Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

  My family was privileged to the point of decadence, for we not only did not have to carry our own loads but we rode on mules and transfered on to riding yaks as we approached the snow covered tops of the Rodong La. On this particular trip, the weather was bad, the sky was dark and overcast, the cold wind howled and snow fell steadily, piling up and making our way even more impassable. The yaks moved on slowly as they literally plowed through the snow. I had put my cold ungloved hands under the long hair on my yak’s neck for warmth, I was so snug and cosy that I was actually falling off to sleep when one of the adults said, “It’s weather like this that brings out the migoi!”

  I was jolted awake and my sleep was completely gone. Sitting astride my yak, I scanned for signs of the migoi; I looked into caves, followed every movement in the bushes, looked under trees and behind every boulder. Despite the freezing temperatures and the brittle wind I was burning hot with excitement and anticipation. All along I felt the migoi watching us, for I think I felt its presence.

  As we descended the Rodong La and reached the warmer valleys we passed through the oak forests and the rustling of the leaves made a strange and eerie sound. We passed the place called Sisingprewa where the Sog Sog (sound of the rustling leaves) ghost lived. This was the place where, a certain Mimi Tashi had met a migoi. It was such a bad omen that he was sick for several months after the meeting. As we passed through Pimai and Oonggar, adults pointed out the various places where different people had met the migoi. Finally we reached the chir pine forest and our paddy fields on the western side of the Kuru Chu, where we were to stay for the next several weeks. I was disappointed, I had not seen a single migoi even though I had travelled through areas where migois had been seen and encountered. I had to be satisfied with stories about the migois. The people of Kurtoi speak a dialect called Kurtoipikha which is similiar to Bumthangpikha or the language spoken by the people of Bumthang. Kurtoipikha is a soft and delightful dialect spoken in a sing song tone. Captivated by the language I never grew tired of listening to the stories of the Kurtoipi experience of the migoi.

  The Final Grip

  Goempola swiftly thrust the boulder into the hollow of the creature’s back and the other two followed suit.

  Bamboo of various species grows all over Bhutan and its abundance has unfortunately been taken for granted. The cutting down of these tall and slender plants has been rather indiscriminate and as a result the bamboo groves seem to be further and further away from human settlements. Even several years ago, in Kurtoi Tamachu people had to climb up the slopes of Tsanphula mountain to gather bamboo.

  It was early spring, the time of the year when tender plants begin to sprout in kitchen gardens and also the time when straying domestic animals keenly eye these sprouting plants with longing and spare no effort to get a mouthful! It was time to replace or reinforce the bamboo fences around the gardens. Three young men from Tamachu got together in search of bamboo from the mountains. Goempola, Choneyla and Chathola took along their daggers and rations for the night; they would cut the bamboo as soon as they reached the groves and tie them into bundles before nightfall. They planned to spend the night in the forest and take the bamboo down to their village at daybreak the following morning.

  The bamboo groves seemed even further than they had remembered. It took the better part of the day to reach them. The men started cutting down the bamboo in earnest as soon they reached the groves, but they were barely able to tie them in bundles before nightfall. They camped under the sprawling branches of a huge hemlock tree. The bundles of bamboo were placed as shelters around the camp and they cooked a meal over the open fire on stones that had been positioned to resemble a tripod stand. A stone enclosure had been made around the fire by placing smallish boulders close together in a circle. They pooled their provisions and had a hearty meal that was well cooked.

  There was much conversation and laughter as they relished the meal which had the delicate aroma of having been smoked in exotic woods. They had to keep the fire going even after the food was cooked because it was unusually chilly. The mountain tops were concealed in a thick blanket of fog and dark, angry clouds had loomed over them the whole day—it must have snowed heavily.

  It was much too cold to sleep so they decided to sit around the fire and head homeward at the first light of day. They heaped a pile of logs on the fire and kept some more wood within easy reach. The fire blazed brilliantly and crackled every now and then as the men sat around and warmed themselves. They teased and chatted, totally at ease in the privacy of the wilderness. Unrestrained, they emptied their dungs, special bamboo containers to hold ara, laughed and cursed; the profanity of their language would have made them blush under different circumstances. They were having a great time.

  Suddenly they stopped talking and sat in dead silence—something had caught their attention. They listened to the sounds intently as their eyes sparkled. Over the crackle of the roaring fire a steady breaking of twigs under a pair of heavy feet could be heard. The men were now staring into the darkness and sniffing quietly like animals trying to detect the scent while shifting on their seats uneasily. There was a tremendously foul odor which seemed to come in great wafts. The smell grew stronger as the footfalls came nearer and nearer. Choneyla had his right hand on the handle of his dagger, which was still tucked into his belt.

  In unison the men emitted a chorus of restrained but startled noises as a huge body suddenly loomed in front of them. Their eyes bulged in shock as they stared at the visitor unblinkingly. The creature came closer, all the time looking at them fixedly. This colossal creature’s shaggy fur quivered gently in the light night breeze. Its long arms hung limply by its sides as it walked towards them. Its size was magnified by the fact that the men were seated on the ground and had to look up at it. It was a mammoth beast! The three men sat there paralyzed with fear as the furry visitor sat down in their midst.

