Fiji Legend

On The Trail Of A Fiji Legend

By M. T. Pezet.

My husband came home from work one day and said, ‘You know that area where I used to work? Well, they have i road through there now. One of the villages is supposed to ?e one of the oldest in Fiji. There is a cave in the river bank, md there is supposed to be an old chief buried there.

[E added, “There is also a circle of ten stones somewhere repre senting ten brothers or ten tribes sian’t remember the details, but ire is an old Fijian there who 'iiws the legend. Would you like

go there?”

H’d love to!” I exclaimed. “It uld be just the sort of story PIM uld like.”

Well, I’ll take you one Sunday,” s said. mnday followed Sunday. There ,; a visit to another golf club; ire was the golf open champion o: there was another golf club rting ours; there were Sunday y-offs for the members’ competi [is; there were mixed days; it ned. Months went by.

J, last the golf season ended.

Would you like to go to that age on Sunday?” my husband ►ed.

II would,” I said. “I want to get ,t story for PIM.”

We're Off!

:iy husband took out the Land ver, our children climbed in the ;k, and we set off for the old sage, at last. iVe drove through Tavua, then :ie distance along the Nadarivatu •d. At a turn-off, we left the road il drove along a very narrow, ?.gh one, through acres of guava 2s. They had a lot of fruit on im, big, ripe guavas, hanging in :ngly, shining in the sun. On our y back, we were so late for lunch t we filled the aching gaps with ;m.

Vhen we came to where the road led at the Nasivi River, my ;band parked the Land-Rover and all climbed out and walked down slope to the river. My sband carried the fishing rod and camera equipment, our eldest Id carried the fishing reel, I iried my camera, drawing book 1 pencil, and the other three lldren ran along ahead, n the distance, we could see the of the big stone cliff that rose er from the water to some height, vas not extensive but quite strik-

Almost immediately we had to cross the river on stepping stones.

We managed that without incident, though our three-year-old was very nervous about it.

My husband took him across, and Eldest just picked up the bag con taining the Leica camera, telephoto lens, exposure meter, filters and tripod, and carried them across, while we watched in fear and trembling.

That safely negotiated, we walked along the rocky edge of the river until we came to where another branch of the river joined the first.

A “PIM” reader in Fiji, Mrs. M. T. Pezet, on her own initiative, not long ago decided to go after a story for “PIM”. She didn’t quite make it. “PIM” publishes the result nevertheless, in the belief that it shows something of the misfor tunes that await Islands readers hot on the trail of stories.

Here there was the width of two streams to be crossed on stepping stones. We walked safely across that, my husband carrying his own bag this time; then on, first following the rocky edge of the river, and then moving up onto the bank where there was a path through the rather thick growth.

On The Trail We pushed aside bushes and walked under a creeper. It was the strangest creeper I had seen. It looked hoary with age and had a stem nine inches or so in diameter.

Where it came from the ground, the stem was very thick and knotted.

It went up to the fork of a tree, through that, down in a curve, and then up again into another tree.

We could not see its leaves, as they were hidden in the foliage of the tree.

At last we came to a little sandy shore of the river immediately opposite one cave. It was in the cliff face, at water level, and could only be entered by swimming across the pleasant little pool in front of it.

There the river deepened and made a good spot for swimming. To the side, where the hill slope was softer, and covered with vegetation, we could see another cave.

That must be the one with the grave in it, I thought.

We could not see anything re sembling a circle of ten stones.

I left my husband casting in the pool, and went off to the second cave with the children scrampering around and ahead of me. The clear voices of the children carried along the valley.

Now and again we heard cow’s lowing, or the sound of a cow bell.

The river was very shallow again.

I left my sandals with my drawing book, took my camera, and waded across.

We left Youngest sitting on a big rock, and the other three and I climbed the steep little slope to the cave, hanging onto bushes to stop us from slipping down the crumbling slope. This cave was slightly higher than the other, and looked bigger.

(Continued on page 99)

Reader Pezet finally found the cave containing the grave (top). She doesn't guarantee that the photograph below really is of the grave, but it is the best she could do.

I climbed up to it, it looked there were indeed a grave in At the edge of the cave floor, it fell away to the slope, there piece of timber exposed. It -8 feet long, and looked like e of tree deliberately placed si to the mouth of the cave, nrly placed stones on top of it Iso been exposed by the soil’s ■ away. rest of the “grave” was id with the loose, dry soil of we floor, and some rock that as if it had fallen from the Che children wanted to go in :nd play, but I forbade it, in it was, indeed, an old chief’s Dok several rather distracted :?raphs, as Youngest had tired ting for us, and began to cross ist little stretch of water. It , rather stagnant little arm ; river and had mossy stones .undreds of tadpoles in it.

He screamed when the tadpoles swam about his feet. Eldest went to help him, and in the flurry Youngest fell into the warm brownish water.

The screams became more urgent.

I decided it was time to go back to my husband. As we crossed the stepping stones, my husband called out to us, “Watch for the lure will you?”

Somehow the end of the line had snapped, and the lure disappeared.

We waited a reasonable time, but it did not float down to the stones. At last we decided it must have sunk, and rejoined him.

We picked up our things and be gan to go back. When we came to the junction of the two arms of the river, I stopped to photograph the cliff. Then I gathered up my things.

Eldest wished to help Youngest across the stepping stones, so he gave me the reel.

I had the fishing reel in one hand, sandals, drawing book and pencil in the other hand, and a camera slung across my shoulder. I walked across the stones easily. Then I stepped onto a big, particularly solid-looking one. It half turned over and I crashed into the water, grabbing the camera strap and holding the camera above the water. The fishing reel in the other hand hit a rock with a loud smack.

My husband pulled me out of the water, while my three young sons shouted various appreciative and disrespectful comments. There was no sign of our little daughter. We pushed on through the bushy growth, calling her every few steps, but there was no reply. We had visions of her falling on the stepping stones ahead and drowning, or being lured into the bush. We moved more quickly. Across the last lot of step ping stones, very carefully, and up the bank to the Land-Rover, where she sat complacently waiting for us.

Eldest looked at his fishing reel.

“There’s some of it missing!” he exclaimed. “Look, there is only a screw showing. Mum must have lost it in the river.”

“Well, it’s too late to look for it,”

I said. “It could have fallen off anywhere. I am going to get this story for PIM.”

I walked over to the few Fijian houses, where the old Fijian who knew the ancient legend lived. A younger Fijian came out to greet us. I felt silly in my sodden clothes, but I was going to get that story.

I took my book and pencil to make notes.

After the preliminary courtesies, I said, “Do you know the story of the old chief buried in the cave, and the story of the ten brothers?”

“No,” he said. “My father told the story to the turaga. He did not tell me the story. I do not know it.”

“Well, then,” I said, “could I see your father please?”

“I am sorry,” he said, “but my father died three months ago.”