I am very scarce when it comes to my knowledge on the bhutanese folk literature. Apart from reading ‘The Ballad of Pemi Tshewang Tashi’ and ‘Gelong Sumdar Tashi,’ which are also sometimes read as representational texts in schools, I only know handful of such other traditional oral literature stories. Stories that portray the lives of our ancient forefathers, discuss how our society and state functioned, and reflect culture and traditions that were in vogue in olden days of Bhutan. I know these are stories I need to hear and read more, but I hardly have my hands on them.
But, lucky me, recently as I was checking in one of the bookstores in Thimphu to buy a pen, I spotted ‘Athang Pem Tenzin And Gangtey Nyerpi Penjor,’ a book by Nima Dorji by the corner of the bookshelves. And that was when I decided to buy and set out to read.
The story of ‘Athang Tenzin Pem And Gangtey Nyerpi Penjor’ comes from the bosom of Sha valley in Wangdiphodrang. Divided into seventeen chapters within the page of 103, the story opens at an expansion worksite at Gangtey Goemba in Phobjikha, set sometime in the mid 17th Century when the second Gangtey Truelku Tenzin Legpai Dondrup presided over the monastery. Hundreds of village folks had gathered, and we find Penjor, the buff male protagonist, fondly known by the name Nyerpi Penjor supervising the site; record keeping the daily attendants of the workers and store keeping the daily rations at the site. Being Lajab (supervisor) Penjor had his prerogatives to spare two maids from the crowd to cook for him, and as life would have it, that’s when he sees a young smiling damsel Athang Pem Tenzin from Athang village with an unprecedented beauty.
As the story unfolds, they fall in love head over heels with each other, and soon tie their relationships into a conjugal knot. Everything seeps well for the two love birds even as they are back in their village of Athang having done with the voluntary work up until one day a Kasho from Gangtey Truelku drops thud! on their doorsteps with a commanding voice as scribbled below :
“To my dearest Penjor, the responsible one,
~An excerpt from the book~
I hope you’re in good health
But your absence created a vacuum here.
I thought you’re the sun that shines the next day
But you’re a stream that never flowed back”
Torn between official duties and newly wedded marriage life, Penjor leaves for Gangtey in a haste, in a plaintive mood, but in a furore excitements that Pem would eventually visit him on the day of Sha Chitokha tsechu to attend tsechu as well as witness him getting promoted to the rank of Champoen.
However, the turn in the story plot takes place when Penjor sees no sign of approaching Pem on the day of tsechu looking through the inside of his dancing masks. Pem Tenzin disappears into thin air. He later learns that his Pem had been abducted by the trader sons of Sha Dungsam Chukpos. Penjor then sets out in a sojourn adventure in search of his beloved, crazy it may sound, all in his dancing attire intact.
What drives the rest of the story is where Penjor is all about courage, determination and an unfaltering love-man where he travels towards Sha Dungsamkha, reaches Dungsam Chukpo’s house disguised as Nyeljorpa, outwits the kidnappers, kills them and claims back his love finally.
This story documented and written by Nim Dorji is a fantastic piece of literature rendered in simple English. It is woven on the various themes of love and relationship, its hardships in nurturing it, tested by the distance and work nature that sets apart many lovers like them by the rugged hills and vale’s of our crested country. Also, if we delve deeper, there is a subtle theme of slavery that hitherto existed in our country. Readers would know how common people who represented poorer sections of the society suffered at the hand of such gruesome cruelty exercised by the higher class of the elite Chukpos.
But, what makes me unhappy is that Athang Pem Tenzin dies at the end of the novel after all the struggles both the lovers had gone through for their reunion. Whether the writer left it deliberately or not, some sense of displeasure crept inside me as a reader in having to read an abrupt ending of the beautiful story. As a reader I can see there is a small room for some extended descriptions on how Athang Pem Tenzin dies, what vaccum it created in the life of Penjor a few days after she dies, how villagers reacted, before he eventually returns to dedicate his lifetime service at Gangtey Goemba as a cook. Nonetheless, it shows that the author has thoroughly researched the story, and also bled profusely in translating all the dialogues spoken by the characters that must have been spoken or documented in lozey or tsangmo form into simple, lucid English verses.
And just like Nim Dorji’s first book ‘Rubi Nyaka Phushey’ has been published in Dzongkha, and later adapted into full length feature film by Bumrip Creation, I hope this same story follow the same success. May it also see the light of Dzongkha language someday, because I think the essence of reading all those dialogues in the book in Dzongkha verses will give an entirely different experience.
After reading the story, what I like most about this type of folk literature is that such stories give a sense of belongingness. There is Bhutanese-ness to it. These are the stories that our forefathers once witnessed at their time of life. All characters of these stories were the ones who walked on the same soil we walk today, and drank the same water source we drink today. There is an inclusiveness in reading such a story. Therefore, I feel these are the real stories that really need to be retold, made heard or preserved as they truly belong to us. For me, just calling up all these characters in a reverie appreciating how a small country like ours can give birth to such amazing stories is a thing of joy to reckon with.
Lastly, before I end, on a jovial note after reading the story, I have a suggestion that the author form a stalwart team, contract sign with MoE, MoHCA and other relevant agencies to travel places to dig out likes of such stories for more publications, for readerships before such stories are lost to the memories of rural folks and unto dust it returns.
There is not much to say that your stories such as this of ‘Athang Pem Tenzin and Gangtey Nyerpi Penjor’ is not only an authentic contribution to the beauty of our Bhutanese literature, it is a one man’s robust effort in preserving the culture and tradition of our country.
You singularly have a knack for this daunting task. Thank you, sir.
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