People in the hills say that a strange thing once happened in a quiet valley where the forest stood close to the houses. In that valley lived an old woman named Nangma. She had no family and no land of her own and lived in a cave. She survived by collecting nettles from the forest and boiling them in a clay pot for her meals.

One evening she lifted her bowl of nettle broth. A faint sound came from the corner of the room. She looked up and said, “Who is making that noise? If you are hungry, come share my food.” No one appeared and the old woman finished her broth.

The next day she heard the same sound at the same hour. She set her pot on the floor and said, “Who is making the noise? Come. Eat if you are hungry.”

A khulme kira came out from behind the hearth. It was a white grub with a soft round body. Nangma stared at it for a moment. Her fear faded quickly. She scooped some nettle broth onto a leaf and set it before the grub.

“Eat, little one,” she said.

The white grub stayed near her after that day. It crept close to her hearth each time she cooked. She fed it nettle broth every evening. Its body grew large and heavy and its skin shone like wet clay.

One season her jar of salt became empty. The nettle broth tasted dull without it. She decided to borrow a wicker basket from Bijuwa Khamsik (a Shaman) who lived farther up the ridge. He was known for sharp sight and sharp understanding. He opened his door before she could knock twice.

“You want a basket to bring salt from Tibet,” he said.

Nangma looked startled. “How did you know that?”

“You cannot make the journey. A being in your house can make it for you,” the Shaman said.

“There is no such being in my house,” Nangma replied.

“There is,” he said. “Listen carefully. Put nettles, a clay pot, bamboo tongs and fire stones in the basket. Set the basket beside the creature. Tell it to go to Bhot (Tibet) and bring salt. It will obey you. Take this vessel of burning oil. Hide along the path and watch it. When it leaves its shell and steps out as a young man, burn the shell. If you burn the shell, the young man will remain as he is and he will return with salt for you.”

Nangma took the basket. She returned to her cave and arranged the pot, the tongs and the fire stones inside it. She set it beside the white grub.

“Go to Bhot and bring salt for me, my son,” she said.

The grub pushed the basket slowly toward the forest. Nangma followed it without letting herself be seen. The grub reached a lonely clearing and stopped. The shell on its body opened. A handsome young man stepped out of it and hid the shell under a rock. He lifted the basket and walked toward Bhot without hesitation.

Nangma waited until he disappeared beyond the trees. Then she took out the oil and poured it over the shell. She set it on fire. The fire burned quickly and left only ash.

Many days passed. Then the young man returned with a heavy load of salt. He came to her cave, set the load on the floor and said, “Mother, I have brought the salt.”

The word mother filled her with a happiness she had never known. She understood the change that had taken place.

From that day he lived with her. They built a house in the forest, cleared a small field, planted grain and stored enough food for every season.