Bhutanese Tales of the Yeti Read online

  He did not have to wait long. Soon the two creatures advanced towards him as he continued to remain spellbound. Displaying their huge teeth they leapt at him with perfect synchronicity. They landed just outside the range of the swinging dagger as if waiting for an opening. As one sprang forward the other withdrew and they kept at this endlessly. Tsewang Dhondup planted his legs firmly in the ground, with his back to the tree for protection, and waved his dagger wildly in the air. He could feel the pain as he bit into his lower lip in concentration and determination. So intense was the situation that he dared not blink his eyes and he almost felt as if they would burst forth from their sockets. Yet, all he could see were two blurry bodies that hurled themselves at him. He continued to wave his dagger about unceasingly. Suddenly the tip of his dagger touched something and the impact of it made the weapon vibrate, transmitting electrifying sensations up his forearms to his elbow. A groan of agony pierced the silence of the evening; all at once the forest was a cacophony of sounds of fluttering birds and pounding hoofs of animals in flight. The creatures in the forest had recognized the sound!

  Tsewang Dhondup was still standing with his back against the tree, waving his dagger madly in the air, when he realized there was nothing in front of him. The sound that he had heard a while ago was his own voice, groaning like a wild injured animal. Where were those two blurry bodies which had hurled themselves at him so incessantly earlier? Had his eyes been playing tricks on him in the fast falling darkness and merging shadows of dusk? But he was sure he had hit something. He examined his dagger and noticed a small wet smear on the metal blade. It must have been the blood of the adversary, whom he was sure he had struck. He had heard stories of how the migoi possessed the dipshing, enabling it to turn invisible at will. He put his dagger back in its scabbard and sat for a long time like somebody waking up from a bad dream, unable to distinguish the uncanny from reality. But he was convinced that his dagger had touched the body of a migoi and had thereby acquired the powers of a tsonthub, or a talisman against all other weapons; clearly, he would never part with it.

  The Mule Tail Robbers

  Gem Tsering was a rich and powerful merchant, or Tsongpon. Every year he drove his pack mule trains across the northern mountains of Bhutan into Tibet and across the southern jungle borders into India. His mule trains were an unforgettable sight. The mules were the best, their pedigree impeccable. They were the products of huge donkeys and strong thoroughbred mares. The handsome animals stood stately and bold and Gem Tsering’s pride was boundless. As in all mule trains he had the first leader, or shodey dangpa, and shoday nipa, or the second leader. The first leader Tsemo was a big, strong red mule who was beautifully proportioned. She always held her head up high and walked with the confidence of a queen who had just been crowned. Her greatest skill as the leader of a mule train was her ability in not only leading the other mules over the rough and craggy terrain but always knowing what to do when they encountered another mule train coming from the opposite direction. Two mule trains from opposite directions meeting headlong on a narrow precipitous track could be very dangerous; many animals would panic and fall to their death. Tsemo had the perfect knack of always leading the other mules towards the hillside and never towards the edge of the precipice. Tsongpon Gem Tsering had not lost a single animal since he had acquired this priceless animal.

  Tsongpon Gem Tsering’s khey dey, or pack mule train, was the best and they were the envy of all who saw them. The merchant, well aware of just how valuable these animals were, treated each one in a very special way. Other than one or two on the team, all these animals responded to his commands which were conveyed through whistles and clicks of the tongue at different tones and rhythms.

  When the mules were caparisoned in their travel regalia they were a splendid sight to behold. Tsemo was adorned with a yak tail, colored bright red and fastened upright on her head. Her harness of red and blue leather was studded with shiny metal work. On her forehead was an oval mirror that sparkled in the sun, dazzling the onlookers. Around her neck was a chain of round bells which had been sewn onto a thick cloth strap alternately interspersed with bright red colored yak hair pompoms. There were multicolored balls, the size of tennis balls, strung to her rump band and her tail band also had three colored balls on either side. As she walked the bells clanged loudly, the yak tail loomed on her head and the miniature flag attached to the saddle flapped about. The second leader was decorated similarly but with less grandeur. The medley of tinkling and clanging bells at various tones and the thumping hoofs of the animals over which came the shrill whistles of the horse drivers was an experience not easily forgotten.

