Rehua lives in the highest of the heavens, beyond the reach of winter. He is an elder of that upper world. His hair is long, and birds nest in it.
A visitor came climbing up from below. He is Tāne, his kin, on the long ascent through the heavens — though some tellings put Tāwhaki on that climb instead, and these differences are part of the kōrero, not mistakes in it. The visitor had come a long way through cold, strange places. He arrived tired and hungry, a long way from home.
Rehua did not ask what his guest wanted or what he could give in return. He told his attendants to light a fire and prepare the ovens. Then he loosened his hair and shook his head, and the birds that lived in it came down already fat and ready to cook. A meal was set before the visitor, simply and without fuss.
The tellings say that the guest was uneasy and would not eat at first. Food that comes from a person's head touches on tapu, and he was careful. Even so, the story remembers Rehua for the offering, not for the refusal. He gave from what was his to give.
Rehua's name is also the star Antares, which rises high in the summer sky. When Rehua is up, the ground is warm, fruit ripens and food is easy to find. His name has long been spoken over people who are sick or weary, because the care of the highest heaven reaches down to where a person is hurting.
There is very little drama in Rehua's story, and that is the point. Nobody is tricked, nothing is won. Someone arrives in need, and someone with plenty shares it.
Hei whakaaro (reflect / thought): the kindest thing is often the plainest one, a meal or a seat by the fire, given before anyone has to ask.
Hei whakaaro · something to sit with
I hoatu a Rehua i āna ake, kāore he tono, kāore he utu.
The kindest thing is often the plainest one, given before anyone has to ask.
Who could you feed, in any sense, without waiting to be asked?