Goat Farmer's Beloved 'Jhilke Raja' Disappears, Leading to a Bizarre Investigation

My heart is soaring for no apparent reason. I am so happy, I cannot express it.

The night is late, and I haven't slept. Tomorrow is the day to take one step higher on the path of dreams! Just thinking about it makes me giddy. Ten people have already noted down the name. With all this buzz, won't a few more join? A rough calculation suggests a dozen does! And my prized 'Jhilke' king is alone! When I went to fix an auspicious date, the old Pandit almost fainted!

"You want an auspicious date to mount a goat? What is this Resham saying? Has he lost his mind? Check the nuts and bolts of your brain!" The Newghare Pandit laughed as if his belly would burst.

"For me, this day is bigger than my own wedding night, Pandit Baje. If things go well, I can earn five thousand a day from this one. I have already invested three to four lakh rupees in this so far."

After I calmly explained it to the Pandit, his off-key laughter stopped midway. His throat felt scratchy. He drank a glass of cold water. He swallowed the laughter that had just caught in his throat. Frowning his nose and forehead, the Pandit turned the almanac with great difficulty. Under what heading should the auspicious time be fixed in the almanac? Perhaps the Pandit Baje himself was not clear.

"Search under a heading like a wedding engagement or the start of an auspicious event, Pandit," I said, understanding his awkwardness.

After flipping through the pages of the almanac, cracking his knuckles, and pondering for a minute or two, the Pandit looked up at me briefly. And said, "Alright then, tomorrow morning at eight o'clock is the auspicious time."

Then the Pandit gave a weak smile. His smile sent a wonderful thrill through my body. My mind and body felt as light as a flower. I offered the Pandit one thousand rupees as a dakshina (fee). Then, lifting my feet, I set out to roam the village.

I have a Boer goat at my house. The news had already spread in the village. But many people didn't know when the goat would be ready. After returning from Saudi last year, my heart refused to go back to that ocean of sorrow. I vowed to settle in the village by doing something with the five lakh rupees I had.

I looked for a business that would benefit the villagers along with myself. I watched various videos on YouTube. I traveled across Nepal. I sought advice from the village elders. Many had the same refrain: 'Nothing happens in Nepal. Don't start a venture that will just sink your money.'

But I also met one or two courageous friends who believed in my dream and extended a helping hand. After much deliberation, my plan and roadmap were formed: to raise advanced breed Boer goats and bring the villagers along. I went to Haldibari in Jhapa. I bought one Boer kid and one cross-Boer doe. All the money in my pocket was spent on this.

After bringing the two Boer offspring, it felt like a festival at my house for a month or two. Kids worth four lakh rupees! Villagers would bite their tongues just hearing the price. The photos and videos taken at that time also went viral.

I also added a dozen local does by borrowing money from friends and relatives. My dream is to cross-breed them with the Boer to produce advanced offspring and distribute them to the villagers at a low cost. The pen is full now. The Boer buck looks magnificent.

Long ears like tobacco leaves, fur as pure and soft as a rabbit's, brown markings on the forehead and neck, kohl-lined eyes. A body smooth and sleek like a gourd, he is dazzling, this male. Watching him walk with a swagger like a male peacock makes one stare. That's why I named him 'Jhilke Raja' (Dazzling King)!

The destiny of my beloved Jhilke Raja begins tomorrow. I have been roaming the village all day spreading the word. It's not enough to have does; the time to find a buck must also align. But the happy news is that the buzz has spread far and wide. My wife has even posted videos on TikTok. Ten people have already called to register their interest. I have announced a special discount for the first day.

When will morning come? I can't sleep at all. My heart is pounding. I turn on my side. I check the clock. How slowly this time passes!

Somehow, it is four in the morning. But the roosters haven't crowed yet. The chill of Poush and the long night. Frost reigns supreme outside. I cannot open the pen before 6 o'clock.

Lately, there has been a menace of tigers in the village. My heart chills at the thought. But how weak is my pen? I built it with great effort!

The fear of the tiger vanished in an instant. An idea suddenly struck my mind: I should feed Jhilke a special feed today.

Without thinking, I got ready to get up. I got up, lit a fire in the stove, and started preparing nutritious feed. By the time the feed was cooked, the rooster next door had crowed twice, signaling it was past dawn. But Jhilke inside the pen made no sound. He must be sleeping soundly, I thought to myself.

I prepared enough feed and green grass for the whole day. The clock is just a few minutes shy of 6 o'clock. My wife is just waking up, stretching her body and yawning widely.

Animals also thrive quickly in a sunny spot with good ventilation. That's why I let the goats out of the pen early in the morning. After 6 o'clock, whether from hunger or habit, they start making noise, bleating 'me... me...'

