The first Maiore

This is the story of the first Maiore. His arms stretched out, became branches and twigs, which were covered with leaves and fruit; his legs became encrusted in the ground and became roots; his whole body became gnarled like the trunks of old trees. The wise old man transformed himself into a maiore (breadfruit tree) to enable Moe and her husband to survive the drought.

first mayor

The wise old man who became the first Maiore

Long ago, long before the arrival of the white men, a merciless drought fell on our islands. Trees and men were dying, scorched by the sun. The tall coconut palms themselves let their large, scorched palms hang down, emaciated and dejected like great dead birds. The tribes, decimated, were dying, raising their eyes to a sky that seemed doomed to an eternal summer.

Nestled under the large purau (hibiscus talacius) on the beach, the little fare had managed to keep a little of its freshness, in the midst of the fire of the earth and the sky.

Lying on a braided pandanus mat, Moe dreamed, her large black eyes lost in a distant green land. Seeing her so beautiful, Aratua, her fiancé, began to sing for her, to lull her dream and her melancholy:

– “Moe, Moe, you are beautiful like the flower of the Tahitian tiare, beautiful like a waterfall under a starry sky. Your smile is more necessary to me than the fresh fruit at the traveler's throat. Your hair is blacker than the blackest of nights, and no flower has their scent. Your lips are a red flower on your face and your throat beats gently like a dying bird.

O Moe, Moe, my arm has learned to handle the harpoon in the white water of the reefs, and my canoe is the fastest and the lightest.
My shoulder can carry the heaviest bunches of fruit to offer them to you, and my net can catch the biggest and finest fish to offer them to you.

But what does it matter, O Moe, since we are going to die. Neither your beauty, nor my arm, nor my canoe, nor my net, can do anything against the sun…”

Moe had listened to her fiancé sing. And Moe didn't want to die anymore. She wanted to live, to live with Aratua. Then, tossing her long hair over her brown shoulders, she turned to him:

“I know a wise old man in the mountains, Taaroa. The day I was born, he told my mother that I would be beautiful like the morning star and that for me he would lay down his life. Let's go find him. And they went to the mountain where Taaroa lived.

The news of the promise made to Moe on the day of his birth had spread through the tribes, like the call of a drum at the bottom of the valleys, and the little fare under the purau had become a place of pilgrimage, where everyone came looking for hope.

The two young people walked up the mountain, followed by a long human snake of men and women, whose lamentation rose in the overheated air like a prayer:

– O Moe, Moe…

Long white form in his tapa robe (garment), his large beard covered him from head to toe. Leaning on a branch of a wild lemon tree stripped of its thorns, he exuded such quiet strength that upon seeing him all the tribes understood that their salvation would come from him.

Moe continued her climb towards him alone and stopped on a high rock, silhouetted against the setting sun.

– “Wise and revered old man, you promised at my birth that I would be as beautiful as the morning star and that you would give your life for me. Today I want to live with the one I love. Today we want to live. »

“O Moe, I will keep my promise. You are beautiful as the morning star, fresh as a Tahitian tiare flower and for you, I will make eternal beauty. You love this boy who follows you, and his heart rises with love when he looks at you. For you, I will make eternal love. You want to live and for you, I will make eternal life. »

Sage Taaroa's body seemed to melt into the evening air rising from the valleys. His arms stretched out, became branches and twigs, which were covered with leaves and fruit; his legs became encrusted in the ground and became roots; his whole body became gnarled like the trunks of old trees.

The prodigy was complete: the water began to flow again in the rivers and the grass, and the flowers, and the trees greened visibly. It was while singing for joy that the tribes returned towards the sea, stooping to pass under the branches of the tree, which bent under the fruit.