Continuing on, the Djanggawul reached Nganmaruwi, where they erected another large “shade.” During all the time they had been on the Australian mainland, there is no mention of the Brother’s having coitus with his Sisters: but while they were living here, he said to Bildjiwuraroiju, “I want to copulate with you, Sister.”
But the elder Sister was shy. “Why?” she asked him.
“I want to put a few people in this place,” the Brother replied.
So he lifted her clitoris and inserted his long penis. He did the same with Miralaidji. So they continued living there, and he copulated as a husband does with his wives.
After some time, Bildjiwuraroiju became pregnant, and her brother said to her, “Sister, may I have a look at you?”
“What for?” she asked.
“Because I want to put some people in this place.
“All right,” she replied. She opened her legs a little, resting her clitoris on her left leg. The Brother sat before his Sister and placed his index finger into her vagina, up to the first joint. Then he pulled it away, and at the same time a baby boy came out. Bildjiwuraroiju was careful to open her legs only a little; if she had spread them out, children would have flowed from her, for she kept many people stored away in her uterus. These people (or children) in her uterus were like rangga emblems kept in the conical-shaped ngainmara mat, for the latter is a uterus symbol.
As the baby boy came out, the Brother stood listening to hear the sound of his cry. As soon as he heard this, he took hold of the child and put him on to the grass near by. Then he returned to his Sister, and saw a baby girl coming out. After she had cried, he lifted her gently and placed her under the ngainmara mat, which served to shelter her from the sun. The crying of a male child is akai-’dugung, a forceful “heavy” sound; while that of a girl is akai njumulgunin, a “small sound.”
Then another male child issued from the elder Sister, and was put into the grass by the Brother. She continued giving birth to children of both sexes; when she had finished she closed her legs, and the Djanggawul Brother said to her:
“Sister, these little boys we will put in the grass, so that later, when they grow up, they will have whiskers; those whiskers are from the grass. We will always do that when we remove male children. And these little girls we have put under the ngainmara mat, hiding them there. That is because they must be smooth and soft and have no body hair, and because girls are really sacred. They must be kept under the ngainmara, just as the rangga emblems are kept. We will always do that when we remove female children.”
The Djanggawul then left this place. The children they had produced grew up and married, and were the progenitors of the present Aborigines of those parts. From this time, too, the Two Sisters remained always pregnant, from having coitus with their Brother.
—Ronald M. Berndt. Djanggawul: An Aboriginal Religious Cult of North Eastern Arnhem Land. New York: Philosophical Library, 1953, pp. 24–28.
ARANDA
Myth of the Great Father The very strong emphasis on masculine dominance in the social organization of the central Australian Aranda people is most evident in this myth: Karora, one of the great totemic ancestors, dreams and gives birth to animals and then (male) children through his navel and armpits. Presumably the protected nature of an armpit, its cupped shape, and the fact that it secretes sweat—structurally similar to a mouth, which produces saliva and words, and to a womb, which produces vaginal secretions and babies—qualify it as a source of divine masculine fertility.
The great Karora sleeps and dreams, waking only to find his new children and to inspire them with the stirring raiankintja call and dance, and then he sleeps again under the Australian earth for all time.
IN THE VERY BEGINNING everything was resting in perpetual darkness: night oppressed all the earth like an impenetrable thicket. The gurra ancestor—his name was Karora—was lying asleep in everlasting night, at the very bottom of the soak of Ilbalintja; as yet there was no water in it, but all was dry ground. Over him the soil was red with flowers and overgrown with many grasses; and a great tnatantja [ceremonial pole] was swaying above him. This tnatantja had sprung from the midst of the bed of purple flowers which grew over the soak of Ilbalintja. At its root rested the head of Karora himself: from thence it mounted up toward the sky as though it would strike the very vault of the heavens. It was a living creature, covered with a smooth skin like the skin of a man.
And Karora’s head lay at the root of the great tnatantja: he had rested thus ever from the beginning.
And Karora was thinking, and wishes and desires flashed through his mind. Bandicoots began to come out from his navel and from his armpits. They burst through the sod above, and sprang into life.
And now dawn was beginning to break. From all quarters men saw a new light appearing: the sun itself began to rise at Ilbalintja, and flooded everything with its light. Then the gurra ancestor was minded to rise, now that the sun was mounting higher. He burst through the crust that had covered him: and the gaping hole that he left behind became the Ilbalintja Soak, filled with the sweet dark juice of the honeysuckle buds. The gurra ancestor rose, feeling hungry, since magical powers had gone out from his body.
As yet he feels dazed; slowly his eyelids begin to flutter; then he opens them a little. He gropes about in his dazed state; he feels a moving mass of bandicoots all around him. He is now standing more firmly on his feet. He thinks, he desires. In his great hunger he seizes two young bandicoots; he cooks them some little distance away, close to the spot where the sun is standing, in the white-hot soil heated by the sun; the sun’s fingers alone provide him with fire and hot ashes.
His hunger satisfied, his thoughts turn towards a helpmate. But now evening is approaching over the earth; the sun hides his face with a veil of hair string, covers his body with hair-string pendants, vanishes from the sight of men. And Karora falls asleep, stretching his arms out on both sides.
