Scottish religious wars of the sixteenth century, where the wars have been largely forgotten since but nothing else seems to have changed much.
We were meeting about once a week to compare patterns from our respective research on ethnic violence in the former Yugoslavia and in India, and to design a new study on the local repercussions of a global event—the rise of the Scottish independence movement in the aftermath of the Iraq invasion. Early on in our discussions, it appeared to us that these cases are telling examples of dynamics that do not yet receive the full attention they deserve in social psychology texts. Both in the former Yugoslavia and in India, there is a striking contrast between, on the one hand, grand narratives of entrenched ethnic or religious conflict, and, on the other, the reality of fluid social relations and malleable identity constructions on the ground. But it also struck us that we need to beware
of making too stark a distinction between fixity and fluidity. There are periods when social categories and social relations do indeed remain constant over extended periods and periods where they go through rapid changes. Which one discovers is a matter of timing. In general terms, it would be wrong to treat either as the norm. Rather, we need a more historicised approach which allows us to identify and analyse the turning points where social relations lose (or gain) their fluidity and where identity constructions become frozen (or unfrozen).
When we do take an historical view—whether in relation to our own studies of the former Yugoslavia and of India, or indeed of elsewhere—it becomes abundantly clear that, at different times, the cleavages in social relations have been based on different social categories: sometimes people confront each other in terms of nation and sometimes in terms of class, or caste, or religion or ethnicity. Multiple differences have therefore to be forgotten and multiple conflicts have to be put on hold before a critical mass of people can think or act together in terms of any one of these, still more before one can take it as self-evident that there is a long history of conflict between Hindus and Muslims, Serbs and Croats, or whatever other groups are seen as trans-historical entities.
So how are categories reconfigured? How could social relations become frozen along ethnic lines and ethnicity become a matter of life and death—as they did in Vukovar or in Sarajevo, in Ayodhya or in Gujarat, or in many other places at different times in history?
Back in 2008 an impression arose which evolved into a critical thesis that led us to re-assess the existing evidence and re-analyse our own. Such dramatic disruption of the normal fluidity of collective identities cannot just happen spontaneously. It requires such a violent shock to the system that the fundamental ways in which we are able to relate to others are changed and hence we begin to think and talk of the cleavages between self and other, ‘us’ and ‘them’, in new ways. And not only must the shock be violent but also violence is a powerful means of achieving such a shock. Even if you never previously saw yourself and others in terms of, say, religious identities, if you are attacked as a Muslim—or even hear of others attacked as Muslims—can you afford to ignore the possibility that you, your family, your friends might be positioned as a Muslim in future encounters? Can you therefore afford to avoid acting as if you
were a Muslim, thereby confirming others view of you as such and hence fuelling a vicious spiral? Unwillingly, perhaps, but no less effectively, the awful realities of violence affect the identities through which we organise our everyday world.
This insight might seem relatively modest and mundane. But the more we thought about it and the more we considered the implications, the more the fabric of received wisdom on conflict and intergroup relations began to unravel. Traditionally, conflict is seen as an output of identity processes. There are two broad variants of this. On the one hand it is argued that longstanding identities generate animosities that, given the power to act, will result in violence. So, notably in the former Yugoslavia, it is argued that the state may have temporarily suppressed the ancient hatreds between groups in the region. But once that state dissolved, people could express their hatreds in ways that still haunt the imagination. On the other hand it is argued that those with power and influence deliberately invoke antagonisms between groups and deliberately incite violence which ordinary people are incapable of resisting.
The three terms here—identity, violence and power—are ones that we retain and which are central to our analysis. But we reconceptualise their relationship. Instead of putting either identity or power at the start of the process—as inbuilt features of our psychological make-up which all too easily generate antagonism towards outsiders or conformism towards cynical leaders—we also treat them as outcomes. Equally, instead of putting violence at the end of the process we also place it at the start. Instead of conceptualising a simple linear relationship between terms, we examine the multiple configurations of identity, violence and power. Violence thereby becomes much more than the tragic end of the play. Above all, it is the shock that serves to create and consolidate identities and thereby to transform power relations during the next act.
However, one cannot alter the way in which identity, violence and power relate to each other without rethinking these core constructs themselves. Our approach to each construct lays much more stress than usual on meta representation and communication. That is, who we are, what we think and what we do is as much a matter of what we think others are thinking as of what we think ourselves, and also of what we think others will allow us to do. It follows that reconfiguring identities may be best
achieved by altering our knowledge of others’ thoughts and intentions rather than trying to change our internal beliefs. Our ability to gain that knowledge—the relations of communication between people—thereby gains centre stage.
We thus understand and analyse identities, violence and power as social facts. That makes them no less real for those who experience them and no less consequential in their effects. But it does mean that they arise out of human activity and they shape human activity from the inside. Indeed, identity, violence and power are the most powerful of tools for crafting our social worlds. By occluding old identities, violence makes it impossible to mobilise people on the basis of those erstwhile constituencies. By creating new identities, violence makes possible new forms of mobilisation and thereby creates the power to sustain new social worlds.
One way of seeing our model, then, is as a psychological example of a mobilisation approach to intergroup relations and social conflict (something that may be common in other social sciences, but which is something of a departure for psychologists). It is a model that recognises the importance of manifold forms of social practice and of social communication (not only from leaders to followers). As many scholars before us, we don’t presuppose that ingroup identities and outgroup hatreds are stable realities and we examine how and why people are mobilised around particular identities to hate particular others. But we also examine the processes whereby, under extraordinary circumstances associated with specific historical periods, these identities and these hatreds evolve towards a more stable form. While we argue that these hatreds arise within a contingent social order, we hope to elucidate how sometimes they come to be seen as part of an inevitable order.
Writing While the World Goes By
We have described how we set out to write in 2008. Back then, we thought that our argument might be pushing at an open door. Our focus was to be on a set of intriguing conundrums that arise once one follows through a constructivist view of identity: How can such fluid and malleable things
as collective identities sometimes become hard social facts? Why do people sometimes actively support leaders whose politics have disastrous effects on their own interests? What makes political violence such a dreadful vehicle to re-pattern collective identities, impacting even on those who under normal circumstances would forcefully resist? Our assumption was that establishing a critique of essentialist approaches to identity would be the easier and less original part of the work. It could function as a discrete backdrop to the main stories of the book. After all, who in the early twenty-first century could still seriously believe that differences in language, religion or culture are sufficient to explain why people who are different from each other would violently clash with each other?
But much has happened in the ensuing years, and looking back, early 2008 seems almost an age of innocence. It was before the financial crash, the ensuing recession, unemployment, austerity and chronic global sense of economic insecurity. It was before an explicitly ethnic party—the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and its leader, Narendra Modi, who promote the notion of India as a Hindu nation—won power in the world’s largest democracy. It was before the Arab Spring, the ongoing violence in Egypt, the conflict in Yemen, the collapse of the Libyan state, the civil war in Syria, the rise of ISIS and the return of ISIS militants to their European countries of origin. It was before people displaced by these and other conflicts began to flee to Europe, before the spectacular rise of antiimmigrant populisms in even the most liberal of democracies, and before the resurrection of borders and barriers between European nations. It was before the return of war to European soil in the clashes between Ukrainian forces and Russian-backed separatists, and before the Russian annexation of Crimea.
