Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

  It was winter and bitterly cold, snow fell unceasingly and piled high all around them. One day the creature carried her and the child and took them to a different area where it was a little warmer and there was less snow on the ground. Pem Doikar at once guessed that they were closer to human habitats and at once renewed hopes of escape rekindled in her heart. She grew restless and anxious but had to contain her excitement because her companion had learned quickly to sense her emotions. She concealed her emotions well and now the creature relaxed in her company and did not display any signs of overt anxiety when she went away from the cave for short periods of time. Over many days and nights she feverishly debated in her mind whether she should take the baby with her or not, and finally and painfully decided that she would escape alone. She reasoned that if her escape was not successful the baby would most likely fall prey to the wild animals in the forest and even if she did reach a village the people would, perhaps, not accept the strange child, which looked only almost human; it would be better off in the wild with its father.

  One day as usual she wandered off into the forest and then as soon as she was some distance away from the migoi she ran off as fast as her feet could carry her. She followed the sound of the river and soon she reached a deep and narrow gorge where there was a rather small tree trunk pulled across the turbulent river as a temporary bridge; the first signs of human presence, and it encouraged her to move on. Holding on to the branches of the horizontal tree, she crossed the bridge swiftly and then with all her might pushed the tip of the tree trunk into the river. The tip of the tree, which was barely resting on the bank, was slowly dislodged and the trunk fell in to the gushing, roaring waters and the furious currents carried it downstream. She looked across the stream and saw her migoi with the child in its arms gesticulating wildly, holding up the baby; even over the loud roaring of the river she could hear the strange but familiar sounds he made. Pem Doikar knew that even with his immense strength he would never be able to come across the river which was very deep, icy cold and its current so viciously fierce. In the safety of this knowledge she stood still on the bank of the river looking at her child and its father. A tinge of sadness touched her heart and she knew that she would have to move fast before it overwhelmed her and she changed her mind. As she turned to go, the creature wailed so loudly and so mournfully that she had to stop and turn back. What she then saw was so brutish that she was numbed in all her senses; the child’s father tore the child in half and tossed one half towards her and then crouched on the ground, holding and cuddling the other half. In its natural and wild judgment it had decided that parents shared the responsibility of looking after a child.

  Not many months after Pem Doikar had told her extraordinary story she died, in fact she sort of just wilted away, without a specific cause for her death. Ever since her return, although she was able to relearn the language and the human ways she was never ever happy again. She walked around like one in a daze, with a vacant look in her eyes. She seemed to be in perpetual mourning, perhaps she mourned the cruel death of her child or she mourned her own betrayal of a genuine companion. The elderly couple, Mimi Tashi and Aei Lhamo observed all the appropriate rites for her cremation and Pem Doikar’s own mother’s lament, “there is not even her corpse to cremate” was no longer relevant.

  The Mirgola’s Spirit Bag

  “Many people are confused, they think that a migoi has the (sem phasta). That’s not true, it’s the mirgola that has it,” insists Zhilha. “I know because the elders in my village tell a story about a certain Ap Thinlay, who managed to bring home a mirgola as his servant after he succeeded in stealing its sem phasta.”

  The elders say that Ap Thinlay, who lived in the village of Bubdhong in Khoma, Kurtoi, had once gone to collect bamboo from the forest. Although it was late spring it was still quite cold and there were traces of snow all around. The forests were dark. He soon found the bamboo groves among the tall trees that grew thickly together. He at once began to chop down the long slender stems but it was only after he had cut down several that he noticed some broken-off young bamboo lying among the forest litter. He wondered what animal could have broken it. Deep in the forests all alone, his mind turned immediately to the formidable creatures lurking in the wilderness. It could be bears, wild boars or even the migoi! He certainly did not want to meet any of these creatures and so hastened with the chopping of the bamboo. As soon as he finished he quickly tied the 40 long slender stems into a bunch. Taking a young bamboo he twisted a rope and deftly devised shoulder straps. He attached the straps to the bunch, drew his arms through them and at once began the homeward journey. As he trudged on, pulling the heavy load of bamboo, the shor shor sound caused by the rhythmic movement of his own body and the trailing bamboo resonated throughout the forest.

  The shor shor sound caused by the rhythmic movement of Ap Thinlay’s body and the trailing bamboo resonated through the forest.

  It was an exacting job to pull the bamboo through the tangle of bushes and trees. The job was made even more difficult by the numerous thickets and boulders that lay in the path. Every now and then the bamboo would get stuck on something along the way. Ap Thinlay had to stop frequently and move in different directions in an effort to release the parts of the load that were caught on a branch or in the underbrush. He was finally relieved when he reached the well-trodden footpath in the forest because he knew that the pulling would become easier. So he was rather surprised when he felt repeated pulling at the tips of his bamboo. He was perplexed by these occurrences since there were no visible obstacles on the path. Although he looked back over his shoulders several times he could not see the cause of the sudden, sharp tugs he felt over and over again. Then he noticed something quite inexplicable. At first he thought it was a child, who dashed out of the forest and ran after the trailing bamboo and pulled and tugged at the tips of the shafts as they dragged on the ground through the mud and slush. It did not seem to mind the spray of wet earth that the tips of the bamboo threw up but followed the moving tips closely and repeatedly held on to them with a child-like playful delight. Ap Thinlay continued to pull the load but studied the creature that followed him slyly. It was a monkey-like animal about a meter in height, covered with grayish-black hair, that walked on its hind legs. Its face was the most intriguing of all its features, it looked like a young girl with a fringe on her forehead which would swing from side to side as it walked on cockily. However, whenever it detected the most trifling change in Ap Thinlay’s movements, it disappeared into the bush in a flash. As the man wondered what it could be, the creature continued to indulge in its little game.

