Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

Without actually planning to, he soon found himself heading towards the site of the nocturnal battle. The actual location was still further away from where he had stood on the ridge the night before. From a distance he could see that the vegetation in the area had been trampled upon and crushed; the fresh earth exposed the prints of the many paws that had run about in a frenzy. As he came closer to the spot, the stench of death seemed to hang heavy in the air. He looked around, there was not a single trace of blood anywhere although there were huge bones that had been cleaned white by the dogs. They lay like driftwood after a flood. These bones were gigantic, bigger than the biggest yak bones. He recognized the femur which was more than five or six spans long, at the very least. The enormous vertebrae, as “big as a child’s head,” lay in the trampled grass broken and disjointed. What could it be?” he kept asking himself until finally he knew that these bones could only belong to one creature, the migoi. A sadness came over him and he felt a chill as he stood there forlorn and powerless amidst the horrible carnage.

  His mind reflected on the attack the dogs had launched against the yak and he realized that even this huge creature had wailed in pain for help before it succumbed to the hungry, indiscriminate animals! He decided to shift camp the same day.

  The Migoi’s Sense of Smell

  Instantly a thick dark smoke rose from the embers emitting a strong smell that drifted towards the creature.

  The life of a yak herder is a lonely experience, for the yak pastures are often far from human settlements. Mimi Kaydola, or grandfather Kaydola, considered himself lucky to have his son Shaty with him. They had been in the new pastures for only a day. The pastures at Kasibi were fairly good; the grass was undisturbed and the dwarf bamboo was lush and thick. The surrounding forests of rhododendron and birch were well spaced out and the herders could easily spot their animals if they strayed into the forests. Kasibi is exactly behind the renowned Thowadrak temple (at an elevation of 3,400 meters) in Tang, Bumthang. Thowadrak, or High Rocks, is perched high up in the mountains and can be reached by climbing a series of vertical rock faces. The only people who live there are some hermits and meditating recluses. It takes the better part of the day to reach Kasibi from Thowadrak. Even in remote regions, female or mixed cattle herds attract a string of visitors who come in search of butter, cheese, and yogurt, but an exclusively male herd, such as Mimi Kaydola’s, does not attract any visitors for they have nothing to offer. So, beside the herders themselves, no other people went to Kasibi. The two herders had been so long isolated from other human beings and human habitats that they smelled of moss and yaks — the smells of the wilderness!

  The aging Mimi Kaydola and his son walked the steep mountain sides effortlessly as they searched for movements in the forests, footprints, and fresh yak dung as clues to the whereabouts of their animals. Once assured that all the animals were safe in the vicinity they would head home to their shelter. Their shelter was a semicircular stone wall about two meters high. The boulders had simply been stacked on top of each other, without any mortar, to make a rough, rudimentary wall. Poles were laid across part of the wall to support the thick blankets of yak hair that had been tied down to improvise a roof. At the narrow mouth of the semi-circle, logs of wood had been wedged into the gaps in the stone wall as a barrier against wild animals.

  Their daily meandering at the high altitudes made the men tired and they were always glad to return to their shelter and sit down on the ground, which was covered with bamboo leaves and ferns. The men would sit facing the open stone hearth and warm themselves as their frugal meal of buckwheat flour with dried turnip leaves bubbled and frothed in the battered old pan. The meal would be eaten in silence and without any fuss or delight. By the time the first stars twinkled in the dark sky the two men would already be sinking into their bedding of numerous yak hair quilts and blankets spread out on the ground. They would say a few words to each other, then turned their backs to the fire and relaxed as they drifted into a deep sleep. This had been their routine for as long as they could remember.

  Tonight there was something strange and Mimi Kaydola had difficulty sleeping, he felt anxious and distracted. Although he continued to lie under his blankets he had his eyes wide open and focused on the entrance to the enclosure. Suddenly it felt as if something heavy leaned against the logs of wood placed at the entrance. At this he propped himself on his elbows and listened intently as he peered into the darkness. At the same time Shaty pointed towards the opening of their shelter and whispered, “What was that?”

  In an instant Mimi Kaydola rushed for his sword, hastily drew it out of its scabbard and began to hone it on the sharpening stone. Shaty continued to peer into the darkness until he was finally able to recognize the outline of the immense figure that was leaning against the logs. It was at least as big as one-and-a-half yaks in size! Its long arms hung limply by its sides. Every now and then it rubbed its body against the logs and scratched itself like a monkey. It seemed to be looking at the two men in the shelter, for its blue-green eyes shone through the darkness. Mimi Kaydola continued to sharpen his sword, repeatedly muttering, “I’ll hit it once.”