In today’s more fractious world, it is all too easy to believe that that ghosts of ancient and ineradicable conflicts have come back to haunt us—or even that we are being punished for our temerity in denying their existence. As we write now, in the spring of 2016, even the Eurovision Song Contest (ordinarily that most innocent frippery) has become politically and ethically charged. The winning song, entitled ‘1944’, is about the deportation of Crimean Tatars by Stalin with obvious reference to the annexation of 2014. The lyrics begin “When strangers are coming/ They come to your house/They kill you all/and say/We’re not guilty/not
Preface guilty.” More prosaically, the notion that conflict arises out of a clash of engrained identities has gained renewed legitimacy in public discourse and policy decisions concerning war and peace. It has become a readily available grid through which to understand and respond to contemporary conflict.
Accordingly, what we had thought to be easily dealt with in terms of a background to our studies has now become far more controversial. What might once have been an open door has become stiff with age and far more effort is needed to shift it. We could no longer just state a set of assumptions about the constructed nature, and hence the contingency, of identity, violence and power. We were in danger of using a language to explain the world just at the point that the world was moving beyond that language. The fear that our words would not even speak to a new generation of students and scholars, for whom the book was primarily intended, began to haunt us.
This fear led us to revise our manuscript to be more explicit about the problems with fatalistic conflict theories. Accordingly, the first part of the book spells out our criticisms of models that treat group identities as immutable, conformity within groups as natural, and hostility between groups as unavoidable. As we have already intimated, there are two variants of this view and we devote a chapter to each: Chapter 1 looks at the idea that ordinary people are doomed to hate those from different groups and leaders can, at best, mitigate the worst excesses; Chap. 2 looks at the idea that ordinary people are doomed to follow leaders who incite them to hate those from different groups.
The second part then provides a systematic outline of our own position based on three key constructs: identity, violence and power. This involves rethinking both how each of these relates to the others and also how the construct itself should be understood. So, in Chap. 3, we start with identity as something that is created through shared social practices and hence is transformed through the disruption of existing practices. In Chap. 4 we turn to violence as a particularly potent means of achieving such disruption and hence of reconfiguring the map of social identities and social groups. Finally, in Chap. 5, we address power—more specifically, the role of leadership and power politics in managing violence and identity.
In the third part, this conceptual model is applied to three case studies. In Chap. 6 we dissect the dynamics of religious violence in parts of India. In Chap. 7 we examine ethnic violence in the former Yugoslavia. In Chap. 8 we analyse anti-war protest in the UK, and more specifically in Scotland, in reaction to the military invasion of Iraq. Since parts of these case studies have been published before as journal articles, we were able to present the findings here without disrupting the flow of the book with too much methodological detail. We also opted to integrate each case study with new, so far unpublished, material that extends both the empirical and the conceptual reach of our analysis.
Beyond the Prophet Motive
The changes of recent years have led us not only to alter the structure and stress of our argument but also to reconsider its impact and implications. As lines of public debate shifted so that discourse that had been perceived as extremist became normalised, we were led to become more reflexive about the way that we—as social scientists—refer to the mainstream and to the margins in public controversies. As, like everyone else, we were continuously taken by surprise by the new givens and developed an ever more uncomfortable feeling of running behind events, we were forced to confront a foundational question: What exactly is our analysis for? After all, the conventional justification of scientific analysis is that it allows us to predict what will happen. If we (like everyone else) so obviously fail in prediction, then what on earth is the point of what we are doing?
To address such deeply troubling questions, let us consider a further case which is, as we write, still unfolding. We refer to Burundi, whose past and present plights are largely ignored despite the fact that something like a quarter of a million people were killed in past atrocities, culminating in 1972 and 1993, and that, over the last year alone a further quarter of a million people have fled the country in fear of further violence.
At one level, the latest bout of violence was clearly foreseen. When the first author travelled to Burundi in early 2014, the country seemed safe. It was perfectly possible to talk in a relaxed manner with local researchers, aid workers and activists. Many people spoke openly. Some of them were
happy to air their differences about the challenges facing Burundian society in its attempts to deal with a legacy of violence. It was easy to travel around the country and to visit commemoration sites, each of which told a different story about the nature of this past violence. But among wellinformed locals, few expected this to last. With surprising consistency and great precision many conversations alluded to the prospect that the current period of calm and tolerance would come to an end within 18 months, to be replaced by a new period of heightened tension.
They were right. After President Pierre Nkurunziza decided to ignore the two-term limit on office and, in April 2015, announced his intention to seek a third term, there were massive protests in the streets of Bujumbura (the Burundian capital), a radio crack-down, a failed coup attempt, and, eventually, vicious repression of the anti-third-term opposition. That is also when the flow into exile began. But if many people foresaw these tensions starting from a long way off, there was a limit to their prophetic powers. Once conflict had started, no one could tell how it would develop. Everyone was perplexed as to how the next day might turn out.
It was as if an understanding of the simple power calculus between the main actors, a glance at the electoral calendar, and an awareness of past events (elections in Burundi have repeatedly been tainted by violence) was enough for well-informed observers to predict that a crisis would occur, and even when it would occur. Just like clockwork, the president would try to cling on to power, his rivals would cry foul and an almighty stooshie (to use an evocative Scottish word for conflict) would break out. But once events were in motion—once social forces had been moved out of a stable equilibrium into a state of volatility—then the smallest of causes could produce the largest of effects. It then became all but impossible to spot what was coming and where things were going.
Strangely enough, as knowledgeable locals became more perplexed, international observers became more certain about the focus of concern. They had one question: Would the crisis lead to an outbreak of ethnic violence? So, on 13 May 2015, while the coup attempt was still unfolding, CNN splashed the headline “Amid fears of ethnic violence, coup attempt reported in Burundi”. Meanwhile, the International Business Times announced, “Africa watches Burundi coup to see if conflict spreads,
reignites Hutu-Tutsi ethnic conflict”. The following day the UK Daily Telegraph newspaper entitled its report: “Burundi shares ethnic balance that led to Rwanda genocide—but this conflict is different”.
Here was prophecy. At the time these and suchlike headlines were written, they didn’t describe the reality on the ground. If anything, they were ahead of that reality. A Hutu general was leading a coup against a Hutu president, with whom he previously fought together in the rebellion movement, built up the powerful CNDD-FDD party, and served as his head of intelligence services until a mere two months before. Both loyal and putschist army factions were ethnically mixed, as was the state administration and the protest movement in the streets. It was only after the failure of the coup that things began to change. Some members of the ruling party started to spread rumours that opposition to the president was a Tutsi plot against a Hutu ruler and they combined this with fierce repression against various Tutsis alongside their alleged anti-presidential ‘sympathisers’. Would this ethnic frame succeed? Would it reignite past horrors? Many Tutsis were not prepared to take the risk that it wouldn’t and so started to flee. This exodus in turn seemed to validate the ethnic frame. It certainly broke the back of the protest movement. As people became afraid to gather together, many returned to the private sphere of their homes. An uneasy calm returned to the streets combined with anxious expectations of further violence in the neighbourhoods of Bujumbura. This crisis has taught us two important lessons. The first concerns the radical inadvisability of making predictions. In part, this is because of the likelihood of getting things wrong. Beyond being able to posit in general terms that a conflict might occur, we can see how, without the benefit of hindsight, it is hard to know what forms a conflict will take, how the conflict might develop or how it will turn out. We are not dealing with mechanistic or deterministic processes here. The nature and course of events depend upon how critical actors make sense of them, and sense making is a non-deterministic, slippery, infinitely variable and infinitely malleable process. So, by posing as prophets and by making predictions we run a serious risk of making fools of ourselves.
