Dangbo … o … o, dingbo … o … o … (once upon a time) in a lonely house on a hilltop, there lived a farmer, his wife and their daughter. The elderly couple were tired of farming their little patch of land, which yielded so little. But more than anything, they had heard rumours of a sinpo in the area, a sinister creature that had been terrorising the villagers. They decided to flee, even if it meant leaving their daughter behind.
One day, the mother handed her daughter a roll of bamboo mat and said, “Bomed, spread out this bamboo mat and dry the barley in the sun. Tomorrow, I shall grind some flour. Stay there and guard the grain.” As is always the case when grain is laid out to dry, pigeons and ravens would swoop down, risking everything just for a few grains.
So, the girl sat by the mat, where the barley lay spread, waving a long bamboo stick and calling “shoo, shoo” to chase away the birds. Meanwhile, her parents busied themselves with preparations to leave.
Suddenly, the girl noticed a raven sitting on the peach tree near the house. Its cawing sounded urgent, as if it had a message just for her. She listened closely, and the raven seemed to say, “Bomed, stay – you must stay. Your father and mother are leaving.”
The girl was startled. She jumped up and dashed into the house, only to find her parents still there. Relieved, she watched as they packed a basket of tsog. “Lunch isn’t ready yet,” her mother said sternly. “We’ll call you when it is. Go back and keep an eye on the barley before the birds eat it all.” The girl returned to her post, resuming her task of chasing away the pesky birds.
The raven went on cawing, but the girl paid no heed until it began to hop excitedly, cawing louder and more impatiently, “Bomed, you are alone. Your parents have gone away!” This time, when the girl ran back into the house, her heart sank – her parents had indeed left.
Feeling abandoned and lonely, the girl climbed up the peach tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of her parents in the distance. She scanned every direction, but there was no sign of them. She stayed up in the branches, frightened and tearful, until she suddenly heard a voice below: “Bomed, throw me a peach.”
Without thinking much about who it might be, she picked a large, ripe peach and tossed it down to the stranger.
“A khai, that one’s fallen in the pig dung,” the voice called up. “Come down a few branches and throw me another.”
The girl climbed down a few branches, picked another ripe peach, and tossed it to the stranger below. But once again, the voice called up, “A khai, this one has gone into the cow dung. Come down and hand me a peach properly.”
Trustingly, the girl climbed lower, close enough to hand him a peach. But as soon as she reached out, the sinpo seized her hand and pulled her down from the tree. Before she could react, he shoved her into the sack slung over his shoulder and carried her off to his home in Sinpoiyul.
As they entered the sinpo’s house, the girl noticed a frail, sickly old dog who feebly raised its head and looked at her. The poor creature was starving. As she passed by, it whispered, “Give me a mouthful of food, and I will tell you three words of wisdom.”
The girl, remembering the piece of tsog tucked into the folds of her kira, broke off a portion and offered it to the dog, who ate it gratefully.
“Look into my ear and take out the three little packets hidden there,” the dog told her. “The seeds in each packet will be useful when you try to escape from the sinpo.” She reached into its ear, retrieved the packets and hid them safely in her kira.
The girl, trapped and terrified, grew more and more distressed, knowing the sinpo intended to eat her soon. One day, he ordered her to pound some rice, warning her to call out, “Yes, I am here,” every time he called her name, so he could be sure she wasn’t trying to escape.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she pounded the rice, feeling hopeless and alone. A louse in her hair took pity on her and spoke to her. It said, “I will help you to run away from the sinpo.”
“Who is that?” asked the girl, taken aback, for she had seen nobody in the house.
“It’s me, a louse in your hair,” whispered the diminutive voice.
“How can you help me?” asked the girl, at once filled with hope.
“You must take me out of your hair and place me on the mortar in a bit of your spittle. Then you must run away as quickly as you can.”
The girl found the louse, pulled it out of her hair, placed it in a bit of her spittle and ran away.
