One day the penlop had a message of great urgency which had to be conveyed to the Wangdi dzongpon immediately. The penlop knew that he could rely on his attendant. The Zimpon handed the letter to Carba Lung gi Khorlo and conveyed the penlop’s order for him to speed to the Wangdi dzongpon and bring back the reply the same day. As Carba Lung gi Khorlo left the penlop’s court the tailor was just unfolding a fabric for a gho. It was at the hour of the first cockcrow.
Carba Lung gi Khorlo sped down to the Mangdi river and climbed to the other side of the Tongsa ravine and was soon climbing towards Pele La. He had done this trial many times and each turn and every ascent was familiar to him. But each journey now caused him more apprehension. It was no longer a challenge and a test of his own prowess as it used to be in the earlier days. Each journey took more and more energy and effort. The soles of his feet hurt and his calves burnt as if there was fire in them and his thighs grew heavier. Above all he dreaded the day he would fail his master, the day that his master would not say “Tubay”. As he thought of all these changes in himself he passed through Nyala Lungma and he soon passed by the Nyala derma’s phodrang or palace-which is in rather an inconspicuous place not much different from the rest of the region. It is a small shaded ravine in the oak forest, it is dark, and hardly any sunlight reaches the place and it is wet although there is no stream anywhere. The most striking feature of this place is that it has an eerie atmosphere and you always feel that uncanny presence of someone that you cannot see. In a moment of impulsive reckless he looked towards the demon’s abode and shouted, “I am tired, I am so tired that I would rather you took my life than that I do one more journey like this.”
Soon after midday he was in the court of the Wangdi dzongpon and after a quick meal he was ready and on his way back with the reply for the Tongsa penlop. By early evening he was already approaching Nyala Lungma and was looking forward to the rest at the end of his journey. He took comfort in the thought that his wife would be waiting with a good meal and strong ara at his home in Tongsa. There were no human settlements anywhere in the area although he occasionally met one or two people on the way. They were sometimes travelers like himself, herders, or pilgrims. He would greet them and ask them a few questions but never stopped to actually talk with anyone. But today it was different and he had to stop and look carefully. For there was a woman wearing the region’s famous tarichem kira which is a black woolen kira with bands of red and blue. She was bending towards a little stream and washing a basket of meat. A closer look revealed that the basket contained what looked like entrails of some fairly large animal. The woman was completely preoccupied. She had her back towards the road and was bending down towards the water trough and washing the contents of the basket. Carba Lung gi Khorlo wondered how it was possible that in the middle of nowhere there was this woman washing meat. So he asked, “It looks like a big animal. Is your cow herd nearby?” The woman continued to wash the meat and did not turn to answer him. She simply said, “This is not an animal’s entrails. Carba Lung gi Khorlo gave me his life this morning. These are his entrails.” As if in a dream she then disappeared, leaving not a trace of her having ever been there. The emptiness and the silence seemed to envelop him, a shudder ran down his spine, and his skin rose in goose pimples. He seemed to float for the rest of his journey. He had no thoughts or pain, he just felt a lightness in his being.
The conch shell was being blown from the monastery to mark the end of the day as he entered the Tongsa dzong. Darkness had fallen and one could no longer read the lines of the palm of the hand. He felt a sense of calm and satisfaction but there was a sadness that transcended everything. He saw that the tailor had completed stitching a gho that he had cut out in the morning and was folding it. Lung gi Khorlo did not stop to greet anyone, he went straight into the inner chambers of the court and presented the letter of the Wangdi dzongpon to the Tongsa penlop. The penlop seemed to have a trace of a smile on his face and there was perhaps a hint of emotion when he said, “Tubay”. The penlop then pointed to a large bowl of rice on which were placed a generous portions of dried meat and a large roll of butter. A servant stepped out nimbly from behind the gochor or screen in front of the door, picked up the gifts, and indicated to Carba Lung gi Khorlo that the audience was over. The two men then stepped backwards until were behind the gochor and left the penlop to read the letter. Carba Lung gi Khorlo had once again not failed his master. He went home, quietly ate his meal, and followed it with a cup of delicious strong ara. As he ate his meal he calmly related the incident to his wife. After the meal he lay down, asleep and never woke up again.
