The Tale of Tandin’s Grhenta
Translated by Viscount Johnathan M Pauster, East India Company (December 1912)
First published in the English language in Tales from Asia for Young Children: A Comprehensive Collection of Oriental Stories of Awe, Wonder and Adventure (1918)
Everyone living on the slopes of the Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan knows the exuberance of the Druk. They know of the Thunder Dragon’s colossal size, and how She loves to take advantage of it. In displays of spirit, She takes joy in whipping Her humongous tail all over the kingdom from her abode amongst the skies.
While this has become a part of the everyday life of the citizens, She rewards them by turning the patches of barren dirt on the slopes of the mountains that Her tail touches into fertile earth. Many have tried to witness this phenomenon, but to their utter dismay, as zestful as she may seem, she is one shy reptile.
All they experience is the concomitant lightning and thunder the mere celerity of the lash brings about.
This may be a commonplace knowledge for the children and adults, but what most are unwonted to is that not every lashing of Her tail is a display of elation. With an octennial strike on the Black Mountains in the centre of the dominion, She births the next Grhenta.
This majestic being, with an intelligence beyond that of any person, resembles a green-coloured pig with scapular wings. Being fully developed at the moment of its advent, the Grhenta spreads its bristled wings, and flies into the night to retire the ageing Grhenta from eight years ago.
It takes over the single job it was created to perform: to escort the essence of the deceased to their next life. It takes this form of a pig as it signifies the delusion, as represented by the wheel of rebirth, the soul may have after it leaves the body. In fact, the Grhenta takes the responsibility of providing the soul with comfort and knowledge of their death and the next body they would reincarnate into.
In a hamlet along the valleys near the heart of the kingdom, a young man was certain that there existed nothing like the Grhenta. Given the name Tandin Pema Lhamo at birth, he was reluctant to believe in Karma. Fatherless from a young age, he would proclaim that his actions would not affect what would happen to him posthumously, and he was even doubtful of the villagers’ belief in rebirth.
He would ridicule anyone trying to attain Nirvana, let alone sharing these ideologies with the young. When the story of the Grhenta, and other folklore were shared with the children over a communal bonfire, he would often interrupt the narrator and start contradicting the tales being told.
“The so-called Grhenta,” Tandin would shout in the middle of the stories, “takes the form of a pig in your fantasy stories only to cover up the fact that Buddha died because of eating infected pork!”
Being a non-direct descendant of the Divine Madman himself, most would ignore his shenanigans saying that his Karma from his previous birth may have reached a point where the Grhenta was not able to decide whether to make him an animal or human, so ended up making him a part of the Divine Madman’s bloodline.
During one such communal bonfire, he wagered his newly wed wife as a gift to all men of the hamlet if anyone could show him a Grhenta. Though ashamed, the village council decided to send him along with a group of eight of their disciples on an overnight journey to the heart of the Black Mountains, in an attempt to rid the village off of him for a couple of days so they could teach the young ones the more important lessons uninterrupted.
Thus, it was decided that a week later, on the morning preceding the eighth full-moon of the year, the group of nine villagers would embark on the quest to prove to the one sceptic the existence of the of the majestic being that was the Grhenta, ergo making him realise the misdeeds of his life would return to haunt him later.
Extremely excited to prove his entire village wrong, Tandin announced his departure to the entire village by reminding them of his bet and promising that he would go into a self-imposed exile if he happened to see the “divine-swine.” None, but his wife showed any signs of fear and apprehension. Most thought that Tandin was so lost in his vanity that the gambles he made gave him no advantage in case he returned triumphant.
With many hills to climb, the quest began slow. The Himalayas was a tricky terrain to scale, so the paths they had to follow were oft-times long and winding. They would go around mountains, hence increasing the length of their journey, but would frequently show the breathtaking vistas. Tandin would often gain some distance before realising that the party was left behind.
“Hurry up!” exclaimed Tandin, urging the rest of the party to catch up. Their constant excuse for the slow pace was simply that they wanted to admire the beauty of scenery before them. Tandin knew that was just the false face of what their intentions were. He suspected that their only duty here was to slow him down.
As the Sun was about to set, the party decided to set camp at a spot from where they claimed they could see their little hamlet close the horizon, far away in the distance. Not satisfied, Tandin tried to encourage them to cover more ground before they stopped, and insisted that the full moon that night would provide then more light than usual, enabling them to cover more ground that night.