As the noise inside the pen increased, my wife opened the pen door as usual. I stood ready to welcome them all with the prepared feed. The goats came down one by one. They went to their portions, licking their lips. After everyone else came down, Jhilke Raja descended last. He never hurries. I waited for him, holding his special meal.

But even after the usual time had passed, he did not come out.

My heart sank at the thought. I ran and peeked into the pen. The sight I saw there froze my heart and soul like frost.

The pen was empty. Where did my Jhilke go? I myself locked him inside the pen last night. I myself held the key to the pen.

I searched for him everywhere. I called out, shouting, but he was nowhere to be found.

My body started trembling uncontrollably. My wife stood stunned like a statue, her face drawn with worry. In a state of desperation, I circled the pen. The two doors of the pen were broken. There were two bloodstains towards the west.

I raised an alarm. Soon after, the villagers gathered.

"This is the work of a tiger," was the suspicion of many.

"How can a tiger take him away by removing the doors like a human? This is clearly the work of a thief," my mind suspected otherwise.

"Last year, my neighbor's goat died the same way. Everyone said a tiger killed it. Who knows? Maybe tigers have become clever these days? Like Ganthare the shaman?" said Krishne from the lower house, picking his teeth.

"Did you forget that my black goat was dragged from the pen by Bhairam? Right in front of me," Puchar Kaily began to recount her own woes.

Everyone started sharing their own misfortunes. They all looked at me as the culprit, saying it was the tiger's doing and that I hadn't built a strong pen. Some even lamented that they had encouraged tigers in the village.

"This is definitely not the work of a tiger," I kept shouting like a madman. "Then find the thief!" The villagers turned back, as if mocking me.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew. It swept everything away and disappeared in an instant. It blew away my dream. The small path I had dug was also swept away. I felt completely ruined, as if everything had just been looted. I sat on the edge of the courtyard and wept loudly.

"Why is he crying so much over the death of just one goat? Life is still there; he can earn more," my wife started consoling me, seeing my childish crying.

My ten-year-old daughter also sat nearby and said, "Don't cry, Baba. Someone must have taken our Jhilke; they will return him, right?"

I kept sniffling. Jhilke Raja kept circling before my eyes. I had brought him up after weaning him from his mother's milk. I had raised him in my lap like a human child. For others, he might have been just a goat. But for me, he was something else, and in his absence, I felt empty. I have faced many ups and downs in life. I never cried. Today, I was drowning in a flood of tears.

I had thought: This year I will pay off my debts. I will make everyone in the village raise advanced goats. A single goat sells easily for more than one lakh rupees. Then I won't have to go abroad. If I succeed, I will find pearls right here in this soil—I will teach everyone. I will prove it. I will be an example.

My inner self kept telling me: This is not the work of a tiger. But who is the thief in my house? Who wishes me ill? I couldn't recall anyone's face when I thought about it. I have never done wrong to anyone to this day. I am someone who wishes well for everyone.

When nothing else worked, I filed a complaint at the police station. They didn't pay much attention either. Two constables came, waving their sticks. They looked at the pen briefly. They took photos of the bloodstains.

"It's the tiger's work." Their superficial investigation also reached the same conclusion.

...

The phone calls from relatives who had lent me money started ringing. Two of them took goats from the pen and settled their debts. The debt had to be repaid. I would have repaid it sooner or later. But seeing my condition, perhaps they thought I would run away.

Two days later, Ramesh from Kafalpatta and Bimal from Thulaghare came to visit. They are my friends. We sweated together in the Gulf for two years. Following my footsteps, Ramesh opened a poultry farm, and Bimal started a buffalo farm. I felt that at least someone understood my troubles. Seeing them, half my sorrow seemed to lessen. Ramesh narrated a story, a story my grandmother used to tell me when I was small—

Everyone knew Ganthare the shaman. He was famous far and wide. Very skilled in tantra and mantra. He could scare away witches, spirits, and ghosts. If he got angry, he could make a person collapse instantly by casting a spell.

Because of this fear, no one dared to mess with him or pick a fight. If someone fell ill in the village or needed a spirit exorcism, there was no one more reliable and skilled than him.

"Ganthare's wife gave birth...!" The news spread instantly like fire in dry grass, reaching far and wide. The villagers' hearts trembled with fear. Whose turn is it this time? Will my goat be the next to disappear? This single fear was in everyone's mind. There was a rumor in the village—Ganthare the shaman possessed such dangerous tantra and mantra knowledge that he could even change a person's appearance.

Ganthare the shaman's wife gave birth every year.

"Ganthare's wife gave birth...!" The news spread instantly like fire in dry grass, reaching far and wide. The villagers' hearts trembled with fear. Whose turn is it this time? Will my goat be the next to disappear? This single fear was in everyone's mind. There was a rumor in the village—Ganthare the shaman possessed such dangerous tantra and mantra knowledge that he could even change a person's appearance.