  This very train of mules was on its way to Lhasa loaded with leather bags packed tight with rice, chilies and Bhutanese handloom textiles. Tsongpon Gem Tsering and his companions had embarked on their travels from their village a few days before and were now camping at Tsampa, the well known trading base in the northern borders at 3,880 meters above sea level. After a few days of rest and further preparations they left Tsampa to continue on their journey. They passed the familiar alpine pastures dotted with primulas and dwarf rhododendron and the grazing herds of yaks. After camping for the night they began the next leg of their journey in a light drizzle interspersed with brief periods of sunshine. They continued to ascend higher and higher towards the the saddle of Monla Karchung, 5,313 meters above sea level, through which passes the tract crossing into Tibet. The mules stumbled under their heavy loads and the men’s breathing was labored. There was a very subdued atmosphere about this once flamboyant and loud procession. At the steepest parts the men held on to the tails of the mules for support as they meandered up through numerous glacial streams, loose rubble and boggy turf. They were nearing the top but as luck would have it a thick fog enveloped the pass and bone chilling winds blew relentlessly. Then, suddenly, it began to snow, at first lightly and then in steady sheets as the flakes grew smaller. The men knew that small, steady flakes of snow are a sign of bad weather. The snow would surely continue for a few days. Experience had taught the merchants that it would be futile to try and cross the pass under such weather conditions and they decided to wait for the bad weather to pass. They retreated to the yak pastures and set up camp. For the next two days the snow accumulated steadily and gradually the landscape was completely obliterated. Fortunately, the travelers had extra provisions for both the humans and the animals and they could survive for several days. A tent had been pitched in an old, long-abandoned stone enclosure. Once the horses were unsaddled they were hobbled and fed. After this the men retired into their tents, grateful for the warmth and the nourishing food.

  They continued to ascend higher and higher towards the the saddle of Monla Karchung, 5,313 meters above sea level.

  For some days after their retreat the snow continued to cover the surroundings, but a weak sun radiated through the wisps of clouds that were slowly drifting apart. Gem Tsering looked at the pass and was infused with new hope; he knew that within the next few days he would be able to cross over to the other side of the mountain. His eyes fell upon his animals and he began to inspect them as he patted one and nuzzled the other. Suddenly he noticed something very strange, at least two or three of his mules did not have any hair on their tails. All the long strands from the tails seemed to have fallen out. The stubble of the tails lay like sheep tails and looked rather comical. But this was no occasion for laughter. His first instinct was to look down on the ground below the animals’ tails but there was not a single strand of hair there. He quickly called his companions and they too could not provide any plausible conclusions. Everyone was completely baffled. For the next two days the strange phenomenon continued to occur and the men grew increasingly alarmed. Gem Tsering was shattered. He could not bring himself to accept the idea of making his journey through Lhasa with “tailless” mules! He could already sense the humiliation and that made him angry. His anger turned to frustration and depression when even Tsemo lost her tail one night. “They will
grow back,” his companions consoled him. “Not in time for this trip to Lhasa,” bemoaned Gem Tsering.

  One consistent pattern emerged. The animals always seemed to shed their hair during the night. So, the men decided to stay up through the night and guard the animals. Usually the men would retreat to their tent soon after the last animal had been fed. But tonight they would keep watch. It was not long after dark when the silhouette of a huge unrecognizable being loomed in the distance and headed towards the camp. Three pairs of human eyes were glued to this stranger as it lumbered towards them. Darkness was falling fast and their vision was limited to outlines. They heard the horses neigh in agitation and stomp about in fear. Why hadn’t they heard these noises before? The stone enclosure must have blocked out all sounds. The creature walked towards the mules. By now it was so close that they could see it a little more clearly. The enormous creature, that looked human and yet so animal-like, seemed to approach the mules with an air of definite purpose. They could see it among the mules and it was indeed the mule tail robber! There it was, the huge creature deftly grasping the tails and methodically plucking out the hairs. Then there was a single sharp sound “dang” that shattered the silence of the night. The mules began to stamp and neigh loudly in fright as they instinctively tugged at the rope to which they had been hobbled. The two men turned in the direction of Gem Tsering, who was standing a few meters away from them and was taking his second shot at the mule tail robber. The two men had been so engrossed in watching the visitor that they had not realized that Gem Tsering had moved away and taken aim. There was a guttural groan and the great dark outline in the black night slumped in a heap among the mules.

  Tsongpon Gem Tsering was shaking like a leaf in the wind. He held his gun by his side and turned to his companions. The two men stood in stunned silence and looked at their friend in total disbelief. Finally, one of them spoke, “You should not have done that. We don’t even know what it is.”

  It was too dark now to do anything, they would have to wait until the next day to identify the victim. After a long time the mules finally calmed down and the men lay in their bedding in silence, each preoccupied with his own thoughts but unable to sleep. With the first light of dawn all three of them were at the site of the kill. Silently they studied the heap on the ground. It was a creature they had never seen before. It was brownish-black in color. Could it be a monkey of some sort? Its twisted body lay sprawled in the snow. The strands of hair that it had managed to collect were still clasped in its gigantic paws. There wasn’t much blood anywhere. There was a moist spot on its head, where some frozen blood glistened on its fur and another wound in the chest. But a rank odor rendered the crisp morning air almost too foul to breathe. Suddenly the men realized with a shock so intense that they were physically jolted when they agreed, “This could be a migoi.”

