Folktales of Bhutan

by Kunzang Choden

  Paydon walked through the forest for a long time and eventually she saw smoke rising at the far end of the forest. She followed the smoke and at last reached a shed where an old woman with an enormous goiter was sitting beside a flickering fire, spinning wool. Paydon approached the old woman and asked her for some fire. The old woman immediately withdrew a piece of burning wood from the fire and gave it to her. But as Paydon turned to go the old woman slipped a roll of yak-hair yarn into the fold of the sheep skin that Paydon was wearing on her back. The old woman held onto the end of the woolen yarn. Unaware, Paydon walked home and the yarn began to unravel. The old woman waited for a while and then followed the yarn. As she walked on she rolled the yarn into a ball. At the end of the yarn was Paydon’s house.

  The old woman reached the house soon after Paydon had prepared her night meal. Pleased with the unusual company Paydon gladly shared her food with the visitor. After the meal she took out some wool and began to card and clean it. But very soon she noticed something very curious about the old woman. The size of the goiter seemed to alter with the intensity of the fire. Every time the fire blazed the goiter grew smaller, and as soon as the fire diminished and flickered the goiter began to swell. Paydon shivered in fear for she had heard of the ghost with the water goiter. Paydon knew that she must not sleep. She would have to feed the fire continuously to save herself. If the fire were to dwindle, the woman’s goiter would swell and burst, splashing out water and in the darkness she would devour her victim. Paydon brought out a big basket of wool and worked on it to keep herself awake. She began to heap up logs of wood on the fire and kept it burning furiously. Soon her stock of wood was exhausted and as the last log burned slowly and shadows played on the walls, the goiter grew bigger and bigger. Poor Paydon thought hopelessly, “It’s going to burst any moment now,” when they were both startled with the sudden call of the rooster, “Cockerico, cockerico, cockerico,” and the old woman left, for she knew that dawn was breaking.

  The next day Paydon carried in all the firewood she had and she was well prepared to meet her adversary. She made the evening meal and before she could eat it the old woman was in front of her. She unflinchingly shared her meal with the woman and then she took out a huge container of dried beans and began to shell them. She fed the fire lavishly, so that it crackled and rose high above the stove. The old woman’s goiter never grew bigger than an egg. She sat to the side of the stove irate and resentful watching Paydon with big eyes. When the rooster called she got up abruptly and shuffled out of the house without a word.

  Thoroughly distressed, Paydon wondered how she could get enough firewood for the night. At the most she could carry home one load from the forest far away. She anxiously looked at the sun and the shadows for indications of time and as the sun touched the western mountain ranges all she could do was call upon her deities and collect the old bamboo fences around her house. She knew that these would burn brightly for a short while and quickly be reduced to ashes. So when her brother walked into the house a day earlier than he was expected back, she was sure it was her deities who had heeded her calls. She quickly told him all about the ghost with the goiter.

  The brother calmly set about preparing to meet the visitor. He found two hammers, one of wood and the other of iron. He sorted out an old leather bag and a new leather bag from among the bags in the house. Finally he found a pair of wooden clamps and a pair of iron clamps. As darkness fell the old woman came into the house resolutely for she had made up her mind to eat Paydon at any cost. On seeing the brother in the house she angrily stormed, “Who has dared to eat before me?”

  “I have,” replied the brother.

  “Who wishes to challenge me?”

  “I dare to challenge you,” quipped the brother.

  “How shall we test our powers?” asked the old woman, her voice trembling with passion.

  So the brother gave the wooden hammer, the wooden clamps, and the old leather bag to the old woman. But he kept for himself the iron hammer, the iron clamps, and the new leather bag. Then he got into the old bag. “Now you can tie me up in the leather bag. While I am in the bag you can try to kill me with the hammer and the clamps. But if I can get out of the leather bag then I will tie you up in the leather bag and try to kill you,” he explained.

  Trembling with rage and frothing at the mouth from continuous incomprehensible mutterings and mumblings, the old woman tied him up in the bag. Then she began to hit him with the hammer and pinch him with the clamps. But as the bag was so old it soon tore and the brother got out.

  “Now it’s your turn to get into the bag,” said the brother.

  The old woman, full of apprehension, reluctantly got into the bag. The brother tied the mouth of the bag securely. Then he began to hit her with the iron hammer and pinch her with the iron clamps. As the leather bag was new and strong, she could not get out, however hard she struggled. The old woman was not only hurt by the hammering and the pinching but also suffocating in the bag and she cried out hysterically. “Nga pagung di nang la shi gi duo Nga pagung di nang la shi gi du (I am dying in this leather bag. I am dying in this leather bag)” and indeed, she died. The brother and his sister could then live happily and in peace.

  Ap Rolong

  Chanting mantras in a serene and self-composed tone, he finally subdued the rolong.

  Dangbo..o..o Dingbo..o..o.. there was a trader who lived with his wife and his daughter. He often made long trading trips to Tibet and India. Now it happened that he had to make a journey to India to replenish his stock of salt. He wanted to have his stock of salt in time for the rice harvest so that he could exchange it for grain which he would then take to Tibet and thereby increase his profits even further.

