Bralgah, The Dancing Bird: A Bedtime Story

Bralga,

The dancing bird.

Bralga Numbardi was very fond of going out hunting with her young daughter,

Bralga.

Her tribe used to tell her she was foolish to do so,

That someday the warrior Wilburru would catch them.

It was not for old Bralga Numbardi that the Danes cared,

But all the camp were proud of young Bralga.

She was the merriest girl and the best dancer of all her tribe,

The women of whom were for the most part content.

Clicked the boomerangs,

Beat their rolled up opossum skin rugs,

And sing in voices from shrill to sweet,

The corroboree songs while the men danced.

But not so,

Bralga.

She must dance too,

And not only the dances she saw the rest dance,

But new ones,

Which she taught herself.

For every song she heard,

She set to steps.

Sometimes with laughing eyes,

She would whirl round like a bully or whirlwind.

Then suddenly she would change to a stately measure.

Then,

For variety's sake,

Perform a series of swift gyrations,

As if indeed a whirlwind devil had her in his grip.

The fame of her dancing spread abroad,

And proud indeed was the tribe to whom she belonged,

Hence their anxiety for her safety,

And their dread that the Wura-Wilburru would catch her.

The Wura-Wilburru,

Two cannibals,

Who lived in the scrub alone,

But in spite of all warnings,

Bralga Numbardi continued to hunt,

As usual,

With her only daughter for companion.

One day they went out to camp for three days.

Nothing hurt them the first night.

The next day the Wura-Wilburru surprised and captured them.

They gave Bralga Numbardi a severe blow.

She fell down and feigned her death,

Lest they should strike her again and kill her.

The Wura-Wilburru picked her up to carry her off to their camp.

They did not wish to hurt young Bralga.

They meant to keep her to dance for them.

They told her so,

And gave her their muggle,

Or stone knife,

To carry,

Telling her to fear nothing.

Come with them.

She went with them,

But when they were not looking,

She threw the knife away.

As soon as they reached the camp,

The Wura-Wilburru asked her for it.

They wanted to cut up Bralga Numbardi before cooking her.

Bralga said she put the muggle down where they had rested some way back and had forgotten it.

They said,

We will go back and get it.

You stay here.

They started.

When they were some way off,

The mother said,

Are they out of sight yet?

Not yet.

Wait a little while.

Bralga watched them go right away,

Then told her mother,

Who immediately jumped up.

Off then went both mother and daughter,

As fast as they could,

To their own tribe.

They told what had happened.

Wura-Wilburru came back.

They were enraged to find not only the daughter,

But the mother gone,

Even she whom they had left,

As they thought,

No feast,

No dance for them that night unless they recovered their victims,

From whose tracks they found that Bralga had actually been able to run beside her daughter.

She only feigned death,

They said.

To deceive us,

We will hasten and overtake them before they reach the tribe.

Yea,

Even if they are with the tribe,

We will snatch them away.

But the Danes were looking out for them,

Fully armed,

Seeing which the Wura-Wilburru turned and fled,

The Danes after them in quick pursuit,

But they failed to overtake them,

And fearing to follow them too far,

Thus the trap lay ready for them.

They returned to the camp,

But so wroth were they at the attempt to capture their prized Bralga that a council was held,

The destruction of the Wura-Wilburru determined upon.

Of the cleverest we are nuns,

Said they would send their muli-mulis in whirlwinds after the enemy to catch them.

This they did,

Whirling along the bulis with the muli-mulis in them.

Quickly they went along the track of the Wura-Wilburru,

Whom they soon headed,

Turning them back towards the camp whence they had fled.

We will go,

Said one of the Wura-Wilburru to the other,

Back to the camp.

Ahead of these whirlwinds we will seize the girl and her mother,

And fly in another direction.

The whirlwinds will miss us in the camp and seize others.

We will not be balked.

Young Bralga shall be ours to dance before us,

And her mother shall make our supper.

Two night they fled before the whirlwinds,

Which gained both size and pace as they followed them.

The Danes were so astonished at seeing the Wura-Wilburru returning straight towards them,

The whirlwinds after them,

That they never thought of arming themselves into the midst of them,

Rushed the Wura-Wilburru.

One seized Bralga,

The mother,

The other,

Young Bralga,

Before the astonished Danes realized their coming.

They had gone some distance along the edge of the plain.

Bring your weapons,

Roared the muli-mulis and the whirlwinds to the Danes as they swirled through the camp after the enemy.

The Wura-Wilburru carrying young Bralga was ahead.

The other,

Finding the whirlwinds regaining on them,

Dropped his burden,

Bralga-Nimbardi,

And ran on.

