Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti

by Kunzang Choden

  An auspicious date had already been determined and set aside by the village tsipa, or astrologer. There was a certain amount of excitement in the village in anticipation of all the merriment that usually followed a wedding. Both families were busy from morning until night making sure that all the preparations were in order. Kesang continued to herd the sheep. A day before the wedding the excitement reached a climax and people were actually running around to get the final touches ready. Everybody was so busy with the ceremony itself that they had forgotten about the person for whom the ceremonies were intended. Nobody had realized that the bride was missing.

  Everything came to a standstill when they found that the prospective bride was nowhere to be seen. Soon the whole village was abuzz with all sorts of speculations as to what might have happened. Many guessed that she had run away because of a change of heart. Others suggested that she may have been abducted by passing travelers who sometimes did that, while the majority thought that she had fallen victim to a wild animal. Kesang’s family was devastated. The men shook their heads in bewilderment and the women wailed and cried for the missing girl. The prospective grooms felt humiliated but, given the situation, were unable to confront the family with accusations.

  Search parties were formed and the entire area was covered thoroughly for several days. When there was absolutely no evidence of what might have happened to the missing girl the search was called off and the village slowly and quietly resumed its normal activities. Gradually, the unfortunate event faded from the minds of most of the villagers and became a mere pertam, or a story with a lesson. Kesang’s family continued to suffer for a long time, especially her mother, who fervently believed that her daughter was alive, having had repeated dreams of her—it is believed that dead people very rarely appear in the dreams of the living. She continually begged the men to search one last time, which they did to no avail. But, despite this, she refused to perform the death ceremonies, saying that she would wait for at least a year before doing that.

  Days of hope turned into months of anguish. Then a year passed by and the pain of the loss became a dull and nagging one. The mother was finally forced to face reality and resigned herself to accept the fact that she would never see her daughter again. Reluctantly she agreed to perform the rituals for the dead.

  Many years later, Karchung and Tseten, who were now happily married to another woman, were looking for a missing yak with a group of men from the village. The two brothers had boldly ventured high up in the mountains and were forging their way through forests of spruce and fir when they heard a shrill whistle. They thought somebody had located the missing animal and was signaling them, so they went towards the sound of the whistle. Then there was a second whistle which sounded closer and they hurried in the direction of the sound. Soon they were near the open mouth of a huge cave that was almost hidden in the creepers and trees that surrounded it. By some strange instinct the men stopped at a distance from the cave and looked in. They could not believe what they saw. There was Kesang, still quite beautiful but much thinner and very dark. She was dressed in rags that were patched up with leaves and fibers. Her long hair was matted and wildly cascaded down her shoulders. Her skin had turned brownish-black and her eyes sparkled in her dark face.

  She did not see the men but she was definitely waiting for somebody.

  She did not see the men but was definitely waiting for somebody. As they stood there intently watching her there was another whistle which sounded very close. At this the girl approached the edge of the cave and stood in anxious expectation. The brothers finally regained their speech and called out to her. Suddenly her body tensed as she peered into the forest in all directions, her eyes dancing wildly. When she spotted the two men she let out a strange sound and darted nimbly but swiftly out of the cave away from them. Secure where she was, she stopped and suddenly relaxed and smiled. The men cautiously approached her when they at once felt the presence of somebody else. A great hairy creature emerged out of the woods. Walking on its hind legs it went straight to Kesang and lifted her in its arms making gentle cooing sounds; however, every now and then it bared its ferocious fangs at the two men who were now crouching desperately behind a huge tree for protection. Stunned into immobility they watched the couple walk away from them. The men finally recovered from the tremendous shock and instantly abandoned their search and headed homeward instead.

  Later, when they recounted the incident, they swore that Kesang not only nestled her head on the furry chest of the creature but also had her arms around its neck in a gentle hug as they disappeared into the dense forest. The villagers gathered around these men for days, listening to their encounter again and again. There was an old belief that mirgoe sometimes took human mates but this had not happened in the living memory of anyone in the village and while everybody thought of this incident as incredible they all knew in their hearts that it was possible.

  The Mirgoe Who Fell Asleep

  In an instant an arrow flew from his bow, “whook”.

  Some Saktengpas to this day claim that they can recognize the huge solitary oak tree on the leeward side of a hill in between their village in the valley and the mountains to the east. Associated with this tree is the story about the mirgoe that fell asleep leaning against its trunk many years ago. It is an ordinary oak tree that faces the west and therefore catches the last rays of the setting sun. After midday, when the cold winds blow and the temperatures drop, the tree offers an ideal place for a siesta—a brief nap in the afternoon sun protected from the direct wind. That is exactly what a mirgoe did a long time ago. The sight of a herder lazing in the sun near grazing sheep or yaks is a common enough occurrence that goes unnoticed. But when a tremendously large and hairy creature lies dozing under a tree so close to human habitation, it not only arouses curiosity but leads to the birth of legends and the establishment of landmarks.