While he is asleep, something emerges from underneath his armpit in the shape of a bull-roarer [a carved piece of wood that when twirled in ceremonies produces a roaring noise]. It takes on human form, and grows in one night to a full-grown young man: this is his first-born son. At night Karora wakes up, because he feels that his arm is being oppressed with the weight of something heavy: he sees his first-born son lying at his side, his head resting on his father’s shoulder.
Dawn breaks. Karora rises; he sounds the loud vibrating call known as raiankintja. The son is thereby stirred into life. He rises; he dances the ceremonial dance around the father who is sitting adorned with full ceremonial designs worked in blood and feather-down. The son totters and stumbles; he is still only half awake. The father puts his body and chest into a violent quiver; then the son places his hands upon him. The first ceremony has come to an end.
The son is now sent by his father to kill some more of the bandicoots which are playing peacefully about near by in the shade. The son brings them back to his father who cooks them in the sun-glowing soil as before, and shares the cooked meat with his son. Evening has come again, and soon both are sleep. Two more sons are born that night to the father, from out of his armpits; these he calls into life on the following morning by the raiankintja call as before.
This process is repeated for many days and nights. The sons do the hunting; and the father brings into life an increasing number of sons each night—as many as fifty on some nights. But the end cannot be delayed overlong; soon father and sons have succeeded in devouring all the bandicoots which had originally sprung from Karora’s body. In their hunger the father sends his sons away on a three-days’ hunt, to scour the great Ilbalintja Plain as far as Ininta and Ekallakuna. For hours they search patiently amongst the tall white grass, in the half-light of the almost limitless expanse of mulga-trees. But the vast mulga thicket is devoid of bandicoots, and they have to return.
It is the third day.
The sons are returning, hungry and tired, through the great stillness. Suddenly a sound comes to thei
r ears, a sound like that of a whirling bull-roarer. They listen; they proceed to search for the man who may be swinging it. They search and search and search. They stab with their tjurunga sticks into all bandicoot nests and resting places. Suddenly something dark and hairy darts up and is gone. A shout goes up—“There goes a sandhill wallaby.” They hurl their tjurunga sticks after it and break its leg. And then they hear the words of a song coming from the injured animal:
“I, Tjenterama, have now grown lame,
“Yes, lame; and the purple everlastings are clinging to me. I am a man as you are; I am not a bandicoot.” With these words the lame Tjenterama limps away.
The astonished gurra brothers continue on their way home to their father. Soon they see him approaching. He leads them back to the soak. They sit on its edge in circles, one circle around the other, ever widening out like ripples in disturbed water. And then the great pmoara flood of sweet honey from the honeysuckle buds comes from the east and engulfs them; it swirls them back into the Ilbalintja Soak.
Here the aged Karora remained; but the sons were carried by the flood under the ground to a spot in the mulga thicket. Here they rejoined the great Tjenterama, whose leg they had unwittingly broken with their tjurunga sticks.
Today, at that new ceremonial ground the natives point out the rocks and stones which represent the undying bodies of the gurra brothers which lie on top of the round stone which is said to be the body of Tjenterama; and this Tjenterama whom they had injured, is now their new chief; and in all the present-day bandicoot ceremonies Tjenterama is represented as the great gurra chief of Ilbalintja. Karora, the natives say, remained behind at his original home: he is lying in eternal sleep at the bottom of the Ilbalintja Soak; and men and women who approach the soak to quench their thirst may do so only if they bear in their hands bunches of green inuruna boughs which they lay down on the edge of the soak. For then Karora is pleased with their coming and smiles in his sleep.
—T. G. H. Strehlow. Aranda Traditions. Melbourne: University of Melbourne Press, 1947, pp. 7–10.
KAKADU
Imberombera and Wuraka Divine fertility is also the subject of this aboriginal myth, but, in contrast to the Aranda people, the Kakadus proclaim the creative power of the feminine side of the sacred. In each place she stops on her wanderings, Imberombera, the great mother, bears children and instructs them in language and culture. Meanwhile, her giant consort Wuraka, although equally fertile, seems fatigued by his potency and longs only to rest and join the sun in the east.
WURAKA came from the west, walking through the sea. His feet were on the bottom but he was so tall that his head was well above the surface of the water. He landed at a place called Allukaladi, between what are now known as Mts. Bidwell and Roe, both of which he made. His first sleeping place, after coming out on to land, was at Woralia. He then came on to Umurunguk and so to Adjerakuk and Aruwurkwain, at each of which he slept one night.
The woman, Imberombera, also walked through the sea and landed at which is now known as Malay Bay, the native name being Wungaran. She met Wuraka at Arakwurkwain. Imberombera said to him, “Where are you going?” He said, “I am going straight through the bush to the rising sun.” The first language they spoke was Iwaidja, that is, the language of the people of Port Essington. Wuraka carried his penis, or parla, over his shoulder. He said to Imberombera, ngainma parla nungeroboama, my penis is too heavy; ngainma wilalu jirongadda, my camp is close by; ngeinyimma ngoro breikul, you go a long way.
