The transporting of the log is not an easy task, as it has to be taken out of the uneven, rocky raybwag, and then pulled along very bad roads. Pieces of wood are put on the ground every few metres, to serve as slips on which the log can more easily glide than on the rocks and uneven soil. In spite of that, and in spite of the fact that many men are summoned to assist, the work of pulling the log is very heavy. The men receive food in payment for it. Pig flesh is cooked and distributed with baked yams; at intervals during the work they refresh themselves with green coco-nut drinks and with sucking sugar cane. Gifts of such food, given during work in payment of communal labour, are called puwaya. To describe how heavy the work sometimes is, the native will say, in a characteristically figurative manner:
“The pig, the coco drinks, the yams are finished, and yet we pull—very heavy!”
In such cases the natives resort to a magical rite which makes the canoe lighter. A piece of dry banana leaf is put on top of the log. The owner or builder beats the log with a bunch of dry lalang grass and utters the following spell:
Kaymomwa’u Spell. “Come down, come down, defilement by contact with excrement! Come down, defilement by contact with refuse! Come down, heaviness! Come down, rot! Come down fungus! …” and soon, invoking a number of deteriorations to leave the log, and then a number of defilements and broken taboos. In other words, the heaviness and slowness, due to all these magical causes, are thrown out of the log.
This bunch of grass is then ritually thrown away. It is called momwa’u, or the “heavy bunch.” Another handful of the long lalang grass, seared and dry, is taken, and this is the gagabile, the “light bunch,” and with this the canoe is again beaten. The meaning of the rite is quite plain: the first bunch takes into it the heaviness of the log, and the second imparts lightness to it. Both spells also express this meaning in plain terms. The second spell, recited with the gagabile bunch, runs thus:
Kaygagabile Spell. “He fails to outrun me” (repeated many times). “The canoe trembles with speed” (many times). A few untranslatable words are uttered; then a long chain of ancestral names is invoked. “I lash you, O tree; the tree flies; the tree becomes like a breath of wind; the tree becomes like a butterfly; the tree becomes like a cotton seed fluff. One sun” (i.e., time) “for my companions, midday sun, setting sun; another sun for me——” (here the reciter’s name is uttered)—“the rising sun, the rays of the (rising) sun, (the time of) opening the huts, (the time of the) rising of the morning star!” The last part means: “My companions arrive at sunset, while I arrive with the rising sun”—(indicating how far my canoe exceeds them in speed.)1
These formulæ are used both to make the log lighter for the present purpose of pulling it into the village, and in order to give it greater speed in general, when it is made up into a waga.
After the log has been finally brought into the village, and left on the baku, the main central place, the creeper by means of which it has been pulled and which is called in this connection duku, is not cut away at once. This is done ceremonially on the morning of the following day, sometimes after even two or three days have passed. The men of the community assemble, and the one who will scoop out the canoe, the builder (tota’ila waga, “the cutter of the canoe”) performs a magical rite. He takes his adze (ligogu) and wraps some very light and thin herbs round the blade with a piece of dried banana leaf, itself associated with the idea of lightness. This he wraps only half round, so that a broad opening is left, and the breath and voice have free access to the herbs and blade of the adze. Into this opening, the magician chants the following long spell: