NAVAJO WATER GOD

Jeanne HP

(1904 image of  Navajo God of Rain)

Tonenili, the Navajo god of rain, sometimes referred to as the Water Sprinkler, has been described as a bit of a clown.  He always means well, though his mischievous exploits are not always appreciated. Tonenili takes delight in his Rain God role. 

 He takes hold of his wooden spoon and sieve with a chuckle when a ceremony or gathering such as a marriage, birth or feast is set in motion,  He suspends his sieve above a cloud, then pours water into it, which he swirls round and round to create his rain.

 He laughs with glee as he watches people run for cover complaining, cursing or laughing as they escape his folly.  

Sometimes he visits earth, where he hides behind a bush or tree.  In the middle of the event he pops out covered in spruce tree branches and wearing a mask.  With a pot of water in hand, he sprinkles water about helter-skelter.  Much more fun to him than the cloud way.  He dances, performs, and makes people laugh in spite of themselves.

 At times, as in the midst of a drought, Tonenili's rain is  quite welcome, since there would be starvation if the land dried out.  The Navajo people call on him in those times by means of a rain dance.  Their dancing provides so much enjoyment to him, the reason for it slips his mind. Sometimes they dance for days before he finally pays attention to their pleas and picks up his sieve and spoon. 

Not surprisingly, the day came when he confronted the fact that there are times when his acting the court jester is not always welcome.

Tonenili looked down at a gathering.  In the center gyrated eight dancers, with others silently surrounding them.

‘Why do they all wear such long faces?’  He wondered.  ‘Not a flicker of a smile on any of them.’

 Unknown to Tonenili, Chief Haskininni’s son, Atsa, lay in his bed close to death.  No one knew the reason.  They danced to ward off all evil spirits surrounding him.   

‘They all look so grave,’ Tonenili thought.  ‘What they need is me.  I’ll lift their moods and plant smiles on their faces.’   He hid behind a totem pole topped with the figure of an eagle, and like an eagle, swooped into his dance with his usual antics and sprinkling. 

No one stopped dancing, and no one laughed.

Bewildered, he muttered, "What is this?"

Then he created a downpour, expecting to see grumbling, laughing and people running for cover.  Nothing changed - the dancers kept dancing and the watchers kept watching.

Tonenili returned to his dwelling in the heavens at a complete loss as to why his usual antics evoked no reaction.  He would keep an eye on the somber group in search of an answer. 

Night fell and when daylight came, he observed two men carrying a cot, one at each end.  He watched as they carried it into the center of the ring of dancers.  On it lay a small boy eyes closed, unmoving.   Alongside the cot walked a tall man, who he recognized as Chief Haskininni. 

“Is the boy sick?  Is he dying?” He heard himself ask out loud.  Guilt and shame washed over him as he considered the likelihood. To make amends for his foolishness, he needed to do something.  His scattered globoids from the sky would be useless. He needed the help of his friend, Tsohanoaai.

 From behind him came a voice.

 “You called Tonenili?”

“I suppose I did, Tsohanoai.  As Sun God, you may be the one to help me and in turn help a small boy.  I’ve made a terrible mistake and I must make up for it.”  He related his error in judgment to Tsohanoai and asked,  "Would you consider taking the sun down from your back and shine it on that sick boy?"  

 Tsohanoai answered, “I don’t usually cast out much heat in March, but I can cover him with my August warmth until he is well again.”

"Thank you, my friend," Tonenili sighed in relief. "Perhaps someday I'll be able to return the favor."

As the dancers danced and the watchers watched, out of the dark sky came a warm ray of sunshine, which covered only Atsa.  The dancers stepped back, scared. They watched as a faint smile formed on his unconscious face.

Unless he was being provided food, drink or medicine, it became impossible to approach him.  All attempts were met with an invisible gentle nudge back. 

 For three days and nights the ceremony continued on, the sun on Atsa never fading even at night.   On the fourth morning, Atsa sat up. He looked with confusion at the dancers and crowd gathered around.  Afraid, he called for his father, Chief Hoskininni.

Tshanoai decided the time had come to withdraw his August sunlight and return home.  No longer in need of it, Atsa had survived because of it.

Atsa’s recovery brought on an instant celebration.  Once more their dancing had been rewarded, but what about the ray of sun?  Where did it come from?  Why did it protect Atsa?  Could it have had something to do with his recovery?  These questions would haunt the tribe for many years to come. 

 Back in the land of the Navajo Gods,  Tonenili and Tsohanoai too, rejoiced in Atsa’s recovery, and did a happy dance of their own. 

Tonenili learned a valuable lesson.  Gods have responsibilities.  He learned there is a fine line between being funny and shirking duties. He thanked Tsohanoai, then both went their separate ways.  As it should be.  The next time they would come  together, a rainbow would join them.

Tonenili - Ton-e-ne-le
Tsohanoai  - So-ha-noe-ayee.
Hoskininni - hos-ki-ne-ne