Perusina, Perusino, and the Inca Irrigation Canals

The Little Slides for Water

Once upon a time, in a land high up in the mountains, the Andes stood tall and serene, as if they had seen everything. Perhaps they had.

Between these mountains lay a small village. There lived Perusina and Perusino. They were siblings, friends, and very good question-askers.

Perusina loved to listen. Perusino loved to ask questions. Sometimes he asked so many questions that even the village chickens ran away faster.

That evening, they lay in their hammocks. Stars twinkled above them. Soft, colorful blankets surrounded them. The night was clear, cool, and quiet.

Perusino tossed and turned in his hammock. He looked like a small sack of potatoes trying to become a boat.

“Perusina,” he whispered.

“What is it?” she asked.

“How did people used to get water to their plants?”

Perusina opened one eye. “Which people?”

“The people in the mountains. When their fields were high up and the river was down below.”

Perusina sat up. “That’s a good question.”

Perusino nodded contentedly. “I sometimes have them.”

“The Incas were very clever,” Perusina said. “They built canals, irrigation ditches, and terraces. That way, they could water their fields.”

“Irrigation ditches?” Perusino asked. “Like little slides for water?”

“Something like that,” Perusina said. “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you a story.”

A long, long time ago, people lived in a valley between high mountains. They grew corn, quinoa, and potatoes. Their fields lay on terraces that clung to the mountainside like large steps.

The sun shone fiercely. The ground became dry. The plants drooped their leaves as if offended.

The river rushed far below in the valley. It had enough water. But the water wasn't where the fields were.

People carried jugs up the slope. They walked in the morning, at noon, and in the evening. Still, the water wasn't enough.

An old woman put down her jug and sighed. “If this continues, our corn will soon have more dust than kernels.”

A boy looked at the dry earth. “Maybe we need to ask the river to walk up the mountain.”

“Rivers don't walk uphill,” said the old woman.

“Too bad,” said the boy. “That would be very practical.”

Then Manco Cápac came to the village. In the old stories, he is considered the first Inca and a wise teacher of the people.

He saw the dry fields. He saw the tired faces. Then he looked down at the river and up at the terraces.

“Why are you sad?” Manco Cápac asked kindly.

The old woman pointed to the fields. “The river is below. Our plants are above. We carry water until our arms are longer than our legs.”

Manco Cápac smiled. “Then your arms don't have to grow longer. The water must find a way.”

“But water doesn't have feet,” said the boy.

“No,” said Manco Cápac. “But water follows the earth.”

The next morning, Manco Cápac led the people to a slope. There, he took a stick and drew a line in the earth.

“Look closely,” he said. “If we build a ditch that slopes gently, the water can flow slowly.”

A man scratched his head. “Not too steep?”

“Not too steep,” said Manco Cápac. “Otherwise, the water will rush away and take soil with it.”

“And not too flat?” asked the old woman.

“Not too flat either,” said Manco Cápac. “Otherwise, it will stop and think about its life.”

The people laughed. Even the dry corn rustled as if it had understood the joke.

Manco Cápac continued to explain. “You must read the path of the water. The mountains will show you. You just have to look closely.”

The people began to work. Some dug with tools made of wood and stone. Others carried away earth. Children collected small stones to make the edges of the ditch firmer.

The boy wanted to be especially fast. He threw so much earth up that it landed on his own head.

“You're digging down,” said the old woman. “Not up.”

“I'm just practicing both directions,” said the boy.

Day by day, the ditch grew longer. It snaked along the slope. Sometimes it had to go around rocks. Sometimes it was supported with stones.

Perusino, who was already half-dreaming in the story, murmured: “It really is like a slide.”

Perusina whispered: “Yes, but a very clever slide.”

In the story, the whole village continued to work. No one could build the canal alone. Everyone helped.

One family brought food. Another brought tools. The old people said where the ground had been moist before. The young people carried heavy stones.

Manco Cápac went from group to group. He explained, helped, and made sure the ditch didn't get too steep.

“Water is strong,” he said. “If you guide it, it helps you. If you guide it poorly, it makes mischief.”

“Like Perusino,” Perusina murmured in the hammock.

“I heard that,” Perusino said sleepily.

After many days, the canal was finished. It began at a spot where water could be diverted from the river. From there, it led across the slope, past stones, and all the way to the fields.

In the morning, everyone stood at the edge of the field. No one spoke. Even the llamas were quiet, which was very unusual. Llamas usually like to comment on everything with their faces.

Manco Cápac gave a sign. Some men opened the first section of the canal.

At first, nothing happened.

The boy leaned forward. “Maybe the water is still sleeping.”

Then they heard a soft gurgle. It came closer. Slowly at first, then more distinctly.

The water flowed.

It snaked through the canal. It flowed around stones. It glittered in the sun. It arrived exactly where the fields were waiting.

The earth drank. The plants straightened up. The corn rustled as if sighing with relief.

The people cheered. Some clapped. Others cried. The old woman knelt and touched the moist earth.

“Water brings life,” she said.

Manco Cápac nodded. “And community brings the water.”

This sentence stayed in the village. The people did not forget it.

From that day on, they maintained their irrigation canals. They cleared away stones, repaired edges, and made sure the water flowed correctly.

The fields turned green again. Potatoes grew in the earth. Quinoa stood upright in the wind. The corn grew tall and strong.

Perusino lay perfectly still in his hammock. His eyes were almost closed.

“Manco Cápac was really clever,” he murmured.

“Yes,” said Perusina. “But not just him. The whole village had to work together.”

“The ditches were little slides for the water.”

“And people had to build them well.”

“And maintain them well,” said Perusino.

Perusina smiled. “Exactly.”

Outside, a small stream somewhere rustled. The sound matched the story. It sounded as if the water itself was nodding.

Perusino pulled his blanket up to his chin. “Do you think water can be happy?”

Perusina thought for a moment. “Maybe it's happy when it's needed.”

“Then the water must have been very cheerful.”

“Definitely.”

The stars twinkled over the hammocks. The moon shone on the village roofs. The old mountains stood watchful in the distance.

Perusina whispered: “The Incas observed the mountains very carefully. They built terraces and canals so that people could live in a difficult landscape.”

Perusino didn't answer immediately. Then he said very quietly: “Tomorrow we'll build an irrigation ditch too.”

“Where to?”

“From the jug to my bed.”

“No.”

“Just a small one.”

“No.”

“Then maybe a corn bread slide?”

“Good night, Perusino.”

He yawned. “Good night, Perusina.”

Soon both fell asleep. In their dreams, they saw mountains, canals, green fields, and water gently flowing through small ditches.

And somewhere in the dream world, Manco Cápac stood on a slope. He smiled because two children had understood that water brings life.

But that people must work together to make it happen.

(c) by ToPet