When Ganthare's wife gave birth, he would chant a mantra, and Ganthare would turn into a tiger. Then he would go out to steal goats from the village. After bringing the goats back, Ganthare's wife would chase the tiger away with consecrated rice grains, and he would turn back into a human.

The villagers accepted this story as truth. No one had the courage to question Ganthare or resist him. Would he kill them with a spell? Would he turn them into insects with a mantra? Everyone lived with this fear.

One day, Ganthare the shaman suddenly disappeared. His wife was in confinement at that time too. A long time passed, and there was no trace of him. The rumor was that he had gone out as a tiger. There was consecrated rice on a Sal leaf. A chicken had eaten the consecrated rice. When Ganthare returned in the guise of a tiger, his wife was looking for the rice, which, of course, was nowhere to be found. Since that day, he lives in the jungle in the form of a tiger. Perhaps he is old and dead by now.

This story of Ganthare the shaman was heard by all of us. Everyone my age loved this tale. Many said it was a true story. But to me, it felt like a fairy tale.

Why did Ramesh remind me of this story today? The story made my brain tingle.

"But why are you telling me this story now, Ramesh?" I asked with a curious voice.

"Don't you see a connection between this story and your goat's disappearance, Resham?" Ramesh retorted with a counter-question. I was taken aback. Bimal seemed to understand everything clearly and looked delighted.

"This is an old story. My Jhilke disappeared the day before yesterday. I don't understand the connection, man," I said dejectedly.

"Do you know Mangale, the grandson of Ganthare the shaman?" Bimal asked.

"He also does the work of a Dhami-Jhankri, right?" I didn't know much more about him than that.

"That's him..." Ramesh said excitedly.

"And..." I asked, taking a deep breath.

"I also know as much tantra-mantra as my grandfather. I also have the power to cast spells. Tell people not to go looking for lost goats in the village." Mangale had been boasting at the Subdarani's liquor shop three days ago.

"He's showing off a lot of tantra-mantra these days. That rascal is also viral on TikTok. His wife is also in confinement, they say. I am absolutely sure this is Mangale's doing," Ramesh revealed a new clue, puffing out his chest.

Supporting Ramesh's words, Bimal clapped his hands, raising one foot. He looked at me with eyes like a stunned owl. I still couldn't be convinced.

"It can't be like this, can it? First, the idea of a person turning into a tiger with a mantra is nonsense. And it's superstition. Secondly, even if it were the shaman's work, he's just bragging. If Mangale stole it, that's another matter." I couldn't agree that Mangale had turned into a tiger and eaten my Jhilke.

"We didn't say he turned into a tiger. We meant he came in the form of a thief. If you don't believe it, let's go to his house now." Ramesh twisted the narrative.

Both of them insisted as if they had seen Mangale steal the goat with their own eyes. I started to feel it might be true. I was sure a tiger hadn't eaten him. If so, was this Mangale's doing? Wait, you sinner. Suddenly, I felt resentment towards him.

"Let's surround his house tonight," Bimal immediately suggested a plan. I readily agreed.

As evening deepened, we set off towards Mangale's house. Thinking anything could happen, Ramesh had armed himself with a sharp khukuri. We had all the necessary gear: a charged flashlight, a matchbox, and a fully charged mobile phone for video recording.

The crescent moon shone like silver in the eastern sky. The stars in the sky twinkled like diamonds. The solo music of crickets and frogs signaled the beginning of the evening. We were silently climbing the steep ascent of the stone quarry, following the beam of the flashlight.

We used to walk like this during Dashain festivals. A gang fight could break out at any moment. Today, we were prepared with the same appearance but for a different purpose after a long time.

The crescent moon shone like silver in the eastern sky. The stars in the sky twinkled like diamonds. The solo music of crickets and frogs signaled the beginning of the evening. We were silently climbing the steep ascent of the stone quarry, following the beam of the flashlight.

"When will the habit of being jealous of others' progress and pulling them down go away in us Nepalis?" Bimal lamented while resting at a bend on the uphill climb.

"That's why the country is lagging behind. Good people attract enemies. They gave me so much trouble when I was bringing water to my poultry farm. Subsidies for the leaders' cronies, harassment for people like us," Ramesh added his grievances, agreeing with Bimal.

"These are all matters of culture. We must teach everyone. That if we cooperate, everyone will benefit," I spoke words of hope.

But my inner self was not that happy. The faces of Nepalis who recently set fire to a neighbor's poultry farm, cut down a Bodhi tree from the root, and celebrated by smearing ash like colored powder during protests kept flashing before my eyes.

"When will we improve?" An unanswered question was spinning in my head. We spent about an hour climbing while discussing our own habits, behavior, and tendencies.