Now every time the sinpo called the girl the louse replied saying, “Yes, I am here. I still have more rice to pound.”
The sinpo didn’t realise that with each call, the louse’s voice was growing fainter and fainter. Finally, all the spit dried up, and the poor louse died. When the sinpo called again and heard no response, he immediately came to see what was wrong. Discovering that the girl had escaped, he was furious and set off in pursuit. Before long, the girl glanced back and saw the sinpo in the distance, gaining on her. She ran as fast as she could, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up – he ran like the wind.
Suddenly, she remembered the three seeds the dog had given her. She quickly took out the acorn pepper seed and threw it behind her. In a trice, a thick forest of pepper trees grew between her and the sinpo. The sinpo had to fight his way through the forest, allowing her to gain some precious distance.
Before long, the sinpo was right behind her again, reaching out and trying to grab her. Just in time, she threw down the pine seed. Instantly, a dense forest of pine trees sprang up, the trunks so close together that the sinpo had to scramble through them, delayed but undeterred. He fought his way forward and soon caught up with her again, so she threw the last seed – a bamboo seed. At once, a thick field of bamboo sprouted up, the stalks tangled like a net, forcing the sinpo to struggle through the maze with great effort.
The hour was late, and darkness was fast descending upon them. Soon the moon rose, casting a faint glow all over the sky. The girl looked up towards the eastern hills and saw the full moon. She called out to the moon, “Acho La La, please save me from the sinpo. Send down your iron chain and not your woollen ladder.”
Acho La La, the moon, yawned and said, “Wait a little. I am just rising.”
“Please hurry up. The sinpo will soon be here,” pleaded the girl.
“Hold on, I’m just washing myself,” said Acho La La, without a trace of haste in his voice.
The girl saw the sinpo closing in. “I can see him; he’s almost here. Please, throw the iron chain!” she cried. “Just a moment, I am just making my breakfast,” said the moon, calm as ever. Growing frantic, the girl thought this was hopeless, but continued to beg the moon to hurry. Acho La La, however, showed no sense of urgency whatsoever.
“I’m having my breakfast now,” he announced leisurely.
“Please, please hurry up,” begged the girl.
“Wait a little, I am just putting away the dishes,” replied Acho La La, as if there was all the time in the world.
‘The sinpo is here. Hurry up, Acho La La!’ cried the girl.
“Wait a little. I am just looking for the chain,” said Acho La La as calmly as possible.
“I can feel the sinpo’s breath – please, please hurry!” the girl gasped, nearly overcome by exhaustion and fear.
“Just a second, I’m straightening out the chain,” Acho La La replied.
By now, the girl was too weak to plead. “Please hurry,” was all she could manage. At last, she heard the sound – tsahlahhk – as the chain was thrown down. Summoning the last of her strength, she grabbed it and climbed as Acho La La began pulling her up. She could feel the tips of the sinpo’s claws brushing the soles of her feet as he reached up to grab her.
Furious at losing her, the sinpo demanded that Acho La La throw a chain down for him as well. Acho La La went through his leisurely routine once more: rising, washing, preparing breakfast, eating and, finally, searching for the chain.
Acho La La then threw down the woollen ladder which floated down flimsily. The sinpo impatiently seized it and began to climb it at an incredible speed. When he was halfway up, Acho La La took out a blunt, rusty knife, rarely used, and began sawing through the ladder. After much effort, the woollen threads snapped, and the sinpo plummeted to the ground with a loud “Byaaaak!” The impact was so forceful that he sank deep into the earth.
The girl decided to stay on the moon and look after Acho La La’s cow. Today, if you look carefully at the full moon, you might just be lucky enough to see the shape of the girl as she milks the moon’s cow.
‘Excerpted with permission from ‘Acho La La: A Folktale from Bhutan’ in The Whispering Mountains: Greatest Himalayan Folktales, Namita Gokhale and Malashri Lal, illustrated by Dennis Laishram, Puffin India.
