Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

  Once again the migoi hurled itself at the hunter only to land a few centimeters short of its target. Chaynga La took his new position and waited gripping his sword tightly in his hands and poised in position, ready to strike. The animal threw itself at the target screeching and growling. In a flash the sword swung at the flying object. It hit it in mid-air and the double impact of the swinging sword and the flying target was tremendous...the creature slid down the glacier in two parts leaving behind a trail of blood as it descended to the end of the ravine. The hunter too had fallen on his back with the impact, the blood-smeared sword held high above his chest.

  There were no sounds of cheering and felicitation, but an intense ringing in his ears and a sense of nausea as he lay there in the snow staring into the sky above him. The ground seemed to reverberate and the sky seemed to pin him down. In the frigid temperatures, with bone chilling winds, Chaynga La was sweating profusely. All of a sudden he heard a wail so loud and mournful that he shuddered and sat up. The other creature was scrambling and sliding down towards its fallen mate. The creature stood in uncertainty for some time and then slowly walked towards the upper torso and held it passionately. Its arms hugged the severed body of its mate as it cooed and coaxed it, all the time casting doubtful and sad glances in the direction of the hunter.

  The villagers would not believe a word he said. “You must have dreamed it up,” they teased him. “A migoi is a lhaende, it cannot be physically killed or captured!”

  Chaynga La felt totally humiliated and miserable, especially when Lhazom openly laughed and teased him, calling him migoi semi, or the migoi killer. It was simply unbearable. So when one of the older hunters suggested, “You lead us to the site of your encounter. There must be some evidence that will dispel this taunting and teasing,” Chaynga La agreed and led the way for the three adventurous men. Although fresh snow had fallen the tracks were still visible but not as distinctive and they could have been mistaken for the footprints of any other animals. After three days they reached the ravine. A deathly silence reigned. Not a bird nor an animal stirred from their hiding places. The atmosphere was eerie. Every rustling leaf or the crackle of a twig breaking under their own feet caused them to stop and look around cautiously. Their own breath seemed like an intrusion of the deathly silence. They did not have to search for long. At the end of the glacier there were three blurred heaps that were partially covered in snow. The men crept down to the spot. The cold, below-minus temperatures had frozen the dead creatures. One migoi was sitting on the sheet of ice bending forward a little so that its face touched that of the other creature which was just the upper torso of the slain animal. Some distance away from the couple was the lower part of the body, stretched and contorted by the last involuntary spasmodic movements that followed the blow. The mate had lovingly held on to the severed parts of the body and not moved. The freezing temperatures and immobility had frozen the creature to death. An expression of shock was frozen on the face of the victim, while genuine sorrow and defeat was written on the face of the survivor. Perhaps they were a couple or else they were mother and child. It was a deplorable sight. The men hid their emotions well. “Ya lama,” the expression of intense surprise, was all they allowed themselves to utter. If they were frightened they did not allow their actions to betray their emotions for they were well trained.

  Having seen all there was to see they raced home. They made light conversation to try and dispel the sordid images from their minds but deep down all their thoughts were centered around the sight of the massive giants that had crumbled in defeat and humiliation. They were greatly relieved when they saw their village in the distance and had to consciously stop themselves from running, for they felt as if they were being chased. They could relax and unwind only once they had crossed the thresholds of their houses.

  Just as he reached the threshold of his house, the impact of all that had happened over the last few days dawned on the reckless Chaynga La, who shuddered and exclaimed, “A zai.” The Bhutanese believe that in any fearsome situation, lurking malevolent spirits can harm human beings. But these spirits are powerless and cannot cause any harm unless one’s vulnerability is blatantly displayed by fear. The uncanny deaths of two migoi was an exceptionally fearsome situation that must have brought together many evil spirits. Chaynga had shown the spirits how vulnerable he was in one unguarded moment; he had uttered the unmentionable expression of fear, “A zai,” only one step away from the protection of the Goi Lhamo, the protective deity of the door. Once beyond the threshold of a house, the protective deity watches over its occupants and there is no longer any cause for fear. But Chaynga’s sog, or life force, was taken away, only one step away from the threshold of his house, by the evil spirits which trailed him. He died within days of his adventure.

  The Heroes

  With the huge tree in between the hero and the migoi they were locked in a match of physical strength and mental endurance.