  After days of preparations he was ready to start his journey. The pack mules were well fed and strong, and their saddles had been repaired or replaced as needed. His food provisions were packed and his little tent was folded neatly and ready. Then he counted out his silver coins and was satisfied. He was sure he would have a successful trade. He bade farewell to his wife and daughter and began his journey southwards to India.

  As the days passed the rice was harvested and eaten or bartered but the trader did not return. Days grew into months and still he did not come. As more time passed the mother and her daughter became increasingly concerned. They were now quite convinced that something terrible had happened to him. The trader had made meticulous preparations for his journey but in those days there was nothing he could do to prevent himself from contracting the fatal satpa or malaria which killed many people from the highlands when they dared to descend to the heavily forested plains where malaria was endemic. The satpa had killed him too.

  One evening all the dogs in the village started to wail and howl in the most strange way and soon the mother and daughter could hear the father calling for them, but from the way the dogs barked, they knew that it was only his rolong or his corpse that had revived after death and was possessed by a malevolent spirit. So they hid in the roof truss. The father tried to come into the house but as he was only a rolong he could neither bend his head nor lift his feet to cross the threshold and he kept on banging his head against the beam above the door and hitting his feet against the threshold. After a long time he was finally able to stumble into the house. The two women had to hold their hands over their mouths to prevent themselves from screaming on seeing the rolong in front of them. For what they saw was a horrific image of the man they used to know and love. There stood an ash-gray naked man with his eyes fallen deep into their sockets. His nose was bare bone, and there was no flesh over his gums. His hair stood on end. They scrutinized him from head to toe. There were mustard flowers between his toes which must have been caught there as he shuffled through the mustard fields near the village. His movements were slow, stiff and awkward as his joints were locked in rigor mortis. Once in the house he began to look for his wife and daughter everywhere. He went to the fireplace and blew into the embers to start a fire but only maggots fe
ll out of his mouth, for a rolong has no breath. It is said that rolongs will try to transform as many living human beings into rolongs as possible. They can do this by simply touching the human beings on the head. He began to search the house for his wife and his daughter, but before he could find them the roosters in the village cried, “Cockerico, cockerico, cockerico,” and he left, for rolongs become simple corpses after the first cock crow. As he left the house he muttered, “Let’s say that you won today.”

  The mother and daughter worried the whole day because they knew that he would come again. As darkness fell the dogs started to bark in that strange way again and sure enough he came. The mother and daughter hid under a pile of nine zangs or huge water storage containers which were turned upside down, one on top of the other. The rolong seemed to struggle for a long time to get into the house but when he did he headed for the pile of zangs and in his awkward slow movements, he began to turn them up one by one. Before the last zang could be turned the village rooster called, “Cockerico, cockerico, cockerico,” and the rolong had to leave again, muttering angrily, “Let’s say you won again.”

  The next evening they hid under nine layers of baskets. The rolong came and turned up the baskets one by one but before he could turn the last basket the first rooster called and they were saved once again. Now the mother and daughter were terrified, for they knew that he would not leave them until he had transformed them into rolongs. So they decided to run away. They carried whatever belongings they could carry and left the village quietly so as not to raise an alarm. On the way they happened to meet an old ragged chodpa. They stopped to talk with him and when he asked them why they were leaving the village, they told him the whole story. The chodpa explained to them that the rolong would follow them wherever they went so it was no use running away. He advised them that as long as the phowa rites to release his namshi or spirit from his body were not performed there was no way of getting away from a rolong. He said that even if the body of a rolong were chopped up into pieces and scattered in different places or cremated it could always come together again. He offered to come with them and to perform the rites if they were willing to return to their home. The chodpa’s quiet knowledge and his unassuming and gentle manners won the confidence of the fugitives. They placed full faith in the chodpa and returned home with him.

  On arrival in the village the chodpa instantly began to make preparations. He gathered some pieces of bamboo, heated them over the fire, and then cut them into splinters. He also asked for some naktha or rope made of yak hair. As darkness fell, he began to perform the chod. Soon the dogs began to bark as usual and the rolong came calling for his wife and daughter. The chodpa confronted him and started to beat him with the kangdom or thigh-bone trumpet, all the time reciting the mantras of the chod. A most frightening struggle ensued. For a long time the two women feared that the chodpa would succumb to the persistent iron-like grip of the rolong, who seemed to experience neither pain nor exhaustion. Sweat poured down the chodpa’s brow but he would not give up. Chanting the mantras in a serene and self-composed tone, he finally subdued the rolong. He pinned him down on the floor. He placed his right knee on the rolong’s chest and his left on the floor. Then he blew into the thigh-bone trumpet triumphantly three times. He then drove the bamboo splinters into all the joints of the rolong’s body and tied it up with the naktha as a corpse would normally be tied up for cremation. He administered the phowa rite on the corpse, chanting the mantras and clicking his fingers as he repeated, “Phad ... phad”. The spirit of the dead was now freed and no longer vulnerable to the malevolent spirits which had lived within his body.