When we reached Mangale's house, located in the solitude of the jungle, it was already pitch dark. Bimal and I hid near the window next to the main room, along the edge of the courtyard. Ramesh positioned himself near the main door of the veranda.

First, we would spy on what was happening inside Mangale's house, and only then raid the cowshed and pen. We had planned this beforehand. The isolated house seemed to disappear into the darkness on its own. The silence was so profound that it felt like even our own breaths could be heard. Fortunately, there were no dogs at Mangale's house; otherwise, we would have been in big trouble.

Struggling to control my own breathing, I focused my hearing on Mangale's house. Outside, the incessant chirping of crickets prevailed. The cold Poush breeze, carrying the chill of the Himalayas, felt like it could freeze the heart. The sound of dogs barking somewhere in the distance also kept us alert. What was happening inside the house? Our senses of espionage were on high alert.

After a moment of deep silence, we heard Mangale and his wife whispering inside the house. I became even more attentive, trying to catch their conversation. The sound of utensils clanging came from inside the house. I was pleased that we had arrived at the right time.

"Here, eat the meat," it was Mangale's voice. Surely, it must be the meat of my Jhilke, my mind immediately concluded. Upon hearing the word 'meat,' my composure broke.

"Where did you bring it from?" Mangale's wife asked. It was exactly the question in my mind. I was eager to hear Mangale's answer. My anxiety suddenly soared to Mount Everest.

"I am the grandson of Ganthare the shaman. I brought it however I could. I brought it by turning into a tiger. Understand? How much will you eat? Shall I add more? It is our shamanic tradition to supply meat daily to a woman in confinement." Mangale said with a loud laugh.

Now I was convinced; my Jhilke Raja had been cooked on their stove. My body became hot like a furnace. It felt like my own blood was boiling over. My heart started beating as if it would burst out of my chest. I started seeing blue and black spots before my eyes. I felt a surge of anger, wanting to rush out and swing my sharp khukuri. But I couldn't muster the courage.

"Why are you telling tall tales, old man? They say even walls have ears. Don't go around boasting about bringing one kilo of cheap meat when you're talking about a whole goat. If any goat goes missing in the village, they will catch you," Mangale's wife spoke as if she knew we were outside. Her words slightly cooled the heat in my body.

"So what... People in the village are still afraid of us, aren't they? Even if I can't be a real tiger like your grandfather, I feel like a fake tiger, don't I, old woman? What do you think?" Mangale joked.

The fire of anger that had flared up against him moments ago suddenly cooled down and extinguished. I looked up at the sky. A piece of cloud was obscuring the crescent moon. The stars were not as bright as before. I could clearly see the flickering light of my house in the village across. Perhaps my wife and daughter were waiting for me.

"Did you become a tiger? Your grandfather, that wicked fake shaman, used to steal goats by wearing a fake tiger skin. Once, while stealing, he was actually hunted by a real tiger. Your own father told me that," Mangale's wife said in a stern voice.

A fight between the old couple was about to start inside. Just then, the mobile phone in Bimal's pocket rang loudly. A cat jumped right over my head. I flinched. There was a small commotion. "Who is it?... Who is it? ..." saying this, Mangale turned on the outside light and came out himself.

"Hey! Are you alright, Mangale? Look, my wife is sick. We came to get you to beat the Dhyangro (a ritual drum for exorcism)." Ramesh made an excuse. But I didn't feel right lying to him.

I told him the truth that my Jhilke Raja had been stolen from the pen. "Oh, really!... Is that Boer buck yours?" Mangale laughed mysteriously.

"Yes, it's my Boer buck. Its body was pure white. Where is my Jhilke Raja? Did you find any clue?" I became so excited that I started popping like corn kernels in a pan. I was bursting with excitement.

"Did it have brown markings on its forehead?" Mangale asked.

"Yes, it did... It looked like a star. This is my first Boer goat. There's no doubt about it," I whispered in his ear.

"You are lucky, man," Mangale said evasively.

"What happened? Don't torture me. I might lose my life," I couldn't bear it. I had never been in such a hurry in my life.

"Dharme's wife in Simpalchaur was ill. Vomiting blood, seizures. She was on the verge of death. She came to me for refuge. She was possessed by a mischievous spirit. I found out. If a pure white goat was offered, his wife would recover," Mangale stopped talking.

"And what happened to our Jhilke?" Ramesh, Bimal, and I asked in unison.

"I told him to find a buck. After three days, he said he found one with great difficulty and brought that Boer buck of yours. I had taken out the weapons to slaughter it. I saw the brown markings on the forehead. I told him that a spirit possessed by such impurity would refuse the offering. Your goat was saved. His wife died."

Mangale suddenly burst into loud laughter.

"Hurry up and dispose of the stolen goods," he warned us, stopping his laughter. We hurried down the slope.

God! I prayed all the way down that nothing happened to my Jhilke.