  Wealthy Brokpas may possess yak herds comprising 150-200 heads in addition to the sheep and horses that they may own. Brongsta was by no means a wealthy man but he was proud and lived in dignity despite his humble status. He shared his wife Yangzom with his two younger brothers and they all worked hard to make ends meet. The brothers shared an understanding that probably develops in such matrimonial cohabitation and each of them had a very special relationship with “his wife.” She in turn was fair in her treatment of her three husbands and skillfully concealed any overt feelings that she may have had. Thus, this polyandrous cohabitation, common in Merak Sakteng, was close to being ideal and contributed to the posterity of the system. The brothers herded and tended the yaks and horses while Yangzom and her young children took care of the sheep. They had not only enough milk for butter and yogurt and enough yak and sheep wool to make garments and leather jackets but surplus to trade for raw silk for shingkha, a woman’s dress, and other essentials. Brongtsa and his brothers fully acknowledged their dependence on these animals for their economic well-being and developed a special bond with them. Each animal was called by a name and each one occupied a special place in this big family. It was, therefore, not surprising that the family fell into a state of panic when they discovered that one of their best yaks was missing. Nakchung was a draft animal who had year after year performed the Herculean task of carrying load upon load of salt from Tashigang. It was definitely their best animal and had been included in the small herd that was part of the bride price that the brothers had brought along when they had moved in with Yangzom’s family.

  For days on end the three brothers looked for the missing animal, the handsome strong yak whose image lingered in their minds. They consulted the astrologer whose advice was vague and ambiguous. “Look in the north-west direction,” was the clearest indication granted in the divination. The brothers had searched the hillsides and combed every forest in the vicinity to no avail. They decided to carry out one last search before letting the matter rest. Over their dinner of zan, or cornflour cooked into a dough with vegetables, the brothers discussed the strategies of the
final expedition.

  The next day Brongtsa fetched his bow strings made from nettle fibers and moistened them. He then took down his soot-covered bow and quiver from the wooden peg on the wall. He deftly strung the bow and systematically checked the arrows one by one. The pheasant feathers which made up the flitch were a little ruffled but the shafts were strong and the metal arrow points in place. He dipped each arrow point in the mixture of poison he had concocted from herbs and roots and, finally, he replaced the arrows in the quiver, careful not to touch the now lethal arrow points.

  The three brothers, each armed in one way or another, set out from the house together but headed in different directions as planned. Although it was early afternoon and the sun was strong they felt the cold wind brushing against their cheeks. Brongsta had not walked very far when he thought he saw a dark figure through the clumps of brush-wood on the other side of the stream. He stopped to take a closer look—yes, indeed it was a dark figure that seemed to move just a little. “So there it is, the silly yak could have easily found its way home from here on its own,” he thought gratefully as he hastened his pace towards the object and was soon wading through the stream.

  Within a short time he was only a few meters away from the object when confusion and trepidation set in. Was his yak really so huge? Why was its hair brownish-black instead of completely black as its name Nakchung, or All Black, implied? Why was the animal crouching and leaning against the tree, was it sick or even dead? No, it couldn’t be dead because its gigantic head was moving ever so slowly, up and down and up and down. With questions still surging in his mind he took a few steps forward when it suddenly dawned on him that this was no yak, it was a different animal altogether. It was tremendously large, at least the size of two yaks. His preoccupied mind must have deluded him earlier. The monster was actually sleeping, resting its back against the tree with its head nodding; thus, the constant movement up and down and up and down. Brongsta stood there totally entranced and could not take his eyes off the sleeping creature. Like a stroke of lightning out of the blue sky the realization, “it’s a mirgoe,” struck Brongtsa’s mind with such intensity that he could almost hear his brains explode. In an instant an arrow flew from his bow, “whook” and hit the enormous creature on its left shoulder. The monstrous figure stirred, sat up with a start and looked at the arrow which had penetrated its shoulder and was vibrating. In a crazy moment of fear he had made his mistake. A Brokpa must never attack a mirgoe. What should he do now? Abandon his weapons and prostrate in front of this giant who was walking towards him with a clumsy and confused gait? The damage was done! Blood was oozing out from under the arrow, dripping all the way down the huge body and smearing the bamboo below. He had to complete the battle he had begun. He aimed another arrow and shot at it. Suddenly there was an earth-shattering howl that was followed by groans which seemed to be churned out of a deep, deep pit. The second arrow hit the creature between its beady eyes and as a result it seemed unable to focus—the poison was taking effect. The creature suddenly turned, stood perfectly still for a while, then tottered, and dragged itself in what seemed to be an agonized effort towards the precipice and disappeared. Brongtsa’s relief gave way to intense fear and every part of his body trembled. Finally, he sank on to the moss-covered ground of the bamboo field which was spotted with the blood of the creature and retched until he felt his insides tearing, threatening to spill out through his mouth. As the nauseating taste of his own bile intensified, everything around him seemed to spin.

  It was a pale and shaken Brongtsa who made an appearance late that night. It was only on the following day that he was able to stutter and mumble his experience to his family in incoherent and muddled tones. For days afterwards the men from the village searched for the body of the supposedly dead mirgoe at the base of the precipice. There was not a trace of its ever having been there. The phantasmagoric creature was beyond the reach of mere humans. It definitely existed in its intangible form but did not succumb to the curiosity of “civilized” men.

  The Author

  Künzang Choden was born in Bumthang, central Bhutan in the year of the dragon (1952). It was during her childhood that Bhutan had opted to shed its self-imposed isolation for modernization and socioeconomic development. Several years later, it was the author’s interest in folklore, and her concern that much of her country’s cultural heritage would be lost in this transitional period, that motivated her to compile the folktales of this remote Himalayan kingdom. She is the first writer to chronicle her country’s oral tradition in English. Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti is her second book. She has also authored Folktales of Bhutan, which was published in 1994 by White Lotus.