The mule skids on the wet ice and slides forward on the steep track. The man springs forward and grabs it by the muzzle. They both strain against the slope, breaking the skid on the edge of the sheer precipice. The mule is lying on its belly, its forelegs dangling over the cliff. Braced precariously, inches from edge, the man strains to hold the animal on the narrow track. Within
seconds, the man’s teenage son runs back and deftly unloads the mule, handing over the heavy packs to the woman standing behind the animal, holding it by its tail. Together they haul the mule back on the path. Far below them the mist swirls over the jagged rocks which line the bottom of the deep gorge.
A few meters behind, a 73 year old woman is sitting on the icy path, inching forward on her buttocks, using both her hands and feet to maintain her balance. She sits still and watches calmly as her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson save the family mule and a year’s supply of food grain.
An hour later, along with several other families, they reach a swift stream. Without a thought the men, women, children hitch up their ghos and kiras to the waist and wade across, oblivious of the water which is at about freezing point. Young men pass lewd remarks at the women who are forced to expose their upper thighs to avoid getting their kiras wet. The women respond with quick witty remarks.
By evening, families are camped along the way in caves or under leafy trees. They care for the horses first and then sit down to a simple hot meal. By dark, after a few bottles of ara or sinchang, they share their experiences of the past months. This year the highlight was the meeting in Gasa where they met their King and Queens. They marvel that their King walked just as they did, all the way.
The Layaps are on their way home
“This is one of the mildest seasons that I can remember”, Ap Tshering explains, “We can see the path quite clearly this year”. In a normal winter the path is invisible under waist-high snow and families are often stuck in blizzards. Last year three young men fell over the cliff where the mule skidded. Two of them carried back their dead friend. It is not unusual for man and pack mules to go over the edge and sometimes, an entire mule caravan can plunge into the ravines.
The Land
The four-day journey from Punakha usually stretched over several weeks as they relay a year’s food supply, brings the Layaps home to one of the most spectacular geogs in the Kingdom the raw natural beauty of the high Alpine ranges.
Spreading upwards from 12,000 feet above sea level, Laya sits on the lap of the Masagang, one of Bhutan’s 20 virgin peaks which are above 7,000 meters.
The mixed conifer forests above Gasa dzong, dotted with maple and rhododendron in full bloom, merge into groves of birch, juniper, maple, and mountain cane. The entire slopes are richly colored by wild flowers.
Across Bari-la and Kohi lapcha, two rugged passes, the terrain leaves behind the tree-line and the vast Alpine grasslands undulate towards the great northern glaciers. High above the crystal waterfalls which often cut through the ice formations on the cliff sides, and the clear rapid streams, are their sources; the turquoise fresh water lakes many of which local population hold in sacred awe.
This is the world where the Snow Leopards roam, where the Blue Sheep, Sambar, and Musk Deer graze in solitude. Lower down, this is the home of Takin, the Himalayan Black Beer, numerous deer, and the wild dog. The winged inhabitants of the region include the raven, wild pheasants, snow pigeons, the red billed cough, the alpine swift, the snow patridge, and the black necked crane.
History
The Layaps call their home bayu, the land, with good reasons. The cluster of villages is completely hidden by ridges and peers suddenly when the traveller reaches the first houses. The people believe that they are protected by an ancient gate leading to the main village. It was here that their guardian deities kept a Tibetan invasion at bay. In an important annual ceremony the Layaps pay homage to the protective forces which turned all the stones and trees around the gate into soldiers to repel the invaders.
But if such legend is history in Laya, history is also legend. This was the place where Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal entered Bhutan. In a journey which resounds with conquests of human and supernatural dimensions the Shabdrung crossed a chain of mighty Himalayan ridges and entered Laya. In a small meadow below the villages, called Taje-kha a chhorten shelters the footprints of the Shabdrung and his horse.
History and legend are still the realities of today. The pristine mountain ranges have not succumbed to changes over the centuries. Neither have its people, like in many other parts of Bhutan, the land and the people have existed in a harmony which the modern world does not adequately appreciate. And it is in this context that the Layaps must be viewed. It is against this rugged backdrop that they must be understood.
The People
“The Layaps smell”, is one well known comment. “You cannot depend on the Layaps, is another, often from civil servants. “The Layaps are backward”, say people living in the lower valleys. “The Layaps are alcoholics,” say many who know them. Most people stop to look when a Layap woman passes by in her distinct, perhaps ‘quaint’ kira. Some would point her out to friends.
