The Birth of the Moon
THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, COMPLETELY MADE UP, NOT AN ACTUAL BELIEF.
Mayanna — (Maa-Ya-Nah)
Veriana — (Veh-Ria-Nah)
“Yanna! Come sit here, let me make your hair all pretty for the festival! As I braid your hair, would you like to hear a story Mayanna?” “A story? About what Nanni?” asked the girl. “My dear Mayanna, I want you to know the story of our ancestors, their tales must be passed on to the coming generations; we must honour their souls. Promise me my little Yanna, that you will pass on these prophesies to your kin once you grow old like Nanni? You see the beautiful moon shining down from the big purple sky? Long time ago, it didn’t exist. Once, only the Sun burned down, from a blue sky. The night was black, freckled with the light of distant stars; but nothing bright enough to aid sight. You see my little Yanna, the moon was once a part of our seas, borne from our very own planet.
In our scriptures, the world at this time was described as a hostile place. No one would live past 17, and as they died: their skin would go red; there would be lumps all over their body; they would swell, like the puffer-fish we saw the other day Yanna! Their eyes would turn red-ish brown, and most would be blind already. The land would be dry, and the seas water had so much salt, if drunk straight from the source it would scrape your throat. My ancestors would store the water in containers and boil it, straight on top of the fire multiple times to separate the freshwater from the salt. Just like mamma does, Yanna. The plants of those times were odd too, very different from plants now, and the majority of them would be found underwater! Even our spices, Thyme, Basil, or our vegetables, Spinach, Squash, Eggplant, it would all come from the seas.
The dwellers of this Island, our kind would pray to Veraina, the goddess of the seas and the skies to provide their families with enough food to last the season. They would do this by celebrating her presence and expressing their gratefulness to her protection in a festival every 4 months, 3 times a year. That tradition has passed on to us, we’re celebrating it today Yanna. Veraina is a kind being, every soul that leaves our Island goes to reside within her. She provides them a safe haven, till the end comes. She is what protected us from the Extinction of our race!
One week, a long time ago, the numbers of our Island started dropping very suddenly; for every child born, 3 people died. They were heading towards a cruel, ugly end. The very next month was the festival, Veraina would arrive, they just needed to survive till then. Then they would be saved. So for one month, everyone on the Island took up duties to ensure the survival of our kind. The shamans prayed to Veraina from the crack of dawn to the last light of dusk. The care-takers were sure to feed the sick Spinach, Kale and Sweet potatoes, it was said they would show signs of getting better; that’s why we use them so much during the festival. Everyone began to cover-up; in the hot, draining weather they would wear clothes that covered their bodies from head to toe. Many, many died; but some did survive. Finally, the festival day arrived.
All the remaining people gathered around on the beach that night, exactly where we’re sitting Yanna! That night, after a long month of relentless hard work, our kin sat and cried. They prayed, as the tears ran down their tired faces. They prayed for the souls that passed, and for good health of their kin, and for help. As the thought of their extinction settled over them, they pleaded Veraina to save them. Veraina — -who had been watching their hardships of the past month and had welcomed multiple of the souls who left the Island — -was distress.
That night, as all our ancestors cried, sitting around in a circle in the darkness, Veraina tried finding a solution to the Island’s problems. During the last hour of the festival, she found her answer. The glaring sun, that was burning the soil was destroying the health of the people as well. Veraina was fuming! They were dying because of the Sun? but she knew that acting in haste would do nothing. So she gathered up all her anger, along with the heat from the surrounding air and formed a little ball of light. Around that globe, she wrapped water from her own seas, then wrapped it in layers of salt. Wave by wave she made her sphere. It’s said that the tears of the Islanders floated to her creation.
Once Veraina was done, she forced the large ball of ice and salt into the sky; we now call it the moon! All the villager’s problems were solved now: the land was hospitable and the air was lighter; the people lived longer; they cultivated the plants from the seas into our lands and they thrived!” “But Nanni, if we can survive for ourselves, why do we need to pray to Veraina even now?” asked Mayanna, “Ahh, I’m so glad you asked my little Yanna! I did say it was a prophesy didn’t I? There’s still a little part of the story left.
Although she saved us, Veraina warned us that her powers would one day fade. No god is immortal, Yanna. We pray to Veraina still, to show our support and pray that her powers last till the next festival. We pray that she can protect us for another 4 months.
The prophesy says that one day, the Moon will melt, it will pour back into the ocean. Go back to where it came from. The world will end.
Oh! The festival has started! I have to get all the preparations done for Veriana’s welcoming ready! The other Shaman’s would be waiting at the beach already, but before I go. I want to you to pray Yanna. Pray with all your heart that Veriana’s power continues to bloom and protect our Island for Eons, and promise me, my Yanna, that you will pass on this tale, this prophesy to your descendants. We must do whatever we can to make sure Veriana’s powers never fade; each generation must do their part. These traditions reflect our respect and gratefulness towards our ancestors, for persevering in the face of great difficulty. For helping each other while staring in the face of death. Our culture is based around our love for the ones who are here, and the ones who aren’t. Our traditions are a reflection of who we are and what we value, never forget that Yanna.”
— Giaa-Marie Raj
P.S.- Heyyy, I just wanted to say that I can’t call this a story. Since it’s more like a dialogue, but I just wanted to portray my message in the form of a Life Lesson from a grandmother. Learnings just sound so much better when presented in a beautiful way woven with beautiful words from beautiful souls don’t they!! I know I’ve always loved listening to my grandparents stories :) I REALLY DO LOVE what I wrote. I feel like this story is really AUTHENTICALLY me. It feel like I’ve written something for myself after a long time and it feels WONDERFUL!!!! Tell me your thoughts in the comments and like if you want to show your support! :) Love you guys ❤
(Picture is not mine, from Pinterest)