None budged. Hence Tandin’s suspicions were confirmed. They were asked to slow him down to keep him away for longer, before he could return and ridicule everyone. Infuriated, he declared that he would go on by himself, and would camp only when he decided to.
As he walked further towards the Black Mountains, the sky grew darker and a fog started covering the landscape, hindering his vision. Still not satisfied with his progress, Tandin rubbed his hands before deciding to hike a little more before he stopped, judging that the terrain ahead would not be unpredictable.
Carefully placing his steps, Tandin covered ground quicker than he estimated. This made him gain a lot more confidence in walking in the fog. With rejuvenated energy and a sly grin, he almost began to jog in the general direction of the Black Mountains. Seven strides later, he missed the edge of a cliff and fell over.
The fog was even thicker in the abyss, and Tandin did not stop falling for a while. Blindly reaching for any handholds, his hands scrapped along the face of the cliff, but could grip onto nothing.
In the next moment, his head hit a ledge. Dazed out, he could not will his hands into grabbing hold of the rock, and continued his fall. Amidst all the noises in his head, he heard the sound of flapping wings.
The very next second, he was clinging onto the back of warm-bodied creature with wings the size of the child. He felt it begin to fly upwards. Once beyond the cover of the fog, Tandin took moment to regain his bearings. All he saw was that he was hanging onto the back of a moonlit green pig that was flying.
It was the Grhenta.
Dumbstruck, he just clenched onto the creature. And then, it spoke. No one had ever told Tandin that Grhentas could talk. Or maybe he just did not give them any heed. Either ways, Tandin’s head ached, and that did not help him in comprehending the situation he was in.
Why, climb over and sit on my back! Be comfortable. This may turn out to be a long night. The Grhenta used its forelegs help leverage Tandin onto its back. Do you believe in me now?
Tandin stuttered before he could respond with a yes. He looked around at the view around them when asked to and all he said was that it was beautiful. This helped him calm his nerves, just as the Grhenta said it would.
Do you mind telling me why you chose to think of me as creature of someone’s fantasy?
“No one in my village had ever seen you before, yet they claimed that you existed,” said Tandin, trying to look away from the creature, even though he was aware that there was no possibility of any eye contact. “Perhaps their persistence annoyed me, and made me think that it was just a scheme to make the children grow up into very conservative adults who were more obedient than a cow.”
What is wrong in being like a cow? The neighboring kingdom worships them! Would you not like to be treated like a divine creature?
“Nothing wrong with being a cow. Nay! I was just a kid back then! I did not any know better,” exclaimed Tandin, going red with embarrassment.
Yes. You did not know any better. Now you do. So, what is the point in lying to me?
Confused, Tandin said that it was not a lie and that it was so long ago that he was doing his best to remember the roots of his disagreement.
It is a lie if you call this the root of your disagreement. That is the first excuse for your disagreement. Does it have anything to do with your father?
Unable to think of any answer, he questioned it back saying, “What makes you think that my father was reason I had no faith in what others preached?”
Perhaps the fact that you lost him at a very young age.
“How do y- Maybe. I don’t know!”
Tell me about it.
Tandin began talking. He told the Grhenta about the circumstance of his father’s death. He had died in an effort to save even strangers from a flash-flood. As pulled up the last person up on a dry elevation, his leg slipped and he fell into the raging current. The last his mother had seen of his father was him hitting his head against their cow-pulled plough. He was swept away, his corpse never found.
He told it that his father was a man who never wronged anyone. After he was gone, his mother never loved him the same, her was grief too strong. He believed that his father’s karma was beyond anything that would give him such a death.
“And more importantly, he loved me,” exclaimed Tandin, now with tears rolling down his eyes. “It broke my heart, and that’s when I knew everything was a lie!”
I remember him, I picked him up. However, did you stop to consider that there may have been a better plan for him? The Grhenta started gaining altitude, flying towards the moon now.
Tandin said nothing. The fact that he had been selfish and vain all his life hit him hard. He thought of his wife, and how she may have felt when he had wagered her. He thought of all the elders he had ridiculed, the children he had spoiled.
Guilt-stricken, he said, “I owe many an apology. Please, please take me back t-”
He was stopped mid-sentence by a sudden sense of speechlessness. He had a realisation. A realisation so frightening that no words escaped his mouth. He realised that he could make no apology to anyone, ever again. He understood now.
He was dead.
Tears continued to roll down his eyes and blurred out from his vision the moon and the now visible tail of the Druk.
It’s alright, the Grhenta said, as they disappeared into a cloud.
Ayan De