  The creature was definitely not the migoi but it could be the other elusive being of the wilds, a mirgola. The descriptions he had heard of the mirgola corresponded well with what he was now seeing. If it was indeed a mirgola it would have a fleshy bag under its arm. This bag, known as the sem phatsa or spirit bag, was what gave the creature its spirit. Without this it would become spiritless and helpless. A spiritless mirgola was said to make an excellent servant, unquestioningly performing any kind of tasks assigned to it. Ap Thinlay became quite excited as he thought of the prospects of being the master of such an unusual servant!

  He had heard that the mirgola indulges in mimicry and he devised a plan based on this knowledge. As he put his load of bamboo down on the ground the creature scuttled off and disappeared into the bushes instantly. Ap Thinlay pretended that he knew nothing of its presence and proceeded to do something rather strange. He knew that he was being closely watched so he spread out his arms and began to measure each bamboo stems from the tip to the base. Arm span by arm span he measured several stems in the same manner and then went back to pulling the bunch. With the slightest tilt of his head he could see the creature following the trailing bamboo. It took a while, but not very long, before the mirgola began to measure the stems as he had done, working his way from the tips to the base, coming very close to Ap Thinlay. Ap Thinlay restrained himself from any impul
sive action and let the creature repeat the exercise several times before he turned around suddenly and firmly grabbed the mirgola. The shocked creature let out a loud screechy noise, “mir, mir, mir” and began to struggle and pull hard. But it was too late, for the man had already clutched and pulled away the fleshy bag from under its arm. It was a bewildered, diminutive creature that meekly followed the man home.

  Now the people say that that Ap Thinlay was extremely pleased to have a mirgola as a servant as he was all alone save for his son who was a slow-witted mute. The mirgola did any sort of task assigned to it at a supernatural speed and proficiency and then spent the rest of the day trying to find its spirit bag. It looked everywhere and did not even the spare the cinders in the hearth, the gaps in between the floorboards and all the most unusual places in the house but Ap Thinlay guarded the spirit bag carefully and never let it out of his hands.

  Several months passed and the mirgola seemed to have lost some of its drive to locate its spirit bag and Ap Thinlay grew careless. Once after a day in the fields he came home to find his son killed and the mirgola gone with its spirit bag. Ap Thinlay at once set off after the creature with his bow and several poison-tipped arrows. He had to revenge his son’s death. Surprisingly he soon located the runaway servant on a branch of a tree not far from his home. Perhaps it was slowed down by the weight of the dead boy’s arm it had carried off as a trophy. It sat on the branch with the severed arm across its lap, studying it intently. Ap Thinlay thought that the creature was performing some sort of a ritual with the arm. It would turn the arm so that the palm was turned upwards, gaze into it and then turn the arm again so that the palm was turned downwards, and again gaze at it. Ap Thinlay knew that the palm of one’s hand represented oneself and the opposite side of the palm represented others. He imagined that the creature was saying, “Mila ma gnan, dala gnan.” This phrase is a piece of rural wisdom often quoted in some areas of Bhutan which means: “Harm unto oneself and not unto the others,” implying that the harm you wish on others usually befalls yourself. Ap Thinlay took careful aim and let his arrow fly with great force and accuracy and it struck at the heart of the mirgola, as he shouted, “Yes, the harm you intended for me will befall you now.” Taken completely by surprise the mirgola could do nothing, in spite of its spirit bag, and it died instantly.

  Not Everybody Sees the Migoi

  Master weaver Zillha, from Khoma in Kurtoi is a tall man with an open, pleasant face. He sits at the loom weaving elaborate fabrics and narrating fascinating stories simultaneously; a treat for both the story enthusiast and the textile lover. Favorite among his story characters are the mirgola and the migoi. He begins each story with a question, instantly involving the listener in the story.

  “Do you know how the expression ‘why is there no fire in the hearth, what are you—a migoi?’ came into use?” he asks and then goes right on to explain.

  The migoi, it appears, has seen humans building fires in the wilderness and it has learned to prepare twigs and branches in heaps in readiness to start a fire but it does not know the source of fire. It makes many heaps of twigs and branches which are easily recognized as “migoi fire” by those who frequent the wild forests. Thus, when people have the hearth and firewood at hand but do not kindle a fire it is common to ask, “What are you—a migoi?”