Anyone traveling the lateral highway across Bhutan has to pass through Nyala Lungma. It is the area between Chendibji and Thumbidrak. It is always dark and always a little damp. There is no abode in the true sense of the word. But the demon lives here somewhere. Once you have heard this legend the place seems almost forbidding. Do stop and remember her, for she appreciates acknowledgment but do not call upon her to do anything. One can never sure; she might just take you seriously.
Yirang Pamo’s Visit to the House of Nyala Dermo
The pamo turned to take another look at the beautiful cow and found herself staring stupidly at a huge rat that was pulling and struggling at the rope.
It is believed that even spirits and demons are afflicted with pain and disease like human beings. We are told that sometimes the spirits seek the help of human beings to cure their sick and afflicted.
Yirang Pamo Lhamo was a very powerful Bumthangpa pamo or shaman medium. Although she came from Yirang which is in the Tang Block of Bumthang district the fame of her power and skill had reached far and wide and she would be called upon to perform rituals in faraway places like Thimphu or even Paro. It happened once while she was making the long journey from Yirang to Thimphu that she had to spend a night somewhere near Nyala Lungma. Genuine and powerful pamos are recognized and even respected by spirits and demons, and being aware of this, they are therefore not afraid of anything. So when a beautiful woman appeared from nowhere out of the forest and asked her to help her she agreed without fear.
This beautiful woman avoided eye contact and always looked away when she spoke. “My son is very sick, I would be grateful if you could look at him. Perhaps there is something that you can do to help him.”
They walked in silence for a while through the forest. Deep in the forest of oak and conifers, far away from all human habitation there suddenly appeared a magnificent house. The pamo went in and was shown the patient who was lying on a mat on the floor. The patient, a young man, was covered with sores. After a quick look the pamo realized that the sores were full of mustard seeds. She at once knew what had happened. When human beings are afflicted with sicknesses caused by the ill will of spirits and demons, choepas perform the ritual of kago. During this ritual mustard seeds are thrown at the patient to symbolically chase away the spirits. Here was proof that the good choepas in fact made effective contact with the unseen harmful beings and actually injured them.
Unlike other times when the pamo contacts malevolent spirits, bargains, and negotiates with them, in this case all that she could do was to call upon the human guardian deities and ask for forgiveness. When she had completed the rituals she was led out of the house. As she was passing through the rooms she recognized a man from Bumthang. He was wearing an unmistakable Bumthang matha and was bending intently over a pile of sewing placed in front of him. She stopped and looked at him carefully, hoping that he would see her, but he would not look up from his work. The pamo recognized the man as Kencho, the late husband of Nimalung Animo. He had died some months ago and now was a khor or bondaged spirit slave of the dermo.
Here is what had happened to Kencho before he died and became a khor. He was returning from Thimphu and had to spend a night in a cave somewhere near Nyala Lungma. Throughout that night there was a tremendous wind that roared ceaselessly and it hailed and rained tumultuously. On this fearful night Kencho gratefully submitted to the lu
re of a beautiful woman who had mysteriously appeared from nowhere and befriended him in his cave.
Several days after his return to Nimalung, he fell seriously ill and, after many months of intense suffering, finally died. It was believed that Nyala derma had taken his sag or life force on that fatal night in the cave. The pamo Lhamo had in fact been called upon to help him in his last days but it was too late. She had told the relatives and his wife that a demon had bound him nine times with a chain, never to be released. Kencho had become a bondaged spirit slave to the Nyala demoness.
