Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

  I would like to express my appreciation to Mr. D. Ande, for publishing, Mrs. S. Slater, for editing and Mr. E. Stauffer for the typesetting and layout of this book. Finally I would like to thank my family for believing in me and in the migoi.

  Part 1

  Laya

  The Layaps

  It takes about four days of strenuous trekking to get from Punakha to Laya, in the north-western part of Bhutan. The inhabitants of Laya, known as the Layaps, are a nomadic group of people numbering about a thousand in all. This remote settlement comprises a total of 102 households spread across seven villages. The Layaps speak a dialect that is closer to Tibetan than most other Bhutanese languages, and their dress and ornaments set them apart from the mainstream Bhutanese. They are definitely a cultural curiosity but they are respected for their resourcefulness and comparative wealth. In a recent survey it was found that the Layaps had the highest food security compared to the national average. They had stocks of rice and other food items that would last for several months. Ironically, at the high altitudes at which the Layaps live, agriculture is limited to the cultivation of barley and mustard. Everything else must be transported laboriously by human beings, yaks and horses, up from Punakha and down from Tibet. The wealth of these pastoralists originates from their yak herds. They have become shrewd traders and their modest lifestyles have led them to amass considerable wealth in grains and cattle.

  According to hearsay, the Layaps, or the inhabitants of Laya, may be the descendants of people chased out of Lhasa many centuries ago. The Tibetan government in Lhasa traditionally conducted an annual ritual of expulsion called glud’gong as part of the New Year festival. This ritual was carried out in order to free the people of the Tibetan capital from all evil influences. Usually, the glud (scapegoat/ ransom) are representational figures of humans and animals made out of either dough or clay, but during these special ceremonies it is said that living people were selected to be the glud. Through powerful rites, these scapegoats who took the place of the glud, would be symbolically loaded with all the evil present and then exiled from the city. It is thought that some of them eventually went so far as to venture beyond the southern borders of Tibet into Bhutan. The people of Laya are believed to have been descended from the female glud, while the people of Merak Sakteng are supposedly the descendants of the male glud. Their distinctive costumes and headdress may be traced back to the attire they had to put on as scapegoats. While the truth of this legend awaits research, there are other tales that are equally compelling. There is a legend that explains how the region got its name. Many, many years ago a huge boulder got dislodged from a mountainside and rolled down the slope, bounding and thundering until it suddenly stopped somewhere in the middle of the slope. When the people saw this enormous boulder they were amazed at its size and everyone simultaneously uttered the expression of extreme surprise, “La ya!” Thus, over the years the area began to be known as Laya. As time passed, different areas in Laya began to take on various names, and surely there must be stories or legends in the folklore of the Layaps that explain how each name originated. A commonly narrated story is the one that recounts how an area came to be known as Goelak or Goelo, which in their language means the place where the migoi was defeated.

  In this collection of Bhutanese snowman stories, I was fortunate in being able to obtain two stories from Laya. The first story points out the danger of getting too ambitious and greedy, an inevitable vice that could easily be manifested in a society where the main preoccupation is the accumulation of food. The second story seems to depict the inherent resourcefulness of the Layap personality, for a young girl defeats the migoi all on her own, with nothing but her dinner and her imagination. It is not by any coincidence that both these stories, which possess the characteristics of parables, so naturally turn to the human-migoi encounters to accomplish their purpose—the Layaps and the migoi live in more or less the same territories of the Bhutanese Himalayas.

  The Greedy Herder

  Like the rest of the yak herders of Laya, Tenzin used to herd his animals at an altitude of about 2,500 meters in the winter months. In the summer, he would ascend to altitudes as high as 4,500 meters. The yaks grazed in meadows that were fringed with coniferous woodlands of fir, blue pine and juniper. He allowed them to roam freely within the traditionally recognized boundaries. He lived so close to the Tibetan border that his animals were constantly wandering back and forth across the borders and he followed them, quite oblivious of the international boundaries. Apart from his two sons he had his yak dog. This huge and faithful Tibetan mastiff kept away the ferocious beasts that abound in the wilderness.

  With more than sixty animals and two strong sons to help him, Tenzin could lead a relatively easy life. But the Layaps say that he was a greedy man when they recount the tragic tale involving his death.

  One night Tenzin was alone in his house, sitting by the hearth and warming himself, for he had just come in from the cold. It was snowing heavily outside. The sky was dark and ominous, the wind cold and brittle. He had gone out to pen the young animals. As he sat in the warmth of his kitchen his thoughts drifted to his sons who had taken ten yaks laden with salt to Gasa to exchange against rice. He hoped the traders in Gasa wouldn’t send the boys back, telling them to return for the rice after the following year’s harvest. The young men, who were strong and resourceful in the mountains of Laya but rather shy and timid when dealing with outsiders, would probably agree. As his imagination ran wild Tenzin began to get rather agitated and spoke out loud, “If that’s the case I’ll have to take the yaks and go and bring back my salt.” Suddenly he was jolted out of his reverie by the frantic barking of his dog. Tenzin peeped through the cracks of the window shutters without opening them so that he could avoid the cold draft that would invade his home. He smiled with satisfaction, for in the bright moonlight he could see his faithful dog excitedly frightening off a predator. But suddenly the dog stopped barking and, drawing its tail between its hind legs, entered the porch, yelping and whimpering as if it had been hurt.

