In Bhutan, when a storyteller begins a tale with the magical phrase “Dangphu Dingphu (once upon a time),” the listeners respond with an affirming “ong (yes)”, showing that they are present and listening eagerly. It is this sense of participation, of stories as something spoken, heard, and collectively held, that Voices in the Wind: Folktales from the Himalayas captures so well. Edited by Namita Gokhale and Malashri Lal, the collection shows how cadence and rhythm are as important to folktales as the stories themselves.
Stories, the editors note, are integral to a civilisation. Folktales passed down through generations carry the wisdom of their time and place, tied closely to memory and collective remembrance. As Gokhale writes in the introduction, these folk stories are not lost over time; rather, they find new voices with new “interpretations and inflections.” Quoting Bhutanese writer Kunzang Choden, who is also a contributor, she notes, “The thing about oral tradition is that no one owns stories.” They belong to everyone.
It is this sense of continuity and movement that shapes the book. Divided into four parts—Western, Central, Central-Eastern, and North-Eastern Himalayas—the collection follows the geography of the region while tracing its narrative traditions. The introductions to each section provide context without overexplaining, allowing the stories to retain their texture while guiding the reader into different cultural landscapes.
The folktale The Wonder Child has been included in a version written by ChatGPT-3, declared in the introduction, acknowledging the interventions that AI is posing
Folktales differ in how they depict the relationship between people and nature. In the Central Himalayan stories of Himachal and Uttarakhand, nature often “appears brutal.” At the same time, a curiosity about how the natural world came into being shapes many of these narratives into origin stories, with parallels in regions like Ladakh and Meghalaya. There are also thematic overlaps across regions: in folktales from Assam, Meghalaya, and Bhutan, “ghosts tend to lurk more frequently in shadowed corners.” Another interesting aspect is that, in the “Central Himalayas, spirit-women, saonings, and joginis displace the sage-like Mahatma figures commonly found in the northern and eastern Himalayan traditions”. Together, these elements point to a storytelling tradition that acknowledges the force, unpredictability, and power of nature.
Nature-centric morality often prevails in folktales. The British philosopher Thomas Hobbes described human life in the state of nature as “brutish, nasty, and short,” and this vision predominates in many folktales. For instance, in the Kashmiri love story Himal Te Nagrai between a princess and her serpent lover, an important subplot involves a man who accidentally puts a snake into his bag and later hatches a plan to kill his wife. In another story, a brother kills his sister for his wife merely to dye a veil with her blood after it is stained due to her mistake.
Moreover, folktales function as “ecological guides and cultural inheritance.” For instance, the “Butia tale of Nyen-po Gunjam underscores the importance of ritual timekeeping and cosmic alignment.” Similarly, the Lepcha tale Pago Rip tells of a night-blooming flower that traps and kills bumblebees. As punishment, the flower is cursed to bloom only at night, but its seeds become sacred symbols in Lepcha weddings. In this way, “both victims and perpetrators are honored in cultural memory.”
Some folktales do not make much sense when read without context. They are in some sense anti-story, challenging readers’ expectations of the conventionality of plot, as they are designed for listening, not reading. They do not follow the modern structure of storytelling, but they do possess distinctive inflections, cadence, and metaphors, and convey a specific message or teaching.
Like, in a Gojri folktale, called Ban Budhi (the Jungle Witch), a witch traps a man in her den in the jungle, marries him, and bears two daughters with him. One day, the man finds a way to escape, after which the witch dies along with her children. The metaphors used in the story, such as the magical comb possessed by the witch and the circumstances surrounding her death, carry symbolic relevance within the narrative tradition in which it is told. These stories are passed down through generations as part of an oral tradition, functioning as a remembrance of a place, an event, or a thing.
In the folktale The Wonder Child, found in communities across Northeast India, Bangladesh, and Myanmar, has been included in a version written by ChatGPT-3, and this has been declared in the introduction. This shows how publishers are acknowledging the interventions that AI is posing, and how ethically it can be used. Nevertheless, for anyone interested in folktales, this book is a delight. With contributions from multiple scholars, storytellers, and folklorists, it preserves the myths and memories of the fragile Himalayan balance between humans, animals, rivers, gorges, and forests.