But there is another, and possibly greater, problem: occasionally, our predictions could turn out to be right, not because they were particularly clear-sighted, but because they feed into an interpretation of events
that increases the odds of the predicted outcome. Our prophecies may end up as self-fulfilling in themselves or, more plausibly and more problematically, condoning the prophecies made by the most powerful conflict actors (those who are in the best position to make their prophecies become true). The underlying issue here is that, if we accept that identities and conflicts are constructed and contingent rather than natural and inevitable, and if we also accept that identities can be rooted in the way we will be seen by others as much as in the way we see ourselves (like those who fled for fear of being apprehended as Tutsis) then we can never be certain of providing an innocuous definition of events. We are not like taxonomers defining reality from the outside. We are, whether we like it or not, insiders who are part and parcel of the conflict process. If we take ethnic categories as givens, and if anyone takes us seriously, then people will increasingly expect to be seen in ethnic terms and act accordingly.
One reaction is to insist that no one takes academics seriously or even notices our obscure scribblings. Quite apart from the ironic nature of a defence of academia based on the fact that academics are useless, the claim tends to deny certain historic realities. Over the last two centuries, social scientists have been at the very core of various national projects and certain disciplines—history, of course, but also anthropology, archaeology and others—arguably arose precisely in order to sustain such projects. But also, as we shall see at various points in the book, politicians have explicitly drawn on academic analyses (e.g., ethnic conflict is inevitable) to draw policy conclusions (e.g., there is no point in intervening to try and stop it).
The second lesson we learn from Burundi takes us from the war of words to the war on words and on those who spread the word. Much of the early conflict surrounded control of the radio, the country’s only mass media. Indeed mass protests in Bujumbura were triggered when the government decided to close down the privately owned station, Radio Publique Africaine, which had been supporting opposition to Nkurunziza’s third-term presidential bid.
The subsequent 13 May coup against Nkurunziza began with an attempt to seize the capital’s main radio station, where the rebellious soldiers were met by loyalist troops. The two army factions exchanged gunshots before the rebels, realising their inability to take control of the station, decided to surrender. The radio station was damaged during the
short bout of fighting. State forces then took advantage of the resulting confusion in order to destroy Bujumbura’s remaining four main radio stations. While the domestic media were forcibly silenced, the international media remained silent out of disinterest. Little space for collective discussion remained. Burundians were left without appropriate means of coordinating their understanding of the new realities. Because the government had declared that there was no crisis, it became difficult even to talk about the events without being open to accusations of treason. In terms which we will develop further in due course, people were left in a state of epistemic isolation.
The situation brings to mind Foucault’s use of Bentham’s panopticon as a metaphor for the operation of power. This refers to a structure whereby an authority at the hub can see all those arranged around the rim, but these people cannot see each other. They are therefore held in the gaze of that authority without being able to draw upon their fellows for support. In such a situation, where communication between people is excluded, it becomes impossible to counter the voice of authority. Authority thereby retains the unique capacity to define events, to construe identities and to shape collective action. If only it were possible to break down the partitions between those around the rim, things would be very different.
And with these thoughts in mind we can begin to return to the point of writing this text. The first purpose of any words should be to open up conversations—in this case concerning the nature of conflict. If there is one thing we would hope to achieve with this book, it would be to bring people together in new configurations to address received truths and consider new perspectives. It is for this reason that we have deliberately written our book in a way that transcends traditional disciplinary boundaries. We have also sought to make the book as clear and as lively as possible in order to be accessible for those outside the academy who have to handle and live with the many conflicts which cleave our world: practitioners, politicians and the interested public. We have tried to avoid jargon where possible, to define it where not, and to use theory only as far as it sheds light on phenomena of broader interest. Our hope is that, even if readers disagree with some of our analyses, they will feel that they have at least found out something about conflicts in the world and something that helps them in questioning the available explanations of conflict.
That leads on to another—central—reason for our book in particular, and for critical new theory in general. More and more, psychologists tell us that human beings have an engrained craving for a world that is known and certain. The academic enterprise is often justified in terms of answering that call: by promising to increase our certainty about the world, how it works and how it will work out. However this is a dangerously one-sided perspective, because sometimes the value of academic work is (and should be) to disrupt existing certainties, to provide new ways of seeing and thinking, to raise questions where there were none before. Indeed one of the main purposes of new theory is to raise new questions and not simply to provide new answers. That is certainly how we want our own contribution to be judged.
Back to Perplexity
To be more concrete, our ambition for this book is as follows. Having listened to the news in print, on television or online, and having heard about Sunnis fighting Shias, Kurds fighting Turks, Hutus fighting Tutsis or whatever—and maybe even having heard some pundit explaining that, back to time immemorial, Sunnis have always fought Shias, Kurds have always fought Turks, and Hutus have always fought Tutsis—we hope that our readers will experience a heightened sense of dissatisfaction.
More specifically, we hope that readers will be left with two niggling questions. The first is to ask ‘Why Sunni and Shia, and why right now’? Since it obviously cannot be true that every Sunni has hated and aggressed against every Shia at every point in history (or does so today), how has reality come to be seen in terms of these groupings in a specific time and place? Why have these particular categories been chosen over possible alternatives—who is promoting these categories and why are they doing so? In the same way that a word, endlessly repeated, can come to sound strange to the ear, so the categories endlessly repeated in the media may eventually begin to sound absurd—and reading this book might speed up the process. How mad that, out of a huge range of possibilities, we should have ended up dividing and treating people in this specific way. And how much more absurd to suppose that this must ever be so.
The second question is how did we get from ‘Sunni and Shia’ to ‘Sunni against Shia’? Is a mention of identity sufficient to account for conflict? Is invoking identity and past conflicts between those of different identities enough to trigger present violence—at least when there was sufficient power to turn malevolent intentions into actions? Is violence a tragic but unintended outcome of identity dynamics or is it a critical component of those dynamics?
In sum, our aim (like the court jester or the poet) is principally to provide new angles for looking at the familiar and making it seem surprising. Where there was complacency we wish to bring unease. Where there was certainty, we wish to bring perplexity. It is not simply that we have no aspiration to play prophets. If anything, we aspire to escape from an age of prophecy. Certainty closes down the future. It keeps us on the straight and narrow. We prefer to think about the future as open, to envision multiple possibilities, to facilitate debate and, hence, extended choice over which of these possibilities are worth pursuing. To the same end, we aim to expose the means by which academics, activists or autocrats seek to close down our options. Violence, we contend, is prime amongst these.