  It crouched near the fire and turned away every time there was a sudden blaze or a crackle. Every now and again it looked at the men with its beady eyes but otherwise it was not overtly concerned by their presence. The men sat frozen in front of the blazing fire, while the creature seemed to enjoy its warmth immensely. Occasionally, it scratched itself as it continued to sit in the crouching position for what seemed like an eternity. Then it did what a human being would usually do near an open fire; when the front of its body was warmed, it turned its back to the heat. With the creature’s face no longer gazing at them, the men at last felt a flicker of relief and began to breathe more easily. For the first time the men looked at each other’s pale ashen faces. Chathola, who was the youngest, winced, the corners of his mouth quivered and then drooped as he began to cry quietly.

  Goempola’s face suddenly lit up as he tried to draw the attention of the two others with his eyes. When they were both looking in his direction he pointed a trembling finger towards the gigantic back of the creature. All those stories they had heard of the migoi were indeed true, it did have a hollow back after all. A restrained excitement gripped the men as they studied the hollow in the furry back. Goempola was already bending a split bamboo to fold it into a pair of tongs. He quietly but swiftly made three of these in quick succession and handed them to his companions. Holding the bamboo tongs carefully he skillfully picked out a boulder from among those that encircled the fire; they were red hot. The other two followed him not quite certain what they were to do next. Goempola swiftly thrust the boulder into the hollow of the creature’s back and the other two followed suit. There were sizzling and hissing sounds as the creature jumped up with a start and howled. The smell of charring, burning flesh filled the air as the three men stood there dumbfounded, not having had the slightest idea of what to expect. The creature flapped its arms about wildly and rolled in the dirt, all the time groaning and grunting. Then it stood up and in a clumsy tottering fashion walked away into the darkness, wooook, like a gust of wind, and total silence prevailed.

  The men stood there in a daze and looked at each
other helplessly. Suddenly Goempola began to giggle, first in fits and starts and then uncontrollably. The other two men stared at him puzzled and then they too began to laugh. It was as if the floodgates of all the tension and anxiety had just burst and everything they had held back in the last few minutes came pouring out. They laughed till tears ran down their cheeks and did not hear the creature as it returned to avenge the harm done. Snarling, growling, shrieking it approached them, picking up the branches and leaves in its path and tossing them at the men as if in defiance. Its blood-red mouth was wide open and its white fangs were a horrible sight to behold. Its eyes shone in hostile fury and revenge. The fur around its face and neck stood on end as the creature looked at them menacingly.

  The laughter died down instantaneously and the panicking men ran round the camp fire in circles, not daring to venture into the darkness. Goempola saw the bundles of bamboo nearby, he took his dagger, undid a bundle and flung a long bamboo at the creature—for he could think of nothing else with which to defend himself. With a terrifying grunt it grasped the bamboo and held on to it. The men began attacking the creature with the bamboo sticks and each time it grasped what was flung at it and held on. They had finished an entire bundle and were untying another one when they realized that the creature was trapped. In both its paws it held at least eight to ten shafts of bamboo and did not quite know how to release them. It stood among a litter of poles that lay scattered on the ground in all directions—those were the ones that it had failed to catch! With its arms stretched sideways it held the bamboo shafts in a final grip. It growled and snarled and tried to come towards the tormentors, but the tall shafts it held on to were raised high above its head and swayed wildly while the ends dug into the ground and obstructed its movement. This was an opportunity that the men had to take advantage of and they took to their heels in a mad scramble, screaming and groaning as they stumbled into the forest, tripping and falling over each other and everything else in their paths. All the time they could hear the wailing of the creature behind them. They were not sure how long they went on like this.

  Light began to bathe the mountain tops and then gradually enveloped everything; a new day had begun. The men looked at each other, their clothes were torn and tattered, they were bruised and scratched all over and totally frazzled. The early morning birds were twittering and the raven cawed sharply, piercing the serenity of the morning. Soon smoke began to rise above the roofs of the distant village houses, for people were getting up and starting to cook their first meal of the day. They had reached the safety of their village.

  For several years after this incident, the men were tormented; they could hear the wailing of the creature in the depths of their minds. It still evoked a fear so intense that they would shudder and their chests would constrict, causing them to pant and gasp. It was like a bad dream that haunted them for the rest of their lives.

  In the Tracks of the Migoi

  The animal threw itself at the target screeching and growling.

  The Bhutanese, in essence, do not kill living beings and some people go to the extent of being averse to agricultural work because it invariably involves the death of countless insects and worms. But, as in every society, there are exceptions to the rule. Thus, hunters, although despised, have been very much a part of Bhutanese society. Our folk tales, legends and even namthars, or religious stories, abound with tales about the adventures and exploits of hunters.