  Curious, Tenzin got up and walked out of the kitchen but as he was passing through the small storeroom outside the kitchen, he noticed that the shutters on the upper windows were open. “No wonder it is so cold in here today,” thought Tenzin as he went to close them. However, just before his hands touched the shutters, two dark hairy paws appeared through the windows. “All the lamas and my deities, you who know everything, I take refuge in you,” thought Tenzin, as he stared at the monstrously huge hands that remained transfixed as if expecting something. His mind went blank. His cries for help died somewhere between the pit of his stomach and his throat. The hairy paws continued to remain in the window. He looked around the room and saw the strips of yak meat that he had hung up to dry only a few days before. He quickly grabbed a bundle of meat and thrust it into the outstretched hands. The hands withdrew and he could hear a great shuffling noise. The dog began to yelp and whine again. Tenzin could not move. He stood next to the window not even daring to look at the retreating creature. Finally, when he did look out he saw a huge being limping away into the thick forest of conifers at the far end of his pasture.

  Tenzin could not sleep a wink that night. He stacked his heaviest boxes against the door and wedged logs of wood in the window frames so that the shutters could not be forced open. He got up at dawn, dazed and exhausted like a sick man getting out of bed after a long illness. He wondered if he should walk over to his neighbors on the other side of the mountain and talk to them about his experience. Would they believe him? Would they call him an old fool and laugh behind his back? He decided he had to talk to somebody.

  He quickly grabbed a bundle of meat and thrust them into the outstretched hands.

  “It must be a migoi. They are known to come down to our human settlements during bad weather and if it was limping it must be either sick or injured,” said Dechen, the ninety year old grandmother in the neighbor’s house, after she had listened patiently to his story.
She said this as if she was talking of someone she knew very well. Almost as an afterthought she said, “Be very careful not to bother it.” Somehow, just knowing what it was seemed to calm Tenzin’s confused and tormented state. Yet, for several nights he took the same precautions of fortifying his house—but the so-called migoi did not come. Then, suddenly, one night long after the first incident, his dog began to bark in that strange way, first the furious barking and then the yelping and whimpering. Tenzin waited with bated breath until he could actually hear the footsteps of the giant, thud...shuffle, thud... shuffle. They came closer and closer and then the shutters opened; the logs of wood in the window frame snapped like twigs. So much for his fortification! All at once he was overcome with terror. He took down a bundle of meat and placed it in the grisly hairy hands. Clasping the meat with the long paw-like hands the creature at once withdrew. This time Tenzin studied the beast. It was an enormous figure, standing on its hind legs. It was bigger than a yakdom, or one of those huge Himalayan bears known as yak bears. Its shoulders sloped downwards and its arms hung loosely by its sides. In the dark night Tenzin could not see the color of its coat; it looked like a dark mass of shaggy fur. The creature walked with a thud...shuffle, thud... shuffle because it had an injured leg. It put its good leg forward, thud, and then dragged the bad one forth with a shuffle. It walked silently into the dark night.

  “I believe you, it must be so,” said grandmother Dechen, in between her chants over the creaking noise of her prayer wheel, when Tenzin went to fill her in on the latest happenings.

  The visits of the begging migoi were becoming a ritual. Even the dog no longer responded to its periodic appearances by barking. Instead, it would ignore the migoi and lie with its face down between its front paws. In the meantime, Tenzin began to have some strange ideas. “If I can kill this creature and take parts of it to Punakha and present it to the king I will surely become famous. And, perhaps the king will favor me so well that I can gain a lot of power and control in Laya. I will then be a very rich man.” This idea haunted him endlessly and finally he made up his mind. As the usual time of the migoi’s visit approached, he took his big ax and heated it in the hearth. The red hot weapon would surely be better than an ordinary ax to kill this extraordinary creature with, he reasoned. Slowly the metal turned fiery hot. But the migoi did not come. He let the ax lie in the fire, the metal was beginning to assume an ashen glow, when suddenly the window opened. Tenzin tried to calm himself and behave as if everything was normal. He took the ax by the handle and removed it from the fire. Even the wooden handle was so hot that he could barely hold it. The hairy hands were in the window as usual when he raised the ax over his shoulders, high above his head, and brought it down, with one quick sweeping movement, on to the giant hands. There was a horrible howl and then darkness descended upon Tenzin.

  A few days later, Tenzin’s sons returned from Punakha, their yaks carrying bags filled to bursting capacity with good rice and chilies. They were rather surprised when the dog did not bark and prance around, wagging its tail in its usual friendly greeting and were truly shocked when they saw their house destroyed beyond recognition. They groped and stumbled among the rubble and the debris of what was once their home. Finally, they saw their father. There he was, his mangled but still recognizable body, lying face down, crushed under the central beam of the house. His body lay squashed on the floor and in his outstretched hand he still held the ax, the metal blackened by the heat and the wooden handle scorched. The dog lay at a distance, its limbs torn apart. They quietly sat down next to their father’s body in grief and shock.