Lausanne, Switzerland Guy Elcheroth St Andrews, UK Stephen Reicher
Hateful Groups and Weak Powers?
Ancient Hatreds (And Other Fables)
In the Orson Welles film Mr. Arkadin, the eponymous hero recounts a fable:
And now I’m going to tell you about a scorpion. This scorpion wanted to cross a river, so he asked the frog to carry him. No, said the frog, no thank you. If I let you on my back you may sting me and the sting of the scorpion is death. Now, where, asked the scorpion, is the logic in that? For scorpions always try to be logical. If I sting you, you will die. I will drown. So, the frog was convinced and allowed the scorpion on his back. But, just in the middle of the river, he felt a terrible pain and realized that, after all, the scorpion had stung him. Logic! Cried the dying frog as he started under, bearing the scorpion down with him. There is no logic in this! I know, said the scorpion, but I can’t help it—it’s my character. Let’s drink to character.
This fable applies well to the topic of our book. The simplest story about violence between groups is that violence is just what groups do. It might not be palatable. It might not seem logical. Often, indeed, those who attack others are themselves consumed by the ensuing violence. But
© The Author(s) 2017
G. Elcheroth, S. Reicher, Identity, Violence and Power, DOI 10.1057/978-1-137-31728-5_1
groups can’t help it. It is in their character—the dark side of humanity divided into groups—whether we want to ‘drink’ to it or not.
The simple story does not imply constant violence between groups, and is therefore immune against refutation by the historical reality of extended periods of peace. Groups will not always act on their hatreds, especially when there is a powerful centre to counteract such centrifugal tendencies from spiralling out of control. But take away such dampening forces and the violence will once more flare into the open. Such positions have gained contemporary momentum in two subsequent waves: first, since the fall of the Berlin Wall and the ensuing bout of conflict both within the old Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia; second, in the wake of the post-nine-eleven wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the subsequent rise of the Islamic State group and the ideological framing of the wars fought against them all in terms of ‘clashes of civilisation’.
When, after the end of the Cold War, conflicts arose between such groups as Armenians and Azeris, Bosniaks and Serbs, Kyrgyz and Uzbeks, an often expressed view was that Communist rule may have suppressed fundamental ethic identities and ethnic antagonisms—but it never did eradicate them, nor could it have. As the authoritarian regime crumbled, so the identities and the conflicts re-emerged—if anything, more virulent than ever for having been suppressed for so long. From this perspective, after decades of the iron rule of ‘ideology’, the stage was finally cleared for the historic revenge of ‘ethnicity’.
As illustration, one only has to turn to two statements made within months of each other in 1993 by the leaders of the USA and the UK. On 20th January, in his Inaugural Address, President Clinton warned that:
Today, a generation raised in the shadows of the cold war assumes new responsibilities in a world warmed by the sunshine of freedom but threatened still by ancient hatreds and new plagues.1
On 23rd June, Prime Minister Major addressed the British House of Commons, referring specifically to conflict in the former Yugoslavia, but spelling out the argument subsumed in Clinton’s brief statement:
1 The full text is available at http://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/?pid=46366.
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covered the shrubs, and the attendant was separated from Hoamakeikekula. In this separation Hoamakeikekula was enveloped in the thick fog and mist until she arrived at Keawewai, a place in the uplands of Kawaihae. The way was indicated by a colored cloud.9 At this time Kalamaula the high chief was living with his parents. Kaholeiwai was the father, Kekoolauwahineolalo was the mother and Kanaheleikaukawaokele was the sister. They were chiefs of Kawaihae at this time.
Kalamaula was a handsome youth but was not in the same rank with Hoamakeikekula.
Upon their arrival at the house, the sun had set and darkness was approaching. They then entered the house where Kalamaula was living. When Kalamaula saw this beautiful woman coming in he greeted her; and Hoamakeikekula returned the greeting in a very low voice saying: “My greeting to you my lord.” Soon after this
nahele, kaawale ke kahu o Hoamakeikekula, kaawale kona haku kina ole. Ma keia kaawale ana, ua lilo o Hoamakeikekula maloko o ka ohu, a me ka noe, a hiki i Keawewai mauka o Kawaihae, he ua koko ke alanui.
E noho ana o Kalamaula ke ’lii me kona mau makua, o Kaholeiwai ka makuakane, o Kekoolauwahineolalo ka makuahine, o Kanaheleikawaokele ke kaikuahine. He mau alii lakou no ia aina o Kawaihae ia wa, a he kanaka maikai no hoi, o Kalamaula, he ui a he nani ke nana; aka, aole nae e loaa ae o Hoamakeikekula.
A hiki laua nei i ka hale, ua molehulehu ahiahi iho la, komo aku la i ka hale o Kalamaula e noho nei, nana mai la lakou i keia wahine ui, nani loa. Aloha mai o Kalamaula: “Aloha oe.”
Aloha aku o Hoamakeikekula me ka leo oluolu: “Aloha oe e kuu haku.” Mahope o keia hai aku la o Elepaio i ke ano o ka loaa ana ia ia o Hoamakeikekula.
Elepaio related the way he found Hoamakeikekula.
Then Kalamaula seized hold of Hoamakeikekula and drew her to him. Hoamakeikekula then said: “My lord don’t defile me, your maid servant, for it would be a wrong I would suffer from later in life. If you really desire that I become your wife, then allow me thirty days, possibly the response will arise within me during that time.”
On hearing this reply Kalamaula was much impressed and agreed to the conditions. Hoamakeikekula remained there, but she would not touch the food placed before her, nor did she go out of the house.
At the end of three days, she saw in a dream a man approaching her with a war club in his right hand, who said: “Your grandmother promised me that you were to be mine and I have, therefore, waited many days for you until my spirit within me has fainted because that promise has not been fulfilled. Therefore,
Mahope o laila, lalau mai o Kalamaula ia Hoamakeikekula, a huki aku, pane aku o Hoamakeikekula. “Ekuu haku, mai hoohaumia pono ole oe i kau kauwa wahine o lilo ia i kina no kau kauwa nei, o hooili ia ia mea ino ma ka hope o ko’u mau la. Ina he manao kou peia, e kakali oe ia’u i ekolu anahulu, malama o hiki mai ka ae ana o ka hoao i loko o ia wa.” Ua maikai keia olelo ia Kalamaula. Noho iho la o Hoamakeikekula me ka ai ole i ka ai, me ka puka ole i waho.
Ekolu la i hala ia ia, ike aku la ia ma ka moe uhane i keia kanaka e hele mai ana me ka newa, i ka lima akau, e paa ana olelo mai la: “Ua haawi mai ko kupunawahine ia oe na’u, a ua kakali au i loko o na la he nui lao, a ua maule wale iho kuu manao nou i ka hooko ole ia o ka haawi. Nolaila, e
prepare yourself to go on a strange journey.”