  Shaty racked his numbed brains to think of something to do. With his heart pounding wildly against his chest and his palms clammy he dared not move. His eyes were fixed on the visitor. A gentle breeze brought with it wafts of a hideously noxious smell that had an overbearing effect. Like all herders, first thing every morning the two men would burn branches of juniper, dwarf azalea and other pleasant smelling herbs, flowers and roots. These “burnt offerings” of pleasant smells called sang gratify and appease the benevolent spirits dwelling in the wilderness; thus they protect the herders and their animals and provide agreeable weather conditions as well. But is a migoi a benevolent or malevolent spirit? Should the herder burn sang or sur when encountered by a migoi? Sur is the burning of foul, noxious and pungent smelling substances such as chilies, peppers, meats and dirty scraps of cloth to ward away evil spirits. Shaty did not know what to do. He thought about his predicament, then quickly made a decision.

  The embers in the hearth were still alive and burning; in their faint glow he collected materials from around the hearth that he would burn. He split open the bamboo scabbard of the gicung, or the dagger that his father — like all traditional Bhutanese men — always carried in his belt. Mimi Kaydola’s multipurpose gicung, which had been lying beside the hearth, had never once been cleaned after it had been used. In the scabbard were the accumulated scraps of years and years of onions, chili, meat, garlic, and dirt. Shaty scraped all this into the embers after which he picked up the greasy cloth that the two men used as a pot holder and placed it on the embers as well. Instantly, a thick dark smoke arose from the embers emitting an intensely unpleasant smell that drifted towards the creature. The smell was so strong that even Shaty was sneezing and coughing uncontrollably as smoke filled the shelter. There was a muttering in the darkness which was soon followed by a pained growl. Moaning, growling and sneezing, the creature moved away. The logs in the stone wall fell back into place noisily as the creature moved its weight away from them. Like a strong gust of wind the creature left the shelter, “whookk.” Soon it could be heard bounding away in a mad fury, filling the silence of the night air with thunderous growls and sneezes. Finally, all that could be heard was the crashing of branches as the violated and angered migoi thrashed its way through the forest. Shaty wondered how the migoi would have reacted had he burned sang instead.

  He felt weak and faint. Leaning against the stone wall for support, he slowly let himself slump down on to the floor in relief and mental exhaustion. Mimi Kaydola was quite oblivious of the whole affair as he sat on the floor and continued to hone his sword, repeatedly muttering, “I’ll hit it once.” Spit was frothing at the corners of his mouth and there was a frenzied and wild expression in his eyes. Shaty gently but firmly pulled the out of the tightly clenched fists of his father and said, “It’s gone.”

  “Gone?” was all the old man c
ould whisper as a glazed look came over his face and he slowly focused his weary and moist eyes towards the opening in the wall.

  The Migoi Does Not Bend

  It was spring, a beautiful day high up in the mountains. The sun sparkled in the blue sky and wispy clouds floated along close to the snow capped mountain tops. An occasional raven squawked in the distance and a bevy of jackdaws were silently scratching in the pasture. The walk up and down the mountain sides had tired the two men out. They rested a while; Mimi Kaydola took out a buckwheat kaptang, unleavened bread, from the pouch of his gho and broke it in half. He handed his son a piece of the bitter-sweet bread which they munched leisurely, before heading further up the mountain in search of the two missing yaks. Mimi Kaydola and Shaty knew that they would be around somewhere so they did not hurry. But the animal tracks which they had been following suddenly disappeared and they had to scramble through the tangle of sprawling bushes that covered the landscape and be careful not to stumble over the numerous stones that lay in their path.

