The Greedy Herder

Like the rest of the yak herders of Laya, Tenzin used to herd his animals at an altitude of about 2,500 meters in the winter months. In the summer, he would ascend to altitudes as high as 4,500 meters. The yaks grazed in meadows that were fringed with coniferous woodlands of fir, blue pine and juniper. He allowed them to roam freely within the traditionally recognized boundaries.

He lived so close to the Tibetan border that his animals were constantly wandering back and forth across the borders and he followed them, quite oblivious of the international boundaries. Apart from his two sons he had his yak dog. This huge and faithful Tibetan mastiff kept away the ferocious beasts that abound in the wilderness.

With more than sixty animals and two strong sons to help him, Tenzin could lead a relatively easy life. But the Layaps say that he was a greedy man when they recount the tragic tale involving his death.

One night Tenzin was alone in his house, sitting by the hearth and warming himself, for he had just come in from the cold. It was snowing heavily outside. The sky was dark and ominous, the wind cold and brittle. He had gone out to pen the young animals. As he sat in the warmth of his kitchen his thoughts drifted to his sons who had taken ten yaks laden with salt to Gasa to exchange against rice.

He hoped the traders in Gasa wouldn't send the boys back, telling them to return for the rice after the following year's harvest. The young men, who were strong and resourceful in the mountains of Laya but rather shy and timid when dealing with outsiders, would probably agree. As his imagination ran wild Tenzin began to get rather agitated and spoke out loud, "If that's the case I'll have to take the yaks and go and bring back my salt."

Suddenly he was jolted out of his reverie by the frantic barking of his dog. Tenzin peeped through the cracks of the window shutters without opening them so that he could avoid the cold draft that would invade his home. He smiled with satisfaction, for in the bright moonlight he could see his faithful dog excitedly frightening off a predator.

But suddenly the dog stopped barking and, drawing its tail between its hind legs, entered the porch, yelping and whimpering as if it had been hurt.

Curious, Tenzin got up and walked out of the kitchen but as he was passing through the small storeroom outside the kitchen, he noticed that the shutters on the upper windows were open. "No wonder it is so cold in here today," thought Tenzin as he went to close them.

However, just before his hands touched the shutters, two dark hairy paws appeared through the windows. "All the lamas and my deities, you who know everything, I take refuge in you," thought Tenzin, as he stared at the monstrously huge hands that remained transfixed as if expecting something. His mind went blank. His cries for help died somewhere between the pit of his stomach and his throat.

The hairy paws continued to remain in the window. He looked around the room and saw the strips of yak meat that he had hung up to dry only a few days before. He quickly grabbed a bundle of meat and thrust it into the outstretched hands. The hands withdrew and he could hear a great shuffling noise. The dog began to yelp and whine again. Tenzin could not move. He stood next to the window not even daring to look at the retreating creature.

Finally, when he did look out he saw a huge being limping away into the thick forest of conifers at the far end of his pasture.

Tenzin could not sleep a wink that night. He stacked his heaviest boxes against the door and wedged logs of wood in the window frames so that the shutters could not be forced open. He got up at dawn, dazed and exhausted like a sick man getting out of bed after a long illness. He wondered if he should walk over to his neighbors on the other side of the mountain and talk to them about his experience. Would they believe him? Would they call him an old fool and laugh behind his back? He decided he had to talk to somebody.

He quickly grabbed a bundle of meat and thrust them into the outstretched hands.

"It must be a migoi. They are known to come down to our human settlements during bad weather and if it was limping it must be either sick or injured," said Dechen, the ninety year old grandmother in the neighbor's house, after she had listened patiently to his story.

She said this as if she was talking of someone she knew very well. Almost as an afterthought she said, "Be very careful not to bother it." Somehow, just knowing what it was seemed to calm Tenzin's confused and tormented state.

Yet, for several nights he took the same precautions of fortifying his house but the so-called migoi did not come. Then, suddenly, one night long after the first incident, his dog began to bark in that strange way, first the furious barking and then the yelping and whimpering. Tenzin waited with bated breath until he could actually hear the footsteps of the giant, thud...shuffle, thud... shuffle. They came closer and closer and then the shutters opened; the logs of wood in the window frame snapped like twigs. So much for his fortification!

All at once he was overcome with terror. He took down a bundle of meat and placed it in the grisly hairy hands. Clasping the meat with the long paw-like hands the creature at once withdrew.

This time Tenzin studied the beast. It was an enormous figure, standing on its hind legs. It was bigger than a yakdom, or one of those huge Himalayan bears known as yak bears. Its shoulders sloped downwards and its arms hung loosely by its sides. In the dark night Tenzin could not see the color of its coat; it looked like a dark mass of shaggy fur.

The creature walked with a thud...shuffle, thud... shuffle because it had an injured leg. It put its good leg forward, thud, and then dragged the bad one forth with a shuffle. It walked silently into the dark night.

"I believe you, it must be so," said grandmother Dechen, in between her chants over the creaking noise of her prayer wheel, when Tenzin went to fill her in on the latest happenings.

The visits of the begging migoi were becoming a ritual. Even the dog no longer responded to its periodic appearances by barking.

Instead, it would ignore the migoi and lie with its face down between its front paws. In the meantime, Tenzin began to have some strange ideas. "If I can kill this creature and take parts of it to Punakha and present it to the king I will surely become famous. And, perhaps the king will favor me so well that I can gain a lot of power and control in Laya. I will then be a very rich man." This idea haunted him endlessly and finally he made up his mind.

As the usual time of the migoi's visit approached, he took his big ax and heated it in the hearth. The red hot weapon would surely be better than an ordinary axe to kill this extraordinary creature with, he reasoned. Slowly the metal turned fiery hot.

But the migoi did not come. He let the ax lie in the fire, the metal was beginning to assume an ashen glow, when suddenly the window opened. Tenzin tried to calm himself and behave as if everything was normal. He took the ax by the handle and removed it from the fire. Even the wooden handle was so hot that he could barely hold it.

The hairy hands were in the window as usual when he raised the ax over his shoulders, high above his head, and brought it down, with one quick sweeping movement, on to the giant hands. There was a horrible howl and then darkness descended upon Tenzin.

A few days later, Tenzin's sons returned from Punakha, their yaks carrying bags filled to bursting capacity with good rice and chilies.

They were rather surprised when the dog did not bark and prance around, wagging its tail in its usual friendly greeting and were truly shocked when they saw their house destroyed beyond recognition.

They groped and stumbled among the rubble and the debris of what was once their home. Finally, they saw their father. There he was, his mangled but still recognizable body, lying face down, crushed under the central beam of the house. His body lay squashed on the floor and in his outstretched hand he still held the ax, the metal blackened by the heat and the wooden handle scorched. The dog lay at a distance, its limbs torn apart. They quietly sat down next to their father's body in grief and shock.

When the news of the mysterious death of Tenzin reached the ears of grandmother Dechen, she knew at once, "He must have done something silly to anger the migoi!" She alone realized that the supernatural being had destroyed the foolish man and his house with its mysterious powers and then disappeared without a trace, taking with it the secret of its very existence. The rest of the villagers could only guess what the cause of the herder's unexpected death might be.

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