Hoamakeikekula replied: “I did not come here with the consent of my people, nor were my footsteps that led me here as a stranger bargained for, therefore, I shall take your words as a mantle and wear it over my shoulders at all times.”
hoomakaukau oe no ka hele ana i ke ala au e hele malihini nei.” I aku o Hoamakeikekula: “Aole au i hele mai ma ke ala o ka ae ia, aole hoi i kuai i ko’u mau kapuai no ke ala malihini nei; nolaila, o kau olelo, oia ka’u e lei ai ma luna ae o kuu poohiwi nei.”
Puoho ae la ia, he moe uhane kana; noonoo ae la ia i ke ano a me ka manao, aohe loaa. Aka, ua kau wale mai no ke ano o ka nahele ia ia.
She then woke up and discovered that she had been dreaming. She then tried to fathom the meaning of the dream but it was beyond her understanding. Her mind, however, seemed to dwell on the forests. On retiring the next night she again dreamed of the same person and held the same conversation. She then fell in love with the person in her dreams so much so that she woke up startled and cried. She then folded her arms,10 lamenting. When Kalamaula heard her weeping he asked her: “What are you weeping for? You have never done this before, not
Moe hou iho la ia, o ka lua ia o ka po, loaa hou ka moe, o ia mau olelo no nae. Ia wa puni ia i ke aloha i kela uhane; puoho ae la ia a uwe, puliki iho la i ke kino a paiauma. Ninau mai o Kalamaula: “Heaha keia au e uwe nei? Aole hoi oe pela mamua aku nei, mai kou la i hiki mai ai a hiki i keia la.” Aohe ekemu aku o Hoamakeikekula. A kokoke e wehe mai ka pawa o ke ao, ia wa kaiauna mai la ke kau a ke ao. Ia manawa, kulu pakakahi mai la ka ua me ka makani, kokolo mai ana ka ohu me ka pahola i luna o ka mamane, iho mai la ka onohi anuenue a kokoke i ke alo o ia
since the first day you arrived here.” Hoamakeikekula did not, however, make answer. Very early that morning just before dawn, the mountain clouds began to thicken; drops of rain began to fall one by one; the wind began to rise; the fog began to come creeping over the mamane; a rainbow appeared and stood before her. She was then entirely enveloped in a thick fog which hid everything from view
She then rose and went out of the house and wandered over the deserted hills and plains until she arrived in the uplands of Pahulumoa, a place entirely uninhabited. She lived here without tasting food and spent her days picking and stringing lehua [538]blossoms. At night she would retire and dream of the same person. Thus they were united in love, which became steadfast in Hoamakeikekula.
It was because of her suffering and lonesomeness in the forest that she was called, Hoamakeikekula.11 After leading
nei, ia wa ua puni keia i ka ohu a me na mea a pau loa.
Lilo aku la keia i ke kula mehameha kanaka ole, a noho mauka o Pahulumoa, he aina mehameha kanaka ole; malaila ia i noho ai me ka ai ole i ka ai, o ka lehua [539]kana mea walea o ka la e noho ai. A po iho, o kela uhane kana kane e moe ai, pela ko laua pili ana me ke aloha, a me ka paa o ke aloha ia
Hoamakeikekula. No loko o laila keia inoa o Hoamakeikekula, no kona noho mehameha ana.
A liuliu kona mau la ma ia wahi, loaa i kekahi kanaka huli laau hale, o Puuhue kona inoa. O kona kumu i ike ai, he ahi a i ke
the life of a wanderer for some days, she was at last found by a man called Puuhue who was after some house timber. He found her in the following manner: On coming to an olapa12 tree he saw something bright at noon time, up in this tree. When he looked up the tree he saw a very beautiful woman hiding in the ieie13 vines; so he stood under the tree and called out: “Say, come down that I may fondle you and that I may speak to you.”
Hoamakeikekula then climbed down from the tree. When she stood on the ground, Puuhue sprang forward, lifted up and kissed the bottom of her feet and said: “I am indeed blessed in beholding your eyes and your face. I humbly beg of you that if in your goodness and beauty, I would be so fortunate as to please you my princess,14 that I offer you my noble lord, whose spirit you have often seen in your dreams.” This person was Puuonale, the king of Kohala, whose spirit Hoamakeikekula had so often seen in her dreams
awakea i luna o ke kumu olapa. A hiki ia, nana aku la i keia mea nani loa i luna o ke kumu olapa, ua pee i loko o ka pohai ieie, noho paa iho la ia malalo o ke kumu laau, a liuliu, kahea aku la: “E, iho mai i lalo nei, e milimili aku wau ia oe, a e ha’i aku no hoi au i ka’u olelo.”
Iho iho la o Hoamakeikekula i lalo a hiki, lele aku la o Puuhue a ma ka poli wawae, honi iho la, a olelo aku la: “Pomaikai au i ko’u ike ana i kou mau maka a me kou helehelena. Ke nonoi haahaa aku nei au ia oe, ina nolaila kou nani a me kou maikai, e loaa ia’u ka mahalo ia mai e kuu haku wahine. Eia o kuu Haku kane, nona ka uhane au e ike la ma ka moe uhane.” O Puuonale ka inoa o ke kino maoli, he ’lii no Kohala, nona kela uhane a Hoamakeikekula e aloha nei, ua like ko laua nani a me ko laua kina ole.
and for whom she already had a deep attachment. He was as handsome as she was beautiful, both were without blemish.
As soon as Puuhue ended, the heart of Hoamakeikekula was changed by his words, so that she left Pahulumoa and accompanied him. When they arrived at a place called Keolewa, they found Puuonale the king living there. When Hoamakeikekula looked on and saw the object of her dreams, she was unable to withhold her tears which flooded her eyes.
At seeing this Puuonale asked:
“Why these tears from the eyes of my queen?” “I have seen some one like you in my dreams constantly during the past days in a form without bones for whom I am paying my debt of love with these tears; hence my sadness and tears.”
A pau ka olelo a Puuhue, ua hoololi ia ka naau o Hoamakeikekula e ia olelo; nolaila, ua haalele ia ia Pahulumoa, a hoi pu mai la me Puuhue. A hiki laua ma Keolewa, e noho ana o Puuonale ke ’lii, a nana aku la keia, ua like me ke ano o ke kino uhane ana e ike ai ma ka moe, kulu iho la ka waimaka me ka haloiloi.
Ninau mai o Puuonale: “E kuu haku, heaha ka mea i helelei iho ai kou waimaka i keia wa?” “He mea ano like me oe ka’u e uwe nei, ua launa me a’u i na la mamua aku nei, maloko o ke kino iwi ole. A no ia mea au i luuluu iho ai i ke kaumaha, a o kuu mea ia e hookaa nei i ka aie a ke aloha, he kulu waimaka.”
After pondering the matter over for a while, Puuonale asked: “Whom did he resemble?” “He looked just like you; your voice
Noonoo iho la o Puuonale a liuliu, pane aku la ia: “Pehea ke ano a me ka helehelena i kau ike.” “O kou ano a pau loa, oia
sounds just like his; he, however, carried a war club and wore a feather cape and a feather helmet.” Puuonale then took up his war club, the feather cape and helmet and placed them before Hoamakeikekula. She then took them up kissed them and wept over them.
kona, o kau mau olelo, oia kana, eia nae, he laau newa ma kona lima, a o ka aahu, he ahuula, a he mahiole ma kona poo.” Lalau aku la o Puuonale i ka newa, ka ahuula, ka mahiole, a waiho mai la imua o Hoamakeikekula, lalau iho la ia a honi iho la me na waimaka e hiolo ana mai na maka aku.