  The woman and her daughter could now live in peace without fear and regret, for the rolong was subdued and the deceased had received the appropriate death rites.

  Lame Monkey

  The king not only wept openly but personally came with a katar to see the monkey and to pay homage to him.

  Dangbo..o..o Dingbo..o..o.. there was a poor woman who had a son who was big and strong but quite worthless. He could spend all his days just lying in a meadow and watching the clouds drift in the sky or he would sometimes sit on the steps of the village chorten or stupa and watch the village children as they played in the archery ground. He was so lazy that he would not even raise his hand up to his nose to clean it. The villagers nicknamed called him Pladong or Lazy.

  Year after year while the other villagers busied themselves with the processes of plowing, planting, and harvesting, life for Pladong was unchanging. Every morning he rose when the sun was high in the sky and went to lie down again in the meadows after he had eaten what his mother had prepared. He had spent eighteen years of his life doing absolutely nothing.

  Pladong’s neighbor was a kindly old man who was always ready to help the mother and son. One year he sternly said, “This will never do, Pladong. You have to start doing something.” He gave Pladong a dri of maize seeds and showed him how to prepare the field and sow them. Every day Pladong resentfully followed the kind old man to the field who taught him all he knew. Pladong finally learned to work and he was happy when the maize field was full of tall plants with rich big cobs, full of the promise of a rich harvest. Every day he went to check his field to see when it would be ready for harvesting. Finally it was time for harvest! So early one morning when he went to the field, carrying the largest basket he could find in the house, he was dreaming of the rows upon rows of golden cobs that would fill the attic of his house. His dream was abruptly ended when he saw with shock that his entire field was full of monkeys. They had eaten what they could and had played around by pulling the stalks this way and that way. Not a single maize cob was left in the field. Full of fury Pladong began to chase the monkeys but they ran into the nearby forest and quietly disappeared into the thick foliage of the trees. He lost all of them save for a lame monkey who could not run as fast as the others and was hiding behind a tree. He caught the monkey by its neck and threatened to kill it.

  The monkey begged to be spared. “I will help you and make you a rich man if you will spare me my life.”

  “No, never!” said the boy, who was fuming with anger because the first useful thing he had ever done in his life had been thwarted by a group of mischievous monkeys.

  “Kuchen la (mercy),” begged the monkey, “I promise you that I will make you a very rich man.”

  After many pleas and promises Pladong finally agreed to spare the monkey’s life if he could indeed make him a rich man.

  The monkey at once headed to the palace of the king of the region and stated boldly, “O king, the king of Bhakho needs a bride. Your daughter would make a fitting queen for the king.”

  The king stared at the monkey in utter disbelief. But being a king he quickly regained his royal composure and said, “Before I give my daughter away I must see the palace of your king.”

  “That can easily be arranged. I shall inform the king of Bhakho,” replied the monkey as his mind began to work frantically on a scheme to get a palace for his king.

  Next, the monkey went to the palace of the sinpo which was located in the next valley. The nine storied palace stood in the middle of a broad valley surrounded by rich fields of wheat and barley. Scores of cattle and horses grazed on the hillsides. The palace walls were richly decorated with precious metals and they shone and glittered in the sunlight. Seeing this the monkey thought, “Hummm ... this will make a fine palace for my king.”

  So the monkey limped confidently to the palace gate and was at once met by the one-eyed lady who was the gate keeper of the sinpo’s palace.

  “I carry with me an edict from the king of China and I must give it the sinpo himself this instant,” announced the monkey.

  The one-eyed lady looked severely at this monkey with her one eye and called the three-eyed guard. The three-eyed guard rolled its eyes menacingly in different directions and said, “Five Eyes will know what to do with you.”

  The guard with the five eyes came, and without even looking in his d
irection called the seven-eyed guard who came promptly and, taking one quick look at the monkey, said, “Go and meet the other Eyes,” and pointed towards a series of doors. The monkey went in and met the guards with various numbers of eyes and finally Nine Eyes took him and ushered him into the presence of the sinpo, announcing, “The messenger from China.”

  The monkey at once took out a sheet of paper, and with an extravagant flourish, and holding himself as tall as he could possibly make himself, he cleared his throat three times and proceeded to read aloud the edict from the king of China. The edict simply said, “The king of China declares war on the sinpo.”

  The sinpo instantly fell into a state of panic and began to pace back and forth in his enormous room. His head hung over his chest and his fangs drooped and touched the golden floors, making deep furrows in the floor as he paced back and forth restlessly. “Do you know the king of China?” he at last addressed the monkey.

  “Yes, I do,” lied the monkey effortlessly. “In fact I know him quite well,” he added, when the sinpo did not respond.

  When the sinpo still did not react he went on, “Now as I see that you are a good sinpo, I would also like to warn you that the king of China intends to use something called cannons on you.”

  “How can we save ourselves from the cannon?” asked the sinpo, suddenly interested.