On seeing the plight of Kencho the pamo was filled with compassion and she regretted that she had not been able to help him. With these thoughts going through her mind she happened to linger a little, at which the dermo who was leading her out of the house turned back impatiently and her face darkened. The pamo quickened her pace and followed her out of the house. The derma handed her a rope tied around the horns of a beautiful milking jatsam and curtly said, “This is in return for your services” and instantly disappeared. The pamo turned to take another look at the beautiful cow and found herself staring stupidly at a huge rat that was pulling and struggling at the rope.
Nyala derma’s life had once again impinged on the life of human beings.
The Ani and the Migoi
Her meditation was senseless if this creature was to continue to take the lives of other creatures for her sake.
Dangbo..o..o Dingbo..o..o.. past the deep forest, clinging onto the rocks on the side of the mountain was a cluster of five huts which were occasionally used by meditators as a hermitage. It now happened that one year an ani or nun was the sole occupant of these huts. She lived in the smallest hut, the one closest to the stream. She had undertaken to do the losum chosum meditation of three years of absolute isolation. The lonely days turned to lonelier months but after the first nine months of sheer loneliness she suddenly began to experience blissful tranquillity. She then no longer felt the pangs of hunger that so tormented her in the initial days. She ate a little flour and drank the butterless tea once a day more as a daily ritual than as a means to quench her hunger and her thirst. Her mind was at peace and she radiated peace and tranquillity.
It was her third winter by herself. She was no longer afraid of anything for she had overcome every kind of fear. So it was a sense of curiosity that was stirred when she heard a tremendous sound of heavy thumping and shuffling. The sound was accompanied by a very strong smell that nearly choked her. She waited in quiet anticipation as the sound drew closer to her hut and the smell became stronger. All at once a heavy shadow fell across the room and then suddenly there was an enormous effort of something being pushed through the window. The little room in which she sat became dark as the window was filled with the bulk of some strange creature’s leg. Her little hut actually shook under its weight. It was a leg that looked like no other leg. It was something between a human leg and an animal leg. It was about two times the size of a yak leg and it was covered with fur. The fur was of a dark color but because of the darkness the exact color was difficult to tell. It was with serene composure that the ani wondered what she should do. Then as her eyes adjusted to the partial darkness she saw that a large bamboo stake had pierced the foot right through and was still stuck there. There was some blood and pus in the fur around the piece of bamboo. She saw that the creature was in need of help and this was its way of seeking it. The ani took her penknife and then tried to extract the bamboo. After a long period of labor, covered in perspiration, and dizzy from the foul smell of the creature, she was finally able to get the stake out. It was about a foot long. She then took some gnymar or sanctified butter and applied it lavishly to the wound. After a while the strange leg was withdrawn through the window with as much effort as when it was pushed in. Slowly the great mass of the creature moved away with a heavy thumping and crashing noise. With the fading noise the strong smell died away too. The ani felt a shudder down her spine as she wondered aloud, “Perhaps that was a migoi”.
From then on, as if to thank the ani, the strange creature kept coming back to the hut bringing with it different kinds of game. The carcasses of deer, wild boar, birds, and other animals were regularly shoved through the window. It is said that the ani was greatly disturbed by these occurrences. Her meditation was senseless if this creature was to continue to take the lives of other creatures for her sake. So she had to move away to another hermitage to complete the meditation.
The Zah Collector and the Migoi
He knew at once that this must be what the old timers had warned him against, a migoi.
Dangbo..o..o Dingbo..o..o.. many years ago there was a man. Nobody really knew where he came from but everybody knew that he used to wander in the wild mountains of Bhutan and collect zah. He would collect as many as he could get and then go to Wongker in the Lhunsti district and sell them to a master wood-turner who turned these shapeless and ugly fungal growths of wood into beautiful and priceless zahphi cups and bowls. He had been to all the mountains over the years searching out and collecting zah. Like a hunter seeking out an animal he had sought out zah, and like a hunter thrilled at the final kill, he too could feel a thrill each time he carved out a burl from a tree.
