TELL TALES

Back in 2010, just as social media was beginning to take a firm hold on society, a deeply disturbing image went viral. The photo depicted a tragic scene of a star-crossed lovers who had taken their own life. Shared widely through WeChat, it spread like wildfire, reaching users across the globe in just a matter of days. Those from Bumthang would likely remember the incident vividly, and most Bhutanese either saw the image or heard about it. In the wake of the photo’s circulation, a major police investigation followed. But after a few months, the public buzz started to fade. However, something far darker began to take root at the site of the tragedy; a new urban legend. Soon after the incident, whispers of a haunting began to emerge. Locals spoke of two ghostly figures, murmuring, crying, and wailing in the dead of night. Though religious ceremonies were held at the site by Lamas and other spiritual leaders, the rituals failed to fully cleanse the place. A sinister presence seemed to lin...

Our village once knew Aui Sangmo as its last Pamo, a female shaman. In Bhutan, for centuries before modern medicine, ritualistic treatments were paramount, and shamans were our community's healers. Though this tradition now hangs by a thread, I was fortunate enough to witness a shaman's "power" passed to her successor, and even luckier to experience many of their rituals firsthand. Aui Sangmo hailed from a long line of shamans, her family having performed all the shamanistic rites in our village for generations. I was about eleven when her mother, a powerful and revered Pamo, passed away. Crucially, she died without choosing an heir to her "powers" and responsibilities. For generations, this shamanic mantle had been passed down. However, the younger generations began to lose interest, believing that embracing the Pamo's "power" meant closing the door to their own liberation. To accept the Pamo's responsibility is to enter a pact with a deit...

The year was 2009. Mr. Phub just joined Kharsa Primary School as the new principal. Kharsa is a small rural village of about 20 household (in 2009). It is located about about 15 kilometres from Jakar. It is connected by the newly constructed dirt road that goes all the way to Chokhortoe and the only way in and out of the village. The settlement is scanty and houses are spread around the gentle slope of the valley.  At the end of the village or the beginning, depending on whether you are going out or coming into village; as one makes steep descend into a gorge towards the river, is the bridge of Toktozampa. An old cantilever bridge, infamous for it's hauntings and sinister stories. Mr. Phub was greeted with smile and a heart welcome from the villagers. He had no trouble moving in to his new place, with all the people that volunteered to help him. By midday everything was moved into his house and arranged to his liking. People even swept his surroundings and mopped his floors before ...

"To defile a deity's abode means certain death, slow and excruciating death; after weeks of unimaginable pain and suffering. Keep them happy and you shall be blessed with prosperous and healthy life" These are the words my my late grandfather told me when I was a kid. Little did I know that I would experience it and my tale will be told to many more generations to affirm the existence of local deities. For every village and valley, there will be a protective deity. They are believed to be the protector of the village and people conduct annual rites to appease them for a bountiful harvest. They are believed to be very beneficial if appeased but if they are provoked they can wreak havoc by means of famine, drought and other diseases.  These local deities are believed to be very sensitive to pollutants like the smells of burning garbage, cigarettes and even burning meats. In fear of untimely rain and uneventful death of domestic animals, villagers take utmost care not to up...