Secret of the Kachinas

Tumalo hoped today would prove better hunting. His legs were strong to carry him in wide arcs from the village, like ever-widening ripples in a pool, and his eyes had learned to see what most could not; still, it was a hard thing to chase down the little game that lived in this arid land his people had chosen. The sun was high and hot over Tumalo's head when he finally paused to rest. He lay on his side in the shade of a pungent bush, enjoying the smell of the earth and the fragrant freshness as he crushed the gray sage between his thumb and forefinger. On the ground at the edge of his vision, a shadow passed across the brittle glare. Tumalo jerked his eyes skyward to catch the shadow's maker . . . an eagle, another hunter, gliding on the wind. A good sign. The winged warriors had taught the Hopi many mysteries and helped him escape the Underworld to find a place of peace. It was good to pay attention. Watching to see where the eagle might circle, hunting advice he sorely needed at the moment, Tumalo followed the hunter toward a deep green clump of trees. Tumalo paused for a moment at the sight of the trees, thinking surely he must have run farther than he thought. He had never seen this place before. Now cautiously he approached stilling the tread of his feet so that even the earth would scarcely know he walked upon it. The eagle had settled

on a high limb ahead of him in a green sanctuary wild with early spring blooms. The sun peeked through the overhanging greenery in a circle of golden light, and Tumalo moved toward it, thinking the sunshine might quiet the tremors playing at his uneasy heart. He was within a footfall of the fat log in the center of the light when he froze in his tracks . . . the shimmering before his eyes was not all sunshine. A being, part mist part man, idled there, his back to the log and his face uplifted to the sun, a heavy mask propped beside him on the ground. Tumalo unwittingly gasped, and the being swooped the mask from the ground as he turned to face the intruder in his resting place. The being hesitated a breath in the realization that this saucer-eyed youth standing frozen before him had seen what none other ever had, then lowered the mask over his face. "Your tread is softer than the falling leaves, and I have bared my face to your eyes." Knowing that he had been caught unawares, and wanting no other to know the secrets of the rain, he promised Tumalo food and gifts for his people if he would keep silent. Tumalo could not have betrayed the being if he'd wanted to . . . there were no words to describe the vision.

Every year thereafter, as had been promised, the high respected beings, the Kachinas, as they were called, visited the Hopi villages high on the mesas to bring them the bounties of the earth. They also taught the people many things . . . the power and wisdom of all living things, of rocks, plants, insects, animals, stars, clouds, the joining with the cloud people beyond death, and more. Until one sad day. Tumalo was there. The feasting and dancing had been especially merry this day since the Kachinas arrived with their gifts. As the evening wore on the confusion of dancers and celebrants grew out of control. By mischance, one of the Kachinas was killed. Angered at the people they had opened their arms and hearts to, the Kachinas withdrew in anger. The cloud people came no more to the villages, or walked the land on lightning bolts or dark towering legs of rain. And the forsaken Hopi suffered drought and famine; and more, a hollow loneliness ached where the Kachinas had been in their spirits. The Hopi were in bitter straits in every way . . . their hunting skills had grown lax, because there had been no urgent need to hunt, and they didn't know how to grow the food the kind beings had lavished on them. Except Tumalo. His hunter's eyes had not dimmed with the passage of the years. He had learned much from the Kachinas. He had watched them bring the rain to nourish tall green stalks crowned with golden corn from single kernels and fat, sweet peaches from a stony seed. He had seen the dances and heard the measured murmurs of the

A Fable by Katherine Lancaster

Kachinas are supernatural beings, or spirits, representing different aspects, forces, or creatures in and of nature. The Hopi Indians of northern Arizona believe the home of the Kachinas to be San Francisco Peaks, which they hold sacred.

'... the youth had seen what none other ever had.'

Background photo Josef Muench, Kachina photo Jerry Jacka

As the summer sun waxed hot the first season after he met the shimmering being in the woods, he remembered grieving at the thought of the spirit returning to his home atop the cloud-ringed peaks to the southwest. He understood that all things must have a season of rest, however brief. Tumalo knew, because he believed the words of his cloud brother, that the Kachinas would return after the autumn harvest, after the war gods had spread a snowy blanket over the land to give the earth time for shedding and slumber, to make ready for the new season of children, the tiny tendrils of green that reached for the sun. chants to entice the earth to yield up a bountiful harvest.

Later, at the time of the false spring, before winter finally shed its frosty cloak, the Kachinas would herald the time of growing things by appearing before the people bearing the young green sprouts of the bean, to prove that another harvest lay ahead. Other dances all during the planting and growing season kept the Kachinas always busy and the people of the mesa always happy and in harmony with the world.

Tumalo enjoyed this season and was always sorry to see the Kachinas retire as the summer days lengthened and it was time to return to the sacred mountains. The Going Home Time, the Niman, when the first harvest of corn was brought to the villages, was the last he would hear their council until mid-December's awakening.

Now the Kachinas would not come again and Tumalo knew the Hopi must find their own way. He sat silently as the elders counciled on what must be done.