  They looked around and saw the tracks of the visitor clear in the snow. The human sense of curiosity and adventure got the better of their fear and they began to follow the tracks. The tracks took them into a densely forested area, past a frozen stream and some rocks, to a cave that was partially concealed by rambling bushes and the gnarled and weathered roots of a massive ancient tree. The three men stood at the mouth of the cave and looked in. The same foul odor greeted them and they had to momentarily pull back. What they next saw was a sight they would never forget. There was a creature similar to the one that was now dead. It was crouching on the floor of the cave and nursing a small baby, a miniature of itself. They were sitting in a nest that was made of moss, branches of trees and grass. On closer observation they noticed that the nest was lined with horse hair, making the nest soft and warm for the occupants. So, this was why the hair was necessary!

  The female creature looked in the direction of the men and on seeing the strangers its expression of anticipation changed to fear. As if sensing at once that these strangers meant harm, its face crinkled into a pathetic hopeless grin and it pointed to its breasts and then to the baby. Was it pleading for mercy? But these human beings could not trust the unknown ways of the wilderness; clever and shrewd in the ways of their world they reasoned, “How can we trust this creature, we are not even sure what it is?”

  The cave reverberated with the sound of gun shots as the air filled with the pungent smell of gun powder. Compassion and wisdom were lost to sound common sense and ordinary rationality.

  The Skin of the Tiger

  Soon there was a huge shadowy figure looming in the entrance of the cave.

  A long, long time ago there was a remarkable Tsampa, or a hermit. His long unkempt hair had felted into thick strands which he piled upon his head; it looked like a crow’s nest and the children called him the “Tsampa with the crow’s nest.” From his ears dangled huge rings of conch shell that elongated his ear lobes to such an extent that they resembled the ears of the Buddha. His lithe, slender body moved with the agility of a wild animal, yet his countenance was one that emanated compassion and peace. His gestures were engaging and he spoke with a voice so calm and soft that his listeners had to strain their ears to listen to him. He lived in the forest and appeared in the villages only once in a while.

  People often wondered what he lived on, for although he was thin as a reed he was strong and healthy. He had no material possessions save for an earthen pot in which he cooked his meals, a flint stone and a metal piece to light a fire, and a beautiful tiger skin on which he slept. On one of his rare visits to the village his host admired the skin and asked him how he came by it.

  “I have acquired this skin in a strange way. But then again when one lives in the forest among the wild the ways of the forest are not so strange.”

  Intrigued, the host begged the hermit to tell him the whole story, and this is what the hermit had to say.

  The hermit used to move from one cave to another meditating for a while and then moving on. He sought the gomphok, or the meditation caves of the past masters, and knew them well—for all for the wilderness was his home and his knowledge of the forest was immense. He could recognize different animals and their tracks, various plants and trees and most of all he liked to listen to the sounds in the forest. He knew the sound of animals in danger and recognized the sound of hungry predators. He knew the birds that called before nesting and the sound of fledglings when they began their first flight—he was not even spared the love calls before the mating season. The animals and the birds passed his caves undisturbed and he was not disturbed by them. In essence he was one with nature.

  One evening as he sat on some pine needles, leaning against the wall of a cave, he dozed off to sleep during a short break in his meditation routine. He heard the footfalls of an animal outside his cave. The sound of the breaking twigs under its feet seemed to come nearer, “taep...taep...taep.” He had a strange feeling that this was something quite unusual, for the nearer it came the stronger was the foul smell that seemed to accompany it. The Tsampa pulled himself together and sat up straight. Soon there was a huge shadowy figure looming in the entrance of the cave. The cave faced west and he could get the last light of day. Suddenly he saw a sight he would never forget. Silhouetted against the evening light stood a massive creature of the most bizarre proportions. Its eyes shone from its dark face as it studied the perfectly still human figure on the floor of the cave. It let its eyes scan the darkness of the shelter in obvious trepidation and then the massive body suddenly grew tense. It turned slowly and took a few cautious steps away from the cave. It seemed to be listening for something and sure enough in the silence of the forest the Tsampa could decipher the soft cottony footfalls of another creature. Now both the Tsampa and the hairy giant were listening and waiting. All of a sudden, with an awesome roar, a figure leapt into the air and at the biped, just a few meters away from the entrance of the cave. The two creatures immediately interlocked themselves into a growling, snarling ball and rolled on the ground in front of the cave. The Tsampa continued to sit cross legged, in the posture of meditation witnessing this terrible sce
ne. In the dimness of the evening light, with the interplay of shadows, all he could see was the reddish coat with black stripes locked on to the massive body of the brownish-gray creature. The fight went on for a long time. The snarling and the growling grew less frequent and less intense as the fight progressed.