Puuonale then took Hoamakeikekula as his wife. At their union the thunder was heard; the lightning flashed; eight rainbows arched the heavens; the pools of Kahoolana on Kahua were flooded; red rain passed in procession on the ocean; the hills were covered with fog; and a thick mist covered the land for ten days. These were the signs [of recognition].15 The two lived on happily as husband and wife.
In due course of time
Hoamakeikekula conceived and gave birth to child to whom the name of Alelekinana was given. It did not have a human form but that of a wooden image; hence the saying: “In the upland is
I kona naha ana, kui ka hekili pamaloo, lapalapa ka uwila, pio na anuenue ewalu, lana na kiowai o Kahoolana, i luna o Kahua, lalani ka ua koko ma ka moana, aaki ka ohu i na puu, uhi ka pohina hookahi anahulu, o ia na hoailona.
Noho iho la laua he kane a he wahine, a liuliu, hapai o Hoamakeikekula, a hana o Alelekinana, he kino kii, aohe keiki maoli, nolaila keia olelo: “I uka o Hookukekii, i [541]kai o Kahua.” No keia keiki kii kela
Hookukekii, in the lowland is Kahua.” [540]The saying originated from this child image, and it is used to this day. This image gave the people of Kohala the idea of making idols, from which the worshiping of idols throughout Kohala in ancient time originated.
The word Hoamakeikekula was also derived from the fact that Kohala is a rolling country and has plains, and because of this the people of Kohala have a fond attachment for the land of their birth. Therefore, Kohala is noted as the proud land with lonesome loving meadows. Such is the place of this legend obtained by me, which I have narrated. [533]
olelo, ua kaulana ia a hiki i keia la. O ia ke kumu o na kii a pau o Kohala, no loko o laila na kii hoomana a pau o Kohala i ka wa kahiko. A o kela inoa o
Hoamakeikekula hoi, nolaila, nui na kula ma Kohala a puni i keia wa e waiho nei, no loko o kela inoa, nolaila, he kula aloha o Kohala a hiki i keia wa. Nolaila, kaulana o Kohala i ka aina haaheo, a me ke kula anoano aloha, pela kahi o keia kaao i loaa i loaa ia’u, a pela au e hoike nei. [540]
The banana bud, for smoothness, was the ideal of flesh condition to the Hawaiian mind; no skin could be smoother, nor firmer. ↑
Weleweka, velvet, borrows an introduced modern term for an ancient setting. ↑
Ala, a variety or species of taro (Colocasia antiquorum), tough and stringy; not a stone, as readily comes to mind. The former might be seized by
hungry dogs while the latter would have no attraction ↑
This wrapping of pukohukohu, a noni colored kapa, was likely one of the paus, or skirts of the grandmother, generally worn in several folds ↑
Palama is used here in the sense of strict surveillance of secrecy under a sacred kapu Elsewhere the word is used as one espoused; a fiancée ↑
Kula, not a plain or open place, but a section of the ohia grove where the lehua blossoms are abundant, for the sake of which the birds assemble and sit ↑
The bird elepaio (Chasiempis sandwichensis) is the favorite messenger or agent for carrying out the plots in Hawaiian myths more than any other. Prof. H. W. Henshaw observed: “No bird has a more important place in Hawaiian mythology than the elepaio, and omens and warnings were formerly read from its actions and notes ” ↑
Awa (Piper methysticum), usually of ground culture, appears to have a variety or species which thrives in tree stumps ↑
Ua koko, literally red rain, is defined as “a cloud standing erect and having different colors, somewhat like the rainbow ” ↑
Puliki ke kino is more the folding the arms on the body, in distress. ↑
Hoa-make-i-ke-kula, companion in suffering in the plain. ↑
Olapa (Cheirodendron gaudichaudii) ↑
Ieie vine (Freycinetia arnotti). ↑
Kuu haku wahine, my mistress, yet more dignified in its meaning ↑
Various disturbances of the elements and strange phenomena were ever interpreted as manifestations of the gods in favor, or recognition, of the alii. The more severe or pronounced the weather phenomena the higher rank it denoted. ↑
[Contents]
L
K .
Ku was the father and Hina1 was the mother. They had two children, Hookaakaaikapakaakaua2 a son, and Kapuaokaoheloai3 a daughter. Waiakea in Hilo is the country where these people lived. The brother was the first born and the sister the last. These people were of high chief rank of Hilo. These two children were brought up without knowing that they were brother and sister. They never saw each other although they lived in the same house. The brother had a male attendant and the sister a female attendant. They were brought up under a very strict kapu; they never went out of doors, not even for the calls of nature. Ku
K
K .
O Ku ka makuakane, o Hina ka makuahine, o Hookaakaaikapakaakaua ke kaikunane, o Kapuaokaoheloai ke kaikuahine. O Waiakea, i Hilo ka aina, o ka mua ke kaikunane, o ka muli ke kaikuahine, he mau alii lakou no Hilo. Hookahi o laua hale i hanai ia ai, aole ike kekahi i kekahi, he kahu kane ko ke kaikunane, he kahu wahine ko ke kaikuahine; he kapu loa ko laua hanai ia ana, aole hele i waho o ka hale, i loko no e hana lepo ai. Ua olelo o Ku a me Hina i na kahu hanai, ina e kii ke kaikunane i ke kaikuahine, alaila, hele kana hanai me kona kahu i Kuaihelani e noho ai (i ka aina i Kahiki), a pela kekahi. A hala na makahiki he iwakalua ia laua o
and Hina also left word with the attendants that if the brother sought the sister, then he and his attendant would be banished to Kuaihelani (a land in Tahiti), and so with the other. This manner of living was maintained for twenty years, without their seeing one another. One day the attendants as was their custom went to the uplands of Kaumana, directly above Punahoa to do farm work. After the departure of the attendants in the early morning, Kapuaokaoheloai arose and walked out of doors. Upon looking back at the house she saw a bright light within; so she again entered the house and began a search and found a door, which she opened. As she walked in she saw a red object lying on a bed. She removed the tapa from the face and saw a very handsome young man. They then slept together until the sun had passed the meridian, when she returned to her part of the house.
When the attendants returned they did not discover the actions of their two charges. This
keia noho kaawale ana, me ka ike ole kekahi i kekahi, pii na kahu o laua e mahiai i uka o Kaumana, aia ia wahi i uka pono o Punahoa.
A hala na kahu i ke kakahiaka nui, ala ae la o Kapuaokaoheloai a hele i waho o ka hale, i nana ae kona hana, e a ana keia mea wena i ka hale o lakou, hele aku keia huli, loaa ka puka, wehe aku la. Nana aku la ia e moe ana keia mea ula, komo aku la ia a wehe ae la, he kanaka maikai loa, ia wa moe laua, a aui ka la, hoi aku la keia i kona wahi. A hoi mai la na kahu, aole ike i keia hana a ka laua mau hanai, pela mau no ka laua hana ana a hala ke anahulu okoa.