  It was the time of day when morning fuses into afternoon; the wind was gentle and the temperature warm, even at these high altitudes. The two men crossed a ridge and were just beginning to descend into a shallow ravine when Shaty stopped in his tracks and signaled to Mimi Kaydola, who was a few paces behind. Just a few meters away from the two men was an enormous heap of brown fur. It wasn’t one of the missing yaks nor was it a bear, it was what was remotest from their minds...a migoi. It was sleeping, obviously enjoying the sun and the warmth, sheltered from the wind in the quiet ravine. The men were mesmerized by the sight. This huge giant was seated on the ground, its back against the slope, and was fast asleep like a helpless innocent child. Its nostrils flared and contracted as it rhythmically drew in and exhaled its breath. The fairly long strands of hair that grew around its otherwise hairless face quivered each time it breathed out. Its long arms lay limp as they rested on the ground by the creature’s sides and its enormous legs, which were slightly bent at the knees, lay parted and relaxed. Soaking in the sunlight this migoi rested in the security of the wilderness, its domain.

  The men took in this amazing sight. They felt neither fear nor anxiety, for there was an atmosphere of calm and tranquillity and it seemed so natural for this creature to be where it was. Maintaining a cautious distance they studied it carefully.

  “Isn’t it a gredpo?” questioned Mimi Kaydola at length, speaking more to himself than to his son.

  “It must be,” said Shaty as he cautiously extended his hands towards the sleeping beast and quickly plucked a few strands of hair from its leg.

  The creature’s massive body convulsed with a sudden jerk. It opened its eyes and gazed first in bewilderment and then in anger at the intruders. By this time the men had already taken to their heels and were scrambling down the hillside. They were on their hands and knees, “scratching the earth and the sky” as they say in Bhutanese, in a desperate bid to get away. The creature grunted, stood on its hind legs and ambled towards them. The two men half ran and half slid down the slope and then raced along a track that appeared to lead into a small landslide, recently created by erosion. An enormous hemlock tree which had been uprooted in the landslide had fallen across the depression but the men could still pass under it with ease, without having to bend.

  Once on the other side of the landslide the men could not move on any further for some unknown reason. They waited in uncertainty, trying in vain to regain their breath. Both of them were bathed in sweat, and gasped and gulped. Their hearts thumped, like the sound of a hundred pestles pounding rice in a giant mortar. Soon the creature reached the far end of the landslide and, on seeing the rude intruders, it peeled its lips into a horrifying grin and let out a growl that resembled the sound of rolling thunder. They were not sure if the creature continued to growl or if it was the echo of the initial growl that filled the air and fused with the sound of the blood rushing in their ears. If there was a hell of the most terrifying sounds it was here. The migoi was coming after them. The men stood transfixed, their feet rooted to the earth and unable to move another step. In front of them stood the tall trees of the forest, bearded with long grayish-green moss that swayed in the breeze. The everyday scenes, so familiar and neutral, seemed at once to assume a sinister and menacing appearance and they dared not proceed further. They were caught between the formidable creature and the awesome trees of the forest. The angry creature was there, standing tall on its hind legs and waving its arms about wildly. Suddenly it moved forward and there was a loud thud as the massive body arched backwards and shook. The men were puzzled and wondered what had happened. They stood there and watched and this time they saw what was going on. The creature was too tall to pass beneath the fallen tree trunk and hit its head every time it attempted to do so. The same thing happened several times. The creature did not know how to bend its body to pass under the fallen log which was too low for it to pass under while standing erect. In most traditional Bhutanese houses, the thresholds are raised and the horizontal upper portion of the frame of the door is very low. Anyone entering through a doorway must bend the head and lift the leg quite high in order to cross over to the other side. These are deliberate architectural designs to keep out spirits who, we believe, can neither bend their heads nor raise their legs to enter a house. The migoi’s inability to bend its head was a definite attribute of a lhaende.

  The men were mesmerized by the sight.

  Finally, the creature stood still for a long time, stared at the men as if to size them up, then turned and silently shuffled away in the opposite direction. The men could not take their eyes off the migoi; they stared at it, but in an instant they were staring blankly into space. Where could the huge giant have suddenly vanished to? It was there a minute ago, now it was gone. There were no bushes or the vicinity where it could hide They realized then that the lhaende possessed the power to become invisible.

  The two men stood silently, listening for sounds like animals in the wild and looking in the direction where the gredpo had gone until their eyes hurt and watered with strain. At last they sat down and began to breathe more normally. After what seemed like an age Mimi Kaydola turned to Shaty and looked at him in silent interrogation. Shaty looked away. Mimi Kaydola continued to glare at his son, his flashing eyes boring through the silence. Shaty knew he had to answer the unspoken question.

  “I wanted a few strands of hair of the gredpo. People never believe us when we tell them of our meetings with gredpo.” After a long while he added, “But in the scramble I lost the hair.”