Just in front of them were two huge bala trees,

Feeling that the whirlwinds,

Which they now knew must have spirits in them,

Were already lifting them from their feet.

The Wura-Wilburru clung to the bala trees,

The one who had captured young Bralga still holding her with one arm,

While he grasped the tree with the other.

Let the girl go,

Shouted the other to him.

Save yourself.

They shall never have her,

He answered savagely.

If I have to lose her,

They shall not get her.

Then,

As the whirlwinds howled round them,

Tearing up everything in a wild fury,

The bala trees,

Now in their grasp,

Creaking and groaning,

Wura-Wilburru a sort of incantation,

And released young Bralga.

As she slipped from his grasp came a shout of joy from the Danes.

The Danes were just in the wake of the whirlwinds.

They had their spears poised,

But had been frightened to throw,

For fear of injuring Bralga.

Now that she was free,

They called out,

Gubayul,

Gengi!

Gubayul,

Gengi!

Joy was short-lived.

The whirlwinds wound round the bala trees,

Which the Wura-Wilburru clung,

And dragged them from the roots.

Before the men could leave go,

The whirlwinds carried the trees,

The men still clinging to them,

Until they reached the sky.

There they planted them not far from the Milky Way,

And there they are still,

O dark spots,

Called Wura-Wilburru,

And the two cannibals have lived in them ever since,

Being dreaded by all who have to pass along the Wirambul,

Or Milky Way,

Where are camped many old Danes,

Cooking the grubs they have gathered for food,

And the smoke of their fires shows the course of the Wirambul,

But only can,

But only can anyone reach these fires if the Wura-Wilburru are away,

As sometimes happens when they go down to the earth,

Through the medium of bullies or whirlwinds,

Pursue their old enemies,

The Danes.

When the Danes saw their enemies were gone,

They turned to get Bralga,

Her mother was already with them,

But where was young Bralga?

She had not been seen to move away,

Yet she was gone.

All round the plain they looked,

They saw only a tall bird walking across it.

They went to the place whence the trees had been wrenched.

They scanned the ground for tracks,

But saw none of the Bralga going away.

Those of the big crane-like bird now on the plain,

Wura-Wilburru,

Must have seized her again,

And taken her after all,

They said.

As soon as the Muli-Mulis,

Which had animated the whirlwinds,

Returned from placing the pala trees,

And the Wura-Wilburru in the sky,

The Danes,

Asked them if they had left her there.

Bralga,

They said,

Had gone to the sky.

Surely the Danes had seen Wura-Wilburru let her go.

Where was she?

That no one could say,

And none thought of asking the big bird on the plain.

All more than one.

As for Wundead,

Her spirit,

They said,

Would haunt the camp,

Because they could not find her body to bury it,

Though they knew she must be dead.

Otherwise,

Would she not return to them?

They moved their camp away to the other side of the plain.

After a while,

They noticed that a number of birds,

Like the one they had seen on the plain at the time of Bralga's disappearance,

Came feeding round not far from their camp.

And after feeding for a while,

These birds would begin to corroborate,

Such a strange corroboration,

Of which one bird,

Taller than the others,

Was seemingly the leader.

This corroboration was so human,

That like no movements of any other birds,

Like indeed nothing of the sort that the Danes had ever seen,

Unless it were the dances of the lost Bralga out onto a clear space,

The leader would lead her troop.

There would be much craning of necks,

And bowing,

Pirouetting,

Stately measured changing of places,

Then gyrating with wings extended,

Just as Bralga had been wont to fling her arm before she went madly whirled round and round,

As these birds did now,

Seeing which likeness the Danes called.

Bralga,

Bralga,

The bird seemed to understand them,

For it looked towards them,

Then led its troop into wilder,

More intricate figures of the corroboree.

As time went on,

The leader of the birds was seen no more,

But so well had her troop learned the corroborees,

That they went through the same grotesque performances as in her time.

The old Danes died,

Who remembered the dancing girl,

Bralga.

All these dancing birds were known forever by her name.

Bralga Numbardi died,

She was taken to the sky,

There to live forever with her daughter Bralga,

Both known to us as the clouds of Magellan,

To the Danes as the Bralga.

His incantation had changed her daughter into the dancing bird,

Which shape she had to keep as long as she lived on earth.

Afterwards,

If ever the Danes saw a bully speeding along near their camp,

The women would cry,

Or a wilburoo clutched their children,

And bury their heads in their rugs.

The men would seize their weapons,

And hurl them at the ever feared and hated capturers of Bralga.