I kekahi ahiahi, hopuhopu iho la o Kapuaokaoheloai he mau moa, hoihoi aku la a ma kona
conduct was kept up for ten full days. One evening Kapuaokaoheloai caught some chickens and brought them to her bed where they were concealed. That evening she and her attendant retired very early. Not very long after they had retired, Kapuaokaoheloai woke up and shook the chickens which caused the roosters to crow. She then said to her attendant: “It is daylight. It is now time for you two to go up and tend to our farm work.” The attendant replied: “How quickly daylight has come. It seems that I have just closed my eyes when I heard the cock crowing.” She woke up and went out of doors and looked up at the Milky Way which had not made its appearance: so she reentered the house and went to bed again. Kapuaokaoheloai after [542]a while again reached for the chickens and shook them and the roosters again crowed. She woke her attendant and said: “It is daylight, the chickens are all crowing together.” Her attendant then rose and went over to the other part of the house where
wahi, moe iho la laua me kona kahu, i ke ahiahi ana aku, aole i liuliu iho ka moe ana. Kii aku la o Kapuaokaoheloai a na moa, hoonioni; pukoko ka moa a kani ae la, i aku i ke kahu: “Ua ao, e pii ae olua i ka mahiai i na mala a kakou.” I aku ke kahu: “Hikiwawe hoi ha ke ao, o ka pili ana iho nei no ka o na maka la, o ke kani e mai nei no ia o ka moa.” Puka ae la keia a waho nana ae la i ka huli o ka ia, hoi [543]aku la no moe. Lalau hou keia i ka moa, kani hou, hoala aku la no keia: “Ua ao, ke olowalu mai nei ka moa.” Ala ae la ke kahu wahine, kii aku la a ke kahu kane hoala, ala ae la, a pii aku la laua i ka mahiai.
A hala laua, ala ae la o Kapuaokaoheloai a hoi aku la ma kahi o kona kaikunane, moe iho la laua. Pii na kahu o laua a waena, noho kakali o ke ao ae, aohe ao iki, hoi mai la laua a hiki i ka hale, loaa pono mai la na hanai e moe pu ana. I aku ke kane i ka wahine: “E pii ana au e hai i na makua, e like me na olelo i kinohi.” Ae aku ka wahine: “Ae, o pii.”
the male attendant was sleeping and woke him up. The two rose and started on their way to the farm lands. As soon as they left, Kapuaokaoheloai got up and went over to the other side of the house where her brother was and they slept together. When the two attendants were half way up to the farm lands, they sat down to await the approach of daylight. After waiting for some time and daylight not appearing they returned to the house and discovered their charges sleeping together. The male attendant then said to the female attendant: “I am going up to inform their parents in obedience to the instructions given us in the beginning.” The female attendant who was his wife replied: “Yes, you must go up.” When the male attendant arrived at the home of Ku and Hina, he told them of the conduct of their two charges. At this Ku gave orders to his men to go and kill the female attendant. When the men arrived they caught her to carry out the death order, but she spoke up: “Don’t kill me here, take me to the chief’s presence and there I will
A hiki aku la ia o Ku ma laua o Hina, hai aku la i na hanai a laua, ia wa kena mai la o Ku i na kanaka, e kii i ua wahi kahu wahine nei e pepehi ai. A hiki lakou lalau aku la i ke kahu e make. Olelo mai ke kahu: “Alia au e make, a ke alo o ke ’lii, alaila au make, aia a lohe ke ’lii i ka’u mau olelo.” A hiki keia i mua o Ku me Hina, olelo mai la o Ku i na kanaka: “Heaha iho la ka ka mea i hoola ia mai nei, aohe pepehi iho a make?” “Ka, olelo mai nei, aia a lohe oe i kana olelo, alaila ka make ia.”
I mai la o Ku: “Heaha kau olelo?” Olelo aku ke kahu: “Ua olelo ke ’lii, ina na ka’u hanai ke kii, alaila, oia a me a’u e hoi i Kuaihelani. A pela no hoi kekahi o maua me kana hanai. Oia ka’u olelo i ke ’lii.” “Ae, ua pono, aole oe e make, e hoi oe me kau hanai i Kuaihelani.”
die. I want the chief to hear me first.” When they arrived in the presence of Ku and Hina, Ku asked the men: “Why did you save her? Why didn’t you kill her?” “She asked that after you have heard what she has to say then she will die.” Ku then asked: “What have you to say?” The attendant replied: “The chief said, that if my charge should make the first approach then I was to be banished with her to Kuaihelani. This was also your charge and command in reference to the other one of us and his charge. That is what I wish to say to the chief.” “Yes, you are right, you shall not die; you and your charge shall go to Kuaihelani.”
When she arrived in the presence of her charge, the double canoe was made ready and they sailed off; herself and her charge and two canoe paddlers making four of them. They sailed from Hawaii to Maui; from Maui to Oahu; from Oahu to Kauai and landed at Waimea. As they went ashore they saw a canoe on the beach from the
A hiki keia i mua o ka hanai, hoomakaukau iho la na waa, a holo aku la, oia nei, o ka hanai, o na hoewaa elua, aha lakou. Mai Hawaii mai lakou a Maui, mai Maui mai a Oahu, mai Oahu a Kauai, a pae lakou ma Waimea. E kau ana ilaila he waa imi wahine na ke ’lii o Kuaihelani, mai Kuaihelani mai, ike mai la i ka wahine maikai o
king of Kuaihelani who was in search of a wife. When the two messengers saw Kapuaokaoheloai and her beauty, they said: “We are going to make an inspection of the whole group and if we fail to find a woman who will surpass your beauty, then we will take you as the wife for our king.”
Kapuaokaoheloai and her companions, therefore, stayed at Waimea for over ten days, till the return of the messengers who reported that they had failed to find one equally as beautiful as Kapuaokaoheloai; so they embarked on their canoe and set sail for Kuaihelani. After they had been on their way for over forty days, the messengers of Kuaihelani said: “We will soon see land; we have yet, however, to smell the sweet perfume of the kiele.” After some days they caught the perfume of the kiele and soon after saw a beautiful country. The men then said to Kapuaokaoheloai: “When we reach land and arrive at the king’s house, and he should invite you to come up to him on the kapa cloth,4 don’t accept the
Kapuaokaoheloai, olelo mai la: “E hele maua e nana i keia mau moku a pau loa, a i loaa ole ka wahine, alaila, o oe no ka wahine.” Nolaila, noho iho la lakou i Waimea a hala ke anahulu, hoi mai la na kanaka imi wahine, aole nae i loaa ka wahine. Holo lakou a hala eha anahulu i ka moana, olelo aku na kanaka o Kuaihelani: “Kokoke kakou e ike i ka aina, aia nae a honi i ke ala o ke kiele.”