  Many Bhutanese legends are centered around the ngagoi, or heroes. Even today certain families are looked upon with interest and respect if they can trace their genealogy to a family who could boast of a ngagoi among their ancestors. There were other heroes who are less well known and the oral accounts of their strengths and exploits are both heroic and fantastic but sometimes border on the bizarre as in the following story. It is said that many years ago there were two heroes of stupendous strength in Dungkar, Kurtoi. Kokti and Chola were the two men and they were constantly challenging each other to prove who was the stronger of the two. It was quite unacceptable to both of them to have two ngagoi as contemporaries in the same village. After many years of duels and shows of strength they were still considered equal. This greatly annoyed them. Elders inform us that one eventful day the two heroes met in an open field to wrestle each other. This was to be their final fight of supremacy. In a typical wrestling competition in Bhutan, the two opponents hold on to each other’s kairas, or belts worn around the waist, and try to bring each other down. The skillful wrestler holds fast, keeps his legs apart and uses the throws of his opponent to his own advantage to exhaust him. The one who falls on his back after a throw is the loser. “Throw me down first,” challenged the wrestlers. As they wrestled the villagers gathered around and watched. Some say that the ground vibrated and resounded as the men tirelessly tossed each other about in the air only to land with their feet firmly on the ground. Sweating profusely and grunting, they were akin to two angry bulls, their horns locked together and ready to fight to the death. The fight went on for a long time until eventually Kokti downed Chola. There was a crushing noise and a splash of blood. Chola lay defeated on the ground, his right leg was broken. Kokti mercilessly picked up the severed piece that was broken from below the knee and stuck the stump into the ground, to the horror of the onlookers. Kokti himself was dead tired and panted and gasped for breath as he staggered towards his house. As far as Kokti was concerned the most important thing was that now the village had only one hero.

  Kokti, the undisputed hero, lived his life performing endless extraordinary feats and instilling fear and respect in the hearts of the villagers. He was an avid hunter and quite often he could be seen striding into the forests armed with his bow and arrow and followed by his two huge ferocious hunting dogs. Once after a disappointing day of hunting, for he had got no game, Kokti was just about to return home when one of his dogs began to bark wildly and then ran deeper into the forest. Annoyed, Kokti called out to the dog to stop when the second dog too started to sniff nervously and whine and fuss. All at once the second dog also started to bark and followed its companion into the thick of the forest. As Kokti stood in the depths of the forest wondering and looking around cautiously he realized the barks of the dogs were getting further and further away from him. Looking this way and that he followed the barks that took him still deeper into the woods. He carefully drew an arrow from the quiver, placed the notch in the string of the bow and held it in position as he followed the sounds.

  Perh
aps the dogs had sighted a deer, he thought, as he moved agilely through the matted and thorny bushes and creepers. After he had walked for sometime he saw the dogs in the distance—they had definitely found some thing which they were keeping at bay. From where he was he saw the dogs, their necks appeared to double in size with their hair standing on end; they were uncontrollably excited. Yet, they dared not venture forward. Were they barking at a tree? No, there was something or someone against the tree. Could it be a bear standing on its hind legs as they sometimes do when under attack? It was an enormous animal that towered above Kokti though he was a big man himself. Boldly, he advanced forward and looked at its face, but he had to tilt his head and look up. What animal is this? Being a hero he bravely took some more steps towards the colossal creature. A waft of something dreadful, like the foul smell of shing-kuen, overcame him and he wanted to retch and throw up. Of course it was a migoi. The creature was standing with its back against the tree and was visibly annoyed by the frenzied barking dogs. Every now and then it flashed a large mouthful of savage looking teeth and growled a deep growl that seemed to rise out of the very depths of its being and echoed through the forest. When it saw Kokti it shifted its attention away from the dogs and looked at the third intruder. Kokti took a few steps forward but his hunter’s instinct overcame his curiosity and he aimed his arrow at the heart of the monster, ready to shoot. At the same time, encouraged by the presence of its master, one of the dogs jumped towards the target. The monster growled angrily, picked up the dog and tore it apart effortlessly. Kokti’s big, handsome dog lay amongst the forest litter in two parts, twitching and jerking with involuntary convulsions. The hunter stood there numbed with shock while the other dog yelped, pulled its tail between its hind legs and scampered off into the forest whining softly.

  Almost as if measuring each step the creature came towards the hunter. In the shock of seeing the dog being killed he had dropped his arrow and now it was too late to pull a fresh one out of the quiver. Overcome with panic, the hero had little choice but to flee. He ran to a giant larch tree but it was too late to climb it for the monster was there beside him. Kokti stood with his back against the tree and waited. The creature was closing in on him slowly but surely. Kokti began to run around the tree and the creature followed. Round and round the tree the pursuit continued, but after several rounds Kokti stopped abruptly and the creature also stopped and tried to engulf him by extending its arms around the tree. Its gigantic arms encircled the tree probing and feeling. Kokti had been clinging to it for protection.

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and clasped the hairy arms. His hands could not go around them but he locked his grip on to the furry limbs and held on. With the huge tree in between the hero and the migoi, they were locked in a match of physical strength and mental endurance. Kokti leaned closer and then rhythmically began to pull the heinous arms against the tree. Kokti could feel the roughness of the bark of the tree trunk against his own chest despite his double gho. He could feel the pain of his own skin tearing and bruising on his chest and arms as he pulled and rubbed the creature’s arms around the tree trunk. But this was the idea and he knew exactly what he was doing while the creature was shocked and confused. He saw that the hair on the animal was brownish-yellow and noticed that at the elbows there was a parting in the hair. From the elbow up the hair growth was upwards and it grew downwards from the elbow down. Harder and harder he rubbed until he was drained of all his strength. The creature pulled and struggled in the opposite direction, making the task even more formidable. It groaned and Kokti could feel his strength rapidly ebbing. Suddenly his arms went slack and he lost his grip over the creature’s body as he fell to the ground exhausted. The sudden release made the struggling creature fall down on the ground with a thud. But it quickly got up and backed away. There were hairless patches on its chest. These patches were raw open wounds and its arms hung down loosely by its sides, limp, injured and bloody. It took a few steps backwards and then hastened away awkwardly. Suddenly it stopped and looked back at the hunter doubtfully. Kokti got up resolutely, took a few bold steps towards the creature and made the gesture of pulling and rubbing it against the tree. It gave a quick pained growl and disappeared into the forest.