  When the news of the mysterious death of Tenzin reached the ears of grandmother Dechen, she knew at once, “He must have done something silly to anger the migoi!” She alone realized that the supernatural being had destroyed the foolish man and his house with its mysterious powers and then disappeared without a trace, taking with it the secret of its very existence. The rest of the villagers could only guess what the cause of the herder’s unexpected death might be.

  Goelak, the Place Where

  the Migoi Was Defeated

  Goelak is the huge expanse of communal pastures located directly opposite the mountain range where the source of the Koina river, a tributary of the famous Mochu river, begins. The high altitude pastures at Goelak are ideal for summer grazing. Every year several herders would take their yaks there to graze. Sometimes entire families would travel along with their animals, but at other times only one or two members of the family would go. In one particular year it so happened that a young boy and his older sister were the only herders in Goelak for a while. They made their camp in a cave which offered them a good view of the mountainside. Besides, sitting at the mouth of the cave they could keep an eye on their animals.

  The young pastoralists knew no other way of life and so it was with natural ease that they carried out all the chores that were necessary to live in the wilderness. While one of them collected the firewood the other fetched the water from the brook. They watched the animals and ran after them in efforts to keep them from straying. In their spare time the sister would spin yak wool and the brother played in the meadows or carved faces and figures on pieces of wood. Every few weeks one of them had to go down to their home to replenish their food supplies. While they enjoyed going home, meeting their parents, brothers and sisters and eating the delicious meals which their mother prepared especially for them, they dreaded the journey back. They had to carry the provisions themselves as they did not have any horses and they could not possibly risk taking a yak to the lower altitudes in the height of the summer heat.

  The young girl, who was only a few years older than her brother, assumed the responsibility of being a mother to the boy. As she gathered and packed her empty bags she reminded her brother of all the things that he should not do and all the things that he should. He should not venture too deep into the forests. Even if an animal were to go missing he should wait until she returned. He was not to drink the water from the stagnant pools, even though they had strange and appealing colors, they were poisonous. He should stay in the cave after dark and always keep the fire burning.

  Looking back several times at her brother, who was already cheerfully prancing about along with the young animals in the meadow, she descended the slopes with a feeling of uneasiness. She had never felt like this before. As soon as she got home she pleaded with her mother to hurry up with the process of sorting out, preparing and packing the provisions for her to take back to the grazing camp. But the barley grains had to be dried in the sun, roasted and then finally ground. One of her brothers had gone to Punakha to get chilies several days ago but had not yet returned and she had to wait for him. The girl fretted and worried about her little brother for some unknown reason. It was only three days later that she could finally start her return journey.

  Despite the heavy load she made the journey back quickly and by the time dusk was being engulfed by darkness she reached the mouth of the cave. Many of the yaks had gathered together, some were lying down on the ground ruminating and looking towards her, as if in recognition, while the others stood still, calm and serene in the quiet evening light. But her brother was nowhere to be seen. She looked around, put down her luggage and called out into the darkness, “Where are you? I am back!” Her voice echoed eerily in the empty cave. Her heart sank when she saw that the fire had not been lit in the hearth and the firewood which she had gathered before she left lay where it was before, untouched. There was a strange smell in the cave, it was not the familiar smell of the earth, bird-droppings and roots—smells common enough in a cave. The smell was strong, something like rotting cheese. “No, it cannot be cheese, it must be my brother, he is dead and it must be his body.” The thought struck her like a thunderbolt emerging from a clear blue sky. She groped around and located the flint stone and the piece of metal in its usual hiding place, a crack in the rock face. She struggled with the flint stone for a long time before she could light the wick in the
small oil lamp. As the lamp flickered and cast an orangeish-yellow glow in the cave she looked around for her brother’s body. There was no sign of it nor were there any signs to suggest that there had been any struggle or disturbance. Then her gaze fell on the deepest and darkest part of the cave and, as her eyes slowly adjusted to the flickering light, she saw an enormous shadow. Her first reaction was to turn towards the mouth of the cave and see what was causing the shadow. But all that she saw was the velvety gray-black sky and the first stars of the night. There was nothing else.

  Soon the entire body was engulfed in a flaming ball of fire.

  She continued to stand where she was and studied what seemed to be a shadow. She squinted and peered into the darkness, it was not a shadow. It was a body of sorts... the body of a hideous creature. It was crouching on the floor with its back facing her. “What could it be?” she wondered, it was bigger than anything she had ever seen in her life. She was a brave girl, one had to be brave living in the wilderness all by oneself with only the yaks and a young boy for company. She was also a wise girl. She decided that whatever it was, the cave was still her home and therefore the safest place to be on a dark night. She would not run away but would adopt clever means to overcome the mysterious creature. She kept her outward calm but her mind raced frantically, “What shall I do? What shall I do?” Finally, she thought, “This must be what the elders call a migoi. Perhaps it has killed and eaten my brother and now it wants to eat me too.” She took one quick look at the monster, “But I don’t want to be eaten by it,” she thought. “First, I have to defend myself from this monster and only then will I search for my brother,” she decided.