He mau la i hala, honi lakou i ke ala o ke kiele, ike aku la lakou he aina maikai o Kuaihelani. Olelo aku na kanaka ia
Kapuaokaoheloai: “I pae kakou, a kahi o ke ’lii, i kahea mai ia oe e pii aku i luna o ka nio, mai pii oe he make; pela ke kaikamahine, i kahea mai ia oe e pii i ka anuu, mai pii oe o make, aia a kii mai i ko lima e paa ai, alaila, oe pii aku.”
Pae aku la lakou a uka, hele aku la lakou a hiki i ke lii, aloha mai ke ’lii, aloha aku keia, kahea mai ke ’lii e pii ae maluna o ka nio, hoole aku keia, aole. [545]
invitation for it will mean death to you. If his daughter should invite you on the steps with her don’t go or it will be your death; only when they take you by the hand must you accept.” They then landed and proceeded to the place of the king. Upon seeing her the king greeted her, which greeting she returned. The king then invited her to come to him on to the kapa, this she refused. [544]
The king’s daughter was at this time living all by herself at a place away from her father, and occupied a very sacred place,5 with a former wife who had been dead for some time. The name of his daughter was Kapuaokaohelo. The king desiring to know his daughter’s opinion sent word to her by a couple of birds with orders to come and look at this woman; and see if she intended making her a friend, or if she would advise him to take her as his wife.
O ke kaikamahine a ua ’lii la, aia no i luna o ka anuu kapu loa me kana wahine mua a make, o Kapuaokaohelo ka inoa. Kauoha aku la kona makuakane i na manu e kii a iho mai e nana i keia wahine, ina e lawe i aikane nana, a i ole, i wahine no na ianei. When the daughter arrived, she invited Kapuaokaoheloai to
A hiki mai la, aloha, olelo mai la e pii i ka anuu, hoole aku keia,
come up on the platform and sit by her; but Kapuaokaoheloai refused to accept the invitation. The king’s daughter then came down and took her hand and led her up to the platform. When they were about half way up the steps, Kapuaokaoheloai slipped and fell behind; this was due to the dislike of the platform as she had lost her virginity. Her friend again reached out for her hand and led her to the top of the platform where they sat being ministered to by the birds.
After they had lived here for some days the king’s daughter became anxious regarding her friend wishing to see if her body was as well formed as she was beautiful; so she invited her to go bathing to which her friend agreed. When they reached the bathing pool, which was also a very sacred place, those having lost their virginity, or who were defiled, were not allowed to bathe in it, the friend said: “This my bathing pool is a very sacred place. The bathers must remove all covering before entering it.” Kapuaokaoheloai agreed to
kii mai la kela a ka lima huki i luna, pii aku la laua a waena o ka anuu, kaa keia mahope, hehee hou keia i hope, no ka hookae o ka anuu. O ke kumu hookae o ka anuu ia ia nei o ka noha ana o ka mai o ia nei. Kii mai la ke aikane paa ma ka lima, a hiki laua i luna noho iho la, he manu ke kanaka lawelawe.
A hala he mau la ia laua o ka noho ana, uluhua ke aikane i ka ike ole i ke kino o ianei, manao iho la keia, ma waho wale no ka maikai, aole ma ke kino, nolaila, olelo aku i ke aikane: “Kaua e auau,” ae mai ke aikane. A hiki laua i ke kiowai auau, he kiowai kapu loa, aole e auau ka poe i naha, a me ka poe haumia. Olelo mai ke aikane: “He kanawai ko kuu wai, he wehe ke kapa a pau a koe o ke kino, alaila, auau.” Ae aku keia; wehe ae la keia i ke kapa a pau, lele aku la i loko o ka wai, nana mai la ke aikane, aohe puu aohe
observe the rule, removed all her clothes and jumped into the water. Her friend then looked on admiringly seeing that she was indeed faultless; but detected the marks of a bite on one of her calves. The king’s daughter then climbed up the bank first when Kapuaokaoheloai followed after; but when she tried to climb the bank she slipped back, a sign that she had lost her virginity. At this her friend reached out her hand and helped her out of the water. When the king’s daughter saw the sign that her friend had lost her virginity she got angry and refused to speak to her, eat with her, or reside with her; she was so angry that she immediately sent some birds to go to her father and inform him of her discovery and to punish her with death.
When the father heard the report from the birds he ordered all the priests who were versed in the telling of coming events and hidden things, to come and inspect the stranger to see whether she was of high rank or not. “If she is of very high rank
kee, pela ke kua me ke alo, aia nae ma ka oloolo wawae he nahu. Pii mua ke aikane i luna o ka wai, kaa keia mahope, hoholo keia i lalo, huli mai ke aikane a huki i ka lima, o ke kumu o keia hoholo no ka ike o ka wai ua naha keia.
Ia wa maopopo iho la i ke aikane, ua naha keia, nolaila, huhu ke aikane, aohe ekemu, aohe ai pu, aohe noho pu; no keia huhu, kena aku la i na manu, e hele e olelo aku i ka makuakane e make ke aikane, no ka naha ana o ka mai a no ka
she shall not die. If she is not of high rank then she must die.” The priests then gathered and inspected her and at the end they all agreed that her parents were not of high rank. They were of one mind with the king that she must indeed die, because she had climbed the sacred platform. There was, however, one amongst the priesthood who was not present at this time; so he was sent for by the king, to come and tell his knowledge concerning the stranger. When he arrived in the presence of the king, the king asked him: “Can you give a true interpretation concerning the rank of this woman? Whether she is of high rank or not?” The priest replied: “Yes.” The priest then continued: “She is of the highest rank and is a chiefess from the east; she is even more sacred than your daughter. The sacred platform is not for such as your daughter; it is the resting place of this one. She is far above your daughter in rank. She is none other, but is of your own blood; her mother, Hina, was the first-born and you came after. She [546]originally
haumia o kona kino. A lohe ka makuakane i ka olelo a na manu, hoouna aku la ia i na kanaka a pau loa i ike i ka nana ouli, kilokilo, kuhikuhi puuone, e hele mai e nana i ke kaikamahine malihini, he ’lii paha aole paha. Ina ke ’lii aole e make, ina aohe alii, alaila make. Nana mai la na mea a pau loa, aohe alii mai na makua mai; nolaila, hookahi o lakou manao me ke ’lii o ka make wale no, no ka pii ana i ka anuu kapu loa.
Aia hoi, he kanaka i koe, he kuhikuhi puuone no Kena aku la ke ’lii e hele mai e ha’i i kona ike. A hiki mai la ua kanaka la i kahi o ke ’lii, ninau aku la ke ’lii: “E hiki anei ia oe ke olelo pololei i ke ano o keia kaikamahine, i ke ’lii, i ke ’lii ole?” Ae mai kela. I aku ke kuhikuhi puuone: “He ’lii nui keia no ka hikina a ka la, he kapu, aohe kapu o kau kaikamahine, o ka anuu kapu, aole no kau, no keia kaikamahine ia anuu, maluna ko ianei alii malalo ko kau. Aole he kaikamahine e, mai loko [547]aku no ou, o ka mua o Hina ko ianei makuahine, o ka hope oe, mai