  And so it was the evidence of such heaps of twigs and branches and the partially eaten shallots that were scattered everywhere that convinced Mimi Urgenla and Darjila that a migoi was around. They had been in the mountains to the north of Singe Dzong, in the Lhunsti district, for days now, trapping Himalayan pheasants. The flesh from this game is a coveted delicacy, succulent to eat and possessing medicinal properties, but it was the colorful plumes they were after. These men made arrows and needed the feathers for the flitch. Both of them carried their swords at their waists and in their hands they had the traps that they had devised. Their suspicion of the migoi in the vicinity made both men alert and cautious and they freed their right hands and kept them close to the sword hilts in readiness for sudden confrontations.

  They quickly saddled their horses and rode off in silence.

  They crept through the dark forests like wild animals and headed towards the light which, as it happened, was the end of the tree line. They came out into the open meadows where there were just shrubs and boulders amidst the melting snow. The wind which blew incessantly was fiercely cold. This was the ideal environment for the birds; they would be sheltering under the shrubs and the boulder overhang, loath to forage in the cold and wet weather; this was the best time to get them. The trappers walked through the wet slush, their feet sinking into the boggy turf, searching for signs of the birds. Suddenly Darjila stopped in his tracks, cocked his head to one side and listened intently, gesturing to Mimi Urgenla to be quiet. “Can you hear the call? Listen carefully.”

  Mimi Urgenla stopped and listened and sure enough he heard a strange but powerful call that sounded “kuuuy, kuuuy.”

  “That is the sound of a migoi,” cautioned Darjila with an anxious look in his eyes.

  “How can you tell? It could be the call of any other wild animal or even the sound of the herders in the pastures. You know we are not very far away from the highest pastures. Anyway the migoi is supposed to whistle,” said Mimi Urgenla, quite unconvinced.

  Darjila said, “Of course it whistles, but it also makes sounds like these. Listen carefully, it has to be the call of the migoi. Human beings have intonation and pitch in our sounds, we would sound like, ‘ku-uu-uuy’ as opposed to ‘kuuuy kuuuy’ which is without any intonation. Haven’t you heard it being said that people who have no voice intonations are like the migoi? Whether you believe me or not the sound seems to be coming closer.”

  The two men were fully preoccupied in debating voice intonations when Darjila suddenly stopped and pointed towards a lone hemlock tree on the spur. Mimi Urgenla looked in the direction that Darjila was pointing his finger, but all he could see was the hemlock tree and the huge boulders covered in lichens and moss. By now Darjila’s face had assumed an ashen-gray color and his eyes bulged as he stared into the distance. His lips quivered with silent words. Mimi Urgenla squinted his eyes and carefully scanned the landscape, but he saw nothing unusual. Darjila continued to stand transfixed, unable to speak or move.

  After a long time Darjila shook himself as if waking up from a bad dream and at once accused Mimi Urgenla, “Are you so blind that you do not see the migoi as it stands as big as the biggest rocks in front of your eyes?”

  “I saw the hemlock tree and the boulders but nothing else. Perhaps your eyes are playing tricks on you.”

  “I could actually see the massive gray creature’s fur quivering in the breeze as it stood just an arm span away from us. I could have reached out my hands and touched the beast. It must have been a female for its huge, sagging breasts were swinging and rolling on its chest as it strolled away past the tree and into the forests. My eyes can surely not trick me with such details?”

  The men walked down the mountain side rapidly, slipping and sliding in the wet snow and presently found their riding horses where they left had them. Without any game to delay them with the tasks of packing and loading, they quickly saddled their horses and rode off in silence in the direction of their village.

  It was not long before Darjila’s horse went into a mad gallop through the craggy terrain, quickly tossing Darji off its back. The horse neighed wildly and galloped on in an uncontrollable frenzy, dragging Darjila whose left foot was still stuck in the stirrup. Fortunately the foot was released from the stirrup after a short distance and he lay among the rocks and gravel, confused and injured, with numerous bruises and cuts all over his body and a broken leg. Mimi Urgenla helped Darjila to get on to the horse and took him home.

  The men had known all along that the sighting of a migoi is considered to be a bad omen but they had not thought that the consequence of the ominous sight would be so immediate. The men were sure that the sighting of the
migoi was a prelude to the near fatal fall. Both men knew that they must not talk of the inauspicious sight, for talking of it would only increase the impact of the omen. They would say that the horse slipped and that Darjila, who was inattentive at the crucial time, fell off the horse. They hoped that their explanation would dispel all speculations.

  As soon as Darjila was put into bed and his comfort was ensured as best it could be in such a situation his wife rushed to the village astrologer for divinations that would isolate the cause of the accident and provide advice on remedies that would help him to recover. The astrologer consulted his book of divinations and said, “Your husband’s wangthang lungta is very low and his life was in dire threat had his companion’s soaring wangthang lungta not influenced his and averted greater harm. His recovery will be long and slow and you must erect at least a hundred prayer flags to raise his lungta.”

  Both the men had seen the evidences of the migoi’s whereabouts in the forest and heard the call but only Darjila had actually seen it because his wangthang lungta was on the decline, while Mimi Urgenla’s was in good balance. The supernatural beings on earth have their way of interacting with human beings. They are known to assume various forms to appear in front of humans and the form of a migoi is common apparition . . . but they appear only to those who are predestined to see them.