  The two men walked on together. They had to find the missing yaks. Nothing was left to be said.

  The Talisman

  Yet all he could see were two blurry bodies that hurled themselves at him.

  Everybody knew Tsewang Dhondup as the short dark man with the bulging bundle on his shoulders. He appeared in the villages at least twice a year, hawking his goods. He would have his billo, the traditional bamboo hat which served as a sunshade and also as a protection against the rain, tilted carelessly on his head, the bundle slung over his shoulders and a dagger, stuck into his belt. It was a long dagger, more like a sword than a dagger, so the end of it stuck up under his gho and raised it over his left hip quite visibly. He would go from house to house displaying what he had to sell and barter. Among the textiles and garments he always had some wood burls and sometimes the highly coveted but illicit musk pods. The pungent remedy for all ailments would be covered in layers of cloth which he would patiently peel open when an old customer would ask for it. He was a shy man who spoke little. He would smile timidly and cling on to his goods if the price offered was less than what he expected. When he gently but eagerly thrust a particular object towards a customer it was a clear indication that the price was right.

  Nobody knew anything about his background, except for the fact that his father had been a well sought after wood turner and his mother had died while giving birth to her seventh and the only surviving child, Tsewa
ng Dhondup. His father would have gladly taught him the art of wood turning but Tsewang Dhondup preferred to roam the mountains searching for wood burls and trapping the musk deer. As long as his father lived he had provided all the burls that he required for his little workshop. Once his father died Tsewang Dhondup continued his search for burls and musk pods but added other items to his merchandise. He collected cotton fabrics from Kheng and raw silk from Tashigang and he had some boxes of matches, a few bars of soap and safety pins and needles in his bundle. Every time he untied his bundle, the villagers stopped whatever they were doing and gathered around him. They would inspect the goods and negotiate the prices amidst cheerful laughter and lots of teasing and joking. Tsewang Dhondup’s face would flush and tiny beads of sweat would form on top of his upper lip as he calmly and patiently dealt with each customer. His life in the deep, dark forests of the mountains was so private that nobody knew anything about it. People would question him out of curiosity but he would just smile and say nothing. The only story about his life in the wilds was the one that was forced out of him when a customer insisted on buying his dagger.

  “I won’t sell it,” was all that he would repeat, as he placed his hands protectively over the handle of the weapon.

  “Why?” demanded the insistent customer.

  “It’s my companion,” answered Tsewang Dhondup after he had searched in silence for the most appropriate words.

  After much prodding the following story emerged.

  Tsewang Dhondup would go into the wild mountains searching for the burls and musk deer at least twice a year. He would spend about ten to twelve days in the forests during each trip and camped in caves at night. He knew the forests so well that when tall shadows fell in the hazy dusk he realized he had to seek out a shelter for the night. He knew many caves in the forests but was in unknown territory today and had to identify a new cave. Since he could not find any caves he was just about to settle under a larch tree with extended branches when he spied the outcrop of a rock not so far away. He opted for the latter as a safer option. Years of experience had taught him that one could not approach these caves suddenly because they were the natural shelters for wild animals who certainly did not appreciate intruders. In the event of there being animals in a cave he would beat a quiet retreat without disturbing them. With practiced skill, which he had perfected over the years, he tiptoed to a spot from where he could safely peep into the cave. The cave was indeed occupied. But he could not simply walk away today. He could not turn back without taking a closer look at these strange creatures. They were nothing like anything he had ever seen before. They were huge, although both of them were crouched on the floor of the cave. They were animals for certain, but they so resembled humans. He silently crept to the top of the rock and watched them. The female, recognizable from her long hanging breasts, was grooming the male who laid his head against her chest and was probably asleep. Tsewang Dhondup was fascinated. He watched as the female continued to pick things out from the male’s head; probably nits. As he leaned forward in awed scrutiny a small pebble was dislodged and fell down in front of the female. She still had her hands on her partner’s head but looked up quickly. Although Tsewang Dhondup backed off just as quickly, she must have spotted him because she shook her mate awake and then, picking up a twig from the ground, gestured to him that something had dropped from the roof. She held a piece of the twig in line with her forehead and dropped it to the floor. She repeated these gestures until her mate understood. Tsewang Dhondup was too stunned to run away. He stood taut with his back against a massive larch tree, dagger in hand and waited.