Tumalo finally rose and said quietly but firmly, "We must learn to be like the Kachinas, to do as they would and talk to the earth with seed and talk to the clouds for rain." The elders laughed bitterly. "And so you think you can coax the earth to give us food as the Kachinas did. I think you will find your-self eating sand come spring."

Tumalo left the gathering, his head bowed in sadness that the elders could not see what he saw. Tumalo had scoured the village and found dried kernels of corn, a bean and the stony seed of the peach in the ash at the base of a cooking pit and in the rubble mound. He took these in a pouch down to the valley below and in a hollow sheltered from the wind planted them, using the last drops from his water gourd to nourish them. With a final blessing on the seeds, Tumalo set off for the sacred mountains, the cloud-rimmed peaks to the southwest he had seen in dreams.

The journey was long and lonely, and Tumalo sometimes wondered if he would find the mountain home of the

Kachinas at all. Then, one dawn, he spotted an eagle gliding on the wind toward the south, swooping back toward him every so often as though beckoning him. And Tumalo followed. He walked all through the day and into the night, and with the first streaks of light across the eastern sky, Tumalo realized he was at the feet of the sacred mountains and now he must climb to the misty reaches to find the Kachinas.

The slopes were slick with tumbling rock and thick stands of trees, and he was scratched and bloody before the sun was high in the sky. As he climbed, the forest grew thicker and darker, and Tumalo heard the voices of the Kachina on the wind whistling through the trees. Out of the dim reaches, masked ogres taunted him and jabbed at him and bumbling clowns mimicked his plight and rolled on the ground howling with laughter. Undaunted, though not unafraid, Tumalo kept on going, some-times on his hands and knees. When the sun left the sky to light the Underworld, Tumalo collapsed on the ground in weariness, though the cold of the mountain and the taunts of the ogres kept him from sleep.

With the return of the sun, Tumalo's flagging spirit was buoyed and he began the climb anew, his faith in the kindness of the Kachinas undaunted. After three suns on the mountain, with little besides faith to sustain him,

Tumalo lay at the base of a towering pine and slept, too weary to go on. When he awoke, the Kachina he had seen so many seasons before amid the wildflowers was beside him, silently keeping watch.

"You have come a long way and endured much pain to speak for your people. I will do what I can."

Tumalo was asked to wait while the Kachina petitioned his kin for mercy on the Hopi. He would return with the next sunrise. But, the sunrise came and went and the dusk was growing before he stood before Tumalo again. "My brothers were very angry, and it was long before they could be moved to favor the Hopi again. Their words are this: they will never come again as they once did, but the people may make the masks of the Kachinas and impersonate them to call on the rain. If they are performed truly and in good faith, they will send their bounty once more. The village elders would be shown in dreams the making of the proper mask and decorations for the body to call upon certain Kachina messengers, and 'when this is done properly and humbly and well, we will send a sign to begin the season of the Kachinas.'"

Tumalo went away with a glad heart, hurrying to his village to tell the elders that the Kachinas had relented and that they must meditate on what they were to do. With gratitude and humility, the men of the villages used their greatest art in devising garb and masks of the spirit beings, praying as they went that the Kachinas should know their respect.

Tumalo was glad to see the preparation, but also disturbed. No vision had come to him on the mask he should make. The summer passed and the chill of autumn was in the air and still Tumalo had been given no dream. He walked and meditated; he sat by the evening fire searching the stars for an answer. But there was no answer.

The masks had long been finished and rested idle in the kiva, awaiting the sign that the Kachina spirits would come from the Underworld to guide their footsteps in the dances to call the rain. Winter had come and still Tumalo waited.

One evening, while sitting alone in the dusk in the hollow where he had planted the seeds before he journeyed to the mountain, Tumalo saw a faint light play over the sage at the far edge of the hollow. Walking in the direction of the light, he saw beneath the bush a worn hunting shirt, four long feathered sticks and a sparely decorated white mask. And in his mind, he saw the message of the Kachinas.

Now he knew what he had to do. Wearing the great drowsiness of long sleep like a cloak, Tumalo tottered to the village with the halting gait of old age. Singing an ancient and sacred song and doing a creaking dance, the messenger of the Soyal (Solstice) visited the kiva going almost unnoticed by the villagers placing pahos, the prayer feathers, and sprinkling cornmeal to open the way for other Kachinas to return to the village from the spirit world. When this was done according to his vision, the Soyal Kachina made his uncertain way back out of the village and disappeared.

There was great joy when the village elders saw the pahos and the cornmeal, and they knew now that they could dance the Soyal to bring the snows and moisture and that other Kachinas would appear to teach them the ways of planting.

In the valley below, Tumalo looked at his place of planting and smiled, knowing the Kachinas had already blessed his planting... and that soon, when the false spring came, so would Eototo, father of Kachinas, to teach all the dances and the rituals of their brothers the clouds. And the land would bloom for all the people.

Artist Anthony Sanchez spent four years creating these Kachina figurines. Left to right they are the Ogre, Sun, Eagle, and Salako Kachinas. The solid sterling silver castings range in size from 10 to 12 inches and are adorned with turquoise, coral, malachite, jet, mother of pearl, ivory, pipestone, and shell inlay as well as 14k gold trimming and accessories.

Courtesy Lovena Ohl Gallery