At that time there were no black-fellows. Imberombera wanted Wuraka to come with her, but he was too tired and his penis was too heavy, so he sat down where he was, and a great rock, called by the natives Wuraka, and by the white men Tor Rock, arose to mark the spot. Imberombera had a huge stomach in which she carried many children, and on her head she wore a bamboo ring from which hung down numbers of dilly bags full of yams. She also carried a very large stick or wairbi.
At a place called Marpur, close to where she and Wuraka met, she left boy and girl spirit children and told them to speak Iwaidja. She also planted many yams there and said to the children whom she left behind, mungatidda jam, these are good to eat.
She went on to Muruni, leaving yams and spirit children, and told them also to speak Iwaidja. From Muruni she went on, by way of Kumara, to Areidjut, close to Mamul, on what is now called Cooper’s Creek, which runs into the sea to the north of the mouth of the East Alligator River. At Mamul she left children, one boy being called Kominuuru, and told them to speak the Umoriu language. The only food supply she left here was Murarowa—a Cyprus bulb. She crossed the creek and went on to Yiralka but left no children there. This was close to the East Alligator River which she crossed and then came, in succession, to Jeri, Kumboyu, Munguruburaira and Uramaijino, where she opened up her dilly bags and scattered yams broadcast. She went on to Jaiyipali, where again she left food supplies. She searched around for a good camping place and, first of all, sat down in a water pool but the leeches came in numbers and fastened themselves on her, so she came out of the water and decided to camp on dry land, saying that she would go into the bush. Accordingly, she did so and camped at Inbinjairi. Here she threw the seeds of the bamboo, Koulu, in all directions and also left children, one of whom was a boy named Kalangeit Nuana.
As she travelled along, Imberombera sent out various spirit children to different parts of the country, telling them to speak different languages. She sent them to ten places, in each case instructing them as follows:—
Gnaruk ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Koranger.
Watta ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Kumboyu.
Kakadu ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Munganillida.
Witji ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Miortu.
Puneitja ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Jaijipali.
Koarnbut ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Kapalgo.
Ngornbur ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Illari.
Umbugwalur ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Owe.
Djowei ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Nauillanja.
Geimbio ngeinyimma tjikaru, gnoro Waimbi.
The first word in each of these is the name of a language which the children were to speak; ngeinyimma means you or yours; tjikaru is talk or language; gnoro is go, and the last word is the name of the place to which she sent them. Each of these places is regarded as the central camping ground of their respective tribes.
—B. Spencer. The Native Tribes of the Northern Territories. London: 1914. pp. 276–278.
YAMI
The Outbursters When creation myths are retold and ritual reenactments performed, the time of the beginnings is recaptured; that is, the present, otherwise relative, time is understood as structurally similar to and grounded in absolute time. People participating in the ceremonies come to understand themselves in a “sacred” as well as a “profane” context, and they see themselves as doing now what the gods did then and do always. By these rituals, people come to understand the formal nature of their lives and to see how they fit an absolute pattern established at the beginning and perceivable within the most profound dimensions of themselves. This pattern may be as generalized as birth, initiation, marriage, old age, and death; in such cases where the experience is universal, all religions will ritualize the events in similar fashions. Or the pattern way be more specific and localized, having to do with a particular aspect of life in one culture.
Such a ritual is attached to this creation myth of the Yami, an Indonesian people living on the island of Batel-Tobago off the southeastern coast of Formosa. They repeat the myth of the sky and earth culture heroes, their discovery of metals, and their joint efforts in discovering the proper construction of boats, so that they might do these things now as the heroes did, as they should be done. And too, they perform the ritual so that they can feel themselves to be not just of the moment, but also part of an eternal and sacred process.
“GOOD is the island of Yami,” said the god, looking down at the flat world, and dropped a big stone on the spot which is now the village of Ipaptok.
The village is named that because there grows the bean-bearing plant called paptok, which the first man used for food.
The big stone fell upon Ipaptok, and out of it burst a man. He was hungry when he first came out and ate the paptok. Then he walked down to the sea.
He saw that a bamboo was growing by the sea, and as he watched, it split and out burst another man.
“Who are we?” said one. “We are man,” said the other.
The son of the bamboo walked in one direction and found silver at a place named Kasavilugan. The son of the stone walked in another direction and found iron at a place named Imasapau. They returned to their house and beat out the hard iron and the soft silver.
One day the right knee-joint of the son of bamboo swelled and itched and a boy child burst out; from the left knee-joint came a girl child. The same thing happened to the son of stone: from his right knee burst out a boy child; from his left knee came a girl.
These children grew up and married. The daughter of the son of stone wed the son of the son of bamboo, and happy generations followed.
The people built themselves canoes. But the son of bamboo could not fell the heavy trees with his silver ax. “Hand me the iron,” he said, “to cut the heavy tree.” So the people learned that the silver ax was too soft for hewing wood, but because they loved the silver, they made themselves silver helmets. Today they wear the silver helmets adorned with beautiful silver leaf-shapes when they launch the canoes for the Flying-fish Festival and perform the fish-calling ceremony.
Primal Myths Page 49
