Born of Wind and Silence
There was a time when gods sailed the ocean as effortlessly as stars crossed the night sky.
Among them was Hiro, the revered navigator and guardian of voyages. One night, with the To’erau wind swelling behind him, Hiro set course for the island once known as To’erau Roa, a land of mystery, now called Huahine.
Sensing the shifting moods of the elements, Hiro turned to his brothers and warned:
“When the wind changes and the island draws near, wake me. When the mist rises, call me.
If you fail, the canoe will not land, it will pass through.”
Only the youngest, Tupurairai, listened. His heart stirred with knowing.
But fear silenced him when his elder brothers hissed:
“Be still, or we’ll throw you overboard.”
And so, silence reigned.
As night deepened, Hiro rested, trusting in his kin.
But the wind, wild and unheeding, turned suddenly. The canoe surged forward.
No voices called out. No hands reached to wake him.
In the stillness before dawn, the great canoe sliced through the land, dividing To’erau Roa in two, birthing Huahine Nui and Huahine Iti, the big and the small.
When Hiro awoke, the island lay torn in his wake.
He tried to stop what had already passed. In desperation, he threw his paddle, then his hook.
To this day, from the sacred shores of Maroe Bay, one can still glimpse those echoes of divinity: Hiro’s tools turned to stone, reminders etched into the bones of the island.
Source: Tahiti Héritage
Photo credit: Tahiti Tourisme – Grégoire Le Bacon, Lionailes
