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Chapter nine. First-Fruits Festival |
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rice harvest festival - Pokpatngi - at Hegokuloa |
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It was autumn now, and the first of the great harvest festivals had begun. The early rice was coming in, the lean weeks of the summer were over, and village after village was celebrating the feast called Pokpatngi. This included the traditional mithan-chase. As we had already missed Asalu's and Impoi's, and I still had an uneasy fear that I might be (73) whisked out again without warning, we packed up and went over straight away when Hegokuloa sent to ask us across to theirs. |
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The Rains were going out in storms and steamy drizzle, and damp grey clouds hung low on the peaks as we scrambled up to the village through fields of ripening rice. There were roars of disapproval from Namkia at the sight of the camp. The old materials had been stretched and re-made to fit a different plan. The hut was now so narrow it was like a passage, and one went round the table by a detour over the bed. Instead of overlooking the village and the pleasant blue and green valley as before, it now faced straight out on to a heap of refuse and a monstrous tree which cut off every breath of air; but after the huts we'd had on the western plateau I didn't mind anything, so long as it had a roof on. |