Now it happened that he was on Sibshiri mountain in the Tang valley of Bumthang. He had with him his bags of food provisions and his precious bundle of zah which he had carefully carved out from the trees. Besides his axe and knife he had a matchlock, for life in the remote forest among the wild animals was dangerous.
It was winter, and it was bitterly cold. The fresh soft snow that fell continuously made walking impossible. With every step he would sink into it up to his waist. So he had taken shelter in a cave and he was getting restless as the ground continued to lie under a thick blanket of snow. All he could do was to wait for a change in the weather. For most of the day he sat in the cave warming himself by a fire and smoking his gangza or pipe. It was on such a day that there was a terrible blizzard, worse than any he had ever before experienced. The snowflakes fell out of the dark sky without a break, the wind roared and howled and swayed the trees mercilessly as if it would break them or blow them away. This continued for a long time. Suddenly the zah collector heard a terrible wailing, more piercing than the roar of the wind. The wailing which seemed to be full of pain and anguish sounded as if it were coming closer to him. While he strained his ears to listen to the sound more carefully, for each wail was followed by a long period of silence, a waft of the most foul smell reached his nostrils. He held his breath, for the smell was so strong that he grew dizzy with it. He kept his eyes focused on the wide entrance of the cave and thought hopelessly of the impossibility of protecting himself. Then suddenly he saw a dark shadow fall across the space in front of him and wafts of the foul smell reached him even more strongly now. As he sat there defenseless, he could hear the loud thumping of his own heart ·and his chest felt constricted. Impulsively he stood up suddenly. Perhaps he thought he could run away before the mysterious enemy came to him. He felt light headed, and the next moment his knees gave way and he crumpled on the floor of the cave, unconscious.
He was not sure how long he had lain in this state, but when he opened his eyes the huge entrance of the cave seemed partially blocked and streaks of faint light came into the cave around an enormous object that sat before him looking at him curiously with its beady eyes. He knew at once that this must be what the old timers had warned him against, a migoi. He studied this creature as it sat there in front of him. It was at least three times the length of an average man and about the breadth of a huge yak. Its body was covered with brown and black fur which was long in some places and short in others. Its feet and hands resembled those of a large monkey, its beady blue-black eyes were fixed on him. By now the smell had filled the cave and the zah collector’s lungs were about to burst as he tried to control his breath.
Neither of them moved. They just sat there facing each other. The creature seemed to scrutinize the man, whose mind had now gone
blank. After a long time, in a moment of restless uncertainty he took his gangza, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. The creature watched him quizzically. He had smoked a puff or two when the creature gestured for it. The man suddenly had an idea which he thought might be his only way to escape from certain death. With slow but deliberate movements he reached for his matchlock, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on the strange creature. He then filled it with gun powder as he had filled his pipe with tobacco and handed it to the migoi, which reached out and grasped it with hands as skillful as human hands. With the same proficiency this creature thrust the barrel of the gun into its mouth. The man then withdrew a burning piece of wood from the fire and lit the gun as the creature greedily sucked at it. Suddenly there was a flash of sparks and a muffled bang and the creature fell backwards. The man took one deep breath and ran to the entrance of the cave, and took one last look at the enormous thing which lay there like a huge pile of manure in the cave. He thought the head was severed from the body, but he could not be certain for he did not pause to take a second look. It did not even occur to him to check the hollow in its back in which it allegedly carried away human children whom it had stolen. He trudged through the snowstorm, stumbling and falling, without direction; he moved on, simply glad to be out of the cave and the danger. He did not know how long he traveled or even how he traveled but he reached the village of Tachiling which is nearly at the bottom of the Sibshiri, like a feverish man in delirium. The people took him in and sat him next to the fire. It was only after they had fed and nourished him with hot rich meals, together with strong ara warmed with butter and eggs, that he was finally able to tell them of his encounter with a migoi.
Folktales of Bhutan Page 13