  Thimyung Shawa is in the highlands of Kurtoi where no rice, the preferred Bhutanese staple food, grows. The soil is poor, the terrain rough and only some crops like wheat, barley and buckwheat can be grown here. To supplement the family’s subsistence many men have been forced to go out and hunt. More than the meat it was the musk pods that the men valued. The rather insignificant looking grayishbrown animals called lawa, or musk deer, possess a substance that is said to be equal in value to gold. The musk is a pungent viscous red-brown substance secreted by the male deer from a gland located beneath its skin near the navel. This substance, known as latsi in Bhutanese, is considered to have innumerable uses and is regarded as a universal panacea for all ailments. It is an important ingredient used in a wide variety of products ranging from simple incense sticks to potions for longevity and virility as well as analgesics and preventives against snake bites.

  A group of men who had earned the title of the “Hunters of Shawa” hunted regularly for the musk deer. The meat from the deer ensured that their families were well fed and the men traded the musk with merchants who knew the markets in Tibet and India. These hunters set their traps in the wild forests. They used twine made from nettle fibers that were as strong as today’s nylon rope. They would lay several traps along the tracks followed by the deer, which could be easily identified from their dung and their hoof prints. But the continuous human activities of farming and hunting had taken their toll. The forests near human settlements had dwindled and the game had moved further up the mountain slopes. Every new hunting expedition took the men further and further away from their homes and eventually they were often away for days. The hunters shared their territories and exchanged their expertise freely, but they were bound by oath to keep the truth about their activities secret from all others.

  For quite some time now something very strange had been happening. All the traps were continually being disturbed or broken but there were never any animals in them. That an animal had been caught in the trap was evident from the hoof prints near the traps, besides, sometimes there was even some distinctive deer hair and blood in the traps. As this occurrence repeated itself the men grew increasingly bewildered. Mutual suspicion grew among the men for each one suspected the other of stealing the animals. Silence and gloom struck the once boisterous and fun loving group of men. Fierce tension developed and they hardly spoke to each other, wandering the forest like a group of zombies performing their tasks automatically.

  One day the forest rang with the excited voices of the men as they realized that there were strange, gigantic footprints in the snow near the traps. These footprints were enormous and quite different from the hoof prints of the deer or paw-marks left by the other animals. They measured these impressions and found them to be about the same length as the forearm of a large man. Upon further inspection, the men were gripped with cold fear. Then, suddenly, they panicked and decided to go home at once. Their hunters’ instinct alerted them that these footprints had to belong to none other than the mysterious migoi.

  Chaynga La was the youngest hunter in the group, but he was strong and brave. His sense of adventure was sparked off and he recklessly refused to head home with the others. He wanted to follow the footprints to see if they indeed belonged to the migoi and set off, resolutely following the tracks of the migoi regardless of his friends’ concerted pleas and warnings. He bundled up the leftover rations and provisions and strapped his long sword, which had been honed to razor sharpness, on to his waist. He walked on without even glancing back at his friends once. His mind was filled with visions of himself as the hero who killed a migoi and of all the admiration he would receive; perhaps even the village belle, Lhazom, who had rejected him so often, would change her mind. The friends sadly watched this pugnacious young man who so foolishly strode to certain death.

  Chaynga La followed the footprints for three days. The climb was not steep, for the creature had taken a very gradual ascent. The footprints were clear in the fresh, soft snow and he followed them effortlessly. The tracks led through forests of pines, rhododendron, larches, and thick clumps of bamboo until he reached the spur which formed one side of a small ravine. The stream in the ravine had been transformed into a continuous mass of solid ice. He looked up the ravine to the north where there was a chain of mountains bound in ice and snow. He had the sensation of being watched and felt the uncanny presence of something all around. Chaynga La stood on the spur not quite sure of what he should do next when he saw that the bamboo clump on the other side of the ravine was rustling and shaking violently. Now,
this young man was no coward and wanted to meet the enemy head on; however, there was no way of getting to the other side across the sheer slippery sheet of ice. Just as he was considering descending to the bottom, where the bamboo grew close to the banks, so that he could haul himself across by holding on to the bamboo, something made him stop. What greeted his eyes following the sound of a growl was a sight so horrendous that the brave hunter uttered an involuntary cry of shock. There it stood, this grotesque creature which was standing upright, its blood-red mouth opened up like a cave that was filled with jagged teeth. The creature seemed agitated and waved its arms over its head, grunting and growling at the same time. The hunter froze but his eyes took in everything there was to see in the line of his narrow focus. With a sudden tearing and crackling sound the bamboo was rudely parted and a second equally bizarre creature emerged.

  They stood on the other side of the ravine staring at the hunter with their piercing eyes, their mouths occasionally parting in deafening growls. One of the animals obviously had something in mind for it was positioning itself cautiously. Chaynga La too readied himself. He cut indentations in the ice with his dagger to make footholds and stood there ready to confront whatever might come. With a thundering cry the creature hurled itself across the ravine. A strong stench akin to Shing-kuen accompanied the hurling mass. It landed a few paces short of its target and went slithering down the ice sheet and stopped short in the clump of bamboo at the foot of the glacier. Wailing and howling in anger and mortification it clutched on to the bamboo as it hauled itself across the stream below the sheet of ice. Then it clambered up to its original position on all fours like a gigantic bear. Meanwhile, Chaynga La unsheathed his sword and swung it towards the spot where the creature had landed. The tip of his sword barely reached the spot. So, he cut fresh indentations in the snow and repositioned himself closer to the position where the creature had landed.