The Layap is all of these, if you do not look beyond the surface or if you do not understand him in the right context. A discerning observer would probably find, however, that the Layap has far more substantial qualities to be admired than those passing these derogatory comments. Asked who he would choose as a friend between the average Layap and a resident of Thimphu, Dr. Pema Gyamtsho, after three years of research among the Layaps, provides a personal insight: “A Layap of course,” he said. “These people see you for what you are, with no preconceived notion. In Thimphu, people look at you to see what they can get out of you.
If the Layaps are as weather beaten as the Alpine rangelands they are as untamed and unpredictable as the forces of nature which are sometimes harsh. That is why, perhaps, the frustration of a civil servant who finds that the Layap cannot be bound to a deadline or even to a responsibility. When you call them they always say yes but never turn up, explains one official of Gasa Dzongkhag.
The Layaps are also as open as their environment, normally free of social inhibition. Men and women are open and relaxed on issues like the boundaries of sexual behavior. This, in fact, is often exploited by occasional visitors like tourist guides, military patrolmen, and civil servants.
Survival has also sharpened the wiles of the Layap. Today, it is a nightmare for dzongkhag officials to pin a Layap herder down on the number of yaks in his herd because he wants to avoid tax. Call a Layap family for official duty during the busy season and the best bet is an old woman who is not needed at home.
Laya, today, confronts an issue
which Bhutan, as a nation, has been grappling with for the past four decades. If change is inevitable, will the experience be more harsh than the bitter winds which blow over their mountains?
But, inside the rough Layap exterior is a tenderness which is invisible to the casual observer. Every Layap, for example, identifies with a 46 year old horse owner who risked his life last year to scale an icy cliff to his horse which had fallen. The man was oblivious to the bitter cold as he sat with his dying horse for two days, feeding the animal water from his cupped palm, the water mixed with his tears.
The Layaps are most tender in their feelings for the yak which is the mainstay of their semi nomadic existence. They officially own about 2,000 of Bhutan’s 30,000 yak population, both believed to be reduced figures. The 300 to 400 kilogram beast of burden is a source of food, shelter, draught power, transportation and a part of the Layap identity.
“The yak is like a parent” explains a 70 year old woman, “It is the source of our life”. This explains the unhealthy number of old animals in the herds which adds unwanted pressure on the pasture. Most Layaps claim that, apart from what is absolutely necessary for their annual trade they will not kill the yak.
The Life
The carefree life-style comes with the alcohol consumption by the Layap men. Nearly every man drinks heavily, often losing time, effort, and hard earned money in drunken stupors and converting all the hard-toiled food grain into alcohol. Sixty- three year old Ap Tshering claims to be a typical example of the Layap man. “I have lived a hard life,” he says with a proud smile. “Now I have two important goals in life. I brew sinchang during the day and I drink it at night.”
In this patriarchal society where girls are married early and move to the husband’s home, polyandry is on the decline. With clear cut gender roles the woman bears a serious domestic responsibility, looking after the yak herds, digging the fields, weaving the traditional clothing, and generally keeping the home and family together. The men are responsible for trade and the transportation of goods, their own and for the government.
The Community
With about 60,000 semi nomadic pastoralists spread across the kingdom’s northern region, the 800 or so Layaps share a strong community spirit. They are fiercely protective about the image of their community. Internal squabbles are normally settled within the community and even a child will not divulge the name of a layap who is guilty of some wrong doing.
As a community the Layaps are also proud of their self sufficiency in the basic necessities of life despite the day to day physical difficulties. Wealth is measured by the number of yaks in a herd or the volume of rice and the number of tsuktrus in the storeroom. The Layaps are also quick to inform visitors that they constitute an important proportion of the work force in Gasa dzongkhag.
The Spiritual
There is a strong spiritual element in the cohesion of the Layap community. The men pay obeisance to their Pho-lha, the local guardian. Every archery match, every business trip, every journey, every development project starts with a prayer at the Pho-lha’s sacred shrine, a small chorten above the village.
Like the broader Bhutanese society the advice of the village astrologer is sought on most activities and the local medium is usually consulted during illness. It is a legacy of the Shabdrung that the Layaps celebrate the Bumkar festival to plant barley and the Aulay festival during harvest.