  Kokti had met his true match, neither of them had won nor lost, they were both ngagoi in their own right, each in their own territories.

  The Migoi and the Tiger

  Disputes over cattle grazing rights are among the main causes for quarrels, misunderstandings and personal vendettas among cattle owners. Grazing areas are never actually mapped or marked; the natural physical features of a particular terrain in the form of ridges, ravines, mounds and hillocks are often taken to stand as landmarks for boundaries. ln the absence of any distinct physical landmarks, the legal document, thram, specifying grazing rights, plus the memory of the individuals, are relied on or debated over as valid testimonies. Sarphula, a cattle herder from Tang, Bumthang, would do everything to avoid arguments and conflicts. The unpleasant memory of last year’s dispute and ugly words over the winter grazing rights of his cattle in Oongker in Kurtoi (today’s Lhunsti District), still made him feel uneasy and nervous. He was a practical man but when it came to words he was lost while his opponents would rattle on and recount histories and genealogies and cite laws and regulations. He always felt like a fool. His cattle had already crossed the Rodong La but the anticipation of the inevitable confrontations with the other herders made him sick to the heart. He almost wanted to turn his cattle back to Bumthang and make them struggle in the cold dry winter, where they would have to survive by scraping the roots of the grasses already eaten in the summer. They would probably all die. No, he could not let that happen, these cattle had been the economic base of his family.

  Once in Pemai, the base of Rodong La on the Kurtoi side, he looked at his cattle as they spread into the sub-tropical forests, grazing with natural ease on familiar bushes and foliage. His son was already on a tree lopping off the branches for the cattle that dared not go into the forests on their own. He felt a sense of familiarity and well-being, this was the life he knew and this cycle of the traditional cattle migration fitted into his life and his knowledge. He knew no other way. He made a decision. He would look for new pastures.

  He asked his family to remain in Pemai for a few days longer than they usually did and he would search for new pastures in the forests of the Yamalung area. He scouted around for a good part of the day and then suddenly he saw the clearing in the forest! It was an immense area that had been slashed and burned for cultivation, it would be ideal for his cattle who had suffered during the long and rough journey over the snow covered mountain pass. Maize had been cultivated and harvested from the field but there would be plenty of crop residue and weeds to feed his cattle. Now the only problem was driving the cattle through the thick and almost impenetrable forests across several deep gorges and ridges. Undeterred, he drew his sword and began to clear away the bushes and the overhanging branches; he pushed away logs and boulders and made a path, good enough for both cattle and human beings to use. He felled trees and laid them across streams to improvise as bridges. He forged through the thick dark forests mainly of avocados and oaks trees and others of every species and size that were covered with moss and orchids. The trees stood so thick that he could see nothing beyond their endless layers, the furthest he saw was the sky above and the ground below him. The ground was covered with the red fern, he knew that the cattle relished this fern and the milk would flow, he knew that he had been lucky.

  He also knew that once he had cleared away some of the brambles and the undergrowth the cattle would find enough forage before they reached the pastures in the “broken” or cleared forests. Sarphula was deeply engrossed in his task when he was startled by a strong gust of wind that seemed to be nearing him. He sensed a sudden panic as he felt as if he was being drawn into the vortex of a whirlwind. A great pandemonium of noises and movements surrounded him and the entire valley seemed to echo.
“It’s the sign of the wrath of the nyadag shidag (guardian deities of specific areas) of the area. I should have made some rites of placating negotiations, before I cut down the tree and rolled away the boulders,” he reasoned with a rush of regret. Having so often suffered the consequences of the wrath of these unseen yet present spirits he wondered what he should do. The whirlwind was coming closer to him and he stood there in its path, helpless and impotent. As the whirlwind passed him, ignoring him completely, he heard strange noises; above the sounds of the crushing branches and the breaking of twigs he heard something that sounded like a subdued yet wild grunting. Holding himself flat against a tree and hardly daring to breathe, he saw what he believed must have been a ghost, an enormously large creature, stooping forward as it ran awkwardly but with great rapidity. The creature’s body was covered with brownish yellow hair, and it sped past him, madly crashing and thrashing the trees in its path in what seemed like a desperate hurry. The pursuer came not far behind, a mass of red and black stripes bounding by gracefully; the animal’s body was charged with great energy in spite of the external grace. Enraptured by this most unusual sight, Sarphula began to follow the chase. Hot and trembling with excitement he carefully followed in the path made by the animals; he had to be careful not to be hit by the branches which had been pushed aside and were swinging back into place.