How Māui Snared the Sun

How Māui Snared the Sun

On the island of Maui, high above the sea, lived Māui and his mother Hina.

Hina worked hard. She made kapa, the traditional cloth prepared from bark, which had to be carefully worked, smoothed, spread out, and dried in the sun.

Every morning Hina carried fresh lengths of cloth outside.

“Now they will dry,” she said as she spread the kapa beneath the clear sky.

But before she had finished her work, the Sun was already rolling toward the horizon.

The shadows grew long. Evening began over the sea.

Hina sighed and gathered the still-damp kapa again.

The same thing happened the next day.

Māui watched his mother carry the cloth out again and again, then hurry to bring it in before sunset.

“Why do you tire yourself so?” he asked.

“The day is too short,” Hina replied. “I scarcely have time to lay out the kapa before the Sun hides away. If it moved across the sky a little more slowly, my work would be easier.”

Māui thought.

He knew that one could not argue with the Sun without first understanding how it travelled.

So he went first to the eastern side of the island, to the places from which light came each morning. He watched the Sun rise near Hāna, slowly climb higher, and then cross above the island.

After that Māui climbed the vast mountain of Haleakalā.

From there the world seemed entirely different. The ocean lay below, clouds drifted around him, and the sky was so close that it seemed one could stretch out a hand and touch the sunlight.

For several days Māui studied the Sun’s path and learned where best to meet it.

When he returned home, he began to make a strong rope. He gathered fibres from coconut husks, dried them, twisted them into long strands, and braided them together.

The work was slow.

Twist and tighten.

Twist and tighten.

Once more.

And again.

A man named Moemoe saw Māui working and laughed.

“What do you need so much rope for?”

“I want to hold back the Sun,” Māui answered.

Moemoe laughed even louder.

“The Sun? You? It travels through the sky every day and listens to no one!”

Māui only kept braiding.

“We shall see.”

When the rope was ready, he climbed Haleakalā again before dawn.

The sky was deep blue. The stars slowly faded. Far below, the ocean breathed evenly and quietly.

Māui hid near the place where, from his observations, the first strong rays would appear.

At last the edge of the sky began to shine.

A golden line grew wider.

Then the Sun rose over the island, sending long bright rays before it.

Māui threw his loop.

Once!

The rope caught one great ray.

The Sun flashed more brightly in surprise and tried to continue on.

Māui secured the rope and threw a second loop.

Twice!

Then a third.

Three times!

The Sun tried to race along its usual path, but Māui held the ropes firmly.

“Who is holding me back?” thundered the Sun.

“It is I, Māui!”

“Why do you do this? Every day I rise and set as I always have.”

“That is why I have come,” Māui answered. “You cross the sky so quickly that people do not have enough daylight for their work. My mother has no time to dry her kapa. Fishers hurry back to shore. Those who work the land barely begin their tasks before darkness comes.”

The Sun fell silent.

The wind stirred the ropes of coconut fibre.

“What if I stop moving altogether?” the Sun finally asked.

“Then it will become too hot,” Māui said. “I do not ask you to stand still. I ask you sometimes to travel more slowly.”

The Sun thought.

“Very well. During part of the year I will cross the sky more calmly, so that the days are longer. At another time I will travel more quickly, and the days will be shorter. Then there will be change in the world.”

“Agreed,” said Māui.

He loosened one loop, then the second, then the third.

The Sun moved across the sky again, but this time it did not hurry.

Its light lay for a long while upon the mountain slopes, the green valleys, and the sea water.

When Māui returned home, Hina was just carrying her kapa out to dry.

Morning passed.

Then noon.

Then it remained light for a long time.

Hina touched the cloth and smiled.

“It is dry!”

“I told you I would speak with the Sun,” Māui said.

Soon everyone learned of his deed. People told how he climbed the high mountain and held the Sun’s rays with ropes of coconut fibre.

And Moemoe, who had laughed, did not mock him any more.

“I was wrong,” he admitted. “I did not think you could do it.”

Māui only smiled.

For the most important thing to him was not proving his strength to anyone.

The most important thing was that Hina could now dry kapa peacefully, and people had more daylight for their work.

To this day in Hawai‘i they tell of Māui, who snared the Sun.

And when, during one part of the year, the days grow longer and in another they grow shorter, the tale quietly reminds us that Māui and the Sun once sat on opposite sides of the sky and made an agreement about time.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