Superstition is strong and is, in fact, one of the protective forces of the Layap identity. For example, the distinctive kira of Layap women has been kept partly because of the belief in its necessity. Superstition also controls etiquette and other aspects of the local traditions.
Photo credit: https://www.colorado.edu/tibethimalayainitiative/2016/02/21/historical-artists-bhutan
Trade
The Layaps are traders, bartering their animal products for food grain and other edibles every winter. Starting in late October, when nature offers a respite between the rains and the snow, they move to Punakha, their horses and every person laden with yak meat, butter, cheese, incense plants from the wilderness, and sometimes transborder goods like dried fish, shoes and brick tea. By March, when the road becomes accessible, they move back with rice, oil, salt, sugar, chillies, clothing, and shoes.
The only relief in this annual venture is a visit to the popular Gasa Tshachhu where they join people from all parts of the country in the baths which are believed to be of curative value and a boost to general health.
According to Dr. Pema Gyamtsho yak products account for 49 percent of the Layap’s earning, 18 percent comes from trade, 15 percent from animal transport and four percent from tourism, the last benefiting only five or six horse owners who are in contract with tour operators in Thimphu.
Change
It is largely the exposure from these annual trips that have given the Layaps a view of a rapidly changing world outside. A handful have ventured as far as Thimphu. And, in recent years, they have watched the widening gap in economic progress with some dismay.
The urge to reach out and pluck the fruits of progress which their fellow citizens are enjoying is beginning to gnaw at the roots of Layap culture. The goal of one man was to build a house like the one he saw in Punakha, a woman preferred a car so she would be spared the heavy loads, a young girl envied the Punakha schoolgirls, and an eight-year old boy rolled his father’s hat around the campfire, his mind on the plastic toy cars he had seen in the shops.
Two women who had been selected to visit Thimphu in a cultural entertainment team returned embarrassed about their kiras because they were clumsy compared with the nylon kiras of the Thimphu women. When told by a Thimphu official that the beautiful and unique Laya kira should be preserved she retorted, “So you can send tourists to take photographs of us?”
Progress
It is an enlightened policy that the Royal Government of Bhutan has sensitively pursued in the mountains of Laya. The goal is to improve the life of the people without upsetting the delicate balance in the distinct cultural identity of the people, the pristine natural ranges, and the rich wildlife.
Finely tuned to the migratory pattern of the people, the priorities reflect an emphasis on improving the yak herds and fodder, on the crops, on the road, and on the transportation of goods. A highlight of Gasa’s Eighth Plan meeting, for example, was a raise in the porter and horse charges, immediately increasing the income of the people by about 80 percent.
But the main benefits of development in Laya is identified as the establishment of a BHU, a veterinary service, and a school. Last year just two women died in childbirth and animal health has been greatly increased, along with their numbers. The Layaps, however, place their long term hopes on a 100 or so children who represent the education of the community.
The Layaps have not been unaware of the image of backwardness they suffer among a section of Bhutan’s population. “Once educated, our children can face other people with pride,” said one weary mother. A 56 year old father summed up the general sentiments, “Last month, when I went to Thimphu, my son read the bus ticket and showed me where to sit,” he said glowing with pride, his right hand gripping the boy’s shoulder. I did not have to face the shame of sitting in the wrong seat.”
“Change? It is already here”, says Ap Tshering, well into his eighth bottle of Singchang. “When I was a young man, I carried 40 dre of rice every year from Punakha on my back. It took me just eight days. Now these boys have horses, they have a road to Tashithang. What more do they want?”
Being a Layap
Laya, today, confronts an issue which Bhutan, as a nation, has been grappling with for the past four decades. If change is inevitable, will the experience be more harsh than the bitter winds which blow over their mountains?
It is a question with a familiar ring to it. It is a question facing Bhutan. The Layaps represent the Bhutanese population on a smaller scale, the harmony with their natural environment, the deep pride in their unique cultural identity, and a fierce will to protect their home.
“We Layaps have our good points and bad points,” explains one village elder. “But, in the end, our biggest pride is our land and ourselves. Yes we go out to trade, buy supplies, to drink, to flirt. We complain about our hardships, the heavy workload, the tough road. We are embarrassed about our backwardness. But we would never want to be anything but a Layap.”
By Dasho Kinley Dorji, Kuensel.
Anthropology of Bhutan 